On their way to the centaur quarter, Jago explained the layout of the city, the most important streets, landmarks and the gates of the rear city wall, while Weylan tried to memorize everything: "The great wall only has one gate, of course, and you need a pass for that. To the north, the city is surrounded by a simple wall just under six steps high with three gates. West Gate, North Gate and East Gate. The early barons were really completely unimaginative when it came to names. The centaur quarter is quite small and consists of a row of open, single-storey wooden houses a little way outside the west gate."

Weylan was confused: "Wait a moment, it's outside the city?"

"The houses are located outside the two-hundred-meter-wide perimeter. Nobody is allowed to build there, of course, so no enemy can sneak in. The land is only used for growing low-growing vegetables and herbs. The grain fields are only located outside this zone. The buildings from which all this is cultivated still officially belong to the town, as they are important for the food supply." He turned to Weylan and raised a serious finger: "Centaurs are good farmers, but they never pull a plow themselves. Don't even think about asking something like that. That would be a grave insult."

An hour later, they walked through the gate and crossed the open area of the spell circle and the centaur quarter came into view. Weylan became more excited and stretched his neck curiously as one of the centaurs came into view. His muscular torso glistened in the sun as he trotted lightly along the street. Three more centaurs with baskets on either side followed him.

"They're... smaller than I expected."

Jago nodded: "Most people are surprised when they see centaurs for the first time. The horse part fits more with one of the smaller racing horse breeds. In the pictures, they're usually portrayed as big warhorses."

They wandered through the streets. The houses were almost completely open on at least one side and the centaurs could be seen busily at work everywhere. Weylan noticed crates and curtains that were probably used to close the openings at night. The rhythmic beating of the forge could be heard everywhere.

"They use these big baskets everywhere for transportation. Wouldn't a cart be more practical?"

Jago told him to be quiet and led him away from the busy main street into a side alley. Only there did he answer: "Centaurs don't pull carts or plows. They can't be ridden either. To even suggest it would lead directly to a hoof in the face. If you're lucky and the centaur doesn't have a weapon. I should have mentioned that right away."

"Anything else to insult centaurs with?"

The steward thought for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders: "Actually, they're usually quite hard to annoy. Just don’t treat them like horses and you’re fine. Let's try that with Jornigan the blacksmith. I'll turn it into a kind of test for you. Buy a weapon without Jornigan ripping your arm off and beating you to death with it."

Weylan wanted to answer, but his mouth felt dry and lifeless. He just nodded.

Back on the main street, the two found themselves three houses further on in front of a house built entirely of stone. Three curved arches offered a clear view of the smithy in the middle and the weapons lined up in racks around the edge. Swords of all kinds. A centaur with huge upper arms and mountains of muscle on his torso was weighing several different colored pieces of metal and mixing them into a stone vessel. A visibly younger centaur, looking slight in comparison, watched him attentively. When the blacksmith saw them enter, his face brightened: "Mr. Jago! Welcome! "

"Hail to the gods, Jornigan. I see your business is going well."

"Could be better. Look how many goods are standing around here. The war and all the revenants really came at just the right time."

"Most citizens see it differently."

"Well, most citizens don't make a living selling weapons. But what can I do for you?" He lowered his voice conspiratorially: "A new custom-made weapon?"

"Not today. Just a sturdy weapon for my apprentice. Something to protect him in these dangerous times."

The blacksmith looked at Weylan scrutinizingly: "A bit small for a sword. Short sword? Forty fingers?"

Jago beckoned Weylan himself to answer. He stepped forward and then pulled himself together: "A short sword. I'm still unsure about the length. I've never had anything bigger than a knife."

"Stretch out your arm." The blacksmith had the other centaur bring him a string with knots at regular intervals and measured Weylan's arm. Shoulder to fingertip, shoulder to elbow, elbow to wrist. "Any special requests?"

"It should fit in a back scabbard." Jago nodded, satisfied that his journeyman had not forgotten.

"So, a short crossguard. Piercing, cutting or both?"

"Both."

"Armor-piercing a priority?"

Weylan thought for a moment. He felt Jago's gaze resting on him. Was that his trick question? Of course, it would be better if he could stab through armor. Then he remembered the battle in the cave. He had barely been able to penetrate even cloth and leather armor with his magic dagger.

