Weeks passed in a blink as the two companions marched towards civilisation.
From split lanes of trees and shrubbery, to the vast empty moors did they walk.
Barely a rest throughout their journey, ignoring all signs of close-by hamlets, distant villages, or bustling boroughs. In their spare time Apple and Mula trained in the ways of battle. The pair would spar against one another with thick sticks soaked in water. When their weapons crumbled from the fatigue of their fights, they would use their bodies instead, punching, kicking, grappling, and even the threat of biting was wielded by the duo – particularly the smaller of the two.
Only when they finally collapsed from exhaustion would they begin to enhance their minds, or at least, Apple would feed Mula’s uncultured brain succulent morsels of knowledge. He would teach her the art of words, mathematics, and what scant history Apple knew of.
With no books to use a guides and Apple was loathed to part with scant few pieces of parchment he possessed, Apple was left with no choice to scrawl what little he knew into the very dirt beneath their feet.
“This is hard.” Mula would always huff partway through their lessons. Her complete lack of prior education made it difficult for her to comprehend things as rudimentary as single-digit addition, or even simple writing.
“I know it’s hard, Mula.” Apple would always emphasise with her, “but it’s important that you become educated.”
Then, as always, she would simply reply with: “Why?” Such a short question that Apple would always struggle to answer.
“Why?” The pattern of their conversation Apple would mimic. From then on Apple would have to come up with a new answer to appease her. The truth was that he lacked a great answer, or even an okay one and they both knew it. It was not a requirement to live in this world knowing how to read, write, or even remember its past. Most people knew none of these things and yet still thrived. A plebeian could live just a fulfilling life as their jewel-clad patrician cousins. Apple remembered when he was Mula’s age and voiced the exact same protests as her, though his answers typically came in the form of a cane to the knuckles.
Apple racked his brain for days trying to find an answer. Her willingness to participate in his lessons was dwindling constantly as time trudged on. It was not until Apple finally succumbed to the word, he knew he would regret using in the future: “Magic" that things changed. The word itself was almost as powerful as what it entailed.
“A magician needs to learn how to read spells.” He would remind her. It was true of course, yet if they ever finally discover her gut void of dwimmer, no amount of skills in linguistics or reasoning would allow her to conjure the elements. For now, however, Mula devoured her lesson’s gladly and for that Apple was content.
Though eventually even he too would grow tired of their studies, leading him to proceed with the next step in his training: Meditation. Or, more specifically magic-enhancing meditation. It was difficult at first, due to Mula using this time to practice her aim with her new sling as well. The sound of stones screaming at the wind and cracking against trees made Apple jump from his seat frequently.
After the first week of Apple sitting cross-legged upon the ground, his eyes drawn in inside him, did he eventually notice that Mula had begun to mimic him. In the beginning he assumed the silence was to becoming accustomed to the sound of flying rocks but sadly that was not the case. He reminded her constantly of her uncertain magical potential, yet the girl argued that if she was indeed magically gifted, it would be beneficial to practice as soon as possible. Since Apple could not think of a rebuttal to this, he begrudgingly shrugged and allowed her to continue beside him. He even eventually taught her basic breathing techniques and how lose yourself in the stillness of a trance, as they travelled further and further throughout unknown land.
***********
“Hail stranger!” Apple cried, with a wave of his arm.
“Hail!” A man in the distance replied.
After what Apple believed to be eighteen days, the pair had finally encountered another person on their travels. Quickly did the stranger approach them with the obvious sight of a horse pulling a wagon and the man sat at the front holding the animal’s reins.
“What brings you out here with no horse nor goods?” The man asked atop his wooden seat.
“Just simple travellers, we are. Tired of our lives in a squat little village, so we decided to start a new life in a city.” Apple politely lied to the man.
The stranger examined the two. His big bushy moustache wiggled as his mouth translated his feelings of what he saw. “Thought you might be country folk, with the way you’re dressed ‘n’ all.” He mused. “You’re in luck though. The city of Kettle is only a few miles down the road we’re currently standing on.”
Apple could not help but beam a smile at this news. He knew of the city of Kettle but had never been there before. He remembered it being the closest city to Pier on maps of Loncia, although it was still quite far away. It would seem they have walked further than he expected. “Wonderful news, friend. If you don’t mind, I wish for us to be off as soon as possible.”
The stranger nodded. “I understand, lad. You two look life you’ve been in the wilderness for a little too long. I won’t keep you. Safe travels.” With his goodbye uttered, he whipped the leather reins in his hands and his horse once again started to trot forward.
