The crowd was chaotic—a sad excuse for a line. People pushed and shoved, eager to have their skills revealed. It wasn’t long before Xander, fed up with the disorder, unsheathed his sword. The metallic scrape silenced the throng instantly.

“Form a proper line,” Xander commanded. His tone, though far gentler than King Xerxes’s infamous roar, carried the same authority. For once, Xander wasn’t retreating into the shadows; he stood tall, earning respect with his presence alone.

Gradually, order was restored, and people began stepping forward, one at a time. Xander held the holy crystal aloft, and as each individual uttered, “Status open,” their skills materialized in glowing screens. Unfortunately, the results were... underwhelming.

The first subject’s skill: Sandwich Luck – Every time you drop a sandwich, it lands toppings-side up.

“But I don’t eat bread” the first subject said.

Niles stifled a laugh, placing a sympathetic hand on the individual’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. The world can be cruel.”

The next was a bald man. His screen read: Fabulous Hair – Always wake up with your haircut perfectly styled.

Niles glanced at the man’s shiny scalp and quickly realized the irony. “Oof... uh, tough break.” The man ran off, tears trailing behind him.

“Next!” Niles called, trying to recover the mood.

An elderly woman shuffled forward. Her skill appeared: Fast Reader – Read books at double speed.

“Well, that must have come in handy,” Niles remarked. But the woman burst into tears and fled. Whispers followed her into the crowd: “Poor thing… she never learned to read.”

Niles paled. “Okay, that’s on me,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

The line moved on. A young man stepped forward, his screen glowing: Nimble Toes – Avoids pain by dodging small, sharp objects on the ground

“Useful for dodging Legos,” Niles mumbled, waving the man away with a polite but disappointed smile.

They repeated this process with hundreds of hopefuls. The skills ranged from mildly interesting to outright absurd:

* Fluffy Pillows – Make pillows extra fluffy

* Pen finder – Always knows where to find a working pen

* Doorway navigator – Never forget why you enter a room

Each person stepped forward hoping to uncover some life-changing power, only to leave disheartened. Niles could see it in their faces—the sting of realizing their abilities were mediocre at best.

As the crowd thinned, the square grew quiet. Most of the spectators dispersed, disappointment heavy in the air.

“What now?” Xander asked, turning to Niles. “We haven’t found anyone who can help Felix.”

Niles rubbed his chin, recalling something from the baking duel. “Wait... do you remember that guy who told me to hold off before taking the bread out of the oven? He looked like a smith.”

Xander’s eyes lit up. “You mean Sir Vulcan? He’s one of the finest smiths in all of Xandria—a key supplier of weapons to the crown.”

“Perfect,” Niles said, standing straighter. “Do you know where to find him?”

Xander nodded. “Of course. Follow me.”

With that, the two set off, hope rekindled as they prepared to visit the legendary craftsman.

From a distance, thick smoke billowed into the sky, staining the horizon like a foreboding storm cloud. As they approached, Niles noticed the towering figures of burly men, their arms loaded with weapons, coal, and raw metal. None of them spared a glance for the prince or his companion; their focus was as sharp as the blades they forged. It was as though the two newcomers didn’t belong here—a feeling underscored by a weathered wooden sign swinging above the open gate, boldly engraved with the word “Ashsteel.”

There was no door, just a massive, yawning gateway leading into the fiery heart of the smithy. Xander led the way, his presence regal but unassuming. “Sir Vulcan, are you here?” he called out.

From deep within, a gruff voice replied, laced with the rasp of a man used to barking orders over roaring flames. “Prince Xander? What brings you to my forge?” Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed on the stone floor before the man himself emerged, his hulking figure outlined by the glowing forge behind him. His voice carried on, grumbling, “Come to gripe about the sign again? It’s staying. I’m proud of my heritage, and I won’t—”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Nothing about the sign,” Xander interjected with measured respect, cutting off what seemed like the start of a familiar rant. “I’m here with a friend.”

Vulcan’s thick brows furrowed as Xander stepped aside, revealing Niles. The smith’s expression twisted into wary surprise. “A friend?” he said skeptically, then muttered, “Don’t take me for a fool, like that—” His words caught in his throat as recognition dawned. His gaze snapped to Niles, widening slightly. “Wait… you? How are you still alive? Facing the king and losing the duel is a death sentence. What trickery is this?”

Niles smirked, stepping forward. “Oh, I won the last bout. A thumb war. You know, the ultimate trial of champions.”

Vulcan stared at him for a long moment, scratching the bristly forest of his beard. It sounded absurd—impossible, even—but here the man stood, alive and well, and accompanied by the prince no less. Whatever tale lay behind this, Vulcan chose not to press further. Instead, he waved dismissively and turned back to his forge. “So, what brings you here?”

Collecting himself, Niles began, “We’re searching for someone with a skill that can help save our friend. He was injured in yesterday’s attack.”

