Wilbur held out an arm, stopping Lone from following him into the backroom and home of his shop. "Ye're still covered in blood an' ye'r dripping all over the place. No way in the name of the Stone are ye stepping foot past this door."

"Ah," Lone exclaimed. "Right you are. Do I wait here then?"

The old dwarf nodded wordlessly before disappearing into the back room. Before long, he returned holding two chairs.

He manoeuvred past the counter to the shop's floor before placing the chairs down with grace. Planting himself into one of them and gesturing to the other, he said, "Sit."

Lone did as told and readied himself for the chewing out that was no doubt on its way. 'I'm really not at fault... I did warn the local council we were dealing with a Primal. If anyone is truly to blame, it's them for not trusting in me accordingly. I feel like the kid getting scolded by the high school's headmaster for beating the dickhead who punched him first. Just in this case, people are dead.'

Wilbur stared long and hard at Lone, making him more than a little bit uncomfortable. Eventually though, the old dwarf closed his eyes and sighed deeply. "Boy, how old do ye think ah am?"

'... Not what I was expecting If I'm being honest... Where is this going?' Lone thought as he honestly pondered over the question.

Even dwarves that never ranked up in their entire lives could make it to the ripe old age of 500 years or so and that was just I-ranked Stone Dwarves. Some other dwarven races could live double, triple, or sometimes half that number. It varied a lot.

Wilbur was a very accomplished blacksmith and steamforger so Lone didn't doubt for a second that he'd ranked up at least a handful of times. Combat wasn't the only way to gain levels and it wasn't the only way to gain enlightenment either for the normal folk.

Lone's old and wisened mentor wasn't only a shoo-in to become an epitome - the pinnacle of dwarven status in death, but he'd also spent a lot of time topside. His accent was barely that of a dwarf anymore, meaning he'd spent a very long time outside of the dwarven lands.

"... 3,000-years old-ish?" Lone guessed tentatively.

"3,641," Steamforger Wilbur answered. "And ye, boy, how old are ye?"

"25, it was my birthday recently," Lone said as he hid a frown. He was really starting to struggle with holding back his Basic Regeneration.

It wouldn't be long before his ripped-off tails grew back in above his lower back all on their own. That would be incredibly grotesque, hard to listen to, and perhaps too absurd to show to his teacher.

He trusted the man but they'd barely known one another for that long. Even if he was a friend to Grimsley and was willing to commit crimes for Lone's benefit, some things were best left unshown to anyone in his opinion. Still, he struggled on, hoping this conversation wouldn't last for much longer.

"Boy, ye've lived barely ah fraction of ah fraction as long as ah have yet what did ye do today?" The raw and overwhelming disappointment in Wilbur's tone affected Lone so much more than he would have assumed possible.

Honestly, as much as Lone knew it had been a short amount of time since he'd met Wilbur, he still saw him as another father figure somewhat like Grimsley and Gilbert.

He wanted to feel an overwhelming amount of shame for disappointing such a person but, in truth, he felt happy about being sat down like this for a stern talking to. He was elated, even.

If this was his real father dealing with this, the one dead and buried, that man would have slapped him around the head and kicked him for good measure just for starting the fight and losing it despite not having been the instigator and regardless of him winning the moral fight since he'd survived at all against a powerful B-ranker intent on murdering him.

'How pathetic. I'm so starved for parental love that all it takes is angry concern and a good telling off to make me feel so... full.' He wanted to laugh at himself. 'Is this why people with garbage parents tend to seek out people resembling their dad or mum later in life when looking for love? Get someone like them who actually might care for them?'

His mind drifted to the goofy and lovable Soph and then to the stern but easily teased Sophie. 'Well, I guess I just want a real dad, not to date one, hah.'

Jovial mood aside, Lone simply nodded and allowed Wilbur to go on with his speech.

"Ye should've refused to fight that addle-brained fool, Hamish. If ye'd simple said no, Hilda would've stepped in if the lad still attacked ye," Wilbur made clear.

