The familiar clang of metal on metal rang through the air as Felis stepped inside the workshop where he had commissioned his sword. The scent of burning coal and heated iron filled his nose, the thick warmth of the forge a stark contrast to the cool evening air outside.
It didn't take long for a burly, fire-haired dwarf to notice him. The moment the blacksmith's sharp eyes landed on the battered state of the sword Felis had brought in just three days ago, his face turned a deep shade of red—not from the forge, but from sheer outrage.
"What the damn hell have you been doing? Hittin' rock all day?!" The dwarf stomped over, snatching the sword from Felis' hands. "This thing ain't a sword no more—it's a damn stool fit for my furnace! I just finished this beauty three days ago!"
Felis exhaled through his nose, already expecting this reaction. Still, he wasn't the type to just take the abuse lying down. His golden eyes narrowed, tail flicking.
"Your sword couldn't even peel a layer off a Goliath's skin properly. I suffered because of it."
The dwarf's thick brows twitched. "That so? Sounds like a user problem to me."
Felis let out a dry chuckle. "Then tell me, how do you 'properly' cut through a Goliath's hide when the Dungeon throws an unnatural one at you?"
The blacksmith's expression twitched, but before he could bark back, Felis lifted his bag and placed it on the nearby workbench with a heavy thud. The distinct sound of dense material hitting wood made the dwarf pause.
Curious, he pulled open the bag.
Silence.
The dwarf's eyes widened as he pulled out the dark, massive magic crystal, unlike any standard drop. Even to someone who had worked with monster materials for decades, this wasn't normal. Then came the other items—a massive jagged fang, thick sinewy tendons, a solid bone with black veins, and an oddly smooth, slate-gray hide. Each piece had an unnatural feel to it, as if the Dungeon had created something beyond the norm.
"…Where the hell did you get this?"
Felis crossed his arms. "That 'damn Dungeon' threw an enchanted Goliath at me."
For a second, the blacksmith didn't respond. His eyes darted between the materials and Felis, searching for any sign of exaggeration. But the sheer quality of the materials spoke for itself. Even if Felis had wanted to lie, these things didn't just fall into an adventurer's lap.
The dwarf clicked his tongue, rubbing his beard. "Tch. If you're tellin' the truth, then these ain't things just any smith can work with. I might be good, but I ain't that good."
He tapped a thick finger against the strange magic crystal. "This thing? I ain't touchin' it. This ain't a normal drop—it's somethin' else entirely. You wanna do somethin' with it, you best take it to our captain. Maybe even Lady Hephaestus herself."
Felis glanced at the materials. The fang had a sharp, deadly shape—he could see it reforged into a dagger, or maybe even arrowheads. The tendon had ridiculous flexibility, making it ideal for a high-tier bowstring. The bone was heavier than normal yet refused to crack. The hide felt strong enough to serve as light armor but remained flexible.
Felis carefully stowed away the Abyssal Goliath materials, the weight of their rarity pressing on his mind. He still didn't know their full potential, but he wasn't about to leave something so valuable lying around.
Instead, he pulled out the byproducts of the enchanted monsters he had slain on the 19th floor, spreading them across the sturdy workbench.
The dwarf blacksmith, who had been eyeing Felis' battered sword with increasing irritation, grunted in surprise as the materials hit the table. His sharp gaze flicked between them, thick fingers brushing over the exotic items.
The dwarf blacksmith squinted at the pile of materials spread across his workbench, fingers tracing the curved, spiraling horn that shimmered faintly under the forge's glow. His thick brows furrowed as he ran a calloused thumb over its surface, feeling the faint pulse of mana within.
"Where the hell did you get this?" he muttered, eyes narrowing.
"The damn Dungeon," Felis replied flatly, tail flicking behind him. "Where else?"
The dwarf shot him a deadpan look. "Tch, don't give me that, cat. Be honest. What did you do?"
Felis sighed, knowing full well the truth would sound ridiculous. "I… might've wiped out the entire 19th floor. Guess the Dungeon didn't like that and started spitting out these things."
The blacksmith stared at him. Then at the battered sword Felis had brought in. Then back at him.
