During the following two and a half months, time seemed to blur together for Sigurd as he delved further into his new life as an adventurer. Though his days were still mostly filled with relentless handyman jobs and hunts for monsters, they also included daring rescues from bandits, and protecting merchant caravans on their journeys between towns. With each challenge he faced and overcame, Sigurd's skills sharpened, his resolve hardened, and his reputation grew.
Of the many quests he ended up taking during that time, there were a few that stood out. Among them, a particular one began out of an innocuous desire.
In all that time, he used his stubby, broken sword. For as diligent as he was, finding someone to fix his sword was the most tedious task he could think of. It was up there, right next to thinking about anything other than being a soldier, and it drew even less importance since he easily bested his enemies with his fists. He wasn't fond of using a sword, and thus the issue was pushed to the back of mind.
The desire to keep things in order and not leave anything unattended to gnawed at him, though, and so he prioritized finding the appropriate person for the job.
Sigurd skipped over asking the information broker for such trivial information, for no other reason than negotiating, bargaining, haggling, and feeling like he traded an arm, a leg, and his soul simply didn't seem worth it.
Similarly, asking around the guild didn't make much sense to him. So Sigurd set out and scoured the market and other areas of Grimroost, looking for the right person to do the job. Money was certainly an object, as was wait time.
‘If I put this off any longer, I fear I may throw that old stubby thing away!' was his thought process.
After a few hours of looking, he was unable to find anyone that could help him; no place other than the ones on the main street were advertising, and none seemed worth it.
That's when, in another surprising twist of fate, Sigurd ran into the orphans he had rescued from the Towering Troll. One of them was overseeing the rest, and they were all in front of a business, helping move boxes around.
The boy that seemed to be leading the group noticed Sigurd and called out to him, “Hey, Mr. Sigurd. How's it going?”
“Oh, hey, it's you kids," Sigurd replied, struggling to place a name on any of them.
“I'm Jeff," the boy said, annoyed. But his expression lightened immediately thereafter, realizing, “You never got our names, that's right. But your aid was invaluable for the orphanage, so thanks for that!”
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Surprised by Jeff's apparent maturity and soft-spoken manner of talking, Sigurd accepted the gratitude, “You're quite welcome.”
He looked over at the other kids, and saw how Jeff was commanding them.
“What are you all doing here?”
“We're helping a business owner move some boxes around the shop. Some of the kids are out delivering stuff to other people, and I'm leading them," Jeff was quick to answer. “I'm good with that kind of stuff; logistics, planning, management. We tend to take odd jobs here and there; it keeps us busy, out of trouble, and provides for the orphanage.”
Sigurd raised his brows, astounded by his aptitude, “That's impressive. It sounds like you may have a future in this sort of thing.”
“Thanks Mr. Sigurd, it's nice to hear that, even though most folks don't care for our presence or hire us,” Jeff revealed. “Our status as orphans really limits us and our futures.”
“That's too bad, but I say chin up and face forward!” Sigurd tried to turn the sour mood upside down. “It may not mean much coming from me, but think about it like this: I started life in a small farming village and later became a soldier, before settling on being an adventurer.”
He used his life story—and not Joyce's, which might have only served to confuse the boy—to inspire and instill in Jeff a sense of hope.
“I guess what I'm trying to say is: keep at it. All the greats take effort, blood, and tears to get to where they are!”
“I guess so...” Jeff replied dryly.
An awkward silence followed, but Sigurd broke it quickly, “But yea, seeing you move boxes and deliver packages, I'm reminded of the comfort of just buying something online on Amazon and getting it delivered to my place the very next day. And if I didn't like it, I could just return it and get my money back!”
“What do you mean by ‘on line', Mr. Sigurd?" Jeff cocked his head in confusion. “And what's a 'Maze-on'?”
Noticing his mistake, Sigurd silently cursed his own incompetence, ‘Ah, damn it, I did it again! Why do I keep opening my big mouth and mentioning impossible concepts to kids?!’
“Oh boy, where do I begin?" he asked rhetorically, looking at the puzzled boy. “Well, ‘online' refers to a magical web that connects people and places in real-time. It's great for communication, but even more for things like facilitating deliveries, among other things.”
He tried to dumb down the concepts as much as possible in the face of such a youth.
“And Amazon is the name of a big company – started by one dude – that operates on the ‘net, doing sort of what you're doing now, but offering options and business models for ease of comfort,” he gulped heavily, hoping his exposition would sate Jeff's curiosity. “Basically, they offer a catalog of choices and people can order those things and get them delivered.”
A minute passed before Jeff spoke up, “Cool! That sounds amazing!” There were stars in his eyes. “Now I see why you were telling me to keep at it!”
“Exactly!" Sigurd nodded quickly, trying to get past the current topic of conversation. “Anyway, I need to get going.”
“Oh, sorry if I kept you," Jeff gestured with his free hand. “You seemed busy too. I hope I can hear some more about this later on, but what were you doing here, anyway?”
‘At this point, I might as well ask here. It seems like they’ve helped their fair share of businesses. The worst that can happen is Jeff doesn't know anything,’ Sigurd reasoned.
He told the boy about his predicament and, to his surprise, Jeff had a lead.
“You did good in searching the market for better options. Most blacksmiths—which is the service you were looking for—charge exorbitant rates. A good equivalent would be ‘tourist gouging', since they cater almost solely to adventurers and are unregulated," the boy explained. “Instead, what you should be looking for is an independent. And lucky you, Mr. Sigurd, we happen to know one!”
“You do?!”
Jeff nodded, “We've done some odd jobs for him. He's a kind, old man, but the last few days his livelihood has stalled. No idea why, but maybe you can help him pick it back up.”
Sigurd wholeheartedly agreed with Jeff's notion and promptly jotted down the directions. They were a bit crude, coming from such a young lad, but the directions were clear.