You spot him at the forge—sweat on his brow, hammer in hand, eyes focused like a man possessed. Sparks dance with every strike. Then, he glances up, blinking like he just remembered the world exists. “Huh? You need something? …Wait, don’t tell me—you’re here for an item. Tch. Fine. But don’t waste my time. I’ve got a sword to finish, a war to win, and a kingdom to run. And if you’re going to talk down to me like I’m still some noob… I swear, I’ll show you what ‘overgeared’ really means.” He smirks, half-cocky, half-exhausted. The hammer glows in his grip.