The midday sky began to fade, with golden hues creeping across the horizon, illuminating the bustling streets of Utgard's market. Vendors' voices rose in a lively chorus, offering their wares to anyone passing by.
I glanced at Fenrir, who walked beside me with a carefree expression, seemingly enjoying the market's vibrant atmosphere. Her eyes sparkled as she scanned every corner of the market, while her wolf-like ears twitched, catching even the faintest sounds.
When I paid closer attention, I noticed a few people starting to look at us curiously. Some tried to hide their smiles as they passed by, acting as if we were a couple leisurely strolling through the market.
Feeling a bit uneasy, I leaned closer to Fenrir and whispered, "It seems like a lot of people are staring at us."
Fenrir let out a small snort. "Why do you care? We're not criminals. Besides, I'm clearly much stronger than they are. No need to worry."
I shrugged with a faint smile. Fenrir seemed to misunderstand what I meant, or maybe she was simply oblivious to the stares around us.
We continued walking past rows of stalls selling everything from food and clothing to trinkets and jewelry.
I stopped briefly at a small stall selling baked goods. The warm, sweet aroma tickled my nose, making it impossible to resist. I noticed Fenrir glance at the pastries for a moment before pretending not to be interested. But I knew better.
"Want to try one?" I asked, holding up a piece of pastry.
"I'm not interested," she replied curtly, though her fluffy tail gave a small twitch that betrayed her lie.
I smiled and bought four pieces, handing three to Fenrir and keeping one for myself. "Here, take them. Eating street food isn't such a bad thing, is it?"
Fenrir pursed her lips. "I guess I can't lie to you about this, can I?"
I chuckled softly. "I know you too well, Fenrys."
With a bit of hesitation, Fenrir finally accepted the pastries. She took a small bite, and I watched her intently. Though her expression didn't change much, her gently wagging tail was enough to reveal the truth.
"How is it?" I asked, trying to stifle a laugh.
"It's okay," she said flatly.
"Just okay?" I raised an eyebrow, teasing her.
She turned to me, her sharp gaze softening slightly. "Yes, just okay."
I chuckled. Her tail, now swishing defensively, told a different story.
"Stop playing around and finish your business already," she said, feigning irritation.
I could only laugh, scratching the back of my head.
Besides walking with Fenrir, my real goal was to reforge the shards of Gleipnir, which had been sitting uselessly in my storage pouch. I still believed the pieces held the potential to become a powerful weapon.
I had been hiding them in a special storage pouch I'd bought at the market, so Fenrir wouldn't be bothered by them. Every time she saw the shards, she tried to get rid of them by any means necessary. It was a struggle to stop her.
After realizing she could still smell the shards, I bought a smaller storage pouch to mask their scent. Surprisingly, it worked, and Fenrir no longer seemed to notice their presence.
We arrived at our first stop: a large building with a wooden sign that read "Gudmund's Magic Forge." It stood tall in the middle of the market. With confidence, I stepped inside, Fenrir following calmly behind me.
"Welcome! How can I help you?" greeted a burly man wearing a weathered leather apron stained from forging weapons.
I pulled the Gleipnir shards from the enchanted pouch in my pocket. The dim light of the shards glimmered under the lantern's glow. "I want to forge these into a weapon. Can you do it?"
The man took the shards, examining them closely. His brows furrowed, and after a moment, he shook his head.
"This... is strange. It looks like metal, but it's unlike any metal I've ever seen," he said seriously. "Where did you find this?"
Yeah, I'd anticipated this question from any craftsman I approached, which was why I'd prepared a convincing lie.
"I found it in a dungeon while practicing magic. The shards were already broken and scattered everywhere when I found them."
"A dungeon, huh? No wonder this material seems unusual."
The man nodded slowly, his expression suggesting he believed my story. His attention returned to the Gleipnir shards in his hands.
"I'm not sure. I don't think my tools can handle this," he admitted, sounding doubtful.
"Can't do it?" I asked, feeling disappointed.
"Sorry, but I don't think I can help you with this," he replied, handing the shards back to me.
I nodded and thanked him before leaving. Fenrir glanced at me briefly, saying nothing.
We moved on to the second shop, then the third. Every craftsman I approached gave me the same answer—the material was too strange, too foreign, and seemingly impossible to work with.
