My room was also clean. This was because I simply couldn’t stand the idea of it being dirty. Dirty meant dangerous. I’d had that hammered into my skull a thousand time in my lessons. While Hasha may not have wanted to come off that way, that was how I took the rules of magic.

As such, my back room had three shelves on each side, all six built by me. I’d installed drawers into them, and painstakingly wrote the names of the objects kept inside. They held slivers of metal, plant samples, chemicals, a set of jeweler’s tools, and even a glass vial full of my own blood inscribed with the rune for ice, īsaz, to keep it from decaying. The rune was simple, just a single line, but it kept the sample at freezing temperatures.

ᛁ

Directly across from the door was my set of equipment. A few large tanks of gas, two with a sign warning of how flammable he gases within were, sat there, while a rack held the various hammers and chisels I used in my work, as well as several tools I’d created myself.

There were two more things in the room that were important. The first was the artifact I’d been working on for weeks, a project that could change my life. The second, was the armor.

It sat on a stand. It was massive, made to fit even my large bulk. The chest plate was a simple curved piece to deflect any bladed blows. The pauldrons were formed to fit my shoulders, the gauntlets segmented to let me move. The back had a large bulge with a hole at the bottom. The thighs and calves were covered as well. The boots, rather than being pointed like some I’d seen, were rounded off.

It was the work of many, many hours, taking massive sheets of metal and forming it to shape. I’d polished it to a bright silver, planishing the dents out, heat-treating it, and hammering it. I’d come with several new ways to strengthen metal, and ended up working out several ways to add carbon to the process, further strengthening it.

Hasha blinked at the sight of the armor, then walked over to look at the armor. He touched the fine metal weave underneath the armor. “This…how did you do this?”

Underneath the armor was the chainmail I’d developed. The one I’d made the chainmail with magic.

I have no real skill with magic, at least not in the sort that begs immediate results or adaptation in the moment. It take a lot for me to produce even the smallest effects. If I want to blast out a fireball, I’d need several hours to do so, and wouldn’t be able to produce much. Hasha, on the other hand, could probably destroy the whole building around us.

But the magic I was good at all had to deal with being patient, keeping calm and cool. Years of fighting the baser instincts of an Orc had made me an expert in the practice of meditation, and that was what I’d instilled in my magical specializations.

The chainmail was an example of that. It had originally been a cotton pieces of cloth. In my research, I’d studied transmutation, and found that many people disregarded it. The process of, for example, turning wood to gold required actual gold in the exact amount you wanted to make. You couldn’t simply give a wood chair the traits of gold without paying the exact amount as the weight of the object you were transmuting.

But then, I had a thought. The important part of the process wasn’t that the chair became gold. It was that gold took on the form of a chair.

“Based off that hypothesis,” I explained to Hasha as he took the thick weave between his hands. “I wondered if transmutation is not the changing of one material to another, but the changing of the properties of the material itself. A hybrid material. So I took an old cotton shirt, and a piece of steel, and focused on giving the shirt the same strength as the steel without sacrificing flexibility or increasing the weight. Then I did it on seven other shirts. So I now have chainmail that weighs as much as seven cotton shirts, has the same thin weave as such a shirt without the large holes others do, and… well.”

I waved at the chainmail.

“Hmm,” Hasha sighed. “I’ll have to see your calculations. You accounted for all the numbers?”

“I think so,” I replied. “Just in case, I made sure to spend as much time on my runes of strength as I did the actual transmutation of the cotton.”

“Good,” Hasha nodded firmly. “Even it does end up being as weak as simple cotton, that will do the job,” he looked over at me. “Did you consider using carbon rather than steel itself? Because if you remember what I taught you about the physical magic of materials…”

I nodded eagerly. “I’ve got new calculations for that. If I can get the carbon to form into a crystal lattice, similar to what diamonds have, layer it the way I do with the steel cotton, and make sure it all goes well, then the tensile strength will be massive.”

“And you’ll have the most powerful chainmail ever made,” Hasha finished. He laughed. “A bit dramatic, as statements go, but still. Brilliant! Of course, you’d have to deal with superconductivity, but a few runes to absorb electricity and deflect, and you’ll be fine,” he winced. “Well, theoretically. We’ll have to run tests,” Hasha smiled, for we both knew tests were some of the best parts of magic. Theory was good, but application was the real gem. He then looked over the armor again. “And the runes? How many have you put in? That are working in concert?”

Here I winced. Armor is, and always will be, the most expensive, time consuming thing to build for a blacksmith. I’d saved for over a year to get enough money to build the armor, to collect the iron and steel for myself. I’d done extra jobs at the docks for the money, taking on severe ridicule and doing heavy labor for the copper to buy the ingots and ore that I wanted. And since everything was made to fit me, I had to buy absolutely massive amounts of metal.

And in the end, the armor was a failure. At least for the purposes I’d created it.

“There are thirty-seven different runes through-out the armor,” Hasha’s eyes lit up with hope. “Three are working in concert on front of each boot, five in the chestplate, five in the back attachment, four on each pauldron, six in each gauntlet, and one at the neck.”

The hope in his eyes disappeared. He stared at me, shocked.

“Wha, but… thirty-seven!” Hasha shook his head, despairing. “What happened? You worked so hard!”

The disappointment in his voice made me want to scream in anger at myself. I calmed myself with the experience of long practice. “I tried to get the required ten working in concert but… It was too dangerous. I had my set up correct, but I… I just couldn’t do it.”

“Damn it Char,” said Hasha in disappointment. “You’re too cautious. It’s a good trait, but if you keep holding yourself back—”

“I’d have thought not wanting to get blown up was a normal thing,” I said sarcastically. “Or is that just orcs?”

“Char,” He glared. “You know what I mean. You need to get over this irrational fear. You aren’t the best wizard, but you can certainly become an excellent runemaker. You just need to balance that cautious nature of yours with some spontaneity.”

I winced. He was right. I just couldn’t conceive of doing something so dangerous. Runes had to be carved with exact lines and dimensions. They acted as the channels and pools for mystical energy, guiding them. And connecting runes was even worse. You had to worry about the way the lines flowed, the confluence of each design, the eventual result… it was infuriatingly complex.

And then of course, a single screw-up could blow you up. Or freeze you. Or erase you from existence. (The last was more theoretical. After all, if someone was erased from existence, how would you hear about them? They didn’t, and never had, existed.)

The highest I’d ever connected was six. The first level of grandmaster required ten. The armor was my first real attempt at reaching grandmaster level. Sure, I wouldn’t ever be able to claim the coveted amulet and the title given by the Jarvin Tower to all runic grandmasters, but I’d know it, and Hasha would know it. That had been enough for me to put in the time.

I’d made armor with Art a few times, and by making my own, I’d have plenty of surface area to do the job. I’d spent silver, real silver, on all of the materials for it. Not just metal, but the chemicals, plants, and rocks to truly incorporate magic into the armor.

Dozens of pages in my notebooks were dedicated to the project. Dozens of theories incorporated into the steel before us. All for nothing.

Damn it.

I quickly tried to get Hasha away from the subject. “Besides, I couldn’t afford the regents to do the job safely. I have to wait until I can afford more. Nothing to do for now.”