“And safe travels to you.” Apple waved back in farewell.
With a reinforced enthusiasm to press forward, Apple and Mula charged onward. The occasional joyous skip in their steps as they walked, lunged them forth on the double.
**********
“No guards standing outside the gate... A tad queer, not that I’m complaining.” Apple said more to himself than the girl beside him.
The pair had arrived shortly at the city of Kettle. Unlike the city of Pier, Kettle seemed to be only fortified by a mere palisade – instead of a powerful stone keep. Albeit the wall was indeed imposing, made of smooth sharpened logs as tall as the tress they were made from, bound together side by side in the earth. It being made of wood instead of stone was most likely due to the sheer magnitude of effort and coin required to make the rock walls and unlike Pier, a valuable base of foreign trade and naval ships, Kettle lacked anything worth the endeavour beyond hosting a sizeable chunk of the country’s citizens.
“Is it normal for people to stand outside a city?” Mula asked, as her eyes took in the vast curvature of giant pikes that hid the lives behind them.
“Oh yes,” Apple replied. “Typically, all cities have guards outside to make sure no one dubious enters their walls. Perhaps they’re on break.”
With no desire to wait around on the off chance someone does eventually show up to interrogate them, Apple passed through the open archway and into the city of Kettle. The giant slab of timber used as the city’s door laid invitingly against the inside of the palisade.
Once again, the familiar sights of market stalls, bustling peasants, and the smell of human waste swarmed Apple’s senses. “Remember, Mula, our first priority here is to find a blacksmith. So, keep your eyes peeled.” He reminded her as they ventured further into the area.
Apple threw back the hood of his cloak that he normally kept around his head and wore a friendly smile. It had only been about a month since Apple was around so many bustling lives, yet the amount of people, their noises, and smells were quickly overwhelming his senses and giving a headache. Apple forced himself to calm and to stop his hand from brushing against his sword so much. They planned to stay here as long as possible so he needed to once again assimilate into the mindset of a common city dweller.
“Mula hears the sound of a hammer close by.” She told him, tugging as his cloak to get his attention.
“Does it sound like it’s hitting flesh or metal?” Apple inquired.
“Metal.” She replied affirmatively.
“Can’t hurt to have a look, lead on.”
Mula nodded and took off ahead of Apple. Only a minute walk forward and a turn around the corner and Apple could the sight of a stout man slamming a hammer repeatedly onto an anvil in the distance. Apple was thankful that their shabby appearances made them invisible to the bellowing merchants around them.
Sat upon a stool under a drab makeshift gazebo was a burly apron-wearing fellow, striking at a piece of metal with an unwavering tempo, a small cobblestone forge hiccupped orange bubble behind him. To the man’s left stood a large rack display, dangling a wide variety of weaponry.
“Hail!” Apple cried, competing against the loud clanging of metal on metal.
The blacksmith neither stopped his work or even turned to look at Apple. However, he brought his free hand up in the air with the index finger pointing upwards, indicating that Apple needed to wait a moment.
Content to oblige, Apple waited patiently. Occupying his time by examining the man’s wares all the while. Mostly spears and axes but the occasional sword or maul could be seen in the crowd. Apple had no intention of buying another weapon, he instead used this time to appraise the blacksmith’s craftsmanship. Nothing stood out as particularly impressive, especially all lacking in any sort of decoration, not that Apple cared about that sort of thing anymore. All were made of basic grey iron and looked strong enough, that was good enough for him.
“Sorry for the wait, lad and little lass. What can I do for ya?” The blacksmith asked. He was now standing, his work apparently complete.
Apple looked at the man. It would seem that being both muscular, bloated, and extremely hairy was a must in the world of metal working. Though at least this fellow did not live up to the stereotype of being uncommonly tall as most blacksmiths did. Apple actually had to look down to meet his eyes, not that it made the man any less imposing. “I have recently acquired a sword that’s in need of some repairs – oh, and a sheath for it as well.” Apple answered, immediately getting to the point.
“Alrighty, let’s have a looksy – if it pleases ya.” The blacksmith replied, his arms stretched out ready to take the sword.
“Of course.” Apple unhooked the bound short sword at his hip and unwound it. Once it was completely bare, he handed to the man.
With the trained eyes of an experienced metal worker, the blacksmith stared hard at even inch of the sword, tracing his fingers over where his eyes once were. “Bronze aye. Don’t see many things made out of the stuff these days. The leaf shape of the blade is especially old fashioned. Don’t suppose ya feel like selling the thing?”
