Fate was a funny thing. Not that it was a laughing matter. No, not at all. I wanted to cry, if anything. Seems like I was simply destined to be ill-fated.

Why though?! Why me?! Oowoowoo…

Oh, woe is this wretched existence of mine.

My fleeting dreams of being recognized for my greatness vanished before me once again, hopes dashing away as I realized my new reality. I finally thought my future outlook would turn for the better after being bought by Gael. But, oh, was I wrong. Once again, I was used for some odd job instead of my true purpose.

I escaped being stuck with that old merchant Dylan, rotting away under the rays of the scorching sun. Yet now, only to be thrown into a fire with another.

Quite literally this time.

A searing blue inferno raged beneath me. Was Gael intending for me to be some kind of cooking utensil? I sure hoped not. Luckily, the licking flames barely tickled the cosmic alloys composing my body, so I was okay.

See how great and durable my body was?

The blue fire did, however, pick away the long accumulated stuff caked on my now even-shinier surface. Not rust, of course. I did not rust. The things I impaled, however, stuck on me similarly to rust. But I was not rusty. I was simply long overdue for a good scrub.

Not that old man Dylan cared. He got his coins, which was all he gave a darn about. So I suppose in that regard, Gael fared much better as my owner.

But my exfoliated shiny surface aside, I was definitely not okay.

Gael, the mysterious cloaked young man, with an even more mysterious backpack, was not all like his deep, dark, and cool appearance portrayed him to be.

Surprise, surprise.

Gael was another bloody merchant! Ugh! To be sold to the uncaring streetside vendor, Dylan, only to be resold to the weirdo peddler, Gael!

“I demand to be sold again right now, caped weirdo! This time to a proper sword user!” I ordered, only to fall on deaf ears. “Please! I beg thee, master! There are plenty walking by!”

But nope. Gael continued twisting my hilt back and forth while poking the blade of my body in the wildly flaring blue fire. My request went completely ignored by Gael. Not that he even noticed. He couldn’t hear me anyway. I had hoped he could at least sense my yearning to stop doing odd jobs. But my guy simply continued turning me over the flames of his chuckling minion.

Oh yeah, did I mention the fiery monster from hell beneath me? Or the numerous parties of curious armored adventurers gawking at me while clotting around the roadside? I should properly explain.

But ugh!

My repeated circumstances bugged me. Who knows what else this strange cloaked man will be having me do?

Hopefully, I won't be forced to chop any Nymph wood…

My mind trembled from flashes of scarring memories. I prayed for the odd jobs to stop.

But on the flip side, I now knew what was inside Gael’s overly large backpack! I previously itched with curiosity to know its contents. The surprises inside shocked even me who’s practically seen it all throughout my countless years of existence.

The cloaked Gael, who bought me for two gold Relars, was a roaming peddler of sorts. And I use the term ‘peddler’ very loosely. Unlike typical merchants who resold items, Gael sold his skills and services to the crowd of adventurers moving towards the hungry mouth of the Stygian Dungeon. And I was bought by Gael to be used as a demonstration of said skills and services. Thus, my current odd job that I will explain.

But different from simple merchants selling their rebought wares, selling a service typically required specialized tools. That was what was inside the humongous bag nearly the same size as Gael.

Although his cloaked and dark-colored pants hid them well, I bet Gael’s leg muscles were practically steel. To haul around the stuff in his bag was not a workout but physical torture. So when Gael settled down off the roadside, I was shocked by what he pulled out of his mystery bag.

The cloaked young peddler set up not just a temporary shop, but also an entire smithy. Yup, a smithy. You know, the kind used by blacksmiths?

Earlier, before my current roasting situation, Gael was almost engulfed by his bag as he bent in half to reach deep inside with his two large hands. Grunting with strained breaths, the cloaked young man pulled out…

Drum roll, please!

Tada! A quite battered and heavy anvil.

Yes, Gael hauled around an anvil in his backpack. Insane, I know. But not only that. Oh no, no, no. That was the least of the things he pulled out with his magic trick. Gael also took out tongs, a vise, some clumps of ore, a couple of hammers, and a whole whetstone. The only thing missing was a forge.

Oh, did I mention he manifested a forge? Yeah, that too. Sort of, anyway. He summoned it, I think. Not too sure on the mechanics part, but I couldn’t really ask Gael either. The man couldn’t hear me, unfortunately.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

After placing my wrapped-up self, his still-not-emptied bag of tricks, and the pulled-out smithing tools on the side of the dirt road, Gael stepped back and closed his yellow eyes. Groups of curious adventurers already crowded around to watch his performance. The great me also watched on, intrigued.

Suddenly, Gael’s yellow eyes jutted open, pupils radiating with gold. The wind around him whirled in a miniature cyclone, kicking away dust and pebbles beneath the crowd’s feet. The crackling sound of crumpling paper rippled into the surroundings as a fracture tore the fabric of space.

Out plopped the daring monster that would soon bathe me in blue fire. But for now, it appeared innocent and irresistibly huggable.

An adorable, jiggling, plump ball of condensed red fire bounced like jello on the dirt as it landed.

“Puuu…” the flattened ball of fire groaned in a daze, slowly rolling itself off its smushed mug.

Sitting up slightly hunched in a plump, tear-drop shape, revealed the cute round face of a groggy slime awakening from slumber. Its slanted eyes were still closed as it opened its little mouth for a yawn. A pair of pudgy little arms stretched up like the wings of a baby chick, lightly trembling fully awake. All the on-watchers ogled and awed with sweet endearing sounds.

