Chapter 198 Chapter 196-The Past of the Dwarven Craftsman
The laughter persisted for quite some time before finally subsiding.
Seeing Ethan still standing at the counter, Tavern Owner Wak hurriedly explained, "Newcomer, I wasn't mocking you. It's all about Henry Powell, that rascal."
"So you know Henry Powell?" Ethan asked, a spark of elation rising within him. He hadn't expected things to go so smoothly.
"Know Henry Powell? You might want to rephrase your question," a bar patron interrupted before Wak could answer. "Ask instead how many locals don't know Henry Powell. He's a legendary character. The mere mention of his name brings joy to everyone."
The crowd of drinkers then erupted into a cacophony of chatter.
"Henry Powell came to this town a decade ago. Back then, he looked like an impoverished blacksmith. But he always had the most fascinating stories to tell, so the townspeople welcomed him warmly. Wak here was the most enthusiastic of all. For a time, Henry Powell turned this tavern into the liveliest place in town."
"And what happened after that?" Ethan couldn't help but ask, driven by his curiosity. The story so far seemed rather mundane—nothing that would provoke laughter.
"Ah, what happened next?" The storyteller burst into laughter, unable to continue.
Observing this, Wak picked up the thread of the narrative.
"My dear guest, allow me to continue. Once Henry Powell settled down here, his favorite pastime was to frequent my tavern. He couldn't afford the drinks, of course, so he paid in stories. Outlandish tales, mind you. One minute he was journeying into the molten heart of the earth with some formidable adventurer, the next he was in scholarly debates about the art of smithing. He even claimed he'd almost crafted a divine artifact."
"Needless to say, the townspeople didn't buy any of it. They thought Henry Powell was all talk."
"But what they did believe was his skill as a blacksmith."
"Until, that is, even that belief was shattered."
"It was on a snow-laden morning, when everyone was huddled indoors, that Henry Powell chose to venture out," Wak continued, suppressing a grin.
"He said he wanted to locate the Frozen Spring to forge a weapon, and the heavy snowfall would aid him in his search. The snowstorm lasted nearly all day. By the time Henry Powell returned, it was already evening. He claimed he had found the Frozen Spring and was set to commence his smithing. Now, my dear guest, can you guess what he did?"
The tavern owner broke into laughter before continuing, "Henry Powell melted a bar of iron and poured it into a mold. Before allowing the molten iron to cool and solidify, he incredibly added the so-called Frozen Spring water into the mold as well."
"Ha! The absurdity of it all!"
"Even those with no knowledge of forging understand that pouring cold water into molten metal can easily cause an explosion. That's not smithing; it's a folly."
"And indeed, Henry Powell was sent flying."
"He emerged unscathed, however, unable to accept that his efforts had failed. He blamed it on the poor quality of the materials."
As Wak laughed, a burly man with a large beard suddenly stood up, his voice tinged with fury. "Henry Powell is full of hot air! The iron bar I sold him was top-grade. He's a clueless amateur who knows nothing about smithing!"
"He dared to slander the quality of my iron!"
"Hmph! If it weren't for his swift departure, I'd have shown him just how powerful my fists are!"
The bearded man's tirade subsided under the calming influence of the crowd, and Ethan now had a clearer picture of what had transpired.
Turning to Wak, he curiously inquired, "So, do you know where Henry Powell went afterward?"
The tavern owner pondered for a moment, sifting through his memories, before shaking his head.
Just as Wak prepared to admit his ignorance, Ethan delicately tapped a gold coin on the wooden counter. Wak's eyes instantly brightened. "Let me think again, dear guest. After all, it has been some time."
A moment later, Wak seemed to recall something. "Ah, I remember now! When Henry Powell left, he bought some wine from my tavern. He told me he was headed to the Frigid Ice Cavern, deep in the Snowy Plains, to gather some materials... the material was called..."
Slapping his forehead in frustration, Wak added, "Ah, the name of that material is so unique, I just can't recall it right now."
Ethan didn't press the tavern owner further. He simply noted the name 'Frigid Ice Cavern.'