Apple shook his head, he expected this question, he was well aware of the current rarity of copper-based products. “Afraid not. I’m quite fond of the thing, just some repairs will suffice.”
“Aye, can’t blame ya to be honest.” He nodded in return. “The edge is as a blunt as a spoon plus a few nasty nicks here and there. The things pretty filthy as well, it smells like shit without me even needing to press my nostrils against it. I take it you found it somewhere?” The blacksmith nose twitched and lips curled in disdain at the scent the sword carried.
Apple hid his embarrassment towards the comment on the sword’s smell. He knew it stunk but did realise it was that bad.], he feared that he had become too accustomed to the rustic smells of nature. The all too familiar insecurity of his own scent raced his heart. He had washed Mula and himself every couple of days with a warm rain dripped from his catalyst, although was begrudged to admit that it was hardly a replacement for a hot rose petal bath. “Yeah, found it in a goblin’s lair a few weeks back. Haven’t even used it yet because of the sorry state it’s in.”
The blacksmith’s eyes perked up slightly. “Goblin lair, aye. You and your little friend their mercenaries?”
Apple shrugged and smiled. “Something like that.”
“Strange team ya make. A posh-sounding young man with a giant walking stick, and a little girl with yellow eyes fiercer than any beast I’ve seen.” The man chuckled.
Apple chuckled back, he had to admit that they were quite the odd duo.
“Anyway, getting the nicks out and the sharpening will cost ya eight irons total. Ya said sheathe and not scabbard so I’m guessing ya just want some simple leather to cover the thing, that’ll be three irons and three woods. I’ll clean it for free, since I won’t suffer the things stink while I work on it.” He informed Apple.
This was the moment that Apple had be dreading. At this moment Apple only possessed a measly three iron coins and four wooden ones. He hoped that his planned proposal would suffice. “Sorry but I don’t currently have that much money.” He grimaced.
The blacksmith’s face instantly slumped in annoyance. “Then why the bloody abyss are you here wasting my time?”
“Wait, I have a proposal. I’ll get your money in three days I swear. If I don’t, you can keep the sword. I need to leave it with you anyway. You and I both know it’s worth a lot more than the money you’re asking for.” Apple reasoned.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The blacksmith went quiet. The only sound he made was the ruffle of him scratching his thinning grey hair. “Alright, lad. Three days. Even if ya show up on the fourth with double the coin, I’m still keeping the sword.”
Apple was not pleased about this arrangement but had little choice but to agree. “Deal.” He stretched out his arm, ready to shake the man’s hand.
The blacksmith placed his large grisly hand in Apple’s and shook. If he noticed the hideous burn scars on Apple’s skin or the lack of ring finger tip, he showed no signs he did.
With their transaction completed, Apple bid the man farewell and took off back into the streets. Once they were no longer in earshot of the blacksmith, Mula turned to Apple and asked: “How you going to make that much money in three days?”
Apple grinned sheepishly, “don’t you worry, I have a plan...”
**********
Apple spun his staff wildly. The weight of the iron, crystals, and copper that lived behind its wooden shell threatened to throw itself out of Apple’s grasp as it gained momentum. Apple was thankful for the times he had grown bored on his travels; twirling his magical catalyst around like a child to occupy himself.
After doing it for nearly an hour now, he had a practiced rhythm forming in his movements. Spin in front of his torso for ten seconds, then swing the staff behind his back, flip it in the air once, catch it with the other hand, and finally return it back to his front for more spinning all the while. Although, every so often he would try to improve his act by tossing his staff into the air and then catching it immediately. In fact, Apple had become so confident in his routine that he now kicked his legs one after another in the air joyously to enhance his performance.
Yet the sprawled of piece of cloth on the ground in front of him remained bare.
Not a single person that had passed him by had rewarded him for the entertainment he provided. Most did not even bother to turn their heads his way. The few that did would gawk at him as if he was some kind of exotic animal.
“Come on, ladies and gentleman. Watch as I enthral your minds with dazzling feats of athleticism and grace.” Apple bellowed to all that walked by. He was now both tried and desperate.
“All ya doing is spinning a stick and kicking ya legs. Why the bloody abyss would I give ya some of me coins for that?” A common looking chap asked, he had stopped walking and turned to face Apple.
“I’ll have you know that this is a lot harder than it looks.” Apple argued back, still performing his routine.
