Caster examined the magesmith’s hammer he was using and frowned. The tool was wearing down quickly. Magesmithing involved channeling mana into the hammer, which slowly weakened the tool until it started to crumble.The hammer Caster was using was one he made himself. Creating his own smithing tools was good practice, but the tools he produced needed to be more adequate. Magesmithing was much harder than scribing, which mainly required good mana control. While his high dexterity helped a little with the crafting process, his low strength was holding him back. He tired quickly, and his hands shook if he hammered for too long.Now, his stamina was drained, but he had managed to repair his magical weapon. Fortunately, stamina recovered faster than mana, so he was ready to continue after five or ten minutes. The clanging sounds filled the night air, and Caster knew he had to hurry before his neighbors complained about the noise again.While Caster worked on his weapons and items, the rest

There was a lot of noise in Lowfield. In the middle of the night, a loud explosion broke the quiet, waking everyone up. The city guards, as usual, showed up late, their armor clinking as they rushed down the streets.One guard, a big man with a scruffy beard, glanced at his partner as they neared the scene. "You think it’s another alchemist's lab blowing up?" he asked, frowning at the smoke coming from one of the warehouse windows.“Probably,” his partner answered, shrugging. “They’re always doing things without the right permits. Never ends well.”But what they found wasn’t what they expected. The guards froze, staring at a dead body lying on the ground. Next to it stood a young man wearing a dark robe, his face hidden by his hood. Nearby was another man, still alive but in terrible shape—tied up, with a rag stuffed in his burnt mouth, and his arm twisted badly.The younger guard let out a low whistle. “Well, this is different. Looks like we’ve got a couple of rogues here.”“Took you

He gave a polite bow, his smirk barely hidden. Slightly over 180 cm tall, the man had a lean, toned frame. As a moon elf, his silver hair and brownish skin were lighter than Chris’s, with golden eyes contrasting sharply against Chris’s silver ones.“We have work to do,” he said sharply. “We’re heading to the guild. Get dressed and take this seriously.”He gave Chris a disapproving look since Chris wasn’t yet in his battle gear. Caleb’s smile turned into a serious frown; it was time to stop enjoying themselves and focus on the task.“Always so serious. Fine, just give me a minute,” Chris said, rolling his eyes as he began to gear up.They left the brothel and headed to a dark alley. Caleb’s figure, like Chris’s, faded into the shadows. Soon, they were running side by side, with Chris’s face covered by a hood and mask, his gear similar to Caleb’s.Chris’s armor was black leather with magical engravings, showing it was enchanted. He carried two long, curved short swords. They moved quick

The two thieves bolted as soon as they saw their leader’s body shoot out of the window, impaled by the green arrow.Jackson’s eyes narrowed as he questioned the two frightened thieves. “Are you sure it was a green arrow?” he asked, his voice filled with suspicion.The taller thief nodded quickly. “Y-Yes, boss! I swear it was a green arrow! But... it could have come from a scroll too! We didn’t see anyone cast it, just that arrow—out of nowhere!”Jackson drummed his fingers on the desk, deep in thought. “A high-level mage could have done this, or maybe someone used a scroll. Either way, it’s someone way above our level.”The shorter thief, still shaking, added, “Boss, we didn’t know anything about this. We thought it was just a regular job!”Jackson sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I believe you. You two just got unlucky. Now get out of here.”The thieves shared a quick look of relief and rushed out the door, eager to put as much distance between themselves and the mess as possibl

Caster spent the rest of the night in a cold cell. The people in this world didn’t care much about their prisoners. The place he was confined in was infested with rats and was cold and uncomfortable. There wasn’t even a bed or a chair; he had to lean against the wall. Luckily, they allowed him to keep his clothes, which were thick enough to help him endure the chilly night.He wondered if the guards would face repercussions if it became known that he was actually the son of a noble. Laws prohibited imprisoning nobles in such conditions before a trial. Even then, most sentences would merely strip the noble of some status or impose a fine and damage their reputation.Aristocrats took these matters very seriously. Some would rather die than lose their titles and lands. They would fight fiercely against such losses, even if it led to violence.Unable to sleep, he had time to think. He worried about the possibility of someone ransacking his workshop and stealing his belongings. His posse