'So the guildmaster here is called Hilda?' Lone thought in passing. "It wasn't that simple. The guy was accusing me of being directly responsible for his entire company dying. Also, did you not hear about how he waited for me to return to the inn I, my lover, and a close friend of mine, currently call home to ambush me? He hit me hard enough on the head to knock me out cold."

"Then ye'd already won at that point!" Wilbur shouted. "If that's true, no matter who was responsible for what, Hamish broke several laws by assaulting you in your own home, foreigner or not!"

Lone inadvertently ended up scoffing. "Forgive me if I don't exactly trust the laws. The last time I tried to do that, I ended up losing several months worth of my time. Along with a handful of other things."

The words 'dignity', 'sanity', 'trust', and oddly enough, 'innocence' floated around inside of his head.

He liked Wilbur. Truly, he did. However, Lone didn't feel ready to talk to anyone about what had happened in Milindo besides those who already knew, hence his vagueness.

Even then, Soph and Sophie were the only two he truly felt comfortable confiding in when it came to his experiences in Ranton's castle dungeons. If he could avoid it, he would never discuss the matter with Breena.

Wilbur sighed. He leaned forward and put a heavy hand on Lone's shoulder. "Ah understand that, ah genuinely do. Ah can't even really fault ye for defending ye'r pride. It's just... ye're likely my last apprentice. Call me old or daft or whatever ye like, boy, ah don't want ye dyin' on me before ah've taught ye everything that ah know."

He stared deeply into Lone's gold, blue and black eyes before adding, "Tell no one ah ever said this, especially any of my former apprentices if ye ever meet 'em, but ye're the most talented person ah've ever met in my entire life. The way ye learn how to tame the flames, control the metals... sing to the forge... It's soul-shakin', boy. Ah don't want ye wastin' that on some petty nonsense with that Hamish lad. He knows ye had no hand in what happened to his company. Adventurers of his calibre are more than aware of the risks that come with exploring the Farwinds, even the closed-off sections out here in the middle of the dwarven frontier we call Krieg Moor."

Lone smiled faintly. "You heard my argument with Sophie, didn't you? I seek no further interaction with that dwarf. If he comes at me, that's a different matter entirely. I respect your opinion, Gramps. I also deeply admire your craft. If I could peacefully sit back and inherit your skills, I would."

"But?" Wilbur asked, testingly.

"But I'm not a dwarf and I'm not just a blacksmith. I'm a warrior with plans far beyond the scope of a small dwarven krieg in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. If I told you that, hypothetically speaking, I'd murdered an SS-ranked king in cold blood without even lifting a finger, would you believe me? Hypothetically speaking, of course," Lone said.

Wilbur furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes. He was no stranger to the news of Milindo's monarch disappearing into thin air after an unknown beastkin - reportedly a foxkin - had fled that very same kingdom.

"Hypothetically speaking, boy, ah'd ask why any of that fuckin' matters right now. Ah just want my stupid apprentice to know not to endanger himself when his future is so unfathomably bright," Wilbur countered.

"Haha... I know, Gramps, I really do... I can promise you I won't start any trouble with him or anyone out of my own free will. I will not, however, take abuse lying down. I've done that before one too many times, and let me tell ya, fuck the consequences of avoiding compliance, I won't be anyone's doormat or punching bag to vent unreasonable frustrations," Lone said with a firm resolve deeply embedded in his tone. "He comes at me again, I'm killing him outright."

Wilbur shot to his feet and scowled something fierce. "Ye stupid boy! That's the kind of attitude that leads to people like ye dyin' young! Ye'r basically tellin' me ye'r happy throwin' yer life away to prove a fuckin' point! Where's the sense in that?!"

Lone, too, got to his feet and yelled right back, "The last time this happened to me, I was forced to murder children! Never a-fucking-gain! I'd rather die than rely on a broken system to help me when I've done nothing wrong!"

