When Sokram started testing his new spell with goblins, living beings with a greater mass, the real problem with the spell revealed itself.

  “Did you sense it too?” Sokram looked at Hannah with a frown.

  “Yes, it seems that something is interfering with the transfer of mass through the fabric of space. I think you need to recalculate the formula again.” Cecille suggested.

  She had joined in after dinner, along with Amber, who was there hoping to learn something new.

  Hannah refrained from commenting this time, as she too had no idea why it had failed.

  The answer came from Amber, who had been studying the spell’s formula for a while by then.

  “In your formula, you stated that the amount of mana used to connect point A and point B needs to be precise. If one meter uses one unit of mana, ten meters should use ten units, right?” As Amber spoke, she rolled the needle between her fingers, eyes narrowing in that familiar glint of discovery.

  “Yes, that is correct,” Sokram nodded, looking at her as if he didn’t expect much.

  In reality, her swift grasp of the formula stunned him.

  “Doesn't using mana-tainted Mithril increase that amount of mana in the spell by a small margin? Isn’t this what is causing the interference with the amount of mana you’re using and messing up the calculations of the spell?”

  The way Sokram was looking at her made Amber blush. His gaze shone with the pride of a Master whose disciple had discovered light, utterly amazed.

  “Of course it is that, even the Adamantium I used to increase the mass of the needle is mana tainted, why didn’t I think of it before?! Thank you, Amber!”

  Sokram glanced at Hannah with a proud grin, “I told you, she is amazing, didn’t I?”

  But the needle of that level of craft, without using his mana Matter Manipulation Spell, posed another problem.

  One that Sokram also knew how to fix. “Now I only need a good Whitesmith.”

  “There’s Ronna’s husband, Draven. They are half-dwarves and can do some good smithing work, while Ronna is a Blacksmith, and Draven is a Whitesmith. He even did some delicate inscription carvings for the Tower.” Cecille offered.

  “Great! That’s exactly the type of talent and craftsmanship I need for this! Thank you, Auntie Cecille.” Sokram flashed her a sincere smile.

  In his past timeline, the Millers were counted among the few who helped him immensely when he still hadn’t awakened.

  And even more after he was slandered by Kazzah, who pinned the blame for the death of his team on him.

  Now he had the justification he needed to meet them. Everything was unfolding according to his plans.

  Cecille nodded, acknowledging his thanks, and walked away toward the lift.

  As she left, she told him without looking back, “Stop calling me Aunt, it makes me feel old. Besides, you’re talented enough to treat me as an equal.”

  If Sokram could see her face, the shade of red flushing her face and the tip of her ears would bring a satisfied grin to his lips.

  As she stepped toward the lift, her heart began calming down as she thought, ‘Hmph, my wives and I agreed to join his harem, and he is still calling me aunt…’

  After she left, Sokram, Amber, and Hannah burned the remains of rats and goblins scattered around, and Sokram went to sleep at the sound of laughter and conversations flowing from the pool.

  The next day, shying slightly over the sunrise, Sokram went to find Ronna’s shop.

  A familiar knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach, a recurring tremor he always felt when it was time to meet the people from his past timeline.

  The Millers were a family of Half-Dwarves, and thanks to being Half-Humans, they weren’t very short, or at least not as short as pure-blooded dwarves.

  The Master Whitesmith, Mr. Draven Miller, was a stocky man, about 1.65 meters tall, with golden-blonde hair and blue eyes.

  He was one of the smiths, yet not the true master of the shop.

  The Master Blacksmith was his wife, Ronna Miller, a stunning woman, 1.6 meters tall, with blue eyes, red hair, freckles across her face, and a smile that always made Sokram’s heart skip a beat.

  Still, her most alluring asset was her perfectly sculpted and luscious body, with voluptuous curves that caused men to lose themselves when they looked at her.

  Following her steps as an apprentice was Monna, their daughter, who inherited her mother’s beauty and build, along with her father’s hair color.

  The Millers, despite their surname, weren’t nobles.

