The adventurer at the bottom is fantasizing again.

Chapter 100 Handling Equipment

Frostvale has many blacksmith shops, all concentrated in an alley near the city wall in the market area.

Lorraine walked ahead with practiced ease; he was very familiar with this place, having visited it many times before when grinding for exploration points.

Moreover, this place is so easy to find; you can hear the clanging sound from a great distance, and there are several plumes of black smoke shooting straight into the sky.

They turned into the alley following the direction of the sound.

The narrow alleyway in front of us was bustling with activity.

A man dressed as a farmer walked toward a shop with a worried look on his face. He seemed to be preparing to repair farm tools he would need in the spring, but he was clearly short of money.

A richly dressed merchant brushed past him with an anxious expression, directing his servants to load goods, probably to meet the deadline for the order.

Two or three adventurers gathered together and haggled with the blacksmith's owner, arguing until they were all red in the face, but in the end they reluctantly took out their money.

"Make way...make way...slag truck! It's hot...I...don't care!"

A half-orc pushed a cart full of coke slag out from behind a blacksmith's shop. Although his Common tongue was very broken, the slag filled in the rest of the words for him.

Lorraine quickly pulled Eileen to the side.

The cart wheel bumped against the gap in the floor tiles, sending up a small clump of dust that landed on Eileen's boots.

Fortunately, the dust wasn't very warm. She glanced down at it, then expressionlessly wiped the dust onto Lorraine's trouser leg.

"you...

""

Lorraine sighed and used a cleaning spell to remove the stains.

Although I had been here before, it wasn't this lively back then. Either the blacksmiths had already finished work at night, or it was during that time with the sewers.

The regulars who frequented this place were either among the first or second to know about the strange illness in the city; they had all fled long ago.

He looked up and around, and quickly chose a blacksmith shop that looked different from the others at first glance.

The shop was a whole head taller than the surrounding buildings, and a huge signboard hung on it, with a shield and hammer pattern engraved on it.

"Shall we go take a look over there?" he asked, turning his head.

"what ever."

Eileen slung her toes up, looking quite pleased with herself.

Stepping into the blacksmith's shop, a wave of heat hits you.

The towering walls inside the shop were covered with all kinds of weapons and armor, from ordinary longswords and hand axes to several pieces of chainmail that clearly showed dwarven craftsmanship, all neatly arranged by type.

"Huh, where did everyone go?"

Lorraine entered and looked around, but didn't see anyone. Just as he was about to call out, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye.

A thick, reddish-brown beard was draped over the back of the high stool behind the counter.

The beard hung from the top of the stool all the way to the ground, and a faint snoring sound came from there.

Are you asleep?

Lorraine raised an eyebrow and stepped forward to take a look.

A dwarf was lying on his back on a stool, drooling incessantly, the drool dripping down his chin and onto his beard, which he was using as a blanket.

Piper's suggestion of a scarf and beard was still too conservative... The thought flashed through his mind.

"Cough cough..."

97

Lorraine coughed lightly, and finding that it didn't seem to have any effect, she could only stick out her foot and kick the chair.

"We have a guest!"

The dwarf sprang to his feet, grabbed his beard which was dragging on the floor, wiped his mouth, and rattled off a string of words: "Welcome to Flint & Anvil! We manufacture all kinds of weapons and armor, and also offer repair and maintenance. Dwarven craftsmanship and quality guaranteed; we've never had a customer complaint in three hundred years!"

Lorraine instinctively leaned back to avoid the sweeping beard, and asked, "Are you the boss?"

"Indeed, I am Boric Firestone, the fourth-generation successor of this business."

The dwarf crossed his thick arms in front of him, glanced down at Lorraine from the height of the chair, and said confidently, "Let me guess, have you two just finished a fierce battle and come here to repair your equipment and sell your spoils?"

"If there are good equipment repairs available at a reasonable price, I'll consider it."

Lorraine walked to the equipment display area and immediately spotted several pieces of "excellent" quality equipment. He nodded, but then realized something was wrong: "Wait a minute, Frostvale City has only been developing for a few years, so where did this 300-year-old shop come from?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Boric chuckled, showing no shame at being exposed for his lie, and brazenly insisted, "This shop was already open before Frostvale was built!"

[Dwarf hair, male, approximately 100 to 125 years old, panicked]

"I see..."

Lorraine curled her lip.

Never mind, as long as the skills are good.

He unloaded the pack from his back and took out the dragon scale round shield and silver-forged steel breastplate that needed repair.

He also had a few broken weapons looted during the previous clearing of the goblin camp. He kept only one "normal" quality one-handed sword as a spare, and put the rest on the counter.

"These two pieces of equipment need repair, while these items are for sale. What's the price?"

Boric tiptoed, picked up the shield from the counter, and examined it closely for a moment: "This is a Dragonscale Guardian's shield? Several scales have fallen off, and the base is cracked. It can be repaired, but if the scales aren't replaced, its protective capabilities will weaken over time. Repairing it will cost five gold; replacing the scales will cost ten gold."

Lorraine frowned, took a half step back, and leaned close to Eileen, whispering in her ear, "Is that material easy to find?"

Eileen slightly shrank her neck, her earlobes turning slightly red from his warm breath.

She took a deep breath, calmly turned her head, and leaned close to his ear in the same position: "They're hard to find, and the two options aren't that different in price, so don't waste your time."

After saying that, she retaliated by gently blowing a breath into his ear.

Lorraine shuddered, rubbed her ears, glanced at her, and tried to keep her voice normal: "Then ten gold coins, to replenish the protective scales."

"OK."

Boric watched the two men make their little gestures right in front of him without changing his expression. He put the shield aside and picked up the silver-forged steel breastplate to examine it again.

"The shoulder strap is slightly deformed, and there are three dents on the nail surface. The repair cost is six gold coins."

"Can."

Lorraine nodded; the price was slightly higher than he had expected, but still acceptable.

"You can come and pick it up at this time the day after tomorrow."

Boric placed the breastplate into the pile of items awaiting repair, then rummaged through the few pieces of junk he had scavenged from the goblin camp, and quickly offered a fair price: "5 gold and 10 silver."

"Okay, deal."

Lorraine readily agreed; those junk iron pieces were practically worthless, and five gold coins would be a fair price.

So, I now have 131 gold, 8 silver, and 8 bronze.

These items could probably buy a fairly ordinary magical accessory, the kind with a small spell effect, or one or two decent, high-quality pieces of equipment.

However, these improvements are not significant for Lorraine at present. His top priority is still to acquire superior-level weapons or save money to order magical artifacts in preparation for the future.

He unfastened the Rusty Throat from his waist, placed it on the counter, and asked, "Could you please take a look and see if you can upgrade the quality of this weapon?"