Hasha brightened. “Oh, well if you need money—”

I shook my head quickly, now feeling guilty on top of the rest of my emotions. “No. I want to obtain grandmastery myself. If I’m going to do this, it will be on my own. I can accept the help for things like food, but for this… I want to do this myself.

He scoffed, folding his arms. “Rather prideful of you.”

All I could do was smile. “Maybe. But at the least, the armor works. It may not be at grandmaster level, but it’s still the best thing I’ve ever built.”

I meant it too. I’d put in everything I knew about physical and spiritual magic into the armor. It was my greatest work. At least for now.

I didn’t look over at the artifact I’d been building in the corner of the room.

Hasha smiled at the pride in my voice. We sat in comfortable silence, looking at my creation. After a moment, Hasha coughed. “I uh, won’t be able to come tomorrow.”

I frowned. “Right. The Prophesied Child.”

Hasha nodded.

The Prophesied Child was a relatively new legend in the city, only about twenty years old or so. Years ago, Turab had been struck by a plague. Called Undead Maker, it had caused the bodies organs to slowly shutdown one by one, leaving people to slowly die as their organs rotted inside them. The name was for the horrid rotting smell that arose from the infected.

A cure was eventually found thanks to several alchemists working with druids, who discovered the bacteria that was killing people had a very similar, but far less fatal, counterpart. They realized that people who had fought off the second disease were immune to the more lethal variant. Based on this, they created what they called ‘inoculations’, and saved many from the horrible disease.

But even so, thousands had died. Families had been torn apart. People started to despair.

And then the prophecy came. A girl would rise among the chaos. The girl who would save the land from the great evil that threatened it. It was all very vague and, well, prophetic. But in the wake of the Undead Maker plague, it was a breath of hope that people desperately clung onto. She’d been touted as the soon to be hero of Turab, raised in a chapel since as long as I could remember. When the Chapel of Valor, the religious center of Jarvin, wasn’t preaching about being good to your neighbors, they were signing praises of their messiah.

And yet, no one had ever seen her. Until tomorrow, when she would be debuting in the city square. I had to admit, I was curious. I’d never seen a hero before.

“I’ve been told I have to attend,” Hasha said with disgusted look on his face. “And to wear the damn robes.”

I snorted in humor. Hasha hated the fact that the official uniform for Jarvin Tower’s wizards were robes. He tended to avoid the other wizards, as their methods and his differed, but what he hated most were the long, flowing robes. He preferred a simple shirt and trousers, with thick protective gear when necessary.

“Always trip over the damn things,” he growled, then mumbled a curse in elven. Of course, like all elven, it sounded beautiful, for all the savagery of the curse itself.

“I suppose I’ll stay in tomorrow,” I said rhetorically.

“Yes. Crowds like the one tomorrow might riot if they see an orc amongst them,” Hasha said bluntly. True though. Crowds in Jarvin didn’t get too insane, but if they felt I was some sort of random orc assassin, everyone from the bakers to the fishermen might tear me apart.

“Gods, but I hate prophecies,” Hasha groaned. “What is the point of an adventure where you know the outcome from the start? Might as well stay at home and reread a favorite book if I want to do something I already know the ending to. Prophecies are bullshit.”

------

The next day, I was working on something new.

Art had left for the Prophesied Child. He wasn’t a devout man, but he did have hope that she would turn out to be everything the Chapel of Valor claimed she would be.

More importantly, many possible clients might go as well. Clients hoping for things as expensive as a suit of armor for example. Granted, we didn’t hold much hope. As hard as we worked, the number of people willing to overlook my orc ancestry was just enough to keep us alive with Hasha helping (Though neither of us had any idea where Hasha was getting his money on the income of a researcher).

Still, that left me alone. From the moment I’d woken up, the loud noise of the parade outside, with people cheering and loud music, had filled the house. With nothing else to do, I fell back on one of my standard forms of fighting boredom.

I immediately went into my workshop.

The first thing I did was take inventory. I kept a small booklet with the names and numbers of all my materials based on what they could be used for, with intersecting lines if they had more than one use. With this, I was able to keep track of what I had, where it was, and why I had it. A good memory is fine, but paper, that marvelous invention, can hold onto information for years if taken care of.

Once I’d checked over my materials, I grabbed one of the tanks from the floor, my runic notebook, and several of my materials. A simple metal file, flexible tubes that were attached to a metal one, a few drops of my blood in a small glass vial, a cougar’s eye, small pieces of lanthanum, nickel, and tin, the steel I’d shaped into a helm for my face, and finally a large piece of glass.

I entered the main shop and took my equipment to a table in the corner. While I usually used my workshop for my projects, I felt like getting some sunlight. Even with all the commotion and the wide-open holes in the ceiling, I still had a relative amount of quiet, and found myself humming contently as I assembled my objects on the empty table.

I went back to the workshop, this time for my alchemy set and jeweler’s tools, then came back carrying the two small red boxes. I most likely wouldn’t use all the equipment, but having them on hand would keep me from having to get up a dozen times.

My idea for the helm was simple. I wanted it to be able to protect my head of course. But more than that, I wanted it to be able to improve my senses as well.

I’d heard of a few wizards who could use magic to shape the air so that it could be used as microscope or telescope, seeing things that were small or far away with ease. I even used a microscope myself, a small black one that was a gift from Jennifer, to look at the smaller details of my works. There were other wizards who did things to improve their sense of smell or hearing.

But those spells were temporary at best, either lasting a few minutes or shutting down when the wizard lost focus. My idea was to create something that could improve several senses at once, and could activate and reactivate with a thought while using little to no energy. It would be hard, but if I could do it right, then I’d need fifteen connected spells to make it work! More than enough to qualify for runic grandmastery.

That is, if I could get over my fear. That was part of why I was trying for fifteen. That way even if I only got to say, twelve, then I’d still succeed in my grandmastery.

Pushing down the thought, I sat down in a wooden chair and took the glass in my hand. It was thick, round with dull edges. With careful deliberation, I opened the box of jewelry tools. I’d gathered the tools out of garbage from behind some of the bigger jewelry shops in uptown Jarvin. I couldn’t afford crystals of course, but glass works as a very inferior replacement for cheap jewels, and my jewelry set had several tools specific for shaping and etching glass.

Which I suppose really made it a jewel and glass shaping set.

Taking out the small sharp piece of metal I needed, I took a deep breath. With the ease of long practice, I set up my intent. First, the rune I needed. I flipped my runic notebook open to the relevant page. The rune took up most of the page.

ᛗ

Mannaz, the symbol that represents sentient beings. It was a beginner’s symbol, one of the ones discovered hundreds of years ago. Runes were once thought to be an ancient language, but it was later discovered that they were more like… rivers, I suppose. When you poured mana into them, the magic would follow the engraved surface to create the effect. And if you combined elements with them, runes became even more powerful. A rune connected to water engraved using acid, for example, would be even more powerful due to the use of a liquid in the process. Part of a runemakers job was discovering what each rune could do, and how to make them stronger.