The man audibly scoffed at that remark. “My nan’s tits it is! Anyone can spin a stick around. My little girl does it, ya don’t see me forcing her to stand on streets begging for coin now do ya?”
“You should. The extra coin will help by some soap or clothes that don’t look like they were made by a blind goat.” Apple informed the man, with an exaggerate upturned nose looking down upon the chap.
“Says you! I can smell ya from here, and that blanket you’re wearing got more holes in it than a brothel.”
“Bold words from a who can’t twirl a stick.” Apple retorted, twirling his catalyst faster, fuelled by the growing rage in his bones.
“I can twirl a stick, ya arse!”
“Oh yeah? Prove it.”
“I will, give me your stick.”
“Bugger off! Get your own stick.”
“No. Gimme yours.” The man demanded, approaching Apple with stretched out his arms and hands the shape of claws.
“Oi!” Apple cursed. As he tried to swat at the enrage peasant with his dancing legs.
“Stop kicking me, ya wanker. Gimme that damn stick!” He cursed, as he too began swatting at Apple’s kicks with crab-like fingers.
“Get your damn own!”
“Make me.” The man challenged.
“Why the bloody swamp-arse wielding milkmaid would I make you do that?”
“Don’t get cheeky with me, mate. Just give me ya stick.”
Apple had finally lost his patience with the man and kicked him in the crotch. No longer did he flutter his legs in dance but instead darted the heel of his boot at the man with malicious intent. As was expected, the stranger crumpled to the ground with a wheezing groan. Whilst Apple stood over his defeated opponent proudly, hosting a smug grin, did he finally look at his surroundings.
Unbeknownst to him a crowd had formed while he had argued with the fellow that now gasping on the floor, all staring at him with curiosity, disgust, and slight bemusement.
“Ladies and gentleman, thank you for your time but I’m afraid that’s the end of our show for today.” He nonchalantly told his audience. With that said, he turned away from the people and sprinted down the street.
Apple ran for several minutes down various cobblestone lanes until he was almost certain the man, he kicked would not find him. It was not that he was afraid of the man, he just did not want to do something that might result in encountering the city guards.
“Well, that could have gone better.” Apple mumbled to himself.
“Mula agrees.” Said a voice from behind him.
Apple turned around to see Mula, displaying a plethora of unreadable expressions on her face. “Ah, Mula. I didn’t see you in crowds.”
“I was hiding... You were embarrassing to look at.” She whispered with a downcast head, unable to meet his gaze.
Apple could feel his cheeks warm and his mouth stretch into an uncomfortable expression. He did not feel particularly proud of what had just transpired but now that Mula had expressed her feelings on the matter, he felt complete humiliation.
“Well...I’ll admit it didn’t work as well I thought it would.” Apple sighed. “Didn’t even get a single coin.”
“No, it worked.” Mula corrected. From the shadows of her cloak, she pulled out overflowing handfuls of wooden coins, with the occasional sparkle of iron buried in the piles.
Apple’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets from the shock of what they were seeing. “Mercy, where did you get all of those coins?” He gasped.
Mula shrugged. “Mula take them from people distracted by you.”
Apple was not sure how to respond, on one hand he felt sheer joy at the sight of so many coins, however on the other he felt the weight of the law crushing him. Although unlike the past the weight failed to collapse the stoic position of his palm. Apple had battled with the idea of theft and as time went on it was getting harder and harder to remember why stealing from wrong to begin with.
Apple took a wooden coin from Mula and brought it up to his eyes. A perfectly cut piece of wood polished with an immortal lacquer. A decoration of rings protruded from the front, so intricate in design only a master craftsman could create a forgery. Such simple circles it displayed yet somehow complicated the more you stared at it.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this; good work Mula. It would seem my idea wasn’t such a complete failure after all. How much did you get?”
Mula crouched low to the ground and began to place the coins down one at a time. It was aa slow process and the clear signs of struggle crinkled Mula’s face.
“Thirteen wood ones and three iron ones.” She eventually told him, after counting the coins twice to make sure.
“Good job, Mula.” Apple praised, ignoring the gnawing feeling in the back of his mind. “Altogether we now have six irons and seventeen woods, or seven irons and seven woods. So, we only need four more irons and six more woods and we’re good.”
“Mula could have figured that out.” She boasted with a puff of her chest.
Apple chuckled. “I’m sure you could. Now, it’s getting pretty late so let’s find somewhere to sleep for the night.”