At the third shop, an elderly man even looked at me with a worried expression. "This material... feels unnatural. I suggest you be careful. Who knows what might happen if you force this."
Leaving the shop, I felt increasingly frustrated.
Fenrir finally spoke after a long silence. "I figured this would happen. You expected too much from them," she said, crossing her arms. "Why not ask Loki for help? He could probably handle it, couldn't he?"
I shook my head. "It's not a bad idea, but he's already helped us so much. I'd feel bad asking for another favor."
"Do you really think anyone else can forge that cursed, annoying thing?"
"I don't know, but we won't know until we try, right?" I replied, gripping the Gleipnir shards tightly. "I just can't give up yet. At the very least, I need to see this through."
Fenrir turned her head sharply, her lips tightening to reveal a hint of her teeth. "Why don't you just throw that cursed thing away? It pisses me off every time I see it," she said, her irritation crystal clear.
"Sorry, but I can't do that," I said, trying to placate her. "You might not like it, but this thing has tremendous potential. It once bound you, after all. Reforging it as a weapon seems like the smart thing to do."
"If you love that chain so much, why don't you marry it?" she snapped, turning away. Her tone was dripping with annoyance, clearly unable to let go of her grudge against Gleipnir.
Seeing Fenrir's frustration, I tried to reassure her. "Hey, don't be like that, Fenrys. I promise this will be useful someday—maybe even to protect you. Well, hopefully."
After a brief pause, Fenrir sighed. "You're really good at sweet-talking, Yata," she said, shrugging and dropping the subject.
After trying several more shops without success, we finally arrived at a small building on the edge of the city. This shop looked older and simpler compared to the others we had visited. Its faded sign read, "Atelier Farandil."
As we stepped inside, the atmosphere immediately felt different—calm, with a faint scent of burning wood lingering in the air. Behind the counter sat an old man with cat-like ears, his sharp eyes locking onto us the moment we entered.
"What can I do for you?" he asked in a low voice.
I pulled out the shard of Gleipnir and handed it to him. "Can you forge this into a weapon? You know, I've asked every craftsman in town, but none of them could handle it."
The old man took the shard, examining it carefully. He scrutinized it for a long while, even sniffing it as if trying to catch its scent.
After a moment, he set the shard back on the counter with a long sigh. "This... is not something ordinary."
I held my breath, waiting for his explanation.
"This isn't regular metal," he continued. "But I can't forge it. Even the best craftsmen in Utgard wouldn't be able to handle it."
"What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled.
"This piece can only be forged by dwarves," he said firmly. "They're the only ones skilled enough to work with such material."
I fell silent, processing his words. Dwarves? I knew they were legendary craftsmen, but finding them would be no small feat.
They resided in a realm far from Jotunheim, deep within the roots of Yggdrasil, in a place called Svartalfheim. This realm, depicted in Norse mythology as dark and inhabited by black elves, was said to be the source of many evils.
"Thank you for the information," I said finally, though disappointment weighed heavily in my voice. I picked up the shard and thanked him before leaving the shop.
As I turned to go, I caught a glimpse of a sharp grin on the old man's face. Choosing to ignore it, I left, knowing that dwelling on it would only add to my growing frustration.
The sky was turning a reddish-orange hue. The marketplace streets were quieter now, with only a few vendors packing up their stalls. I walked with my head down, the weight of disappointment still pressing on me.
Fenrir suddenly stopped. She turned to me and, with a swift motion, patted my head. "Hey, don't be too hard on yourself," she said softly.
I looked up, startled. Fenrir was smiling—a rare sight. "At least you tried. If it's not the right time now, maybe it will be later."
A faint smile formed on my lips, warmth spreading in my chest. "You're right. Thank you."
We continued our journey home, walking beneath a sky painted with crimson clouds. The chirping of birds returning to their nests surrounded us, adding to the serene atmosphere.
I glanced at Fenrir several times. For some reason, I felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and hold her hand. I gathered my courage more than once but hesitated each time, pulling my hand back.
"What's wrong?" she asked suddenly, startling me.
"N-nothing, I was just thinking," I replied awkwardly.
Fenrir let out a small huff but didn't press further. In the end, we simply walked side by side, basking in a comfortable silence until the palace gates appeared in the distance.