In this case, mannaz would link the glass to the wearer’s thoughts and body. That way the next runes would follow that link. And I was using steel, since sentient beings are made of large amount of earth, and would be finishing with an acid etch, to represent the liquid running through our veins.

I’d follow up by setting the glass to the helm, after strengthening the glass visor with another rune so it wouldn’t ever shatter and blind me in an excruciating manner, I’d be able to see with incredible detail whenever I was wearing the helm. Planes, maybe I could even set it up to see thermal spots!

The idea made me grin, my fangs popping out. I stopped just short of wiggling with excitement, calming down.

With the rune fresh in my mind, I pressed the metal in my hand to the glass, and began to—

BOOM BOOM!

With a yelp, I fell off my chair, slamming into the ground on my buttocks. The room shook as my massive form hit the floor. Dazed at the sudden knock at the door, I looked around.

“What in the—?”

Two more loud bangs brought my attention to the door behind me. I’d thought it was the door to the house, but apparently someone was knocking to the door to the workshop instead. Rising up, I placed the metal tip back into the jewel/glass shaping box and rushed to the door, opening it.

“…Hello?” was all I could say, confusion filling me.

Standing before me was a girl. A tiny, blonde human girl who looked around my age, wearing full armor. She stared up at me, shocked, her hand lifted up to knock again. I stared down at her, more confused than I could ever remember being.

Then she squeaked. It was an annoyingly adorable sound. “Uh, hello!”

She bowed. She bowed respectfully. To an orc.

My confusion only increased as she came up from her bow and smiled.

“I was hoping I could hide in your shop!”

“H-Hide?” I stuttered. I couldn’t help it. This was so out of my routine. Tiny human girls don’t bow respectfully to me, they run screaming for the city guard (Not an exaggeration sadly, as it had happened on two occasions).

“Yes,” said the girl. She looked around frantically. “Please! Just for a bit!”

She seemed scared. Worried. I hesitated. She ran up to random shop and asked to be hidden? From who? Why? What if her pursuers came here?

“Please?”

Aw damnit. She was staring at me with big eyes, her lip quivering. Never in my life had I seen someone make that face. She looked like I’d be kicking a puppy if I didn’t do as she asked.

With a feeling I was only inviting massive amounts of trouble into my life, I stepped aside. Smiling brightly, she rushed into my workshop, and I closed the door behind her.

------

Twenty minutes later, I was working on my helm, using my welding torch to add another portion to it. The girl was sitting on a chair a safe distance away, shading her eyes with a colored glass I’d given her so that she wouldn’t be blinded by the light of the welding torch.

I welded another section, taking my time. With the addition of another person in the room, I’d chosen not to work on runes, instead putting on my thick leather apron and a thick square face guard with a colored glass window made to let me see what I was doing while protecting my eyes.

I did those best when on my own and without distraction. Welding still required focus, but at least things wouldn’t explode. Well, they were less likely to explode.

Welding was something Hasha and I had invented to help the shop, based on several principles of purely physical magic, so suddenly thinking about something else in the middle of it wouldn’t be disastrous as with runes. Even the welding helmet had been made by Art when he noticed how blinding the sparks from welding were.

But all that was just me waffling. Welding could have waited. The truth was that if I tried to make a rune now, I’d probably fail immediately from the sheer presence of the other person.

I had no idea what to do with the girl in the room. A girl. Someone my age, not like Art, Hasha, or Jennifer.

As I worked, I could feel the girl’s eyes on me. She hadn’t looked away even once as I worked, apparently fascinated by what I was doing. Or maybe she just hadn’t ever seen an orc before.

I gave her a brief glance under my welding helmet. She was gorgeous. Speaking as someone who had known Jennifer and her girls my whole life, I knew a thing or two about beauty, and even they would have been a bit jealous of this girl. Short blonde hair that seemed to glow in the light, skin so clean and smooth it seemed to beg to be touched, and a face that was the perfect combination of cute and attractive. She pursed full lips, biting her bottom one as she stared at what I was doing with bright blue eyes filled with curiosity.

Her armor was even more interesting. It was clearly expensive, made of bright steel that was mirror polished. On her chest was a pair of wings made of what had to be gold. The feathers of the wings were so detailed they almost seemed to begin to flutter from where they rested on her chest. Still, it wasn’t how I would have made the armor.

“How are you doing that?” She asked, sounding amazed.

I kept my hands moving, making sure to maintain my work for a moment. Once I was done, I turned off the welder and put it carefully aside in a stone box made for it. I double-checked my weld. I’d have to add to it, and file it down after, but it was more than perfect for now. Only once I was sure of what I’d done did I turn to look at the girl.

“My welding torch?” I asked. When she looked confused I explained. “The fire I was using to fuse the metal pieces.”

“Oh, yes!” She sounded oddly happy. “The fire! It was so small, but you were making the metal spark! Was that magic?”

I was torn. On the one hand, I had no idea how to respond to this enthusiasm. Most people tended to avoid talking to me at all, and generally only with contempt. On the other hand, I never really got to show off my ideas.

Hasha sometimes said that a painter who never shows his art is not a true painter. All ideas must be shared before they become worthy of the name.

But I’d never gotten the chance. Give me half a chance and I would talk a person’s ear off. But not many want to listen to the ideas of a half-orc.

But this girl, smiling so enthusiastically, eyes shining…

“It’s called ‘welding’.” I patted the tank next to me. “There is an alchemical mixture in this tank.” I pointed to the tube rising out of the top of the tank and going to the welder itself. “The mixture is pulled through this tube, made of an airtight material I created based on the sap of certain trees. When I ignite it, the gas is so hot that I can use these,” I took a strand of metal off the table, holding it out for her to see how thin the metal was. “To fill in the gaps between the metal. It creates a powerful bond, letting me create more intricate designs in less time without compromising the overall strength of the project.”

“Wow,” She came over to stare at the project in question. “That’s amazing!”

“My teacher created the process,” I said honestly. “I just use it.”

“And what is this?”

“A part of a helm I’m making,” I lifted it up. “I embedded some runes into it, heat treated it, and I’m welding it together with the other parts. This will be the visor after I finish putting the runes into the glass,” I lifted it to my face, showing where the glass would fit. She giggled a bit as the sight of my serious eyes looking at her through the space.

“Runes… so you’re a wizard?”

That had me blinking at her. An orc… wizard? Who had ever heard of such a thing? I considered that she might have been making fun of me, only to see that she was serious.

“No, I’m not. I was trained by one however. He taught me how to use alchemy and magic to improve my blacksmithing. The welder is a part of the alchemy I’ve learned from him. I also use the magical research he’s taught me to create steel with a high carbon content, which makes steel stronger.”

A simplified way to explain it, as high carbon steel could sometimes be brittle, but explaining the concept of balancing all the different ways of forging steel over the course of hours to make a single piece that was strong and flexible would have taken up a lot of time.

She took the piece from me and looked through the eyeholes herself, amazed. “How do you do that?”

