Looking at Raine’s smiling expression, Old Henry’s grayish-white eyebrows twisted tightly into a knot, but his gaze couldn’t help sticking to that high-quality Razor Beast hide once again.
Although he still found it unbelievable in his heart, "Empty Sword Scabbard Jason" had always had a good reputation in town. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been chosen as the sheriff. Coupled with the bone spikes mentioned in the conversation, everything pointed to the same fact: this seemingly frail, black-haired boy had probably really participated in that dangerous hunt.
"Let’s just assume you did it for now."
Old Henry snorted a breath from his nostrils, muttering stubbornly. The absolute certainty in his tone had dissipated, replaced by an awkwardness of reluctantly accepting the truth.
He stretched out his withered, callus-covered hand and carefully stroked the shiny, pitch-black fur once again.
This time, his movements were slow and focused, as if feeling the roar and power of the Magical Beast when it was alive, evaluating how to tame it and turn it into a solid barrier to protect the wearer.
"Boy, tell me your requirements. What kind of leather armor do you want?"
He finally looked up, his tone seemingly a bit milder, though his face remained as stiff as a piece of wind-dried hard leather. "Let’s make it clear upfront: the labor fee is ten Silver Lions, with a deposit of five paid in advance. Materials are billed at cost. Don’t even think about playing tricks on me."
"Ten Silver Lions?"
Hearing the price, a flash of surprise involuntarily crossed Raine’s eyes. This was far below his expectations. Before coming here, he had casually asked for prices at several other leather goods shops nearby. Their labor quotes were at least twenty Silver Lions, and some even asked for thirty.
With Old Henry being the generally acknowledged best leather armor craftsman in town, this price was practically a giveaway.
"Look at your tattered clothes. I bet all your belongings combined aren’t worth a few coins."
Old Henry saw through the surprise in his eyes, turned his face away, and deliberately said in an impatient tone, "If it were that punk Jason, I would naturally charge him a hefty sum. Not a single coin less!
"But for a clueless beginner like you, rather than paying extra money to an old man like me, you’d better spend it where it counts. Don’t die in some unknown corner and waste my excellent craftsmanship!"
"Then I’ll thank you first, Master."
Raine didn’t decline, nor was he overly polite, simply giving a slight nod. Old Henry had an eccentric temper and a truly sharp tongue, but he was the type who was cold on the outside and warm on the inside.
No wonder both Robert and Jason, despite not being good at dealing with this old craftsman, still had a gleam of rightful respect in their eyes.
Raine pondered for a moment, then said, "I need a piece of lightweight leather armor that ensures my movement speed and archery. The joints need to be flexible, but the protection in critical areas like the chest and back must be sufficient."
As he spoke, he observed Old Henry’s reaction.
The old craftsman remained expressionless, but his gray eyes grew brighter with the description. His fingers gestured unconsciously in the air, clearly already immersed in thinking about how to turn this fine piece of leather into a perfect masterpiece.
While Old Henry picked up a measuring tape and focused on taking Raine’s measurements in the warm leather goods shop, a completely different, cold, and eerie scene was unfolding in the long-abandoned Holy Hall in the West District of Mottled Town.
On the peeling murals, the benevolent faces of past deities were blurred.
The dilapidated pews were covered in thick layers of dust, and the stained-glass windows were completely shattered, leaving only twisted lead frames pointing like dry bones toward the gloomy sky.
The air was filled with a damp, musty smell, along with a faint, almost imperceptible sickly sweet scent of blood.
"What did you bring me here for?"
Covering his nose and mouth with a handkerchief, the butler, Maurice, walked into the empty and ruined main hall of the Holy Hall. He looked at the two temporary sheriffs leading the way beside him, his tone tinged with obvious displeasure and vigilance.
His meticulously groomed hair and elegant black coat were completely out of place in this dilapidated environment.
"Mr. Butler, we were the ones who invited you here."
A calm voice, mixed with the sound of clashing metal, rang out from the shadows.
A young blond man wearing plate armor stepped forward. Behind him, the female Wanderer and the middle-aged Mage also slowly strolled out.
Seeing these three, Maurice’s tense expression relaxed slightly. He was quite familiar with this Professional squad named the "Ring of Steel," but the sight before him made it truly hard to ease his mind.
"What happened?"
The butler’s voice echoed in the empty Holy Hall, causing a faint reverberation.
"Come and take a look."
The blond man didn’t offer many pleasantries. He first waved for the two leading sheriffs to retreat outside the Holy Hall and stand guard, then, with a solemn face, led Maurice toward a corner of the hall.
There, a male corpse lay in a twisted posture, his eyes wide open, frozen in pre-death astonishment and terror. It was a scrawny, middle-aged Adventurer. His neck was tilted to the side at an extremely unnatural angle, clearly showing signs of being snapped by immense force.
"He was just discovered by a tramp." The blond man pointed at the corpse, giving a brief introduction. "We’ve confirmed his identity. Nicknamed ’Mr. Goblin,’ he was somewhat of a well-known figure among the veteran Adventurers in town."
"’Mr. Goblin’?"
Maurice leaned down, his brows furrowing tighter. No matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t see how this dead guy looked anything like a Goblin.
"Mr. Butler, it’s meant in a different literal sense." The blond man seemed a bit embarrassed to speak, but explained anyway, "He was the Goblins’ mister."
Maurice was stunned for a moment, then seemed to understand something. A look of disbelief instantly appeared on his face. "Good heavens, are you saying this guy had that kind of fetish?"
"Yes, Mr. Butler."
The one who answered this time was the graceful female Wanderer. Her crisp voice carried a hint of amusement. "Not only that, but as far as we know, his interests were very broad..."
"Nix, I know you can go on and on whenever this topic is brought up, but now is not the time for that."
The blond man quickly interrupted the female Wanderer’s words, pulling the focus back to the incident itself.
He pointed at the Fine Steel Level Adventurer’s Badge on Mr. Goblin’s chest. "As you can see, Mr. Butler, he was a Fine Steel Level Adventurer, just one step away from becoming a true Professional. Even if he was dead drunk, there aren’t many people in Mottled Town who could snap his neck so cleanly."
The blond man subconsciously stroked the identical badge on his own chest armor, his expression growing even more solemn. "A veteran Fine Steel Level Adventurer dying silently in a place like this—it’s hard not to connect this to the drunks who have mysteriously gone missing in town over the past few days."
"Are you saying there’s a connection between the two?"
Maurice’s heart sank heavily, and a chill crawled up his spine. "But those drunks only went missing. Why didn’t he go missing?"
The blond man looked troubled again, seemingly unsure of how to put it tactfully.
"Those broad interests of his caused him to be tainted with some unspeakable smells and marks. Even if we threw him into the Demon Shadow Forest, I’m afraid no Predator would want to touch him."
The female Wanderer shrugged, responding casually, "To a Predator, this town certainly isn’t lacking in prey."
"A Predator? Right around us?"
Maurice’s face instantly turned deathly pale. He stumbled a half-step backward, leaning against a dusty, dilapidated pew to barely steady himself.
"So, you think some extremely dangerous Demon has infiltrated the town? And those missing drunks have all become its prey?"