  Yet, Mr. Miller always told stories of his Royal Ancestry in the Sacred Continent.

  Sokram came to a stop in front of a blacksmith shop named Ronna’s Hammer.

  The smell of coal smoke and hot iron hung heavy in the air, carrying memories of honest work and struggles past.

  But also of bonds of friendship stronger than steel.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Just as he arrived at the store, a sickening scene immediately made his blood boil.

  Draven was a muffled ball of pain on the ground, shielding his head with crossed arms as a bald, muscular man delivered repeated kicks to his ribs.

  Ronna’s screams echoed through the nearly empty square, as two lackeys strained to pin her and Monna against the shop wall, their arms locked like iron clamps.

  And the few guards around ignored the scene as though it wasn't happening.

  A cliché in such scenes. There was a loan shark involved, one Sokram truly despised.

  Brahin the Hyena.

  The mere sight of his greasy, smug grin sent a wave of familiar, corrosive hatred through Sokram.

  And that unbearable laughter that gained him the nickname, the Hyena.

  He was a wealthy individual who built his fortune by scamming desperate people, offering them loans at exorbitant rates.

  Since he had ties with some noble families, no one without backing could do anything against him.

  Still, in this lifetime, Sokram could. And he did.

  Just as that next kick was winding up, a crack of air pressure was the only warning before the bald man flew backward like a rag doll, his body collapsing into a motionless heap a few meters away.

  Sokram appeared where the man had been, his gaze locked straight on Brahin. “What did these good people do to you, scumbag? Is it now legal to beat an honest worker in broad daylight?”

  Sokram looked at the few guards who were pretending not to notice, and they froze like statues, the blood draining from their faces as they recognized the young dragon.

  Brahin didn’t and called the guards. This made it clear to Sokram that those guards were on his payroll.

  “Guards, this arrogant lizard is getting in the way of my business!” Brahin raged, yet only silence followed.

  First, Sokram addressed the guards who were still frozen, “You’ve been pretending not to see anything until now, right? Continue doing that, then, and scram!”

  Without needing a second word, they all left with hurried steps.

  Brahin wasn’t stupid.

  If the guards were acting like that, it meant Sokram wasn’t just anyone, yet the coin still didn’t drop.

  “Look, young dragon,” Brahin started, his tone changed completely, going as far as becoming subservient. “I don’t recognize you. Are these people important to you?”

  “You don’t recognize me? Haha. That’s a nice change from these last few weeks. Let me show you who I am.”

  Sokram pointed two fingers to the sky, and there was a “Crackle!”

  A Dark Lightning flashed, casting both shadows and light simultaneously.

  “D-Da-Dark Lightning… Killer…” Brahin's face went pale immediately, not only his, but the two other lackeys as well.

  They released Ronna and Monna immediately and tried to flee.

  Wanting to prove his identity further, Sokram moved with his lightning, appearing in a flash before the duo.

  With a swift double kick, he sent the two flying in opposite directions.

  Even before the two lackeys hit the ground, Sokram was right in Brahin’s face, “Do you know who I am now?”

  “Gulp.”

  Brahin had tormented Sokram for a long time before Sokram was awakened.

  After Sokram so naively borrowed money from him to buy the medicine Brunhild needed after the first war.

  Now, in this timeline, his tormentor was shaking in fear before him.

  Sokram remembered he was around the same age back then as he was now.

  Now things were completely different.

  “I didn’t hear you, Sir Brahin the Hyena. You’re quite famous too, aren’t you?”

  Sokram's grin was as sharp as the katana sheathed at his waist.

  A promise of violence, and the sheer wave of killing intent crushed Brahin, making him scramble backward on his hands and knees until he hit the wall, shaking so hard his teeth clicked.

  “I’m sorry, sir Dark Lightning! I didn’t know these people were connected to you! Please forgive me, I was merely trying to get my money back! Please don’t kill me! Please!”

  Sokram crouched, looking intently into Brahin’s eyes, flaring enough killing intent to keep him shaking in fear, though not enough that Brahin would pass out. “How much do they owe you?”