“Well, wizards are those who research the universe. They aren’t like mages, sorcerers, or warlocks, who use magic primarily for combat, or druids, alchemists, blacksmiths, and priests, who use magic to grow plants, create potions and tools, or heal,” I explained. “Wizards like my teacher have a focus on studying both magic and the natural processes of the universe. Things like the movement of the stars in the sky, the changes of a soul over the course of centuries, the migration patterns of fish, and the use of evocation magic to throw a ball of flame, are all a part of the wizards work.”

“Isn’t that a lot?” she asked, shocked.

“Not really. Wizards tend to have a focus in their research,” I explained. “My master has a preference for alchemy, or the study of how different things react with each other, though he has a good base in most other magic and research. Others might be good with water based magic, or in the study of the difference between each school of magic and how they mix.”

I turned the piece of metal in my hand to show her the runes I’d carved into the inside. “He’s taught me a bit of enhancement magic, the school of giving people and objects abilities or properties they wouldn’t have otherwise. It tends to have many facets.”

The runes I’d carved were extremely small. I’d had to spend hours over them with a file and blade, making sure each groove was perfect. I had plans to figure out how to make my runes even smaller one day however.

“Why smaller?” asked the girl. She leaned over to look at the rune in question. I blinked, only to realize I’d continued explaining things to her on autopilot. I had a habit of doing that, just spitting what I was thinking. Except, I only did that around Hasha, Jennifer, and Art…

Discarding the thought, I continued. “Well, runes work best when they are complete, detailed, and have been carefully formed out of energy. So that means most people make very large runes, and use only one for each piece. They are easy to create, because you don’t have to put as much work into perfecting all the details, and you have less of a chance of runes interfering with each other.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“For example, a chef doesn’t throw random food into a pot. They have to be careful with each ingredient, and the more careful they are, the better the food. If they simply do whatever they want, they could end up with food that is overly sour, burnt, or even poisonous. Runes are the same way. You have to be careful about every groove and pattern you make, and that the effects that you are looking for mix well. An electric rune doesn’t mix well with a rune of water, so placing both on the same piece can do either nothing, or become disastrous.

“However, smaller runes mean that you can add more effects and even layer them together, since you are using less surface area. For example, if I give a breastplate two runes that increase metal strength, then the breastplate will be twice as strong as adding just one rune.”

“Wow,” She smiled. “That sounds amazing.”

“It’s hard work though,” I sighed. “I have to use really precise tools and instruments to do it. It take hours to finish a rune, and it takes magical energy to do it. And then, I have to do it while forging metal, so that the runes blend magically into the metal. So I end up forging steel while I’m using alchemy and runes to make it even stronger. And with how small I make the runes, it sometimes doesn’t work.”

“Oh,” She sounded less impressed now. “Well, what does this one do?”

She pointed at the rune on the piece of metal. It was placed at the forehead. The mannaz symbol? Had I already incorporated it in? Odd of me to forget. If I’d placed another one into the glass like I’d planned, they would have negated each other.

“That’s the symbol to represent sentient beings,” I explained simply. “It just tells the other runes that they’re being used by a person, so that I can control them.”

The girl nodded. She seemed impressed again, which was nice. I’d never had someone who didn’t know me act like my creations were worth a damn.

“So, what are you hiding from?” I put the piece away in a box, turning from her. When I turned back, she was stepping into the back room. “Hey!”

No one was supposed to go in there! I kept my more dangerous tools and project back there specifically to make sure no one would get hurt by a mistake, and she was just strolling in!?

I rushed after her, terrified I would hear a sudden explosion, or see a rune activate and do something horrible to her. Both unlikely scenarios due to all the safeties I’d placed everywhere, but I was still terrified.

When I entered, I was relieved to see her simply poking at a steel cotton shirt I had hanging on a rack. She looked over at me, confused.

“Is this chainmail?”

“No one is supposed to come in here.”

At my stern tone of voice, she blushed. “O-Oh, I’m sorry! I just saw this and…” She looked back at the shirt. “This is chainmail, yes? But it’s so small! How did you do this?”

“I turned cloth to metal,” I took her by the shoulders and began to guide her from the room.

“W-What!?”

“I took a cotton shirt and used a transformation spell to turn the cotton into steel. It takes thirteen hours per shirt, since I’m not good at it, and you have to be careful to have absolute focus while constantly calculating how much metal you need. But you end up with chainmail as strong as steel and thin and light as a shirt. That way I wear multiple levels without sacrificing strength.”

“What is that?” Ignoring the way I was pushing her, she pointed at my armor stand that stood at the back of the room.

I looked over at the steel gray armor. “My armor prototype,” I grunted, still pushing her out.

“It’s so different from mine,” said the girl in confusion.

“That’s because that one is made for battle, not ceremony,” Well, for my grandmaster attempt really, but I didn’t see the point in making non-functional armo—

“W-What!?” she spun away from me. I blinked, shocked at how fast she’d moved. One minute she’d been letting me push her. The next she was two steps in front of me and looking me in the eyes. “This is my battle armor!”

I stared at her. Then I looked at her armor. The ornate gold wings on her chest, the two protrusions shaped to her breasts, the silver pauldrons on her shoulders, and the small cloth ribbons all over the body that gave her the appearance of a spirit of war about to take flight.

“It… It’s very pretty,” that came out a lot more nervously then I wanted it to. Honestly, the armor looked good. Even the gauntlets, greaves, and boots, the pieces most often left unadorned, were works of art, with embossed designs all in what had to be pure gold. It was beautiful.

“But it’s not battle armor.”

Her cheeks filled with air, like a chipmunk with its cheeks full. It moved her appearance from attractive to adorable. “How dare you! My armor is made for me to fight the greatest enemies of the land!”

Ah. Now that was familiar. Anger and condescending attitude.

I had no idea what it said about me that I was far more comfortable with this than I was her awe and polite speech. It wasn’t what I was used to. I had no idea what to do when a stranger was being polite. But this?

I could understand this.

“Listen,” I let a bit of my orcish side, the gruff anger that turned the sound of my speech into something horrific, come out. “Armor being ornate is not a problem. Armor is only given to those who represent the best in the land, those who are chosen to defend the land. They should remind others of the elevated status of the wearer,” I tapped her armor, on the gold wing extending over the left side of her chest. She gasped in shock, but I ignored her.

“But you have pure gold on your armor. Gold is soft, heavy, and extremely expensive to replace if damaged. Silver isn’t much better, and I can see a lot of that as well. The pauldrons are also much too big. Are you a longsword user?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Then your pauldrons, while they do look very stylized, are also so big that they will end up squashing your skull if you ever do an overhead strike. That also tells me your armor, though pretty, is obviously not made to your needs or shaped to your body. How long did it take to make the armor?”

She stared at me, dumbfounded. “I-I don’t know.”

“Hmm,” I looked her over, circling her. She stood still, letting me look over the armor. “I’d guess whoever made it for you wanted it to be a surprise, so they sized it from the clothes you wear. It would work if done right, but the preferred method is for the smith themselves to make the measurements. That way they have an absolute image of how they want the armor to look, and can make something that will fit you for years. And finally, your breasts.”

“M-My what!” she covered herself with her arms, scandalized.