"Then just go and fuckin' throw yerself off of ah buildin'! It'd have the same bloody effect!" Wilbur hollered, spit and phlegm flying every-which-way.

"Cunt!"

"Arsehole!"

"Lanky prick!"

"Wrinkled midget!"

"Yer ma was a tosser!"

"An' yers was a whore!"

"Yer da dropped ya on yer heed!"

"Yer da left tae buy milk but never came home!"

"Ye cannae smith fae shite!"

"Ye cannae teach fae shite!"

The two men stared daggers at each other for a silent moment before a grin spread across Wilbur's aged lips. "Ye sure yer not a dwarf under there? Ye sure as fuck sound like one when ye act' like someone pissed in yer ale."

Lone was still huffing and puffing, ready to hurl his next insult at the man but was caught off-guard by what he had said. "... Uh... what?"

"Hahaha!" the old dwarf chuckled loudly as he slowly placed himself back into his seat. "Ah meant every word of what ah said, boy, but it'd be ah disservice to my years upon Altros if ah couldn't see how bottled up ye were. Everyone's cap is easily popped off when ye've done it enough times."

"... You baited me into getting pissed off enough to hurl insults at each other? Why?" Lone asked, utterly confused.

"Do ye feel better now? Less cornered?" Wilbur asked smugly.

"I, uh, I suppose?" Lone answered hesitantly before returning to his own seat.

Wilbur nodded. "Then all is well... Children, huh? Want to talk about it?"

"Yes," Lone answered immediately. He soon realised he'd spoken without thinking and quickly shook his head. "Uh, no. Maybe another time."

"Ah see. Well, again, everything ah said, every word, ah meant it. Ah do, however, know ah fully committed man who's determined his own sense of values and principles when ah see one. Ah won't force anythin' upon ye. Ah'm not ah religion. Yer views are yer own. Just... keep what ah said in mind the next time ye're about to throw yerself into an avoidable certain-death situation, huh?" Wilbur asked sincerely.

"I... I can do that," Lone answered, feeling far less wound up now than he had since before he even fled Milindo. 'Was that some sort of skill at work or is therapy via shouting actually pretty effective?'

Wilbur stroked his beard softly then nodded towards the door. "Go on an' get then. It's later than ah'd like and ye have ah pissed off and hurt misses waiting for ye back home, don't ye? Ah've said ma piece, so ah'll take up no more of yer time."

"Right, of course. Uh, see you tomorrow?" Lone asked.

Wilbur smiled faintly. "Same time as always."

Lone had basically sprinted home. Partly due to not wanting to slowly revel in the displeased glares he was getting but mostly because his tails were killing him.

It was like an itch you could never reach. Suppressing a passive skill like Basic Regeneration for so long was not only mentally draining on Lone, but also physically exhausting.

He barely exchanged a greeting with the worried and simultaneously cautious receptionist of the Rusty Sprocket when he bolted up the stairs.

Once he was through the door of his and Soph's room, a wave of energy escaped his lower back and the single-most disgusting noise Lone had ever heard filled his ears.

Even despite being accustomed to the sound of his unique skill at work, this time, it truly disturbed him. However, a seemingly unexpected benefit was that his tails grew back about twice as quickly as he thought they normally would have.

'Huh. I wonder if that could ever be of us-'

"Bath. Now," Sophie demanded.

She was sitting at the end of their bed with a simple tank top and some woollen shorts on. She looked cute however her expression was anything but. Her slim index finger was pointing straight at the bathroom door.

Lone wordlessly nodded, unsure of how to really speak with her after their argument on the streets.

He directly stored his tattered and pure red clothes, intent on burning them later. They were beyond repair. Now fully nude, he left the bedroom to go have a deep, long bath.

His biggest hope right now was that by the time he was done, Sophie would be asleep. He wasn't an idiot though. She clearly had words for him as Wilbur had. All he could pray for was that the outcome would be just as pleasant.