Shrugging his shoulders, Long-faced Young Man glanced over and said, “Oh, barbarians. Lately, these guys have been coming here quite frequently. It seems they’ve run into another year of disaster on their side and have no choice but to come here to buy grain and daily necessities.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it. A couple of days ago, when I was wandering around the market, I saw some barbarians bringing in a lot of ore to trade for food. I guess they just can’t make it through. Normally, these guys rarely set foot in Cyprous. But that batch of ore looked really valuable to me—lots of good stuff for forging top-quality weapons. It’s just a pity those greedy merchants monopolized it and forced the price down. The barbarians don’t understand at all; I bet they only got a tenth of what it was worth.” Clicking his tongue, Pale Young Man looked full of regret.

“Oh?” Harold was intrigued. Over the past three years, he had learned a lot about crafting from his teacher. Although he wasn’t an expert, he knew that once special materials were added to an item during forging, its value could skyrocket, far exceeding the item’s original worth. Of course, this depended on the skill of the craftsman and the properties of the added materials.

“Let’s go take a look. Maybe we’ll run into some good fortune.” Harold raised his eyebrows, tossed his head, and stood up.

No one knew why Harold was suddenly interested in a bunch of barbarians, but Long-faced Young Man and Pale Young Man instinctively stood up and followed behind Harold, swaying as they walked over.

Chapter 7: Barbarians

Seeing a group of flashy-looking guys heading straight toward them, the burly man in the lead immediately became alert. He could clearly sense a faint but dangerous aura from the one in front. Yet, the smile on the man’s face didn’t seem malicious. Still, in this city of Cyprous, he dared not trust anyone. These greedy mortals were full of filthy desires—even their blood was soaked in greed. It was obvious what they were after, and a few of his companions quietly placed their hands on the heavy machetes at their waists.

Approaching the tall guests, Harold showed no sign of nervousness or restraint. He casually pulled over a chair and sat down with his legs spread wide. “Mind if we talk?”

His fluent mountain dialect stunned the unusually burly men, especially the leader, who was utterly astonished. It was rare for a mortal to speak the mountain dialect these days, and the guy across from him—whose wicked grin made people uncomfortable—had a nearly perfect accent. Even he could barely tell the difference from his own companions. The man’s huge head nodded instinctively, but his eyes stayed fixed on Harold, as if trying to see through his intentions.

“Heh, big brother, don’t look at me like that. I’m not a bad person. I’m just an ordinary guy who wants to make friends with you. Maybe we’ll even become good friends, who knows?” Relaxing, Harold grinned broadly and explained, “I heard you’ve had another disaster on your side?”

The leader’s eyes were full of wariness. He frowned and asked stiffly, “How do you know the mountain dialect?”

“Heh, what’s so strange about that? I learned it from someone else. Can’t a mortal learn the mountain dialect?” Harold shot back. He understood the man’s suspicion—after all, it was almost unheard of for a mortal to learn the mountain dialect, and it was natural to wonder what his real intentions were.

Shaking his head, the leader gently stroked the beautiful metal bracer on his wrist and said calmly, “Please don’t dodge the question. If you want to be our friend, answer me honestly.”

“Heh, I learned it from my teacher. He died a year ago. He wasn’t a barbarian or a beastman—just a mortal like me. As for where he learned the mountain dialect, I don’t know. He never told me.” Harold seemed to see through the man’s thoughts and simply laid everything out, satisfying his curiosity.

“Mortal? How could a mortal know the mountain dialect?” the leader muttered to himself. He exchanged questioning glances with his companions. He knew he wouldn’t get anything more out of this guy, but his expression softened considerably. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much. I just heard you came to Cyprous to do business and seem to lack experience, got ripped off a lot?” Harold still looked nonchalant. He casually picked up the red sorghum liquor on the table and took a sip. The strong burn made his face flush instantly, and he shook his head. “Good stuff, just too strong for me.”

The leader was a bit surprised by Harold’s boldness. Outwardly, he showed nothing, but inside, he felt a bit closer to him. Mortals rarely sat and drank with barbarians. Even for business, they didn’t want to share a table, let alone eat and drink together. This kind of behavior, though seemingly rude, actually closed the distance between them.

“The liquor you mortals drink is all bland and tasteless, no different from water. How could it compare to something this strong and flavorful?” one of the men beside the leader couldn’t help but retort, clearly displeased with Harold’s comment.