Before the expedition team's ship set sail, the Merchant Guild organized a grand send-off ceremony on the bustling docks of Dundorma.
That was how merchants operated. They never missed a chance to drum up publicity and fanfare, though the event had little to do with the Hunters who had boarded early that morning.
Aside from Theo, ever the show-off, no one else had any interest in the ceremony.
They were scattered throughout the galley with the expedition team's de facto leader, the "Village Chief," and quite a few other members equally indifferent to such formalities, chatting idly and taking the opportunity to get to know one another.
As one of the Merchant Guild's organizers, Francesca could not escape her duties. Wearing a long face, she headed out to the docks to take part in the so-called send-off ceremony.
Ignoring the clamor of ceremonial salutes outside the cabin, Altaïr let his gaze wander across the expedition members gathered in small groups.
Smiths and scholars. Those were the two groups that interested him most.
The former were directly responsible for the Hunters' equipment, while the latter supported their field operations. He would be working closely with both throughout the expedition, so naturally, he hoped to find reliable people among them.
Hmm? Altaïr's gaze halted on an unexpected figure.
It was a short, stocky man, but not merely short in the ordinary sense of the word. Even Morgan, one of the shortest male Hunters, looked tall and slender beside him.
The man stood only a little over 130 centimeters tall, yet his body was more than twice as broad as Morgan's.
His head and belly were both huge and round, like two boulders stacked atop each other, while his limbs were exceptionally thick and powerful, every bit as impressive as Dawn's robust build.
A thick, bushy beard hung down to his belly in a rough braid, and he wore a heat-resistant work suit made of heavy leather.
Could that be a Troverian?! Compared with humans, Wyverians were certainly rare, but there was still roughly one for every hundred humans, so they were not an unusual sight in everyday life.
Troverians, however, were so scarce that even calling them an ethnic minority would be an overstatement.
According to the books, Troverians numbered fewer than a hundred in the entire world, and most of them lived in Harth, a village in the Volcano region.
Most people would never see one in their entire lives.
These short, stocky people possessed remarkable strength and stamina, an exceptional tolerance for hot, arid environments, and lifespans comparable to those of Wyverians, several times longer than a human's. One might say they were born to be smiths and miners.
The clan counted more than one Master Craftsman among its members, and Harth, built within the Volcano's crater, was regarded throughout the world as a holy land of smithing.
Anyone who traveled there and secured the services of a Troverian master could have practically anything in the world forged.
When Nymera had been planning Hibiki's Palamute armor, she had kept Harth in mind as a last resort. If no smith elsewhere could make it, someone there surely could.
Lady Francesca actually managed to recruit a Troverian smith for the expedition? Looks like we won't have to worry about forging new gear for the next two or three years.
Altaïr's eyes brightened. Seeing that the Troverian smith was alone, with no familiar companions nearby, he exchanged a glance with Isis and prepared to go over, strike up a conversation, and introduce himself.
To his surprise, Isis pulled him back and yanked him down into his chair.
"Watch me!" Isis winked at him, then grabbed a massive mug and filled it to the brim with beer from the keg Kagetsu had brought out.
"Hey! You there, Troverian!" she shouted, raising the mug high.
At the shout, the Troverian smith instinctively turned around and saw Isis holding up the mug, waving it at him.
A tantalizing froth sloshed over the rim, and the Troverian smith swallowed hard.
"Come on over!" Seeing him still staring in a daze, Isis waved again.
An instant later, the Troverian smith jumped down from his seat and hurried over.
Isis grinned without a word and thrust the full mug into his hands. Squinting in delight, the Troverian smith accepted it, tipped back his head, and drained it in a single astonishing gulp.
"Whew!" He let out a long breath, wiped the beer foam from his beard, and said cheerfully, "Thanks, tall lady, whoever you are!"
"Come sit with us! We've still got half a keg. When that's gone, we'll get that guild receptionist to fetch more!"
Across the table, Kagetsu blinked but made no attempt to deny that she was a guild receptionist. Altaïr immediately scooted over to make room for the Troverian smith.
