Gathering Wives with a System

Chapter 172: Paul’s Shock And Excitement, Tyr’s Eagerness

Once they were all seated, Isaac leaned forward.

“I’ll get straight to it. Paul, I want you to teach someone blacksmithing.”

Paul blinked. “Okay… I mean, sure. Who?”

Isaac pointed to Tyr.

For a second, Paul looked confused. Then he looked again, and noticed the miniature tree-like creature on Isaac’s shoulder. His eyes widened.

“Wait. Tyr?! Why does he look different though?”

Paul had seen the hulking treant guarding the Family shop every day, but he looked quite different now.

“He evolved,” Isaac said. “He’s developed a skill that lets him produce a type of hell-metal.”

Professor Catherine spoke next. “To be exact, the crystal you’re about to see is [Hell-Iron Myre].”

She placed the chunk of metal on the desk.

Paul stared at it. Slowly, his hand reached out and touched the surface. His fingers recoiled slightly, like he’d felt a jolt.

“You’re kidding,” he muttered. “This… this is Hell-Iron Myre? Real Hell-Iron Myre?”

“Yes,” Professor Catherine said. “Found only in Hell. Usually, you can only get it by killing certain monsters who escaped centuries ago. Even then, it’s rare. Only high-ranking smiths ever get enough of it to make anything worthwhile.”

Paul kept staring. “This… this is insane. I’ve only ever seen Hell-Iron Myre once. That was in a military archive. And now you’re saying—”

“Tyr can produce it at will,” Isaac said simply. “It’s a part of him now.”

Paul looked between Tyr and Isaac.

“That… that….”

He looked at the metal, then at Tyr, then back at the metal.

“This is priceless! I—please let me teach Tyr! This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I swear I’ll give it everything I have!”

His voice cracked with excitement. It was his pure love for craftsmanship, the kind that didn’t care about politics or power struggles.

It just wanted to build, to shape something new.

Isaac saw it clearly.

“Alright,” Isaac said, offering a nod. “We’ll do this properly.”

They spent the next half hour sketching out a simple plan.

Tyr would come to Paul’s smithy every morning to train.

In the afternoon, he’d leave with Emily to help her with monster hunts. That way, Tyr could grow steadily on both fronts.

Paul agreed to keep the Hell-Iron Myre a secret. He wouldn’t tell anyone, not even his father, unless Isaac gave the go-ahead.

As for compensation, Isaac offered a small, fist-sized chunk of the Hell-forge Myre every week.

It was excessive.

Paul looked like he might cry with gratitude. But for Isaac, who had unlimited Hell-forge Myre, this amount was not anything.

In fact, this was his investment in Paul. He wanted to see if Paul’s skills as a blacksmith could improve if he was provided better materials.

’I can buy a lot of materials from shop.’

’So I need to know if I can trust him with those things, or not.’

The agreement wasn’t formalized by any mana-based contract. After all, those types of magical contract did not exist.

There was just a simple agreement, exchanged through words and a firm handshake.

But Isaac wasn’t worried.

Firstly, if Paul became greedy with just this much, then he would lose the fortune he could get by partnering with Isaac in long term.

Secondly, Professor Catherine had already told him she would be keeping an eye on Paul.

If anything went wrong, she would know, and let him know.

After they wrapped things up, Isaac, Tyr and Professor Catherine stepped out of the smithy and into the midday buzz of Stronghold’s market.

Tyr was quiet for a while, walking with a slight bounce in his steps.

His body still in its miniature form, flames licking at the edges of his bark-like skin but never spreading or burning.

He turned to look at Isaac, tilting his head with a question in his eyes.

Isaac looked down and chuckled. “Are you asking who will guard the family shop if you go the smithy?”

Tyr nodded, his eyes glowing faintly.

Isaac reached out and patted the top of Tyr’s head. The little treant leaned into it.

“Don’t worry. I will protect it.”

He wasn’t just talking big.

Ever since his Sovering of Land skill reached Level 9, he could feel the land beneath the shop he had cultivated.

He could sense the mana signatures walking on the land, and if those mana signatures spiked ­—which meant they were using skill while standing on shop— Isaac would take care of them by summoning roots, and crushing their heads.

No thief, assassin, or troublemaker could make it out without facing a storm of his attacks.

“Focus on your training,” Isaac said, his voice turning more serious. “I want you to become a real blacksmith. Not just someone who can shape metal, but someone who can build things people rely on.”

Tyr’s leaves rustled slightly.

He looked up, nodded vigorously, then thumped his little chest with a hand made of molten bark.

Isaac smiled. “Good.”

It was clear Tyr liked the forge.

He’d been staring at the smiths with shining eyes earlier, especially when they hammered and shaped metal.

Maybe it was his nature. Maybe it was something deeper.

Either way, it was the first time Isaac had seen him act so eager about learning something unrelated to Isaac.

They made their way deeper into the market.

Stronghold’s central district was busier than usual.

Stalls lined the streets with weapons, enchanted gear, potions, monster parts, and ingredients Isaac couldn’t even name. People moved quickly, a mix of hunters, merchants, and casual passersby.

Isaac walked at a relaxed pace, scanning the crowd. He wasn’t really looking for anything in particular. Just letting his thoughts settle.

That’s when he saw her.

Selene.

She was standing at a merchant’s stall.

Her long coat swayed slightly with the breeze.

She held a small pouch in hand.

Her silver hair was tied back today, and she wore black gloves with small sigils etched along the knuckles.

Her presence was warm, and elegant. Even in the middle of the bustling crowd, she stood out.

Isaac paused. He hadn’t expected to run into her here.

She turned just slightly, eyes catching his before he had a chance to look away.

A smile blossomed on her face.

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