  Brahin hesitated, trembling so hard the coins in his pouch rattled, and their clinking echoed loudly.

  He wanted to say it was all forgiven.

  However, remembering all the stories about the killing blades and how they could read people’s intentions, he chose against lying, “A-a hundred gold, s-sir...”

  Sokram scratched his chin, summoned a ring, and threw it at him, “There, I don’t want garbage like you slandering my name. Their debt is paid."

  Sokram's grin vanished, replaced by an icy glare, "Your debt to me and this city is not. People like you are like a disease that makes this city that I love rot from the inside.”

  Sokram stood up, pulled Brahin with him, and, still looking into his eyes, he ordered, “So here’s what you're going to do: you’re going to disappear from this city. Or the next time we meet, the only thing you will see is the world rolling around you after a cut you fucking head off! Now scram! And take your trash lackeys with you!”

  Brahin scrambled away, struggling to take his men with him. Two of them had been knocked out by Sokram. The other one, who could stand without help, had a broken jaw.

  Sokram turned to Draven, who was now standing with the help of his family, “Hi, sorry for the commotion. Are you Mr. Draven?”

  Sokram flashed them a bright smile, his appearance shifting completely from a murdering dragon to a young noble hero.

  “Y-Yes…” Draven said with difficulty breathing.

  “Great, can we talk inside?” Sokram motioned to the store, still smiling as if he had just found some of his best friends.

  “Sure.” Draven nodded, and with Ronna’s and Monna’s support, they led Sokram into the store.

  A few moments later, Sokram was sitting with them inside the store.

  Before commissioning his work, he needed to tend to Draven’s wounds.

  “Here, take this.” Sokram offered him a medicinal pill.

  He began scanning Draven’s body with a diagnostic spell, especially his hands.

  Purple and impossibly swollen, throbbing like two raw pieces of meat.

  Each pulse of blood drew a wince from the man.

  "Hmm, nothing broken," Sokram chuckled, gently prodding the rock-hard knuckles. "Good thing you inherited that dwarven bone density."

  He saw that despite accepting the pill, Draven hadn’t eaten it.

  Sokram furrowed his brows.

  Draven, noticing his expression, rushed to explain, “I truly don’t want to offend you, Young Head Dracnakrid. But this looks expensive, and I’m already a hundred gold in your debt. I truly can’t afford more debt.”

  Ronna nodded and added with a grateful and respectful smile, “That is the truth, Young Head Dracnakrid. We are very grateful for your help. Everyone says you’re different, but to help unimportant people like us… We’ll do everything in our power to repay this debt.”

  Seeing them act so meekly and respectfully toward him irked him immensely.

  Especially as memories of the many times Ronna would mend his wounds when he got beaten by Brahin’s men for delaying a payment.

  Or when she always made sure to invite him to eat. And how many times would Ronna and Monna lend their shoulders so he would cry out his frustrations, sharing a drink with them after working hours.

  To him, Ronna and Monna were true friends, and he would have appeared earlier had he known they were in trouble.

  But he also needed to respect cause and effect, or Fate might truly start freaking out again.

  Controlling his emotions, Sokram turned back to Draven, with a stern look on his face, “First, take the pill. We’ll discuss payment or repayment later. Though you have no broken bones, if you let it heal by itself, you might need to change your subclass.”

  Hearing Sokram’s warning, Draven stopped hesitating and took the pill.

  Sokram placed his hand on Draven’s back, and not only did he start using the healing spell, but also accelerated the digestion of the pill.

  Ten minutes later, Draven was feeling as good as new.

  Seeing her husband fully healed, Ronna’s eyes filled with tears, and her voice broke into sobs as she buried her face against Draven’s shoulder, hugging him tightly.

  Monna also joined in hugging her parent.

  Sokram respected their moment and gave them some space.

  They all hoped the storm that was threatening to uproot their lives had passed.

  Watching their embrace, Sokram’s chest tightened.

  He vowed in his heart that he would ensure no storm would ever shake their foundations again.