"Here, this is for your trouble," Ethan tossed the gold coin to Wak and rejoined Sherry at their table.
Sherry, who had overheard the entire conversation, didn't need Ethan to recap.
"So, Sherry, do you know anything about this Frigid Ice Cavern?" Ethan queried after sharing what he had learned.
"It's said to be a place of legend," Sherry replied, then continued, "The Frigid Ice Cavern is believed to be the dwelling of the Ice Wolf King, a deity worshiped by many in the Snowy Plains. Its existence isn't even confirmed."
"But if Henry Powell said he was going there, I think it's worth investigating," Sherry gave her own opinion.
Despite the townspeople deeming Henry Powell a lackluster charlatan, Ethan trusted that anyone personally recommended by Victor wouldn't be a fraud.
Moreover, Ethan thought of the blasphemous spear's forging method.
Its design called for alternating between fierce flames and icy springs in its crafting—a method that Ethan suspected might have been Henry Powell's approach all along.
So, finding Henry Powell became a necessity from every perspective.
Both Ethan and Sherry felt buoyed by how easily they had gathered this information.
They decided not to linger in the tavern and returned to their inn.
Yet, as the two departed, an eerie silence descended upon the tavern, as if their exit had stirred some deeper current in the atmosphere.
After a few minutes of heavy silence, someone finally broke the quiet. "Who were those two, showing up out of the blue like that, asking about Henry Powell?"
"Do you think they could be Heroes from the Azure Empire?" someone cautiously ventured.
At this, the burly blacksmith vehemently disagreed.
"Those two are no Heroes. If Heroes from the Azure Empire were to venture into the Snowy Plains, they wouldn't bother coming to a rundown little place like this."
"You do realize that the Empire's Ice City within the Snowy Plains outclasses our town in every way. They even have a teleportation circle there."
"True, their identities must be more complex than they seem," several others nodded in agreement.
"What if they're Dark Lords in disguise?" As these words were spoken, the entire tavern fell silent.
The influence of the Azure Empire, dominating the entire eastern coastline, was manifold.
It signified not only the collapse of pre-existing kingdoms but also the transformation of lives and landscapes far and wide.
This town used to be a vital resupply point and a necessary passage for anyone heading to the Snowy Plains.
But the Azure Empire's construction of Ice City, complete with its teleportation circles, shifted most traffic away from the town.
It had been three months since any strangers had set foot here.
That's why Ethan and Sherry, the first newcomers in a quarter of a year, garnered such attention.
"What if they really are Dark Lords? I've heard those fiends are ruthlessly cruel. They feast on scores of people and demand young maidens to satiate their vile desires," someone further pondered.
The question left the room even more uneasy.
"Enough, enough,"
Wak, the tavern owner, glanced at the counter and then surveyed the room.
"All this talk about Dark Lords comes solely from the Azure Empire. They've been bested by them, so naturally, they'd want to defame them. Those two newcomers don't look like Dark Lords to me. Let's just mind our own business. If they want to search for Henry Powell, let them. We don't have much to do with Powell anyway."
"Wak's got a point," chimed in the burly blacksmith, standing up with what seemed like a trace of guilt in his eyes.
"There's something else I need to tell you all. Someone from Ice City has approached me about opening a Blacksmith's Shop there. So, I may be leaving town soon."
His words ignited a spark of anger among the locals.
"Now, of all times, when the town is at its most vulnerable, you think of leaving?"
"Have you forgotten the old mayor's prophecy?"
"You traitor!"
Faced with the crowd's accusations, the blacksmith, usually quick-tempered, simply hung his head low.
His eyes reddened, clearly feeling wronged.
Finally, it was Wak who spoke again. "Enough. If he wants to go, let him go. The old mayor's prophecy isn't necessarily gospel, and besides, if something does happen, we won't be able to stop it anyway. One more thing—keep a close eye on those two outsiders staying at the inn. Don't let them catch wind of the town's secret."
The others in the tavern nodded in agreement.
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