'Oi! I'm being serious here! Or this is some joke?'

'No, sir! Of course, this isn't a joke. As long as you pray… let me check….' The sound of paper being crinkled can be heard on the line. The Angel continued, 'As long as you pray 90 days, in the morning, afternoon and night, you will be cured.'

'Since you're so almighty and powerful, why do I need to pray? Why can't you resolve it now?'

'My superiors would not like it. They believe in equal exchange. If we do everything for you, you will sit at home all day and beg God to do things for you.'

'Anyway, send me home! I'm not from this world. If this is a dream, wake me up!'

'I can assure you, sir, as long as you pray every day for 90 days, things will be quickly resolved. Now, sir, I do not have much time left. If you have any feedback, please leave it to our staff, who are most willing to help you. Thank you,' Some calm, peaceful music where a choir was singing in the background started playing.

'Oi! I'm very dissatisfied with your service. I want to look for your manager!' I opened my eyes and found the room around me to be unchanged. The people were different; some must have finished their prayers and left. I saw the faces of newcomers, yet I could find no one I recognised. Storming off, I muttered off swear after swear at the crappy service delivered. I swear the service is worse than banking hotlines, at least banking hotlines resolve things for you.

As I trotted around town, looking for things to sate my fury on. I found a couple of dark elves with familiar faces leaving a building. It seemed to be an infirmary of some sort, as all the elves had bandages wrapped around their wounds. They were escorted into a carriage with their hands and feet bound. Walking to the building's side, the men around it looked at me and grunted.

Walking into the infirmary, I could hear the sounds of an authoritative figure.

"This is going to hurt. The nurse put a rag in his mouth," Muffled screams were soon heard afterwards. Curiosity got the better of me, and I sneaked a peak and found a bloodied metal round in the doctor's hands.

"It will all be over soon," The doctor poured some liquid into the open wound on the elf's chest and began sewing it up. His assistant, a relatively strong woman, was holding the elf down. The elf thrashed and struggled against the woman, who had her own against the muscular elf.

"Bandage the wound, and send in the next patient," The doctor scribbled some notes on some parchment before turning to look at the newcomer. The doctor frowned before returning to his notes. I stood around, awkwardly gazing at the room around me.

Multiple beds could be seen. Male elves are laid on the beds, all with familiar faces reminding me of the results of my previous excursion. They were all bound to their beds with clean fabrics.

"Hoe kan ek jou vandag help meneer?" The doctor spoke in Elfrikaans.

"English? I heard you were using English just now."

"Ahh…" The doctor stopped his scribbles and turned to face me.

"What's your story, trekking out here?" The doctor asked.

"What's yours?" I countered, not wanting to diverge too much. I don't know much about Jan Boddewijk's background, so I tried not to trap myself with a particular false background.

"I got nothing much to say. I make too many mistakes, and I can't go back."

I nodded. Only a few men would trek so far away from civilisation. Rebels or outlaws or the unwilling. Being a Voortrekker meant I was part of the first group, and the doctor was a mix of the latter.

"Jan Boddewijk, I hope not to see you again soon."

"Heh. Lionel Marshall, likewise."

With nothing much to say to one another, we bid each other quick goodbyes. And I headed to the library to catch up on my Elfrikaans. To practice, I spent some time conversing with the librarian. Considering I'll probably be a frequent visitor here, might as well befriend the librarian. While they did laugh at my atrocious accent, they did help correct some of my incorrect pronunciations.

I tried moving away from picture books but felt intimidated by the lack of diagrams in the other books, so I returned to picture books. When others walked into my aisle, I bravely stood there, not caring what the other party was thinking, reading the picture book. The tactic was great because whoever came in quickly left after 5 seconds.

A bunch of papers were being handed around the table. Of course, as usual, they were in Elfrikaans. I was intimidated by the lack of pictures, so after the papers from back to front, I slowly read them and tried to guess what they meant based on the other words.

Considering the numbers dotted around the parchment and words of commodities such as 'wood', 'meat' and 'fish', I could quickly guess that it was some economic report.