“It is not a requirement to make depressions specifically for the breasts,” I growled. “Armor is heavy, will always be much hotter or colder than you prefer, and makes you sweat. Most people wear padding in the chest area underneath their chainmail to absorb the sweat, absorb blows, or warm the skin. Which makes breast protrusions an odd, as well as useless, addition. And then of course, the main purpose of plate armor like yours is to deflect blows; those protruding sections will instead guide blows inward towards your sternum, possibly allowing an opponent to shatter bones there.”

It was almost as if no one ever intended for her to go into battle. Why tell her this was battle armor? If they wanted her to get killed in the field, why spend such expense? Why make her beautiful armor made for nothing but ceremony, and let her think she could go into war in said armor?

“I see,” She no longer sounded angry. Now she seemed a lot more thoughtful than anything. “Do I have to get new armor?” said the girl worriedly, looking over her shoulder at me as I circled her.

“New battle armor, yes,” I came around in front of her, toning down the gruffness of my voice. “It will protect you better than this one. This armor will do well if you want to impress at a banquet or during a parade. But you really shouldn’t sacrifice function for beauty.”

Right then, someone knocked on the door. I looked over at it, frowning.

“Hmm. I wonder who this is.”

With the celebration for the reveal of the Prophesied Child, I hadn’t expected anyone to come by the shop at all. And now I had my second visitor.

I walked over to the door, speaking over my shoulder to the girl. “Listen, if you don’t want a half-orc doing your armor, I’d understand. There are several blacksmiths in the city I can recommend, one even does work for the city guard, and they take jobs for us when a client doesn’t want me doing the work. Just let me—,” When I opened the door, there was another person in armor.

He looked up at me grimly. He was wearing simple steel armor, and had a sword bared in his right hand. His black hair was cut almost to the skin, and a trace of stubble rested on his chin. Piercing hazel eyes stared into me as though he was checking for my soul. “Orcling. I’ve heard that my charge entered this domicile.”

“That is incorrect,” I said without thinking.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You dare lie to me?”

“Not that,” I said quickly. “This is not a domicile. It is a place of business. A domicile would be a permanent home for an individual. The domicile is at the front.”

He blinked, apparently unprepared for that. “I… I don’t…”

“Richard?” the girl poked her head out from behind me. She sounded hesitant, but not scared.

“My lady,” he said in relief. I stepped aside to let him enter, fairly certain from their reactions that he wasn’t about to hurt her. He wrapped her in a hug, their armored chests clinking as they met, and she hugged him back. “I was so worried. When I heard you’d left the celebration, I feared you’d been taken.”

“I’m fine, Richard,” she pulled away and gave him a smile. “I just wanted to see the city for myself. Char let me rest here when I got tired.”

Is that what I did? I’d thought she’d been running from some sort of danger. Now I found she was some sort of noblewoman who’d been a victim of her curiosity.

As I thought that, the man, Richard, turned to give me a surprised look. “Your name is Char?”

“Yes. I’m apprenticed to the owner of this shop.”

He looked around the shop, raising an eyebrow at the table full of the things I’d set up to work on my helm.

“I see,” he drew away from the girl, facing me fully. His hand made a brief clanging noise when he placed a hand to his chest and bowed. “Thank you for keeping her safe, orcli—…Char,” He sighed. “After all, we can’t very well have a Prophesied Child Celebration without the Prophesied Child herself.”

“Yes, I imagine that would be… Oh,” I stared between the two. The girl was looking at the ground. The man was still bowing. And I had a legend standing in the shop. A legend who I’d pushed around, lectured, and…and I’d spent time talking about the uselessness of the breasts on her armor.

Dead. That’s what I was. She’d tell Richard about my rudeness, and I’d be skinned alive and cooked in boiling oil.

As I stared at them, horrified (This cute girl was the future savior of the world!?) Richard rose from his bow and turned to the girl. “My lady, we must leave.”

She sighed sadly. “Yes, I suppose I’ve imposed on him enough. Oh, thank you again for the advice, Char! I hope we can meet again!”

Oh no. She was employing sarcasm. My impertinent speech had angered her, and soon I’d be called in for my execution.

She must have been far more practiced with sarcasm than I assumed, because she seemed sincere.

Bowing as one, the pair rose and left the shop. I staggered over to a chair, eyes wide in terror, and broke out into a cold sweat.

A random thought hit me. Despite all that time, I’d never once heard the Prophesied Child’s name.

------

“Of all the shops the Prophesied Child came to, she chose ours!?” Art rushed around the house, shoving things into bags. “Why did you even let her in?”

“In my defense,” I grumbled as I shoved another notebook into my cheap leather satchel. “No one ever saw her face before today.”

“Well we need to go,” said Art rhetorically. “Only what we can lift. We’ll send a letter to Hasha and Jennifer, have them hold the rest for us until we can set up somewhere else. If the Prophesied Child really does decide it’s time to play ‘impale the half-orc’, she’ll need to chase us.”

“Where do we go?” I tried to stay calm, but paranoia kept making me want to lash out. Every person with a lantern passing by was the person who’d come and take me away. Anger and fear bounced inside me.

“Head south to the docks,” Art shoved a shirt into a bag. “There’s captains that will take us further west into the continent on the river. From there, we can take move into one of the other rivers, head all the way to the Decortana Forest. There’s hundreds of miles of forest up there.”

“Isn’t that Elvin territory?”

“Elves don’t have the same hatred human, dwarves, and halflings do for orcs. They might dislike you, but they won’t kill you outright.”

He finished packing the bag, then looked at me. “Keep packing. I’ll head upstairs. The carriage should be coming to take us soon. Answer the door when it does,” When I nodded, he stared at me for a second.

Then he came over and hugged me around the waist. I stiffened in shock. As much he cared for me, Art had never been a hugger. He stepped back, gruffly releasing me. “Not your fault, Char. You couldn’t have expected this,” he cracked his neck, apparently trying to do very masculine things to make up for the hug. “Now. Get back to work.”

I stared after him as he walked upstairs. When I realized I was smiling, I growled, then started shoveling things into bags again.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door. The house didn’t have windows, but I could hear the loud clangs of metal on stone outside. Horseshoes on stone most likely.

I hesitated. Even with all this, I didn’t want to leave my home. My workshop was here, with my armor. I had to leave it behind. Too much weight to carry. My reagents, so many of my tools, the small library of fiction and non-fiction I’d collected. Hours of my life, gone.

But we had to leave. So, I went over to the door. When I opened it, rather than a single man with a small carriage behind him, seven men stood outside with a rather large carriage. Six men stood behind the man on my doorstep in two lines of three. They were all wearing the impressive uniforms of the Chapel of Valor guards, with a tabard depicting a fist clenching the sun in yellow on a black background. They wore chainmail under the tabards, and helms that turned their faces into intimidating walls of still with slits for them to see through. All carried halberds, and had swords and daggers at their hips.

The man leading them was far less imposing. He was even shorter than the girl, I mean, the Prophesied Child, with a long hooked nose, hair slicked back by what smelled like some sort of expensive oils, and beady black eyes. His clothing was dyed entirely purple and made of what had to be silk. Both purple dyes and silk were tremendously expensive. Worth more than the forge, and even the entire building. And yet, he wore both a shirt and pants made with both. He glared at me pompously.

