Ren walked behind her, his eyes unconsciously following every step Lisbeth took, the girl with short pink hair and a hammer strapped to her back, looking somewhat out of place in the noisy marketplace.
She led him to her small stall, tucked away near an intersection between two streets.
Although he had never studied trading skills, nor was he interested in business, Ren couldn't help but wonder.
He didn't understand why Lisbeth chose to set up shop right next to a large forge, where the blazing flames from the main furnace were nothing short of a declaration of dominance...
"This is the territory of a professional blacksmith."
The competition was obvious. The pressure, immense. Choosing a location like this was no different than cutting off her own breath.
Wouldn't somewhere else be easier? A quieter corner that wouldn't be overshadowed, or at the very least… not here.
Lisbeth's stall was small, even crude. She made use of the low awning of an old building to block the sun and wind, with a thin tarp loosely tied to a few rotten wooden poles for support.
Beneath it sat an iron anvil with one corner worn down, placed beside a small stone furnace mounted on wooden wheels.
A few scattered tools like hammers, pliers, and files lay around, most of them old and patched up with cloth strips.
It all... looked like a mobile blacksmith's station, the kind a wandering drifter might set up upon arriving in town.
But she had once told him and a few rare customers, that this was everything she had. Her entire fortune, nothing more, nothing less.
A humble beginning, full of flaws, but not lacking in determination.
Ren stood silently, his gaze drifting over each familiar item. Under the sunset light, that forge stall seemed like a lonely fragment amidst the busy market, yet it carried something so real... so human.
Lisbeth began her work with a strange kind of focus. Her hammer hand trembled slightly as she placed the sword on the anvil, but moments later, the sounds of forging began... clang, clang, clang... steady and firm.
Compared to the clumsy image in Ren's memory, when she once struck off-center so badly his sword nearly bent, her movements now carried a definite rhythm.
Still not quite skilled, but clearly, she had come a long way.
Ren remained still, his hand resting loosely on the sheath at his waist. He said nothing, simply watching the girl at work beneath the flickering light of her small furnace.
Lisbeth looked up, as if catching his gaze, and gave a light smile tinged with pride.
"See that?" She tilted her chin slightly, voice holding a touch of confidence. "I've improved a lot, haven't I?"
She bent back down and resumed her task. Each hammer strike rang out dry and clear but maintained a steady rhythm.
Her voice rose amid the sound, calm like a small stream diverging from the noise of the marketplace.
"Things have been better lately. More people are coming... asking me to repair their gear. Feels like I'm finally being recognized, even just a little."
Lisbeth chuckled softly as she spoke, eyes never leaving the sword hilt she was attaching.
"There was one person who almost made me miss a beat... a really beautiful girl, gorgeous. But the kind of beauty where you couldn't tell if it was a guy or a girl. Short hair, slender frame, kind of tomboy-ish… I ended up staring for a few seconds."
She laughed aloud, a bit sheepish.
"I swear I was hoping it was a guy. But she confirmed she's a girl. What a shame…"
Ren furrowed his brow slightly but didn't interrupt. Lisbeth continued.
"Then there was another girl... long chestnut hair, smooth as silk. Her face was so pretty it made you feel a bit... insecure. But she seemed... lonely. The kind of person who only speaks when necessary, always looking into the distance…"
She paused for a few seconds, as if recalling something, then murmured softly:
"I hope she's okay."
The hammering stopped briefly, then resumed. She wasn't just telling stories, she was filling some kind of void inside herself.
"Oh, and there was a group of players too, arrived just yesterday. Loud and cheerful, but... they seemed pretty strong. Not like beginners at all. Maybe they came from another town."
Ren tilted his head slightly. The names, the images Lisbeth described... they didn't seem random.
Some of the descriptions felt familiar, too familiar...but he wasn't sure if he wanted to confirm them or not.
In the end, Ren left Lisbeth's forge with a distinct sense of relief.
He glanced at the sword in his hand, no signs of damage, its durability intact. A small success, but enough to ease his heart.
'Maybe… I should come back here again. When I get the chance.'
Ren told himself as he began strolling down the street bathed in the golden light of sunset.
The scenery around him gradually became familiar: shops closing early, the laughter of players echoing from nearby inns, soft yellow lanterns swaying under eaves.
He turned into a narrow alley nearby, a winding path that passed by the Iron Dagger bar, where the sound of clinking glasses and rowdy laughter often rang out.
