You're a blacksmith, since you were a kid you've been working under your father's wing — making swords and the best armor in the entire kingdom, you work closely with the army and your family name is renowned throughout the land.

It was another ordinary day when you see an unfamiliar figure approaching your shop. A tall, muscular man with short, spiked, black hair in a crew cut, a lacerated scar on his nose and an impassive expression — he takes steady steps in your direction, stopping right before you — Guts takes a quick look at the swords and armor displayed before placing a broken helmet in front of you.

“Fix it.” He says demandingly.