“Are you,” He took out a paper roll from a pouch by his side. He unrolled it, then stared at the paper disbelievingly. “Char?”

Here it was. The guards, come to take me to my execution. I’d hoped the Prophesied Child was a nice and naïve as she seemed. Even as I’d packed away my things, I’d prayed I could come back home one day, that I’d been ridiculous. But now it was too late.

I thought of attacking, running, anything. Then I decided against it. Arthur was upstairs. If I did something stupid, he might get killed. Better to surrender. Maybe I could make my escape on the way somehow?

With that thought in mind, I slowly nodded. “Yes. I am.”

“Hmm,” He looked me up and down, then snorted. “I see. Come with us please.”

“What is this!?” We turned to see Arthur coming down the stairs, eyes already blazing. “I won’t let you take him!”

“Art!” He turned to look at me. I shook my head slowly. His eyes widened in shock and understanding.

“No,” He shook his head, sadness on his features. “Char, no.”

“Take care of the shop,” I shrugged, trying to smile. “We knew it had to happen someday.”

“Oh, stop being melodramatic!” The man in expensive dress said. “Come!”

I had enough time to wave. The last I saw of Arthur, he was sitting heavily on the stairs, shoulders sagging as he watched me get guided off.

------

“This is a very nice carriage.”

No one replied. The official with the long nose was writing something. The three men who’d entered with us simply stared straight ahead.

“I haven’t been in many carriages, you see. Don’t even have a horse. So I’m enjoying this experience.”

Still nothing. Good. I wasn’t a talker on the best of days. And forcing it on today of all days was only making me want to hit something. As hard as the steel chains and locks they’d put on my wrists and ankles would make it.

I looked at the tabards of the men again. A fist clenching the sun in yellow on a black background. A very militant symbol for an order that claimed peace and love as its own.

Turab was a world of many religions.

Some, Druids and Shamans especially, worship the spirits, the creatures from which spiritual magic had gained its name. Spirits are the sapient forces that live across the world. They take the form of the elements, sometimes appearing as women made of water, animals of fire, or even simple gusts of wind. Because of this, people see them as the true rulers of nature, and worthy of worship.

Others, Warlocks and Sorcerers usually, believe the world is governed by magic itself. They believe it controls every aspect of the planes of existence, guiding the smallest and largest of events, from the explosions of a volcano, to the circling of the planets. I’ve even heard of monks who live on planes far beyond Turab, travelling the stars and controlling the purest forces of magic to defend the planes of existence.

The Chapel of Valor believe in an energy called the Light. Much like those who worship magic, Light worshipers think the universe is guided by the light. Paladins and Priests of the Chapel of Valor tend to manifest their magic as bright beams of light, and they see that as confirmation of the Light’s existence.

Hasha tends to note that magic manifests as one believes it will. And I’m with him on that theory. Honestly, the ‘Light-chancellors’ of the Chapel are more than likely just using magic the way they think they should. Nothing more, nothing less.

Of course, my judgement may be colored by the fact that hatred of orcs is one of the things the priests claim is of the greatest importance for their religion.

The Chapel is almost the government of Jarvin. The city council almost constantly listen to the Chapel’s own leadership. The only reason I haven’t ever been executed are the low presence I’ve been to maintain from childhood. I have done nothing to truly insult the Chapel, so they never paid me any mind.

Until today.

As for myself, I believe there is something controlling the universe. I don’t know the name, and I don’t know if there is a heaven that it controls. But I have seen the wonders of the world in my little workshop. I can’t help but think there is something out there.

Hopefully it likes half-orcs. Because I don’t know how to pray.

------

The carriage came to a stop.

“Out,” said the official curtly.

I obediently stepped out. We’d been in the carriage for a while. As we left, the smell of the dirty city streets I was used to, began to give way to far cleaner scents, like lavender incense, the salt of the sea, and food cooking in shops and homes. And now, as I stepped out of the carriage, I realized why.

We stood in the Nobleman’s Section of Jarvin. Here, I could see Jarvin Tower even closer than ever before. Its shadow fell across the city, and it seemed to touch the sky itself. The castle where the Regent of Jarvin must have been only a few city blocks away, considering how close I stood to the Tower. The carriage has stopped in front of a space between stone walls that had to be at least twenty meters in height. The walls went inwards towards a massive castle, and a large tower stood directly in front of us, in the space between the walls. The tower in question was three stories. Several archers could be seen in the windows, with arrows trained on me as I looked up.

I’d never been in the Nobleman’s section before, usually sticking to the poorer sections of town.

And the reasons why? Well, they were staring at me.

When I’d stepped out, in all of my large, green skinned glory, wearing a grey shirt, brown pants, and boots, a gasp came from the people in the street. The cuffs on my wrists and ankles jingled as I stepped down, and looked across the crowd.

Humans, elves, and dwarves, of all shapes and sizes, stared back at me in fear and hatred.

That was the problem with the Nobleman’s section. Only the wealthiest of people, from ‘accepted’ species, were allowed to live and work there. Halflings, who were thought of as nothing but dirt farmers, were one example of species that was common in the land, and yet was treated as less than others. Despite the fact that halflings were geniuses with magic, skilled farmers, and, from what Hasha once told me, excellent beer makers.

So if they had such a low opinion of halflings, some of the most loyal and steadfast people in Turab, consider their hatred of me.

The moldy bread that arced from the crowd towards my face wasn’t a surprise. Nor were the jeers and insults that started to come from the gathered people.

I was able to have a bit of fun with it however. As I walked forward, surrounded by the guards and led by the official, I started mentally critiquing the insults, ignoring the rotten food being thrown at me, ruining a very nice shirt.

“Greenskin!”

Not the most creative of insults.

“Child-Murderer!”

A bit of stretch that.

“Garbage-Digger!”

Well, only if I needed something for my experiments. Which, to be far, was often.

“Asslicker!”

Huh… that one was actually pretty funny.

Even as I tried to keep my spirits though, I could feel despair threatening to pull me under. Here I was, being dragged to my execution under a hail of insults and garbage. The very thing I’d feared since childhood. All I had done in my life, all the control and focus I’d learned, my experiments, my dreams, all gone. Nothing but hatred ahead.

I fought past those thoughts. If I was to die, it would be as a man. Damn those who thought of me as monster. I’d die with my head held high.

Or escape. Whichever was available to me first.

We walked past the tower, making the long trek towards the castle. The crowds disappeared as we walked, apparently unwilling to follow into the grounds themselves. The castle was one of the largest buildings I’ve ever seen, with bright red shingles, polished stone columns, and statues in the image of gargoyles, the beasts that sometimes lived canyons in the Gunderson Mountain Range and Orc Badlands. The area surrounding the castle was interesting. While the path up to the door was stone, the area around was a well-kept lawn. Flowers grew in little patches, and a small fountain bubbled as water poured over stones. A Halfling gardener was tending to an apple tree. She was sitting in the branches, cutting a few of them away for a purpose that escaped me, but stopped as my entourage and I walked up, the sound of the chains clinking as the soldiers armored feet slapped against stone.