"The return of Port Natal means that we are not landlocked anymore. We can now export our goods to passing Portuguese and British traders circumnavigating the Cape to head to Asia," Joren helped translate the speaker's words.

"We should decide how to allocate our budget for the year. We have little gold reserves, most of them raided by the Zulus. Estimates in the presented document account for the additional limited funds taxation would bring. Suffice it to say there is little we can do. At best, we can only prioritise a certain industry while the rest will have to continue with the little funds we have," The speaker paused, letting his words sink into the room.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The room broke into discussions, and everyone spoke in incomprehensible Elfrikaans. How many times must I have complained about that? Still nevertheless, I instead wish that everyone spoke English, but that would be an unreasonable demand after all. So, I stuck by Joren and let the man do the talking; he gave little details, only hearing a summary. I can tell that based on the number of words coming out of his mouth being directed to fellow Elfrikaans speaker while he spoke brusquely to me.

Everyone was divided on what should be prioritised. Some said construction to help build new homes for the incoming migrants. Others say they should focus on building Port Natal, while others argue that development should be spread evenly between them. They were even relatively inane opinions, such as bribing the Elves to leave us the hell alone. They were deeply opinionated for some peculiar reason.

"What do you think?" Joren asked after going from group to group, making introductions for both of us. I used basic Elfrikaans greetings, which seemed to warm relations between me and most others in the Volksraad.

"Isn't it obvious we should focus on the arms industry? Guns, artillery. We need as many as we can get," I replied.

"Most of us have firearms. Who will the sellers sell them to if we glut the market with them? For cheap? Or to the Elves? Plus, all of these need raw materials. Might as well focus on the procurement of raw materials."

"Can't we trade for them with merchant ships?"

"Most ships heading to Asia aren't carrying raw materials like wood or iron. Asia is abundant with them. They are carrying finished products like arms. That's why I'm thinking of improving raw materials production."

"How about roads? Improving the infrastructure would indirectly help bring goods to market. Plus, we'll be able to react quickly to African… I mean Elfrican raids."

Joren paused and pondered and nodded. "It's not a bad idea." The Secretary wandered off and discussed with other fellow members of the Volksraad, leaving me to stand at the corner. I joined the other groups by just standing nearby to avoid being so left out.

A budget was drafted out, and funds were allocated to various fields. Some of the funds were put into infrastructure, and the Volksraad meeting of the day concluded.

"So what now?" I asked.

"It will be handed over to the Executive branch. They will execute things… hopefully," Joren rubbed his forehead. I knew better than to ask any further. He continued," That reminds me. I heard that you're interested in ramping up our arms production. Shall I introduce you to local arms manufacturers? Don't worry. I know someone that can speak English."

I nodded.

An ordinary building. It looked like a general store. But as soon as I opened the door, a man sat on the floor, meditating. He was dressed similarly. Bowler hat snugged onto the head, paired with a dress shirt covering his muscular chest. Creased wool trousers were on the floor with a leather boot on end. The man closed his eyes and crossed his legs, placing his hands beside him.

Feeling our presence, the man opened an eye.

"Greetings, customers. Welcome to Smith's Gun Store Sect, or SGSS Sect."

I took a few steps back and rubbed my ears.

"Could you say that again?"

The man rolled his eyes and prepared once more," Welcome to Smith's Gun Store Sect."

"Are you a cultivator?"

"Of course, I'm trying to break through to the next realm with my qigong. I cooked some pills last night, and they will hopefully increase my power level."

I ran behind Joren, who seemed amused at my fear.

"Why so scared?" Joren whispered.

"Oi, that man can break my neck if he gets pissed off or I disrespect him."

"Oh… all cultivators are non-violent."

"That is correct. All cultivators will die a painful death as long as they lift a finger on someone else. We preach the virtue of non-violence." The cultivator shot up from the floor in a flash. The next thing I knew, the cultivator appeared behind me.

"How can I help you, Mr Hoenderman?"

The contrast between the image of a wise Chinese cultivator and a Western cowboy's accent was so stupid that I struggled to hold in my laughter.

"I heard you broke into the Rifling realm? You're already going to try to break into the Breech realm?" Joren asked.