The two marched forth under the loom of the early winter shroud. To find an inn Apple was certain he could currently afford, he followed the trail of foul scents and scruffy looking drunkards that looked at him with quick shifty eyes.
**********
After about an hour of searching the two finally stumbled upon an inn that was both cheap and did not foretell a guaranteed slice to the throat in the night. A measly five wooden coins that Apple haggled to four was all that it took to rent one of the room’s in Funky Frank’s Tavern.
The room was smaller than Apple’s old clothing closest and smelled damper than any urine-soaked rag thrown into a still pond that Apple had come cross and he had seen two.
The clientele was a gathering of thuggish clichés that were described in all the story books Apple had read growing up. The men either resembled chiselled boars or grisly ferrets in appearance. No one bothered to hide their small yet efficient weaponry as they conversed with one another, all the while taking large gulps of their flagons that contained more water than ale.
The typical stares Apple and Mula experienced as they entered the premises was expected. Apple remembered what the blacksmith had said to him, as the patrons squeezed their devious beady eyes at him while he strode; “Strange team ya make.” Many echoed.
Apple pouted at the straw mat on the ground that was supposed to substitute an actual bed. With nothing currently to do, he propped his catalyst against the thin wall, took off his cloak, and sat on top of it.
“You meditating?” Mula asked from the other side of the room, a whole five feet away.
“I was about to. I’m not that hungry right now and don’t feel like getting cosy with the locals. So, I’m just going to kill an hour training.” Apple replied, as he began to slow and focus his breathing.
“There’s a good chance someone will try to rob us – Mula thinks.” She stated flatly.
Apple cocked his left brow up in curiosity. “What makes you so certain?”
She shrugged. “Mula can feel it. Mula bin to many places like this before.”
Apple pondered on whether to press her about her past but quickly decided it was not time yet. “I wouldn’t be surprised if someone tries something. I just hope it’s only one or two, any more and we’ll make a scene.”
“We kill them?”
Apple sighed and shook his head slightly. “Not if we can help it. I don’t want to make a fuss and would like to avoid using magic. Plus beating a man to death with my staff is a tiresome endeavour.”
“Kay, Mula will also try to not kill them when they attack.” She agreed.
“Good girl. Now be quiet while I meditate.” He asked of her, as he closed his eyelids and started to visualise the bowl that held his dwimmer once more.
**********
Once Apple’s body could no longer take the strain of having its spirit slowly and painfully stretched, Apple arose from the floor and washed the sweat off himself with water.
While he rubbed himself with a rag soaked in liquid of his own creation, Apple noticed Mula on the ground beside him, sat in the exact same pose he was just in. Starved from the fatigue of what he just did, Apple nudged Mula out of her trace so they could go get supper. He felt rude disturbing her, especially since he always complained when she did it to him, yet Apple refused to leave her alone in their room while he ate.
“Come on Mula, supper time.” He smiled
A look of grogginess came and went in an instant over Mula. It would seem that she is becoming quite skilled in reaching a meditative state. “Yay, Mula is starving.” She said.
Just as they were about to leave, Apple paused and looked at the staff in his hand. He could not bear to separate himself from it, nevertheless he knew that taking it downstairs would draw some attention. He was no longer in full travel gear, his sack and cloak remained in the room. He thought of faking a limp to mask it as a walking stick but feared the tasty vulnerability it would invite.
Eventually he decided to take it with him anyway, the staff was more valuable than everything he owned combined and was currently his only weapon. As he carried on his joining downstairs, Apple made a mental note to find a way to make his catalyst stand out less in the future.
After paying a suspiciously low price of two wooden coins each, Apple and Mula sat at one of the empty tables in the tavern, and waited for their meal.
The place was small and less crowded than when they had first arrived. Only four out of the twelve tables were occupied. Apple did his best to avoid eye contact with everyone, praying that no one took interest in him or his young companion.
Apple looked at Mula on the other side of the table. The more he looked, the more he was reminded of her exotic features and how they stand out in the crowds of pale skin and blunt teeth, like she was like a lowly knight surrounded by Earls.
It did not take long for their food to arrive, which usually was not a good sign. A fat freckled woman Apple assumed was the owner’s wife or sister – or both placed their servings of porridge and a lump of rye bread on the table. After a quick thank you, they tucked into their food.