To my surprise, the Halfling gave me a respectful nod. I returned it, and she smiled sadly before returning to pruning the tree.

There was another feature in the incredible gardens surrounding the place. I only noticed its after a while. When I did, I nearly fell over.

There was a small river, flwing through the grounds. It curved and twisted in strange angles, with bridges crossing it in odd ways. But, as I put it together, I realized I could sense something beneath the water.

Magic.

The river was an enormous rune! It must have been the work of thousands of hours! The larger the rune, the more energy it took to maintain it, and yet this one seemed to be powered by the waters flowing over it! What a concept! Using motion to power something! Of course, it would be less powerful in dry seasons, and the river overflowing might effect it, but if I could harness such a thing the way I had for electricity and pure magic, then the things I could do… maybe, using the rubber tubing I’d created, I could create a smaller version of this?

The runes themselves were laguz and jera, along with one I didn’t recognize, their lines intersecting at the bridges that crossed the water. The one I didn’t recognize seemed to be acting as the baseline for the others. Laguz was usually representative of water, while jera was used for good years, or for harvest. So their presence made sense in a garden, but the final one… hm.

ᛚ- Laguz

ᛃ- Jera

One of the guards pushed me forward.

Right. About to get imprisoned for execution soon. Damn, I really wanted to study the final rune.

The castle doors towered over us as we walked up the many steps to enter. The doors were grand, majestic, made of a green material that shined like a pearl and had dozens of random patterns carved into it, as well as some runes. I tried to identify them, but we stepped by to quickly, the official and guards keeping me moving.

The castle itself was as beautiful as its doors, moreso in fact. I shuddered to think on the many hours of work that it had taken to make such a building, with its tall ceilings and pillars as large as most building, made. The official looked back at me, and smirked.

“Quite the sight, isn’t it?” he said snidely. The first words he’d spoken to me since we’d entered the carriage actually.

“…Yes,” I said softly.

“Hmf,” He sniffed, then started walking again. “This way. They will be waiting for you, orcling.”

He went right, rather than down the main hallway. We went past tapestries depicting great moments in Turab’s history, or simple fairy tales. In a world where anything was possible, fact and fiction can be tough to decipher.

As we walked, the chains on my ankles dragged along the thick red carpets on the floor, the links sometimes pulling at the thick weave. A few servants gaped at us, well, at me as we walked. Two, a blonde and brunette pair of girls that were almost as tall as my waist, waited until we passed to faint in what had to be a fake reaction.

Or maybe I was that horrifying? I’d have to do tests to make sure.

Hasha would be proud. That was the second in two minutes I’d pondered on experiments while being carted to an execution.

As we walked, I heard voices speaking loudly. They were muffled by the distance, but slowly became louder as we came closer.

“—an orc!” a female voice cried out. She sounded like an older woman.

“It is her right,” I blinked when I realized I recognized this voice. It was Richard, the man in armor who’d come for the Prophesied Child earlier. He had barely registered to me last time we’d met, being nothing but a man in armor at the time. But I still remembered his voice.

We came around the corner to a room. It was square in shape, and not as decorative as the rest of the castle had been. There was a window on the right wall that showed several other buildings in the distance, as well as a courtyard of stone surrounding grass and… a lake? How big was this place?

The room itself had a bookshelf next to the window, filled with texts of every conceivable genre, some of which I owned myself. On the left wall was a tapestry depicting a dragon battling a demon as two armies warred on the ground (Which could have been a depiction of any number of wars in the last century, as demons and dragons had an infamous rivalry with one another). There was a desk in the room, with what must have been a massive couch covered in black fur behind it. Three people stood before the desk.

One was Richard, dressed in the same armor he’d worn earlier that day. He looked over at us, face stern as he saw who was coming. The second was an older woman, clearly the one from earlier. She was dressed in the simple black robes of a priestess, with a brown robe around her slim waist and a shawl around her shoulders. Long black hair flipped as she looked over at us, before her eyes widened at the sight of me.

“Light protect us,” she said in horror.

Yet more evidence I must be terrifying to behold. More experiments would need to be done.

The last person in the room surprised me. “Char!” said the Prophesied Child. She stepped around Richard, a wide smile on her face. She was wearing far simpler armor now, the metal plates ill-fitting, but still less audacious than her earlier set. Other than that, she looked much the same.

She also looked happy to see me, which suddenly made all my fears of execution seem suspect. It was only further disproved when she saw the chains on my body, and she cried out in dismay.

“What have you done?”

The official blinked, then looked back at me, then at the three before him. “I…I brought the orcling?” he said, sounded very confused.

“In chains?” she said in horror. The Prophesied Child stepped forward.

“My lady!” the older woman stepped forward as well, but was too late to stop the younger girl from striding across the room, stepping past the stunned official, and within mere inches of me.

She took the chains around my wrist, looking me over frantically. “I am so sorry! I didn’t know they’d do this! I just wanted to meet you again, to talk and—” I stared at the flustered young woman in amazement as she glared at the official. “Where are the keys!?”

“M-My lady, you can’t free an orcling in the Chapel of Valor!” The official cried out in horror.

“His name is Char!” said the petite young girl. She looked over at the bemused Richard. “We need to unchain him! This isn’t right, he’s our guest.”

Richard and I shared a glance. I could tell that whatever else, we shared a sense of amazement at the situation we’d found ourselves in. With a heavy sigh, Richard nodded to one of the soldiers next to me.

The tension in the air grew as the soldier slowly stepped towards me. He took out a key and pressed it to the lock on the chains. I kept still, knowing that if I lashed out, all the orc durability in the world wouldn’t stop the halberds around me from stabbing deep into my flesh.

The chains around my wrists fell. Then the ones on my ankles. I rubbed my wrists, feeling the small marks where the links had caught on my tough skin, then looked at the Prophesied Child.

“I…” I hesitated. “…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” She smiled brilliantly, her happiness at my words clear to see.

“Out, all of you.” Richard declared.

“My lord—” the official shut his mouth when Richard looked at him sternly. Gulping, the official nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

Giving me one final glare, the official and the soldiers left, leaving me with the Prophesied Child, Richard, and the priestess.

I looked between them awkwardly, still confused. “So…Nice place you’ve got here.”

The Prophesied Child beamed up at me. Richard chuffed out a laugh, then coughed to hide it. The priestess glared at me.

“My lady, allowing a peasant of such,” the priestess glared at me, “breeding, is not a wise thing to do! This orcling might—”

“Enough,” Richard waved a hand dismissively. “It is done.”

Grumbling in anger, the priestess turned away. Richard nodded, then looked at me. “I suppose,” he said gruffly, “introductions are in order. I am Richard Dedicat, a knight of the Chapel of Valor, and newly hired bodyguard to the Prophesied Child,” he gave her a smile. “Though I’ve been her caretaker for much longer than that.”

The Prophesied Child smiled back at him, then looked at the priestess. The woman, feeling our eyes on her, scoffed. “Oh, very well,” she said. “I am a Priestess of the Chapel of Valor, Gwen Rivers. And the advisor to the Bishop of Jarvin, who is away on business.”

“And I’m the Prophesied Child!”