"Indeed, sir. Even if I add grooves to the musket's barrel, it is difficult to clean, so it's impractical. I must enter the Breech-loaded rifle realm before I can truly use the Rifling realm." The man teleported, coming back with a rifle in his hand. He showed the barrel to Joren, who looked into it before passing it to me.

"It is difficult to see, so let me use my Qi." He shot some kind of ball of light into the barrel and allowed me to inspect the grooves in the barrel. He continued, "Imagine when firing the rifle, where would the powder end up." The light ball, or what was probably visible Qi, circled the rifle's grooves, lighting it up.

Without even stopping to give me a chance to answer, he said," They would be trapped here. And you'll need to be extra-thorough in your cleaning. Also, when ramming down the barrel, the round might be trapped and reloading speed will decrease. That is why Breech-loaded rifles are necessary."

"What are breech-loaded rifles?" I asked.

"The simple answer is instead of putting the round inside of the gun from the front. You put it in the back. Then you don't have to spend time ramming the ammunition down the barrel. And just pull the trigger and fire the gun." The cultivator gestured with his hands in mere imitation.

"Do you need any help?"

"A cultivator like me does not need help from a human. I must not trouble normal humans with such affairs." The cultivator went off into the corner of the store and began meditating in the corner. Joren took a few steps forward and inspected the merchandise. There were guns, and most of the store was filled with simple muskets, but I saw some rifled muskets.

I went to another section and found all sorts of ammunition. There were regular balls of metal, then there were the paper cartridges, and finally, a big pile of black powder. Nothing was exciting to see, so I wandered off to the back, where I heard the sound of metal smacking metal. A tiny dark elf stood there and got into a fighting stance. But realising that cultivators are non-violent, the elf released itself from the stance.

"Apprentice Shawn!" The elven kid yelled his name and stretched his arms, blocking me from entering the door completely.

"This is the workshop. Non-members of the Smith's Gun Store Sect are not allowed entry into the workshop!" All eyes were directed at me, but the cultivator did not even move an inch from the kid's shout.

"What an energetic little elf? Where do you get him?" Joren asked, studying the elf. The cultivator kept quiet.

"Master Smith saw me at the marketplace and thought I had great potential. So, he bought me!" The elf declared, and I took a few steps back.

"Shawn?" An elderly man came from the workshop as the sound of metal ceased. He was a thin, scrawny fellow, and his beard touched the floor due to its sheer length.

The elderly man stopped and looked at my acquaintance. "Ahh… Joren. Thanks for introducing me to Shawn. He's a hard-working apprentice."

"I don't remember this kid. It must be one of my associates, Master Smith." Joren slightly bowed and smiled. "I'm only here because I wanted to show a friend of mine around the local gun stores of Pietermaritzburg."

Master Smith narrowed his eyes on me, observing me from head to toe. "Your friend does not look like a soldier. I wonder why he needs a rifle?" The old man scrunched up his nose at my physique.

"We're all Trekkers, Master Smith. We all need guns for what is out there waiting for us."

"I see." Master Smith turned around and returned to his workshop, and the metal hitting metal echoed around the store once again. The little elf glared at me before entering the workshop once more.

We took some time to walk around the store before being bored and left the store.

"So, are all gun smiths cultivators?" I asked as we left the store.

"Every artisan is a cultivator. There are many sects. There is one for the arts, one for music and many more. But not every art needs a cultivator practitioner. That means not every gunsmith needs to be a cultivator, but there will be cultivators in most fields. And they make great products."

"How does it work?"

"Cultivators don't need much. They just need to eat and special materials for cultivation. The best materials are in Asia, which is why Asian cultivators are superior to European ones. They are only also extremely efficient in their field of work. For example, if 1 tonne of iron is needed in the production cycle. The cultivator would need 0.5 tonnes of steel, as their use of Qi alleviates most of the wastage in the production cycle as they make precise cuts. That is why most cultivators work in fields where precise labour is needed. Machine tools are a good example."

"Can I become a cultivator?"

"Only if you wish never to fire a gun on another sentient creature."

"That sounds stupid."

"It is."