The Troverian smith squeezed in sideways and sat down. "Well, don't mind if I do!"
The barrel-shaped Troverian held nothing back. Too short to reach the keg, he simply climbed onto his seat on his stubby legs, leaned forward, and stretched his mug toward the barrel.
Altaïr stood and pushed the keg closer, making it easier for him to scoop out the beer.
His great beard swaying, the Troverian scooped himself one mug after another, draining three or four in succession before unleashing a thunderous belch and dropping back into his seat.
"Thanks, Hunters! This place is clearly a tavern, but they wouldn't serve any beer yet. It was driving me mad!" He patted his belly with one thick hand, setting his gear clinking, and beamed.
"My name's Hubert. Share a drink with me and we're friends from then on. If you ever need gear forged, maintained, or repaired, come find me!"
Isis picked up the keg and poured him another mug. The other Hunters also raised their drinks and clinked them against the squat Troverian smith's mug.
In the blink of an eye, the entire keg stood empty.
"I'll fetch another!" Kagetsu, quick on the uptake as ever, sprang from her seat.
Altaïr and the others struck up a conversation with the Troverian smith.
Isis was the first to speak. "Master Hubert, do you know Aunt Gemma?"
"Aunt Gemma?" The question caught Hubert off guard. He needed a moment to place the name before responding, "Ha! If that little girl heard you calling her Aunt Gemma, she'd probably fly into a rage, wouldn't she? Hahahaha!"
Hubert let out an unabashed, booming laugh.
Gemma... Altaïr vaguely remembered the name. If he recalled correctly, she had once traveled with Isis's mother and had also been a pupil of the Wyverian Master Craftsman in Val Habar.
He had heard Isis mention that Aunt Gemma came from Harth. Given Troverians' lifespans, it was no wonder Master Hubert called her a little girl.
Among the long-lived Wyverians and Troverians, even someone in their forties or fifties was still considered a "little girl."
Once his laughter subsided, Hubert rubbed his fleshy nose, which was as large as a human fist. "Actually, Lady Francesca invited little Gemma first.
But she hasn't been in the village lately. She set off on a journey by herself, so Lady Francesca came to me instead.
Now, I'm not one to boast, but aside from the Master Craftsmen, I can hold my own against anyone in the village!
I can even handle High Rank equipment with confidence!"
Not every smith was capable of forging equipment for Hunters. Those who could were already accomplished craftsmen, and those capable of working on High Rank gear were among the very best.
His words might have sounded a little self-congratulatory, but the confidence on his face was unmistakable.
Francesca had vetted him herself, so there was no reason to doubt Master Hubert's skill.
Altaïr decided that once they reached Tidal Island and had gradually established a base and smithy, he would entrust Hubert with reinforcing Tyrant Blade [Solar Eclipse].
Then he would finally have his very first High Rank weapon!
Hubert's bold, hearty manner went over well with the Hunters. Even the usually steady Dawn joined him for a few more drinks.
By the time Kagetsu returned with the second keg, Altaïr, who was not much of a drinker, already had a rosy flush on his face.
Just then, Francesca came in from outside the galley, muttering curses. At the sight of the lively drinking session, she strode straight over and called out to Kagetsu.
"The ship's already left port. Bring out more beer and other refreshments. Have the Felyne Chefs start preparing lunch too. Damn it, all those speeches and photographs, one after another. What a pain!"
"We've set sail already? I didn't feel a thing!" Isis, who could drink beer like water, stamped a foot against the floor, testing for movement.
"What did you expect to feel? A ship this large rides steadily in calm seas, apart from a slight sway when the sails are raised!"
Thirsty, Francesca grabbed Isis's mug and took a sip. Her face puckered, and she set it back down. She did not like the bitterness of beer.
After doing little more than wet her throat, Francesca raised her voice to address everyone in the galley. "Everyone, eat, drink, and rest up!
Once we reach Tidal Island, we're going to be busy!"
(Translated by yourtl.app)