Steve crouched down, swung his axe, and chopped the boat apart—finally freeing Halls.
He had a sneaking suspicion that his low reputation might've been partly because he kept "mistreating" villagers.
Considering how useful this dwarf could be later, he decided to release him and see if that might help restore his reputation a bit.
Now that he thought about it, was there a mod that could display reputation values? In a trade-focused modpack like this, that'd be really useful.
Halls tumbled out of the boat, emeralds spilling across the ground, but he didn't even look at them—he clutched the two iron ingots like they were his children.
What he forgot, though, was that his legs had gone completely numb from sitting still too long. The moment he tried to stand, they folded like noodles, and he faceplanted straight into the dirt.
There was a loud smack, followed by a splash of red spreading under his face.
"Mr. Halls?"
The guards rushed over and hauled him up, only to find his big dwarven nose swollen and bleeding like a faucet.
And yet, even through the blood, he was grinning. A wide, almost unsettling smile, the two iron ingots clutched tightly in his arms.
Before the guards could say anything, shouts erupted behind them. They turned to see a villager standing before Steve, screaming and shaking his head like he'd seen a ghost.
"Hey!" one of the guards called out, but his collar was suddenly yanked from behind.
"Don't worry, don't worry," Halls said, grabbing onto the guard's leg as he staggered upright. His eyes gleamed with excitement. "He doesn't mean any harm. I've… tested it personally."
He started to raise his hand to pat the guard's shoulder but thought better of it—given his strength, that pat might end up breaking bones.
Being a dwarf—and one who forged metal for a living—his body recovered quickly.
Without bothering to lock the door (there was nothing left to steal anyway), Halls gathered up the fallen emeralds, hugged his ingots tight, and hurried after Steve.
The guards exchanged glances, sighing in defeat.
Technically, they should be detaining Steve.
After all, he'd harassed a bunch of townsfolk, used supernatural force on civilians, hadn't registered with the guild, and was probably being controlled by some shady mage in the background.
But looking at Halls's attitude, they figured the moment they tried to arrest Steve, they'd get their kneecaps kicked in.
And with all the bizarre reports circulating, they weren't entirely sure they could even handle him.
So after some silent hesitation… they just decided to stand there and do nothing.
Meanwhile, Steve was deep into exploration mode.
Now that he had JEI, he could finally gather materials with peace of mind. Anything that looked remotely suspicious, he mined and checked for recipes—if it was useful, he kept it; if not, he put it back.
But before long, he noticed that many villagers had gone home and locked their doors. Some even shouted through the walls when he got close.
Was his reputation dropping again?
Well, as long as they weren't outright hostile, it didn't matter much. He looked around, then decided to ignore the regular houses altogether.
Too little loot, too low drop rates—not worth the effort.
His attention drifted to the large building at the town's center. Through the windows, he spotted a few familiar faces.
Wait—that was Elina.
The sight reminded him of something he'd been meaning to ask her about—the Hunter's Relic.
But the moment he approached, a shrill scream cut through the air.
It was that same warrior from yesterday.
He was shackled now, wrists bound behind him, scarf torn away to reveal a bruised, battered face. His eyes were bloodshot, his lip split, and every inch of him screamed "rough night."
Elina and the others were confronting him, checking their stolen belongings and giving their statements, while the guild receptionist scribbled everything down behind the counter.
Murder, corpse disposal, fraud, robbery—crimes that would land anyone in a dungeon for decades, even in a place as lenient toward adventurers as this.
The warrior looked defiant at first—but when he saw the block-headed figure outside the door, terror flooded his face.
"The demon! The demon!" he screamed, thrashing wildly.
"It was him! He's the one who killed that man—it wasn't me! He killed the coachman too! It was him!"
The guards had to tighten their grip, wrestling him under control. Thankfully, the cuffs were enchanted to suppress battle aura—otherwise, it wouldn't have been possible.
Elina turned her head, her instincts confirming it. That familiar silhouette—it was him.
"That person's here too?" Jack said, startled. He stared for a moment, then sighed. "Guess he really is some kind of magical construct."
He noticed the townsfolk weren't panicking like before, nor were they hiding in shame.
Earlier, he'd wondered if the warrior had lied about last night. Now, he just felt embarrassed for doubting it.
After all, when he first met Steve, he'd been so terrified he stole someone else's pitchfork.
The guild girl wrinkled her nose, muttering something about "better safe than sorry," then called out to the guards. "Restrain that… creature."
But before they could move, a booming voice shouted across the hall:
"Don't touch him! Don't touch him!"
Everyone turned. A short figure came barreling toward them on stubby legs—it was the town's blacksmith, Halls.
The guards hesitated, deciding to hold position at the doorway for now.
Steve stopped in place, and Elina—curious now instead of afraid—stepped forward.
The panic she'd felt yesterday had faded after a night's rest. Looking at him now, she couldn't believe she'd ever thought he was scary.
There was nothing monstrous about him. In fact, with his stiff movements and perfectly square face, he was… kind of adorable.
His armor gleamed under the light, bright and clean, like something out of a fairy tale—a knight on his way to slay a dragon.
When Steve waved, her body suddenly froze again.
But she didn't panic this time. She'd experienced this before. She simply stayed still and waited patiently.
"Phew… huff…" Halls finally reached Steve, panting hard. Even for a dwarf with iron lungs, sprinting while hugging two iron ingots was pushing it.
"Mr. Halls, you know this thing?" one of the guards asked, pointing toward the restrained warrior. "He claims it's a murderer."
"A murderer? Impossible!" Elina and Halls shouted at the same time.
Halls's eyes lit up, but instead of explaining, he turned to the girl beside him. "You know him?"
"Sort of… he saved me yesterday," Elina said softly, feeling a little awkward under the dwarf's intense stare. It was her first time meeting one, after all.
"Oh, you know him?" Halls's grin spread ear to ear. He rubbed the iron ingots in his arms like a man clutching a priceless treasure. "That's perfect!"
He was practically glowing with excitement.
Those two ingots had consumed his thoughts—how they were made, what technique created them, what kind of craftsmanship could produce such purity.
For a blacksmith like him, it was irresistible—like the world's most beautiful woman standing right in front of him.
And now, he'd finally found someone who actually knew this mysterious being. Maybe, just maybe, he could finally get some answers.
Steve, of course, completely ignored him. Not a word, not a glance—just that same calm, silent focus.
But for Halls, this was a breakthrough.
At last, the future looked bright.