A long, heavy sigh followed. "No wonder this beautiful sword looks like furnace stools. You're just as crazy as a cat in heat."
Felis twitched. "That's not how that phrase works."
The dwarf ignored him and started rummaging through the pile, muttering as he lifted each piece, testing its weight, pressing a fingernail against it, feeling for hidden traits only a seasoned smith could recognize.
He held up the spiraling horn, the smooth surface catching the forge's light. "This ain't just a unicorn horn—it's from a Kirin. You can feel the magic running through it, like holding onto a damn thundercloud. This thing could make a hell of a weapon, a staff, maybe even a catalyst."
His hand moved to a piece of hide, dark with streaks of silver. The texture was strangely smooth yet firm, resisting his grip when he tried to twist it. "This is Kirin hide. Resistant to magic—lightning, for sure, maybe even other elements. Would make some damn fine armor."
Next was a set of claws, slightly translucent, like they didn't fully belong in this world. He frowned, tapping one against the metal edge of his anvil. The sound was eerily soft, as if it barely made contact at all. "…Phantom claws. These bastards are from those Ghost Hares, aren't they? Sharp as hell, and they don't even fully exist in this plane. Cut through weak materials like butter."
He picked up a pair of curved fangs, rolling them in his palm. The tips gleamed with a faint sheen. "Dreadfangs. You see these stripes? That's venom. Not the kind that just stings—it paralyzes. You could forge these into daggers and knock out a grown man with a scratch."
Then, his hands found something heavier—a jagged set of antlers, dark and metallic. His eyes widened slightly as he lifted them. "Steel Antlers from an Ironhide Stag. Damn things are naturally sharp—hell, you could split a man's skull with 'em as they are. You reforged this right, you'd have polearms sharper than any blade I've ever made."
He set them down with a deep exhale, shaking his head. "Listen, kid… I don't know what kind of hell you walked through, but I can't work with these."
Felis frowned. "What do you mean?"
The dwarf folded his arms, looking genuinely frustrated. "I mean I can't. My skill ain't enough—I'd ruin the materials before I even got started. These ain't normal monster drops, they're rare-tier stuff. You need a smith who knows how to handle enchanted material, or you'll end up with a fancy-looking piece of garbage."
Felis clicked his tongue. "So, what, I went through all that trouble just to hear you say you're not good enough?"
The dwarf's beard bristled as he scowled. "Damn brat, listen close. This ain't about pride—it's about waste. If I mess up these materials, they're gone for good. You want 'em done right? You'll need someone like our captain… or Lady Hephaestus herself."
That made Felis pause. He knew these materials were rare, but hearing that even a seasoned blacksmith wouldn't touch them? That meant they were worth more than he'd thought.
"Tch. Figures."
Felis once again slid the enchanted monster byproducts back into his bag, letting the weight settle before reaching for another item. This time, he pulled out a unicorn horn—a normal one, not the Kirin's. Smooth, pure ivory gleamed under the forge's dim lighting as he held it up.
"How about this one? Can you use it to reinforce my sword?" He tilted his head, flicking an ear. "Don't tell me you can't do this too."
The dwarf took the horn, rolling it between his thick fingers, his face unreadable. "Tch. This? Yeah, I can work with it. But don't expect miracles. It'll make the sword tougher, maybe sharper—but it'll throw off the balance. And if you want real magic-grade quality, you'd need someone way better than me."
Felis hummed. "Alright, so if one's not enough…" He reached into his bag again and pulled out a second unicorn horn, setting it beside the first with a smirk. "What about two?"
The blacksmith exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as if warding off a headache. "Yeah, I forgot you said you wiped out the whole damn floor." He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "It'll work. Reinforcing the blade with two should boost its durability and cutting power a lot. But can you even swing it properly? No offense, but you're still Level 1, aren't you?"
Felis rolled his shoulders, unconcerned. "Balance? I'll get used to it. You just make sure it actually cuts this time."
A vein bulged on the dwarf's forehead. His face twisted, then—
BOOM!
His voice exploded like a hammer striking an anvil.
