Chapter 20 - Shameless? Me? Never!

When the sun rose again, I continued exploring the city, searching for anything useful. While wandering, I came across a blacksmith’s shop. At first, I planned to walk past it, but the items displayed inside caught my attention.

One sword, in particular, stood out—it cost the same as the one I had bought from the system but looked far superior. Curious, I stepped inside.

“3.3 points,” an old, muffled voice said as I entered.

The speaker was an old man reclining in a chair, his face obscured by a hat. His well-built arms, however, revealed the years of hard work he’d put into forging.

What took me aback was his comment—was he evaluating me? Sorry, old man, but I’m not into men.

“Don’t worry, kid, you’re not my type. I like forging more,” he replied without even lifting a finger.

What a cheeky bastard. I wanted to pummel him into the ground, but I held back. This was a city, and attacking someone here would bring the soldiers down on me in no time. I needed to grow up and not rise to such provocations.

“Is there a problem, sissy?” he taunted again.

Without thinking, I swung a punch at his face. The old man dodged effortlessly as if expecting it.

“Not bad. 4.2 points,” he said, narrowly avoiding my fist. “But you lack experience. Likely a high gene cap, though.”

He remained unfazed, his tone casual, as if he had just woken from a nap. For the first time, I got a good look at him. A scar stretched across his face, distorting it. Maybe he had once been charming, but now his appearance was unsettling. He was also completely bald.

“What do you want, old man? You didn’t provoke me for no reason,” I said, glaring at him.

“I wanted to see if you were worthy of my babies.” He held up a sword, cradling it delicately as though it might shatter from a mere touch.

This man was crazy. I considered leaving the smithy right then.

“But the sword on your waist isn’t half bad. And the armor you’re wearing—it must have cost a fortune for a poor boy like you to acquire it,” he remarked, looking me up and down.

“Why do you think I’m poor?” I asked, genuinely curious. How had he deduced so much about me with just a glance?

“Oh, come on, anyone can tell. You didn’t look at the weapons first—you looked at the prices. Even when a weapon caught your eye, the first thing you checked wasn’t the blade but the price tag. If you’re not a poor person, then who is?” The old man spoke with a smug grin plastered across his face.

I clenched my fists, wanting to channel spiritual energy and wipe that grin off him, but I held back.

“Why should I even buy from your store, old man? What’s the difference between you and any other blacksmith? You’re not exactly welcoming,” I said, stepping closer. It was then I noticed the height difference. He was noticeably shorter than me—maybe 160 cm, while I stood at an average of 174 cm.

His eye twitched as he realized I was sizing him up. Ah, old man, you’re just like me. I’ve found your weakness. A smug smile began to creep onto my face.

Suddenly, something heavy slammed onto my foot. Pain shot up my leg, nearly making me scream.

“Oops, my bad. I accidentally dropped my hammer,” the old man said with an innocent smile, though his smug expression betrayed him.

“Old man, believe me, I’ll beat you up for this!” I shouted as the pain began to subside. I kicked the hammer away and stepped closer, ready to throw a punch.

But the sly old fox was one step ahead. “If you dare hit me, I’ll scream for the soldiers. Let’s see who they believe—a total stranger or good old Hen.”

He had me cornered again. This old man was relentless.

“Okay, shorty, you win,” I muttered, trying to calm myself.

His expression froze at the word shorty.

“What did you say, brat? Do you wish to die?” He began rolling up his sleeves, glaring at me with fire in his eyes—until he remembered I was stronger than him.

“Ahh, my back’s acting up again! You’re lucky, brat. Otherwise, I would’ve shown you!” He winced dramatically, clutching his back as if in pain. It was such a poor performance it could’ve won an award for cheesiness.

My eye twitched at the absurdity of it all. I turned around, ready to leave this ridiculous scene, when the door opened, and a group of men walked in.

“Hey, old man, I heard your voice. Sounded pretty lively. Does that mean you’ve got enough money to pay us back?”

The one who spoke had glasses perched on his head, a stark contrast to his hulking, muscular frame. His shirt seemed ready to burst from the sheer size of his muscles. His face? It had the kind of thuggish look that made you want to punch him on principle.

Hen immediately perked up and pointed at me. “This young man here promised to pay on my behalf,” he said, grinning as if he’d just won the lottery.

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The thug turned his gaze to me, his expectant eyes boring into mine.

Two-faced bastard.

“Do you take me for a fool?” The man with the glasses scoffed, glaring at Hen. “This guy just walked into your shop, and look—he’s wearing a mask! Like he’d promise to cover your debt. Who’d want to help your miserable shop that’s been bleeding money for years? Don’t think being friends with the Mayor will save you forever.”

Despite his thuggish look, the man wasn’t stupid. His cronies, however, eyed me expectantly, as if I were supposed to pay.

Hen didn’t miss a beat, shuffling closer to me until he was practically glued to my side. No sign of that “back pain” he had earlier. When I shot him a glare, his eyes practically sparkled, as if to say, It’s already healed.

“I told you, this young man promised to pay me back!” Hen declared, clutching my sleeve like a desperate puppy.

“I don’t even know who you are! I just came into the shop to look at your weapons, and you’ve been rude to me the entire time!”

The glasses-wearing thug crossed his arms and huffed. “See? Just as I thought. You’re trying to scam another poor sucker! Brother, don’t waste your time in this dump. The old man sells overpriced junk and doesn’t even bother labeling his prices right. Says he ‘misprints’ them because of his bad vision!”

Hen’s face twisted with indignation. “That’s because you don’t understand true craftsmanship! This young man is a wealthy patron with powerful connections. You’d better back off before you find yourselves living outside the city!” He tried to sound convincing, but his grip on my clothes didn’t loosen for a second.