Ren rarely passed through this way, but this path happened to be the shortcut that led back to the place he now called "home" these days.
Resting Willow.
A modest inn tucked away between rows of old wooden houses. He had rented a room here three...no, maybe four days ago, right after arriving in this area, when he barely had a few Cor left in his pocket.
Now, after a few dungeon hunts and a bit of luck, money was no longer a problem. He could easily afford someplace more luxurious, warmer, with private baths or hand-washed laundry services.
But Ren still came back here, every single night.
Not because it was cheap. Not because it was on the way.
But because of the sense of peace this place offered, something absent from the flashy, expensive inns, where people came and went endlessly and everything felt like part of a game.
At Resting Willow, everything... felt more real.
The creaky wooden door opened, releasing a warm, inviting aroma from the small kitchen behind the reception counter. A distinct scent, the stew that had become the inn's signature dish.
Behind the counter, the elderly innkeeper was busy clearing tables and stirring the huge pot of stew he always proudly introduced as his "family secret recipe."
Ren had heard that story at least four times...always the same, and it always ended with the old man's sheepish smile when he realized he was repeating himself again.
He'd been eating that stew for several days now. Sometimes with a slight variation, but strangely, he never got tired of it.
Ren stepped forward, peeked into the small kitchen, and spoke:
"One… no, make it two servings, please."
His voice was soft, almost blending into the aroma of meat and spices, but still enough for the innkeeper to turn and nod in acknowledgment.
Ren bowed slightly, a faint smile flickering beneath his hood, a smile no one saw, and one he hadn't expected to still be able to make.
Dinner passed quietly, like always.
Ren sat alone at a wooden table tucked into the corner, where a low-hanging lantern cast a soft golden glow that seemed to melt into the scratches of the old tabletop.
The stew was still hot, steam curling up, its fragrance filling the small room, overpowering even the sound of wind rustling through the slightly open window.
He ate slowly, spoonful by spoonful, as if trying to prolong this simple moment just a little longer.
No one disturbed him. No one called his name. No quests, no battle parties, no watchful eyes.
Just a meal, in an old inn, where everything seemed suspended from the frantic world outside.
It reminded him of the days in the real world.
Simple meals, sitting alone at a cold dinner table. No conversations. No one asking questions. Just the ticking of the clock and the flicker of a dying fluorescent light.
Eating alone. Resting alone. Getting through one long day after another.
Here... it was the same. Still alone. Still that solitary table in the corner of the inn. Still the worn-out bed with no one to share the blankets. No friends. No voices saying "let's go home." No one waiting.
And yet...
Something was different.
Maybe it was this space, this virtual world that felt more real than anything he'd ever known. Maybe it was the people he'd met.
The glances, the hesitant words, the ones who had passed him by… or were still somewhere close.
Maybe it was the feeling that... even in solitude, he wasn't left behind.
Ren didn't name it. Didn't try to understand. He only knew it existed.
Something that made this loneliness feel lighter, made the empty dinner not entirely hollow.
Maybe it was an unexpected apology from Lisbeth, or the glimpse of a chestnut-colored ponytail drifting through some half-forgotten story.
Or maybe, simply… it was because even without anyone beside him, he no longer felt invisible.
Ren exhaled softly, deeply.
When the second bowl was empty, he set down his spoon and nodded in thanks to the innkeeper washing dishes behind the counter.
The old man just smiled, saying nothing, as if used to the quiet demeanor of that hooded young man.
Ren left the table and walked up the wooden stairs to his room on the second floor. His footsteps echoed lightly on each step..creak, creak, a dry, familiar sound.
The room wasn't large, just enough for a bed, a small desk, and a window overlooking the alley behind the house. The night wind slipped in, carrying with it the faint scent of greenery from beyond the outer wall.
Ren sat on the edge of the bed, removed his sword sheath, and placed it in the corner. He looked at it for a few seconds, as if to confirm that today, everything was still intact.
Then he leaned back onto the pillow, letting his body sink into the thin but warm mattress, pulling the blanket up to his chest.
No dreams. No thoughts.
Just... tiredness. And quiet.
Moonlight slipped through the window gap, drawing a pale streak across the wooden floor.
Ren slowly closed his eyes.
Another day came to an end. A day that held nothing special, but for him, that was enough.
In this world, sometimes, just having a place to sleep in peace was already a luxury.