Ha! Wait until the crowd sees my dazzling self!

I admit the dinky fireball was cute. However… the once solid ground that now melted into puddles of lava beneath it? Not so cute.

Turning itself side to side, the ball of fire pudding noticed Gael straight away. It wiggled into a run and nuzzled up against Gael’s knees while scorching the earth. Seeing how Gael did not immediately burst into flames, I assumed a few things.

Was the summoned thingy a fire slime maybe? But what kind of fire slime emits flames like that? I wondered, not entirely sure. I’ve lived long, but have yet to witness the peculiar creature. Maybe some kind of fire spirit then?

A new mystery to solve.

But more importantly, what is Gael’s class? A merchant? A summoner? Maybe a summoner turned blacksmith? Or was he a peddling blacksmith with summoning skills?

“Pruuriii!!” The chubby, slime-looking ball of fire excitedly exclaimed as it sprung up and down, wiggling its fiery top into Gael’s patting hands.

“Hello, dear friend. How are you, Nuria? Want to help me with some work today?”

“Puuuuriii!” The fireball bubbly nodded in a seesaw motion before turning left and right, searching for the anvil. “Riii!” The fire spirit screamed as it spotted its goal sitting across from me and the whetstone I leaned upon.

“Haha!” I chuckled as the jello-y ball of fire tripped and fell flat on its face with a splat, tumbling into a roll toward the anvil.

It slowly stood up with an adorable frowning face, tearing with lava at the corners of its long, round eyes. It earned fawning noises from the crowd as it hugged the anvil to pull its mushy self up.

I sensed a great rival in the devilish fireball scheming for attention. Trying to act cute, huh? Well, two can play that game!

Gael flashed a bright smile, grinning like an overly obsessed parent. Or maybe like a shark-faced merchant who caught the alluring smell of money. Maybe both? I think the fuzzy ball of flames was purposely part of the show. Regardless, giddiness gleamed in Gael’s calculating yellow eyes. The curious mass of onlookers were now invested by the performance.

Suddenly, Gael shifted course. He walked in my direction. I had a bad feeling as the cloaked young man approached me.

My instincts were correct.

Gael grabbed my hilt, and with one sweep from his free hand, stripped off the cloth wrapping around the blade of my body. I didn’t necessarily mind being exposed. I preferred letting everything hang loose and not be all bound up. But my greatness was currently being exploited.

Lifting my naked self for all to see, Gael continued with the next part of his show.

“Hello, brave adventurers! Welcome to my humble shop and smithy!” Gael called out to the crowd. “You may have heard of me as the Walking Potion Brewery. At times, I am called the Leather Weaving Migrant. But I am best known as the Wandering Forge. Let me show you why.”

Curious murmurs in the crowd turned into full-on shouting as someone pointed at Gael. “It’s him! The Vagrant Craftsman! He’s the guy with the rare Artificer Class!”

The Artificer Class? So my new owner is no simple peddler it seems. I glanced at Gael in a new light, and so did many in the crowd. And not necessarily the best light. The Artificer Class, huh? Quite the difficult path you chose, young human.

Artificers were rare for a reason. Jacks of all crafts but master of none. But during ancient times, when resources were still aplenty, true Artificers were a revered class. I know personally. My bastard father was one of them. And as much as I hate to admit it, he was likely the best this world’s ever seen.

“Nuria, if you would, please? Let’s show our valued guests what we can do for them,” Gael said, lowering me to his knees.

The crowd cheered, obviously because of me, as the runt ball of red fire bounced its way over to me and Gael.

Ah, to be finally appreciated as I deserved. I thought, seeing the crowd cheering me on. Definitely not because of the approaching ball of fire. This is nice.

“Pruiprui, pu,” the ball of fire muttered underneath me.

How considerate. It wanted to use the light of its red flames to highlight my underside. “A little to the left, little minion. I want to showcase my best side.”

“Pu? Pupu?” The fireball said, wiggling its body a tad to the left.

“Ohhhhh!!! By great Spirit! Another one who can hear me?! You can understand me, right!?”

“Pu, pu,” the fireball nodded as if conversing with me was natural.

After eons of only talking to myself, I now found two in one day who can hear me? Is my ill fate changing?

I bursted into invisible tears, “I’m not alone anymore! Oowoowoo… someone can finally hear me…”

“Pi, puri, pu,” said the lump of fire. I didn’t understand a single word, but the tendril of its flames patting my body said enough.

“Alright, Nuria. Just how we always do it, show everyone here your heart of the forge!” Gael commanded, “Let’s demonstrate how we heal broken and damaged swords!”

I wasn’t sure who Gael was talking about. Maybe the swords belonging to the surrounding adventurers? Couldn’t be me. I wasn’t damaged or broken. Something was wrong with me, but not because I was broken.

Nuria, the sweet ball of fire, bounced excitedly up and down at Gael’s request. Tendrils of scorching flames tickled the blade of my body. However, soon all would be revealed as I was about to be used for another odd job.

Cute, until it suddenly wasn’t, Nuria twisted and contorted before peeling and shedding off its innocent outer skin. The surrounding air scorched into a shifting mirage, hissing like spouting steam. Revealed underneath the unraveled cuteness was a fiery blue molten monster with long, slitted yellow irises.