“I hadn’t guessed,” I said wryly.

“Really?” she blinked. “Oh. Well, I am!” I realized then she had not encountered enough sarcasm in her life. How refreshing. “And my name is Katya Narveaz! It’s nice to see you again, Char!” she held out a friendly hand. After a moment of hesitation I took it.

Feeling like it was my turn, I looked around at the three of them. The priestess still refuse to look at me without glaring suspiciously. Richard was eyeing me cautiously. And the Prophes— Katya was still smiling at me.

“Char Com. I’m a blacksmith, armorer, and trainee-in-magic.”

The priestess snapped her eyes to stare at me in shock. “You are a wizard?”

The emphasis on the word ‘you’ made it clear what she thought of the concept.

“No, just a trainee. I could never be a wizard,” I answered honestly.

“Oh,” Katya gave me an encouraging look. “I’m sure you could one day!”

I stared at her, then smiled. She was extremely naïve. And a bit airheaded. But I was honestly beginning to like her. It was rare that I’d met someone who could be so sweet to me.

“So…Why was I brought here?”

“O-Oh yes, I forgot,” Katya chuckled, blushing a bit, and looking over at the priestess and Richard.

“I’ll leave to my duties then,” the priestess grumbled, her face pinched in anger. She glared at me again, then strode out past me.

Richard watched her go, blue eyes scanning her. Then he looked at me. “Well orcling, the fact of the matter is that you’ve brought it to my attention that, despite being trained at costs that would bankrupt cities, and being given armor of pure gold,” he scoffed, “my dear charge was not given armor made for the rigours of battle.”

I immediately understood what was happening. “You want me to make armor?”

“She wants to make you armor,” Richard nodded at the Prophesied Child, who nodded at me. “I said that our own armorers here could do the job,” he sighed, going around the desk in the center of the room to take a letter off of it. “But she will accept no less than, ‘nice Char’ as her new armourer.”

“Yep!” Katya nodded, eyes closed. “You taught me a lot about armor, and I saw your artifacts! If you could make me armor like the one you were making, then I could save a lot more people, and make everyone safe!”

I blinked as I watched her clutch a fist in determination, her eyes filled with determination. It was very surreal, going from an execution, to a young girl dreaming of saving the world.

“I have no problem making you armor,” I looked between the cheery Katya and the dour Richard. “But I will need payment.”

“Money is no object,” Richard said simply. “I don’t know why you’re the one she chose, but if you can do the job, and get it done in a week—”

“A week!?” I stared between the two. “A week? That’s too short a time! Any of the other projects would need to put off for that time.”

“And we would compensate you for the damages,” Richard frowned. “It must be done by then.”

“Why?”

“Char,” Katya tapped my arm, her metal armored fingers touching to the bare skin. I jumped at the feel of cold metal on my skin. She smiled in apology before speaking. “I’m headed into a den of monsters in a week.”

“…I am compelled to ask why.”

“It’s part of the prophecy,” she said brightly. She closed her eyes, sounding as though she was speaking from memory. “’The Prophesied Child, with heart alight in the radiance of the Light, will step into the world of beasts, and cleanse the land of the monsters that plague it.’ It is the first part of my journey,” her bright smile turned into a confused frown. “Haven’t you heard the prophecy, Char?”

“…” coughing awkwardly, I turned my head. “I… may not have had much contact with the Chapel of Valor before this.”

“Oh,” she brightened. “Well, I can teach you later! While you make my armor!” she looked over at Richard, who was smirking at me. “Right?”

“Of course my lady,” he kept his eyes on me as I looked down at him. “Well orcling? Can you do it? Make her an armor worthy of protecting the Prophesied Child?”

I honestly didn’t know. I was still overwhelmed. I’d spent the whole journey here convinced I was coming to my death. Instead, I was being given the commission of a lifetime. Armor for the Prophesied Child. There were blacksmiths who would rip their own children’s tongues out and burn them to ashes for the chance to have such a job.

And yet… if I failed, I would be in a dangerous position. In fact, just taking the job was dangerous. This was high-profile job. People would hear about me. And some may try to harm me simply for being a half-orc. And if I failed, then some might assume I had done it in an attempt to get her killed. One wrong rune, one badly forged piece, and I’d be executed.

I looked at the Prophesied Child. She was staring at me hopefully, eyes quivering.

Damnit. I couldn’t say no. And it wasn’t just because I’d feel like a monster for making her sad. It was because this job was an incredible chance. If I did this right, made the greatest armor I’d ever designed, then people might see me for the blacksmith I really was. I was never ashamed of my blood, but more work would come if people ignored my heritage. I could help Arthur more, pay back Hasha for all he had done for us. We could have a real business, without looking for loans from our friends.

And then, there was Katya. She was supposed to be destined to save the world against a great evil. As a young child just learning how to blacksmith, I’d dreamed of wearing armor I’d designed and saving the land. Later, when I realized how impossible that was, I’d changed my dream to having armor I’d designed be worn by a great hero who saved the land.

This was my chance. And I couldn’t let it slip me by.

“I’ll do it.”

“Yes!” Katya cheered, looking less like a great hero and more like a teenage girl.

Richard grunted. “All right. You can stay here for the night. You’ll be under guard, but the room will be comfortable. You can get started after we get you back home in the morning.”

“This will be great!” Katya said happily. “I’ve never had a friend stay in the castle!”

“…Friend huh?” I quirked my lips at the thought.

“You can meet Mountain!” Katya walked around the desk, touching the couch I’d noticed earlier and rubbing the fur.

“Mountain?” I asked.

The couch moved.

I froze in horror as what I’d taken for a very big couch, bigger than the desk, as big as the carriage I’d ridden in, slowly moved. Black fur heaved in waves as muscles even larger than my own shifted underneath it. A head moved up from the floor to look around. Eyes opened, a bright purple glow to them. A massive jaw opened and closed, teeth the size of daggers slicing the air as a bright pink tongue lolled. Four legs lifted the enormous body off the ground, before the massive being shook itself, tail wagging as floopy ears waved.

A dog. A dog that was as big as a carriage. And not a small carriage either.

“This is Mountain,” Katya said brightly. “He’s a good boy, isn’t he!?” She rubbed his head, her petite form even smaller next to the massive beast.

He barked happily. The room shook.

“…His name may be a bit small for him.”

On hearing me speak, Mountain turned to look at me. I froze once again. I was strong, and tough. But I got the sense that nothing short of the toughness of a bear would be able to truly impress this beast. So I simply watched as he strode over. A nose on slightly smaller than the palm of my hand sniffed at me, taking deep whiffs. Then, Mountain sat back on his heels. Even sitting, he was taller than me. A new, and very uncomfortable experience, to have someone taller than me.

Then he lifted a paw, looking at me gravely. I stared at it, uncomprehending.

“He wants you to shake,” said Katya gently.

Seeing no other alternative, I shook the massive beasts paw. He grinned a toothy, doggy grin, eyes still glowing with purple light. He circled around to Katya, and she smiled at me. “So…Can I watch you when I make the armor?”

I did what any man faced with a petite girl who has asked you a question while backed by a beast that towers over him would do. I nodded in agreement.