Vulcan snorted, unimpressed. Without pausing his work, he hammered at a molten blade, the clang of steel punctuating his words. “Skills, skills, skills. Everyone’s obsessed with them. Like they’re the only thing that matters. It’s foolishness.” He barely acknowledged the prince or Niles, his focus never straying from his craft. “You don’t need some glowing status window to have worth. A person should hone their trade. Dedicate themselves. Skill or no skill, real strength comes from effort, not flashy titles.”

He pumped the bellows once more, the fire blazing brighter as sparks shot into the air. Niles couldn’t help but grin despite the smith’s gruff demeanor. This was a man who clearly valued action over words—and Niles respected that.

The world Vulcan spoke of wasn’t unfamiliar to Niles. On Earth, success came through honing your craft, climbing the ladder of competence, and dedicating years to self-improvement. That was the way of things.

“I agree with you, Sir Vulcan, and thank you for letting us into your forge,” Niles began politely. Vulcan scoffed, unmoved. “That said, I must confess… I’m looking for a shortcut to save my friend.”

Vulcan didn’t even pause his work, his muscles rippling as he hammered a glowing blade. “That’s everyone’s reason for chasing skills. The reason may differ, but the desperation is the same.” He fixed Niles with a hard stare. “But you won’t find anyone with a skill to save your friend. Do you know why?”

Niles’s gaze narrowed, but before he could speak, Xander cut in. “Careful with your words, Vulcan.”

The smith didn’t flinch. “Why? Afraid I’ll spill the truth?” Vulcan’s voice was laced with disdain. “Tell me, Prince Xander—have you explained to your friend how the Xargian Guard recruits its members?”

Xander’s scarlet eyes darkened. “Vulcan,” he warned, his tone icy. “We came here as friends. Keep this civil.”

“Friends?” Vulcan barked a humorless laugh. “That’s a load of bull. You’re not here for friendship. You’re here because you need something. A skill, a tool, something to help you achieve your goals. You’re no different from anyone else.”

Xander’s hand drifted to the hilt of his black sword, his knuckles whitening. Vulcan didn’t miss the motion. “What are you going to do, Prince? Cut me down with the blade I forged for you? Please, do it. I’m sick of making weapons for you Xandrian swine anyway.”

Xander froze, his pride warring with the tension in the room. Niles placed a hand on his shoulder, breaking the standoff. “May I speak with Sir Vulcan alone?”

Xander hesitated but then nodded curtly. “As you wish. I’ll be outside.” He turned and left without another word.

Once the forge quieted, Vulcan leaned against his anvil, arms crossed. “What do you want?”

Niles exhaled, steadying his nerves. “I need your help. I’m being banished tomorrow, and I’ll need a weapon to survive.”

Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “No gold, no service.”

Niles smiled faintly, undeterred of the argument. “Do you have pen and paper?”

Curious but skeptical, Vulcan handed him the materials. Niles quickly sketched out a weapon while murmuring to himself, “I’m no fighter, so I need all the tools I can get…” The lines took shape—a long spear with an axe on one side and a hammerhead on the other.

Vulcan frowned at the crude drawing. “What is that? That’s a poor weapon for anyone.”

“Maybe,” Niles admitted, “but it has its advantages.” He pushed on. “How long would it take to make, and how much would it cost?”

Vulcan folded his arms, his expression unmoved. “Two weeks. Two gold coins.”

Niles nodded thoughtfully, even though he had no idea about the currency here. But he knew one thing about negotiations: never accept the first offer.

“Thank you for the quote,” Niles said smoothly. “But what’s your second offer?”

“What?” Vulcan squinted, as though he’d misheard. “These are my prices. Take it or leave it.”

“That’s a shame,” Niles sighed, feigning disappointment. “I heard your forge produces the finest weapons in Xandria.”

“That’s correct,” Vulcan grumbled. “And if you don’t like my price, go elsewhere.”

“I just can’t afford two gold coins,” Niles said, his voice dipping into calculated sorrow.

“Then go somewhere else,” Vulcan repeated, annoyance creeping into his tone.

“Is there any way you can help me?” Niles asked directly, his gaze sincere.

The question caught Vulcan off guard, his gruff demeanor faltering. “What?”

Niles pulled out the pen and paper again, scribbling imaginary calculations. “Let’s see… With the time I have left, I could gather… about a half gold coin and a pair of shoes.”

Vulcan stared at the figures and the poorly drawn pair of shoes.

“I know it’s far below your asking price,” Niles said, leaning on every ounce of earnestness. “And I know your work is worth so much more. But being your customer would mean everything to me. Is there any way we can make this work?”

Vulcan hesitated, his tough exterior softening slightly. “Well…” He sighed. “Maybe we can work something out. You can keep your shoes though”

As Vulcan mulled it over, Niles turned away briefly, a sly grin creeping onto his face. Negotiation complete.