"No. I won't strike at armor with a short sword, I’ll rather try to find the gaps. But it should be sharp enough to cut through a gambeson if necessary."

The blacksmith glanced at Jago and nodded approvingly.

"Blade on both sides, or just one?"

"On both. I want to remain flexible."

The blacksmith turned around. His gaze wandered over the numerous weapons. Then he went to the back of the workshop and unlocked a heavy chest against the back wall. He carefully pushed aside several long items wrapped in cloth and then took out another one. After closing the chest again, he placed the bundle on top and unwrapped a short sword. Straight blade, a short crossguard, everything completely without embellishment.

"I once made this for a traveling salesman. He just never came to pick it up. About your measurements."

Weylan took the short sword and swung it around a little, testing it. He hadn't had any professional sword-fighting lessons. He just hoped that wasn’t too obvious.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He placed the short sword across one finger and balanced it. He had probably seen a traveling mercenary do this once in the tavern. Jago nodded approvingly at his questioning look. The center of gravity was close to the hilt, which made the blade very flexible. The oval, leather-wrapped handle seemed to fit well in the hand.

"Feels good." He held it out to Jago, who took it, checked the sharpness with his thumb and nodded with satisfaction.

"Is it enchanted?"

The blacksmith laughed: "How dangerous is it in the baron's castle right now, that you’d need a magic weapon?"

Weylan's face became serious. He leaned forward and whispered: "If the creatures in the dungeon ever free themselves from their enchanted chains..."

The two centaurs stared at him wide-eyed and waited for him to continue. The corner of Weylan's mouth twitched up into a grin and the centaurs laughed out loud.

"That was a good one. But seriously, to enchant a weapon, it needs something to hold the magic. Either gemstones or a mythril component in the alloy. Mythril steel is a little softer than normal steel and it doesn't harden as well. Getting the temperature right is tricky. You need a large part of the magical potential that the alloy allows to get it to the hardness and sharpness of a normal weapon. Well, it still works better against undead and even hurts demons and ghosts, but against normal enemies it's no good. The higher enchantments are only affordable for the most famous warriors and kings."

"What about revenants?"

"Oh yes, they often have magical weapons too. They probably either buy theirs with looted treasures at the nearest mage academy or capture them in dungeons. In some of the old legends, the revenants get their weapons from Peituwin in return for a generous donation of gold from the creator world."

Weylan mentally took the conversation back a few steps: "Wait a minute... wouldn't it be better to just put a core of mythril in the sword instead of a mythril alloy? Or in the hilt?"

"It's all a piece of metal that is forged into the right shape. A core made from any other material wouldn't work. We tried a folding technique once, like the one used for the Damascus effect, but the mythril is too soft for that. Processed pure, it just creates a lot of weak spots."

Weylan swung the sword a few more times, nodded and then looked questioningly at Master Jago. He nodded as well and ordered another matching scabbard. The blacksmith worked with a leather maker nearby who regularly made him matching scabbards, so he had one ready at hand too.

While Jago counted out the gold, Weylan asked the blacksmith a question: "Tell me, Master Jornigan, how come there are no female centaurs around here?"

The blacksmith looked at him in confusion: "What do you mean, boy?"

"Well, we've seen dozens of centaurs on the street. But only men."

Jago winced and held himself still with difficulty. He had only been joking when he had spoken of the centaur's anger. But there were a few things you could do, to make even a sensible centaur like Jornigan throw a blacksmith hammer. He stood ready to intervene, but still remained immobile. Like a hunter who unexpectedly found himself in the middle of a sleeping pack of wolves.

The blacksmith opened his mouth... and closed it again. Then he laughed. Loud and deep, in a sound that echoed off the walls. He bent down and held his stomach with one hand while leaning on his companion with the other. Jago relaxed.

"You've seen the traveling bards' panels, haven't you?"

Weylan replied with an uncertain, "Yes?"

The blacksmith laughed even more and his journeyman, who had also seemed a little confused until then, now joined in. After a while, the blacksmith calmed down a little. Interrupted by the occasional giggle, he explained: "There are even more centaur mares than stallions here at the moment. Most of the stallions are out working in the fields. You've no doubt walked past quite a few mares."

"What? I would have noticed that. Everyone walks around bare-chested. You would have..." Weylan fell silent, blushed and vaguely indicated two hemispheres with his hands in front of his torso. The two centaurs let out another snort. "You're gorgeous... Do you actually know what breasts are for?"

