Anomaly of Fate
Chapter 71: An Old Acquaintance

Chapter 71: An Old Acquaintance

’Steelthorn Armory.’

No wonder the name of the commission requester had seemed familiar.

Harven Ferrum.

Velren’s gaze lingered on the worn metal sign above the entrance. The letters, though dulled with time, still held a firm presence—just like the man who owned the place. It belonged to the weaponsmith who had forged his katana, a blade given to him by Gramps when he was younger.

Velren exhaled softly, his fingers briefly brushing against the hilt at his waist. He hadn’t expected to find himself back here after all these years. Would that man even remember him?

Shaking the thought aside, he pushed open the door.

***

A deep scent of metal and oil filled the air, accompanied by the lingering heat of the forge, even though the main workspace was likely deeper inside the shop.

Behind the wooden counter, a familiar figure was hunched over, seemingly lost in his craft. His grey beard, slightly longer than Velren remembered, twitched as he muttered something under his breath. A leather apron, stained with soot and burn marks, hung over his broad frame.

He was busy—grinding down the edge of a newly forged blade, sparks jumping with each stroke of his whetstone.

’Yeah, definitely him.’

Velren hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward.

"Uh... excuse me."

Harven didn’t look up, his attention still locked onto his work. The whetstone scraped once more against the steel before he finally responded in a rough voice, like iron grinding against stone.

"What is it?"

Velren cleared his throat, straightening slightly.

"I’m... here for the commission that was issued to the academy."

That, at last, earned him a glance. Harven’s dark, tempered-steel eyes flicked up from his work, scanning him with the sharp, assessing gaze of a man who had spent decades understanding weapons—and the people who wielded them. His gaze traveled over the academy uniform, taking in Velren’s stance, the way he carried himself, before settling on something else entirely.

His katana.

The old weaponsmith huffed, setting down the blade he had been working on.

"You’re the brat from back then."

Velren blinked, caught off guard by the recognition.

"You... remember me?"

Harven scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I never forget a weapon I forge."

Wait—so he recognized him not by his face, but by his katana?

’That was... impressive, in its own way.’

Harven’s gaze lingered on the blade at Velren’s waist for a moment longer before he spoke again, his tone was gruff, but carrying the weight of expectation.

"How’s it holding up?"

The sudden question caught Velren off guard, and for a brief second, he was unsure how to respond. His hand instinctively brushed against the hilt, fingers tracing the familiar curve of the weapon that had been with him through countless battles and challenges.

"Well enough that I owe this weapon more than I can put into words," he admitted, his voice steady despite his surprise.

"It’s saved my life more times than I can count. Reliable, balanced... not once has it failed me, no matter the circumstances."

He paused for a moment before adding:

"Honestly, I’d trust this sword over most people."

Harven let out a short, satisfied huff, a trace of amusement flickering in his otherwise hardened features.

"Heh. It better be. It was made by me, after all."

There was no arrogance in his tone, just a simple statement of fact. A craftsman’s confidence in his own work.

Harven pushed off the counter, turning slightly as he reached for a stack of parchment behind him.

"Now, about the commission."

Velren straightened, shifting his focus to the matter at hand.

Harven set the parchment down, smoothing it out with a calloused hand.

"The job is straightforward. There’s a shipment of weapon supplies that needs to be transported to Eldoria. Nothing fancy—just standard blades, some armor, and a few custom orders for the kingdom’s military."

He tapped a finger against the paper.

"The merchant in charge of the delivery needed extra security. I figured I’d put the request through the academy, see if any of you brats were capable enough."

Velren studied the details, his mind already running through the potential risks.

"Why the extra security? Has there been trouble on the route?"

Harven gave a small nod.

"Bandit activity’s been on the rise near the border. Nothing too unusual, but the merchants don’t want to take any chances."

He leaned against the counter.

"You up for it?"

Velren considered it for a moment. The pay was solid, and despite the potential dangers, it wasn’t overly complicated. He had faced worse.

"Of course."

***

The outskirts of the kingdom had a vastly different atmosphere from the bustling districts within. Unlike the towering main gates that connected the kingdom’s heart to its neighboring regions, this gate was smaller, more simple in design. Instead of grand stone archways adorned with intricate carvings, this one was reinforced with sturdy iron plating, its purpose clear—to accommodate trade and commerce rather than impress visiting dignitaries. A pair of watchtowers flanked the entrance, manned by guards who looked more bored than vigilant, only stirring when a passing caravan or traveler approached.

Velren sat against the worn wooden railing of the nearby outpost, arms crossed as he waited. It had been a while since he arrived, and though he wasn’t particularly impatient, he did wonder when the hauling would be ready. The occasional gust of wind carried dust from the dirt road, mixing with the distant chatter of traders finalizing their shipments before departure.

Then, from the side, a familiar gruff voice called out.

"Oy, brat."

Velren glanced up to see Harven approaching, leading a carriage that was anything but ordinary.

Most merchant wagons were simple—wooden frames with reinforced wheels, built for practicality over aesthetics. This one, however, was clearly designed for more than just transport. Its frame was reinforced with dark steel plating, forming a protective shell around its cargo. The wheels were thick, with metal rims designed to endure rough terrain. Along the sides, faint engravings pulsed with mana, likely defensive enchantments meant to ward off attacks. It was clear that whoever commissioned this carriage had no intention of losing their cargo easily.

Beside the carriage stood a middle-aged man, his physique more lean than bulky, but his sharp eyes and weathered features spoke of experience on the road. His dark brown hair was beginning to gray at the edges, and a thick scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. When Velren approached, Harven motioned between them.

"This here’s Nico. He’s the merchant you’ll be escorting," Harven said with a casual tone.

"Nico, this is the academy brat who’ll be keeping you company."

Velren raised a brow at the introduction but didn’t comment. Instead, he gave the man a brief nod.

Nico studied him for a moment before offering a small, approving smirk.

"Didn’t expect one of you academy folks to take up something like this. Thought you lot preferred chasing after glory rather than hauling cargo."

Velren shrugged at the man’s word.

"Glory doesn’t pay."

At that, Nico let out a chuckle.

"Fair point."

With introductions out of the way, Velren stepped up onto the carriage, settling onto the seat next to Nico, who already had the leather reins in his hands. The pair were just about ready to set off when, suddenly, something came flying toward Velren.

Reacting on instinct, he caught it with one hand. The weight and familiar rattling inside made it obvious what it was before he even glanced down—a small leather pouch filled with metal components. He turned his gaze toward Harven with a questioning look.

"What’s this?"

Harven merely grunted.

"Consider it a down payment. I’ll pay you the rest when you make it back."

Velren frowned slightly, weighing the pouch in his hand.

"You’re giving me part of the reward now?"

Harven folded his arms.

"Think of it as insurance. If you don’t make it back, at least you got something out of it."

Velren scoffed.

"That’s... real encouraging."

But before he could pocket the pouch, Harven’s expression shifted slightly—not into his usual smirk, nor his typical gruff disinterest. Instead, it was something more solemn.

"No weapon, no cargo, no amount of coin is worth a person’s life," Harven stated.

"If things go south out there, don’t be a damn fool. Do what’s right."

Velren stilled.

He hadn’t expected those words. Not from a man like Harven, who always seemed more invested in steel and forge than people. For a moment, he didn’t quite know how to respond.

Then, after a beat, he simply nodded.

Harven gave a satisfied grunt and stepped back.

"Good. Now get moving."

With that, Nico flicked the reins, and the carriage began to roll forward, leaving the kingdom’s gates behind as they ventured toward the open road.