57 Blacksmith Shop

Observing the enigmatic magic runes hovering around the treasure house fade away, Francesca released a soft exhale. She wiped her white palm across her forehead, though there was no actual sweat, and turned to address Toruviel.

"It's alright Toruviel. The seal is complete, and I'm going to open the treasure room now," she assured. "The gate of this treasure room originally relied on a magic node for power and must be opened by a special spell by an elf warlock, so it has been well-preserved for thousands of years. When those human armies attacked, they probably didn't take anything from here. If you want to open it now, I have to inject magic power into it myself."

The elf sorceress explained briefly, then gracefully lifted her right hand. Her slender fingers emanated a magical glow as she traced an extremely intricate magic rune in the air, uttering a spell in the ancient elven language. Accompanying her incantation, a potent magical force was gradually infused into the metal gate of the treasure room under her manipulation.

Amidst a humming sound, a rune in the ancient elven language illuminated on the metal gate of the treasure house. The continuous infusion of magic power intensified the brilliance of the magic rune. Humming persisted until Francesca had injected enough magic power, and then, with a burst of mechanical operation, the door of the treasure house, dormant for thousands of years, officially swung open.

When the dust settled and Toruviel laid eyes on the items in the treasury, she immediately covered her mouth in surprise. Illuminated by the light of several torches, ten immense treasure chests were quietly arranged in the center of the treasury, filled with countless gold and jewels that retained their seductive luster even after thousands of years. Even a simple farmer, unaccustomed to such wealth, could imagine the immense fortune present.

However, in contrast to Toruviel, Francesca displayed no surprise at the sight of the gold. Instead, she shook her head with a sigh. For the current elves, such gold held little value. The elves' former empire possessed wealth surpassing the current human kingdom wealth. The splendor and beauty of the elven city, unparalleled compared to current human towns, couldn't withstand the onslaught of barbaric humans, leading to the elves becoming a minority race like the dwarves. In the face of violence, only violence could contend with it. Unfortunately, her kindred had grasped this truth too late.

Francesca's gaze traversed the treasure chests until she spotted numerous pieces of magic equipment adorning the walls and four colossal metal golems stationed at the corners. She nodded slightly and pursed her lips. Though the treasure house had been protected by magic for a thousand years, its contents remained undamaged. The ancient magic equipment and the four formidable metal golems were indeed more valuable treasures.

After a moment of contemplation, Francesca turned to Toruviel and said, "Don't you have an agreement with the witchers to give them a quarter of the spoils? Although this treasure belongs to our elves, we should wait until they arrive here next time."

............

The next day, in the old city of Vizima, Wayne stowed all his valuables into the magic storage bag, securing it around his neck for safekeeping. He only carried a small purse with dozens of Orens in his waist pocket for regular expenses. As for the snacks from another world, he carefully concealed them under the bedboard, even deploying an Aard sign to ensure they remained undiscovered.

With the magic storage bag, Wayne felt a significant improvement in his capabilities. However, this improvement wasn't in terms of physical attributes or combat skills. A witcher's strength often relied on external tools – swords, alchemy bombs, potions, and formidable armor and swords all played a crucial role.

These tools, such as swords, alchemy bombs, and potions, were valuable but delicate materials prone to damage in battle. Ordinary witchers could only carry a limited amount, restricting their usage. The magic storage bag addressed these issues, allowing Wayne to carry various potions, and store dozens of alchemy bombs of different types without fear of damage.

This enhancement significantly bolstered his ability to confront risks, providing him with diverse solutions for emergencies. Reflecting on his good fortune, Wayne couldn't help but sigh at how quickly he acquired such a valuable piece of spatial equipment.

After breakfast, instead of heading to the city hall to address the matter of buying a house, Wayne consulted a somewhat hungover Geralt for a blueprint of the wolf school's master silver sword design.

The item in question wasn't a finished product but a hand-drawn replica based on Geralt's memory. It encompassed the sword's design concept, equipment appearance, and material configuration diagram. Due to strict requirements, it had to be executed by a master blacksmith with exceptional skills.

While the master-level silver sword wasn't the pinnacle weapon in the wolf school, it was more cost-effective, had more accessible materials, and was easier to maintain compared to the master-level equipment. This made it more suitable for everyday tasks. Wayne didn't want to find himself in a situation where the reward for using a master-level weapon far exceeded the repair fee after slaying a few monsters.

Leaving the Fox Tavern, he followed the address given by Revardon for more than ten minutes until he reached a dwarf blacksmith shop in Vizima. The shop was still open, and three sturdy dwarves, dressed in thin clothes, toiled with large hammers, forging iron objects on the anvil next to the stove. Judging by their shapes, these items were likely knives and agricultural tools used by civilians.

This was customary in the Middle Ages. Unlike in games, blacksmiths primarily crafted tools such as iron pots, kitchen knives, and hoes for farmers and residents. Confirming the address, Wayne, wearing a friendly smile, singled out a young dwarf who appeared the most approachable among the three and inquired, "Is Master O. Henry present? I was recommended by his friend, Leverdon, and I wish to commission him to create some equipment."

The young dwarf, momentarily taken aback by Wayne's question, scratched his hair with fingers covered in iron filings and then replied in a naive manner, "Henry played Gwent all the night. After winning our wages, he drank half a barrel of dark beer. He probably hasn't woken up yet."

"However, getting him to craft equipment for you is nearly impossible. The items crafted by him are never for sale; he only creates equipment for individuals he chooses. Even if many dwarf apprentices pleaded with him, he never agreed."

Upon hearing this, Wayne frowned, realizing that obtaining a master-level silver sword from this master was indeed a formidable challenge. Nevertheless, since he was already here, there was no reason to back down. Regardless of the outcome, he had to give it a try.

Maintaining a friendly smile, Wayne handed the young dwarf the letter of introduction given by Levarden and said, "No problem. I'll wait here. Once Master O. Henry wakes up, please pass this letter to him for me. Also, let him know I'm a witcher seeking to forge a master-level sword. We can discuss the terms, no matter what they are."

With that, Wayne patted the young dwarf on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, "My friend, you can also put in a good word for me. Regardless of the outcome, I'll invite you to the best tavern in the city, and we'll drink until you're satisfied."

Upon hearing Wayne's promise of being invited to the best tavern and drinking to satisfaction, the young dwarf's eyes lit up. He nodded eagerly and said naively, "Alright, you wait here. Actually, Master O. Henry is my uncle, and I'll plead with him for you. Whether he grants me this favor or not depends on your luck."