"You damn cat—what did you just say?! 'Make sure it cuts'?! You fought an Enchanted Goliath, then rampaged across an entire damn floor, and you're acting surprised the sword couldn't keep up?! Of course it didn't hold up, you lunatic!" He jabbed a thick finger at Felis' chest, bristling. "What the hell do you expect, a divine blade blessed by the gods themselves?!"
Felis leaned back slightly, ears flicking at the outburst, but his smirk didn't fade. Instead, he let out a dramatic sigh. "And here I thought after-sales service meant standing by your work. Guess I was wrong."
The dwarf let out a strangled noise, caught between rage and disbelief. "After-sales—?! You think this is some marketplace bargain?! You broke it, you pay for it, end of story!"
"Tch." Felis crossed his arms. "Alright, how much?"
The blacksmith grumbled, grabbed a scrap of paper, and scribbled down a number before slamming it onto the counter.
Felis picked it up, whistled, then clicked his tongue. "Yo, this sword didn't even last a week, and now you're charging me this much just to reinforce it? Didn't expect the customer service here to be this bad."
The blacksmith bristled. "You want it done or not?"
Felis leaned on the counter, flashing a grin. "What if I paid with something more… unique?" He reached into his bag and pulled out another unicorn horn, spinning it between his fingers. "I got a few of these lying around. How about it?"
The dwarf's eyes flickered to the horn, calculating. "…Hmph. You're still paying in valis, but maybe I'll knock off a bit if you throw one in."
Felis grinned wider. "Now we're talking."
---
Welf wiped the sweat from his forehead, setting his hammer down just as his workshop door slammed open.
"Welf! I'm here for after-sales service!"
The red-haired smith turned, scowling. A certain black-haired catman stood there, grinning like he owned the place.
"…The hell are you talking about?" Welf crossed his arms. "You break something already?"
Felis sighed, looking absolutely betrayed. "My armor couldn't hold up against a Goliath. I feel cheated, Welf. What happened to 'quality craftsmanship'?"
Welf's brow twitched. "Bullshit. Let me see it."
Felis tossed over his chestplate. Welf caught it with ease, flipping it over in his hands. He frowned. The wear and tear were bad—deep cracks, heavy dents—but this wasn't from shoddy work. This was from sheer force.
"…How the hell did this happen?"
Felis smirked. "Ask the grumpy dwarf from the workshop next door. You'll understand."
Welf's fingers clenched. That old bastard? He was ruthless when it came to critiquing weapons and armor. If he had complaints, then—
'No way. My work isn't that bad.'
"…What did he say?"
"Oh, nothing much. Just that my sword was fine, but my armor? 'Cheap scrap barely holding together.'"
Welf's eye twitched. "Scrap? Scrap?!"
He snatched another piece of Felis' armor, inspecting it with newfound urgency. Yes, there were cracks, but that was expected after a Goliath fight! His craftsmanship hadn't failed—this was natural damage!
He huffed. "Tch. Alright, how much are you paying for repairs?"
Felis reached into his bag and—
Welf blinked.
"…Are those unicorn horns?"
"Yup." Felis placed one aside. "One for my repair fees. The other three? I want daggers made from them. I'll pay 100,000 valis for the commission."
Welf stared. Unicorn horn was top-tier material. It was ridiculously strong, lightweight, and highly magic-conductive. He wanted to work with it. He needed to work with it.
But… was this a trap?
Narrowing his eyes, Welf crossed his arms. "You're not trying to bait me into forging a magic weapon, are you?"
Felis rolled his eyes. "As if. With your current skill, I'd be lucky if it even worked as a matchstick."
Welf inhaled sharply.
"…Alright, you damn cat. Now I have to* make them perfect just to shut you up."
Felis' smirk widened.
'Got him.'
---
So, after entrusting his gear to his two dear blacksmith friends—one grumpy, one exasperated—Felis stepped out of the workshop, stretching his arms as the cool night air brushed against his skin.
He pondered his next move. Should he head back to the church, or find an inn just in case Hestia was already asleep? Sometimes, separation made reunion more valuable, right?
But after a moment of contemplation, a smirk tugged at his lips.
Too long a separation, though, could cool things down—so he decided to head back to the church.