I growled in frustration. “Can you let go of me already?”

“What if you run off? You promised to help me repay my debt!” Hen said his expression now a convincing mix of fear and desperation.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my cool. “How much debt do you even have? Why not just sell your weapons to pay it off?”

“55 gold coins and 11 silver,” the glasses gorilla stated without hesitation, smirking as he glanced at the weapons hanging on the walls.

Hen’s face turned red. “Lies! It was 44 gold last time you came here!”

“That was three months ago! Either pay up or we take your weapons.” The man’s eyes drifted greedily toward a large axe hanging prominently on the wall.

But my brain froze.

Fifty-five gold coins.

This old man was trying to rope me into paying fifty-five gold coins?!

With lightning speed, I yanked myself free as Hen’s grip loosened during his argument with the gorilla. I darted toward the exit, desperate to escape this absurd situation.

But Hen wasn’t about to let me go quietly.

“Thief! Catch him!” he bellowed, pointing at me with theatrical indignation.

The crowd’s murmurs turned hostile, and unkind gazes followed me. Before I could take another step, Hen lunged and grabbed my arm again, his grip surprisingly firm for an old man.

“I caught you, thief! Now pay me back!” Hen declared loudly as if putting on a show for the growing audience. His face was a mask of righteous fury, but I could see the sly glint in his eye.

This old man wanted to be punched.

But I held back. If I used force here, the crowd would side with him, not me.

Hen, sensing my hesitation, doubled down. “If you pay me half the value of what you ‘stole,’ which is 55 gold, I’ll let you go right now!” He puffed out his chest, trying to look magnanimous in front of the onlookers.

“Lies! He’s not a thief—you’re the real thief, old man!” the glasses gorilla roared. He stormed out of the shop, pointing an accusatory finger at Hen. “Pay us back, or I’ll smash your smithy to pieces!”

Hen’s face turned red, his panic slipping through his facade. “Lies! You’re all working together to extort me! I knew it the moment you all walked into my shop!”

The tension thickened as the crowd murmured in confusion. But then, worse came.

The soldiers.

A squad marched in, led by a stern-looking captain. Hen waved frantically, still clutching my sleeve. “Captain, help! These thieves tried to rob my shop!”

The captain’s sharp gaze swept over the scene before nodding to his men. Without hesitation, they surrounded and detained the gorilla and his cronies.

“Why are you arresting us? We didn’t steal anything!” the glasses gorilla protested, his face a mask of outrage.

“Oh?” Hen sneered, walking up to one of the thugs with the confidence of a man who had just won the lottery. He reached into the thug’s waistband and pulled out a dagger—a finely crafted one, with the price tag still dangling from it.

The crowd gasped.

With bloodshot eyes, the gorilla turned to his trembling goon. The poor man looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. He hadn’t expected Hen to spot the dagger before he escaped.

Hen’s expression turned solemn as he held up the dagger, his voice trembling with conviction. “See this? A masterpiece worth 20 gold! If this thief had gotten away, my shop would’ve gone bankrupt!”

The gorilla’s goon shrank under his glare, but I noticed something strange. Hen’s fingers discreetly shifted the price tag, changing it from 20 silver to 20 gold with a quick flick.

The captain didn’t seem to notice. “Take them all away. Lock them up!” he barked.

Before I could protest, the soldiers grabbed me too, slapping a pair of cuffs on my wrists. Unlike the others, these cuffs glowed faintly—they were designed to suppress strength. Thankfully, they didn’t affect my spiritual energy.

As I was led away alongside the thugs, Hen’s smug face loomed in my mind. I had to give it to him—he was a two-faced devil who played his cards perfectly.

"Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll handle this young man myself. Just take those hooligans away and lock them up,” Hen said with a sly grin, waving dismissively toward the gorilla and his gang.

The captain nodded and motioned to his soldiers. “Take them out of here.”

As the soldiers removed my cuffs, Hen leaned in, smirking. “Hey, kid, you owe me one.”

I clenched my fists, my body trembling with barely contained rage. Every fiber of my being screamed to punch this insufferable old man, but the sight of more than 30 soldiers—some patrolling, others stationed on high walls with watchful eyes—forced me to swallow my pride. This suffocating frustration was enough to make me spit blood.

With no other choice, I followed Hen back into his smithy, watching the gorilla and his men being escorted away.

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Inside the forge, I stood over a glowing piece of iron, hammering it with a black face while Hen barked instructions beside me.

"Harder, boy! You're barely denting it!" he jeered, slapping the back of my head. “Even with my eyes closed, I could hammer better than you!”

I gritted my teeth, enduring the humiliation.

The hen had me completely cornered. He claimed that if I didn’t comply with his demands, he’d spread information about me to the entire world. When the soldiers detained me earlier, they had taken my mask off. Luckily, not many people recognized me, and I’d been whisked into Hen’s shop before things got worse.

But Hen’s threat wasn’t idle. He promised to announce that my gene cap was much higher than 31, and I knew such news would attract attention I didn’t want. In his shameless way, he’d use this information to manipulate me into forging weapons for him.

I briefly entertained the idea of silencing him for good, but one look at the way he had equipped himself made me reconsider. The man was practically a walking fortress, wearing bits of armor that gleamed with enchantments. He was prepared for any betrayal.

“Endure it,” I muttered under my breath, focusing on the red-hot metal in front of me. "One day, when I’m strong enough, I’ll pay him back a hundredfold."

Hen cackled beside me. “Keep muttering, kid. Just make sure you hit the iron harder. Or do you want me to show you how it’s done again?”

I held back a sigh. This old man wasn’t just annoying—he was the bane of my existence.