He looked away, nervously shuffling his feet, not daring to meet his gaze. Instead of answering, he just shook his head. Unsure what exactly the blacksmith was getting at.

"You suckle foals with it. How exactly are they supposed to get up there? Centaurs can't bend down low enough for that to work. At the very least, it would be extremely uncomfortable and very strenuous. Our mares' teats are at the bottom of their hindquarters. Just like horses. Easily accessible for foals."

He pointed with his thumb next to him: "My apprentice Travane could show you, but if you stare too much, I'd have two blushing teenagers right here. The neighbors would think my smithy is on fire, with your bright cheeks lighting it up."

Weylan glanced at the hindquarters of the two centaurs. Like all other centaurs, their bodies were clothed in thin leather covers that hang down at the side of their horse bodies almost to knee height. The two blacksmiths also wore leather aprons to protect their furless human parts from sparks.

Jago put his hand over his face and groaned: "Those silly pictures with the bare-breasted centaurs mares... I thought word would have got around by now that it's complete nonsense."

The blacksmith shrugged his shoulders calmly: "In larger cities, yes. A good kick in the backside is enough to make even the most obtuse bard realize that he should consider a more anatomically correct portrayal. But in the countryside? They probably still think that harpies are flying beauties with shiny plumage."

Weylan wanted to say something, but then refrained. But the slight twitch had already attracted Jago's attention: "Seriously? These ugly creatures only resemble humans at dusk and when you squint both eyes. Whatever the painters do for the bards, the upper bodies are those of birds and their heads are those of old crones."

The assassin's apprentice suppressed a disappointed expression. Then he shrugged his shoulders: "At least the dryads are as good-looking as they say."

The blacksmith nudged him, which almost knocked him over: "As if you've ever seen a dryad before."

As his later representative, it was important that Weylan was taken seriously. It was unacceptable for him to be taken for a chatterbox. The chamberlain therefore intervened: "The boy actually met a dryad princess on the way here from his village. Along with the warriors who accompanied her."

Master Jornigan looked at him in disbelief: "Dryads don't go on journeys. They are bound to their trees."

Weylan nodded: "That's right. That's why she had a small seedling in a huge pot with carrying poles."

The blacksmith looked thoughtfully towards the south: "Then the border forest really has fallen. I had hoped the reports were wrong and that the Krigesti had bypassed the forest somewhere to the east. If even the dryads and their trees are on the run, all is lost there."

He turned to the steward: "Is Mulnirsheim in danger?"

Everyone waited patiently while the chamberlain carefully weighed up his answer: "The wall fortress is strong. The Krigesti will never manage to break through. They have neither grand ritual battle magic nor the technical skill to create siege weapons that could overcome our ramparts." He was silent for a moment, but it was clear from the expression on his face that he was not finished: "What I fear more is a siege. Mulnirsheim is the gateway to the south. If the pass is besieged, trade with the south will dry up. The cooks will complain about the lack of some spices. Carpenters will miss the rare woods of the border forest. But I'm really worried about the loss of trade in gemstones and crystals. Gems for magical artifacts will run out quickly. And without Cerebrum crystals, no new skill crystals will be produced. We never had significant supplies of them. There was always more demand than we could meet. Prices have been rising steadily for years, only slowed down by the fact that many buyers cannot afford unlimited high costs. At some point, the point is reached where it is more economical to simply learn a skill through a master teacher. Some of the less dramatic crystals are needed for alchemy. Who knows which elixirs will run out soon."

Weylan looked up in alarm: "Do you also need crystals for healing potions?"

Jago knew what he was afraid of. Having a healing potion nearby for emergencies and accidents was common even in poor villages. The woodcutters never went into the forest without one member of the group carrying a healing potion. Too often an axe blow went wrong or a tree did not fall in the expected direction. Of course, this was not as common for less dangerous professions. No one expected a shepherd to be in danger.

Jago rubbed his beard and then replied: "I don't think so, but I'm not familiar with the exact recipe. That will be your next assignment: as soon as we're back in the city, you will go to the academy and sort it out. Also, find out if any more elixirs will run out due to the loss of trade with the Southlands. Ask if there are alternatives for the various crystals and gemstones. Write down exactly what they are, what they are needed for and where we can find them."

Weylan groaned inwardly. More work. And even worse, more potential problems for the city.