The porridge was burnt and bland, tasking as if it had been reheated several times over and stunk of something strange. The crust of the bread rivalled rock, the inside was the texture of sawdust. However, after weeks of nothing but old jerky, dried biscuits, or the rare black bird, overall the meal was satisfactory. Apple was sure that if he had eaten this a year ago, he would have vomited all of it back out in less time than it takes to release his bowls.
“So, Mula, I’ve been thinking,” Apple said now that they had finished eating. “Let’s do what we did today again tomorrow, except in a nicer part of town. If we’re going to steal let’s at least do it from people that can afford to lose a few coins.”
“Kay.” She replied causally. Her attention more focussed on wiping her finger on the remnants of sticky oat-residue in her bowl and licking it.
“Good. Don’t take too much either. And be careful to not get caught.”
“Stop worrying, Mula will be fine. Mula steal all the time.”
“That somehow doesn’t make me feel any better.” Apple said quietly.
**********
A rattle at the door. The poor excuse for a lock shook to and fro under the guidance of an unseen force. A slim strip of iron wedged against the wooden frame was the only thing keeping whomever wanted in out.
“How long have they been trying to get in for?” Apple asked in the darkness.
“’Bout a minute.” Mula whispered back. Her keen senses alerted her to the waggling of their room door first, now her and Apple stood low in the corner of the room, wondering what to do.
They had been asleep for several hours before being disturbed and it would seem that the moment Mula foretold had arrived.
“Alright here’s the plan, let whomever lurks behind that door clang the lock at their leisure. However, if they do manage to get in, kill them.” Apple declared.
The shroud of Mula’s silhouette nodded and crept ever so softly towards the corner of the door hinges and waited. Apple stood directly in front of the door, if the intruder was to succeed in intruding, Apple wanted his attention to be completely on himself.
It did not take long until the sound of the lock shaking ceased and the muffled sound of footstep drifted off into the distance.
While Apple doubted someone would try to break in again tonight, the incident had jostled him and made sleep difficult. His heart still thumped and his body continued to twitch in anticipation. He told Mula to go back to sleep while he kept watch. Surprisingly she agreed immediately, perhaps due to her confidence in her hearing ability.
So, for the rest of the night, Apple sat against the back wall staring at the door. His catalyst leaning against his shoulder, ready to be used at any moment.
**********
It was dawn now and the pair had once again taken to the streets. Apple fulfilled his guardian promise and refused to sleep for a single wink after the door incident. He was sluggish at first but the early morning chill that howled through the city rejuvenated him tremendously.
Apple was following his previous trail from yesterday out of the slums. His destination this time was a much more coin-filled district. Not the richest however, for harassing aristocrats and nobility was a guaranteed way of earning the city guard's attention.
After an hour walk, they eventually came across a merchant plaza, although instead of densely packed market stalls there were study wooden buildings reinforced with stone plating in neat rows.
Apple found himself a populated street and began his performance from yesterday. The wild spinning of his catalyst and his dancing kicks caught the eyes of many that walked past. He even found humming a catchy tune while he performed helped distract the good people even more.
Every so often he would gaze around the street while he twirled to see if he could spot Mula. It was difficult at first but eventually he began to noticed the slightest flutter of fabric from behind the particularly wealthy-looking gawkers.
In only two days, they had managed to acquire nine iron coins and eighty-six wooden coins, some of them even from donations towards Apple’s performance. Even with their newfound wealth, they still stayed at Funky Frank’s Tavern. Apple’s desire to save money outweighed the risk of shielding the pair with such a brittle door – for now.
**********
“Well I’ll be, you actually got the coin.” The blacksmith stated, his tone seemed to indicate he was not very enthusiast about the fact.
“Yup, here’s your twelve irons and three woods.” Apple replied, as he handed the man the coins with a smile.
After a brief count of his newfound money, the blacksmith pocketed the coin, shuffled to a wooden draw to the side, retrieving a sheathed sword with a familiar flat pommel.
“Here you are, lad.” He said, while he begrudgingly handed over the orange-coloured sword to Apple.
“Thank you, good sir.” Apple pulled the sword from its dull leather sheathe and inspected the blade. No nicks to be seen and the edges threatened to tear his skin of even the lightest touch. While it still had not been polished, it was most certainly cleaner than it was when Apple found it.
Apple tied the sheathe to his side and bid the blacksmith a final farewell.
“Now what?” Mula asked.
“You sure do ask that question a lot,” Apple mused. “Well, step one is now complete, so it’s on to step two in my master plan to become stronger.”
“What’s step two?”
“Why, we’re going to rob an old man of course.”
Mula smirked.