Chapter 109: The Man Who Came from the East

It is well known that even a star who isn’t particularly handsome can be declared good-looking by many, simply by wearing a long trench coat, donning sunglasses, and pairing it with a sturdy, strong physique.

Not to mention, after months of growing his hair out, Victor had tied it into a ponytail atop his usual parting.

With such a bold style, the young man was brimming with absolute confidence; in Lindenwell Village, he was undoubtedly the most dashing lad around!

Using arcane strikes to deal with these cunning and shrewd farmers ensured double critical hits, so he quickly made his way to Fergus’s blacksmith shop.

He dismounted his lean horse; his spurs spun with a whistle, boots striking the ground with a crisp clack—an ahead-of-his-time, top-tier handsome young man made a splendid entrance.

Victor’s outward transformation stemmed from an insight gained ten days prior during meditation: since he bore the identity of an outsider, he might as well live like one, with customs only serving as a vague reference.

So he began with appearances, deciding to make changes that made his body comfortable and his mood pleasant, such as this “Van Helsing” ensemble. Although it offered no defense, he had not come across anyone more stylish than himself along the way.

He strode step by step to a spot not far behind Angeline, close enough to overhear her conversation with Fergus.

Although her intuition could detect danger, it was useless against Victor, and the cooing Catherine by the window certainly wouldn’t warn her.

Angeline was seriously expressing her demands: “I need forged armor—high quality, lightweight, durable, not restricting agile movements, and it must be wearable by one person alone.”

“Ha! That’s all? Need it to be self-cleaning, or wipe your backside after you take a dump?” Fergus, with a ruddy nose from drinking, retorted gruffly.

Angeline’s eyes widened in surprise. “It has such a function? You can make that for me?”

“Are you a fool? Of course not.”

“Well, as long as it’s comfortable, sturdy, and light, that’s fine.”

Fergus patted his shoulder with earnestness. “Young lady, let me tell you, armor has a basic rule: if it’s strong, it can’t be light.”

“That’s nonsense. If your skills aren’t good, just say so! The Mahakan craftsmen I met in ‘Furjen’ said it was no problem.” Angeline immediately challenged him.

Fergus winced as if stepped on a sore spot. “What do you know about armor, woman? You can’t even handle a sword properly, you—uh!”

He wisely held his tongue.

Angeline drew her Mahakan sword, the tip pressing against Fergus’s throat. “Listen, I’m saving you here. I know too many dwarves like you, so I know what’s coming next—a long string of filthy words.

For example, calling me a two-titted whore, or telling me to open my legs first to earn some money before coming back.

Know this: my temper’s damn bad, so to avoid cutting your head off, I’m telling you to shut up in advance. Got it?”

Victor rubbed his nose, realizing that where he couldn’t see, Angeline was quite fierce. He doubted Fergus’s curse words would be half as fierce as those coming from the young lady herself.

“Uh—got it.”

“Light and sturdy armor does exist; it just requires good tools. Like the Todaloc family’s tools on Udvik Island.” The assistant suddenly interjected.

“Yuna! I’ve told you not to interrupt when I’m talking to customers. Stop spouting tall tales from the Skellige Isles to annoy them…” Fergus, sweating profusely, scolded the assistant while the cold sword tip pressed against his neck.

Suddenly sensing this scene was familiar, Victor crossed his arms and surveyed the interrupting female blacksmith. Could Angeline be the chosen one? She had also bonded with the fledgling eagle; why did such rare occurrences always happen to her?

The female blacksmith stood with hands on hips, earnestly replying, “This isn’t a legend or nonsense. My grandfather used to forge armor by going to Udvik Island. He said the Todaloc family made the best armor.”

“Really? Sounds worth a try. If I find the tools, would you, sister, be willing to forge armor for me?” Angeline asked.

Fergus cut in, “Of course… but you have to bring the tools first. Also, could you move that sword tip away?”

“*Click!*” The girl sheathed her sword. “Where does this Todaloc family live?”

“In caves north of Udvik Island, dug out by the family themselves in the rock walls,” the assistant answered.

Hearing this, Victor was fully convinced—Angeline had indeed triggered the game’s must-do armor master event.

This was a memorable plot: dwarves were all show, the real forging master was this woman. Though she was overlooked for her lack of beauty, this had to be her.

“May I ask the lady’s name?” Suddenly a familiar voice came from behind. Angeline turned to see Victor, her expression a mix of surprise and delight.

His jet-black attire might be mistaken for a “Black Rider”—a nickname for Nilfgaardians. This name arose because the southern empire worshipped the sun and favored black, so their most noble garments and armor bore black backgrounds with golden sun emblems called “Black Sun.”

Yet on closer look, it was clearly not Nilfgaard style; lacking the “Black Sun” insignia, the silver buttons and moon-patterned necklace were more akin to Redania.

The female blacksmith was poised and confident. “Yuna, my name is Yuna.”

“Very well, Ms. Yuna. Here’s the situation,” the stranger opened his trench coat, casually brushing back his hair. “I’m Victor Corion from Bell Town, east of Serikania, preparing to open an alchemy workshop with an attached blacksmith shop in Novigrad. I want to know if you’re interested in becoming the chief master blacksmith for this shop.”

After Victor finished speaking, both Fergus and Yuna froze. Novigrad, the Northern Pearl, was the most prosperous city in the monster-hunting world—its status roughly comparable to New York in the Marvel universe, where the best and worst things always happened.

Now this traveler, claiming to come from the distant East, spoke of opening a shop there without hesitation, lending the whole matter an air of unreliability. If not for his striking attire and imposing aura, Fergus would have already mocked him for overestimating himself.

Blinking, Yuna stared incredulously at the parted-ponytail, sunglasses-wearing foreigner.

The four scars on his face exuded masculinity; imagining the tailored, finely stitched black trench coat wrapping his young, strong body left her with a very favorable impression of the lad.

Thus, the blacksmith replied frankly, “I don’t know you, stranger. Why invite me? How do you know I can forge? You haven’t even seen my work. How am I supposed to trust what you say?”

Victor coolly pushed up his sunglasses. “Not knowing me is fine. My introducer,” a hefty pouch of oren tossed into Yuna’s lap, “is the hero king Voltest.”

Yuna’s eyes widened in surprise as she opened the bag. The observing dwarf Fergus’s eyes reddened.

Though it was Angeline’s first time hearing that Victor planned to open a shop in Novigrad, she knew the captain must have a plan, so naturally, the team members should offer support.

“Radovid V is also willing to vouch for us!”

A pouch of crowns clattered onto the table from the girl, full of silver eagles and Radovid coins intertwined, exuding undeniable trustworthiness.