The shoemaker’s house was small and square, with materials piled high on shelves and stuffed into cabinets. This wasn’t like stepping into a Nike store back home; there were no premade shoes of varying sizes to perfectly slit her ankles into; no built in arch support; no teenagers working minimum wage and smoking weed out back. No, this was dreadfully worse.

She had to get something custom-made, which meant she couldn’t just kill the guy and take his shit—she had to figure out another way. A non-lethal method; one that required patience.

Akemi was not particularly good at patience.

She strolled up to the cobbler, an elderly orc man, with a mangled, scar-rotten face. He had a grandfatherly way about him—he limped on one leg as he ambled about the shop, murmuring to himself and occasionally swearing.

Mar’mar The Fleetfooted | Level 21 Cobbler

Seems like that name should have had an expiration date.

“Hello?” Akemi said, knocking twice on the counter.

She knocked three more times, but he still failed to acknowledge her. Either his hearing was atrocious, or he was deliberately ignoring her.

“Where’d I put that old tome?” he murmured, his head stuck in a cabinet. He was whistling an old tune while he searched for something.

Eventually, after a considerable amount of time spent with his head in the dusty old drawer, he turned around to face her, nearly jumping out of his leathery skin at the sight.

“Agh! How long have you been standing there? You nearly sent me to an early grave with that fright.”

“Wouldn’t exactly have been an early grave…” Akemi muttered.

“What was that? You’re gonna have to speak up, lass. I’ve only got a sixteenth of my hearing left, and only in the one ear.” He gestured to his left ear, which looked like a sprouted cauliflower. “Now, what do you want? Boots? Sandals? Some bandages for a rotting toe?”

“Just boots will do,” she said. “Something comfortable, but practical. Good for long walks and kicking the shit out of people, if the need arises.”

His eyes enlarged, and he chuckled.

“You a kickboxer or something?”

She shrugged. “No. I actually prefer to do the killing—err, fighting—without getting my extremities involved. But it’s always nice to be prepared, should the situation present itself. Maybe you can make me something with spikes sewn in along the toes?”

He laughed heartily, holding his stomach.

“Oh, you’re an amusing one! Spikes along the toes. That’d be a one-way-stop to puncturing yourself, lass. I couldn’t in good conscience make you something like that. I do make some wearable knuckles of that variation, but shoes? Not a chance.”

“Disappointing,” she said, frowning. “But fine. I just need something to walk in. If I’m barefoot for much longer, I’m going to end up stepping on a lego. Or whatever the equivalent here is.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Barefoot?” he said, aghast. “Yer running around barefoot?”

Unable to see over the counter at his meager height, he climbed up on a stool and leaned over to get a better look. She nodded, wiggling her exposed toes.

“Oh dear heavenly Gods. The mere sight affronts me. I’ll get you right to the front of my queue. Yes, we’ll get you something quite appropriate for a nomadic fighter like yourself—something scrappy but comfortable, that can take you long distances. And it’ll only cost you a hundred gold. How does that sound?”

“A hundred gold?” she scoffed, affronted.

I only have… seven.

He shrugged. “I can knock it down to eighty if you’re experiencing some tough times, as I’m sure you are, walking around like that…” He eyed her feet again, disgusted.

Normally, Akemi would have had no problem just killing the man and raiding his closet, but she really did need a good pair of shoes. Something solid, that would last a long time. The thought crossed her mind to try and steal some gold from him, pay him with the stolen gold, and then take the new shoes and be off before he notices, but the chance of him discovering the theft was probably too high, even for an old man…

“Look, I’m going to level with you,” Akemi said, playing up her cowboy facade by tipping her hat and putting her forearm on the counter. “I just got run out of town by a bunch of bandits, then I got kidnapped, all my things stolen. Lost my good-for-nothing husband, my gold, my shoes—”

Persuasion Check (Medium)

Failed!

The System notification cut her off, and her jaw dropped. Are you kidding? Rejected that fast?

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look, I got something you can do for me,” he said, waving her off. “A small little favor. If you do that, I’ll make you some shoes.”

“Okay,” she said, clenching her jaw. “Fine. What is it?”

Maybe it’ll still net me some experience points. Then it won’t be a total waste.

“There’s this girl who came in here yesterday, one of those refugees from the Hall of Kyndra. She was about ye tall,” he said, gesturing to the coat rack, so about a head taller than Akemi. “But completely covered in black robes. Even her face. Couldn’t see anything but the eyes—which, man, they were as blue as two crystal lakes, real striking.”

Nothing but the eyes? Sounds just like that guy Nocturne.

“Uh huh, and?”

“Well, she really didn’t seem to fit in with the group. Raised my alarm bells immediately. And it seems I had good reason to be alarmed, ‘cause I believe she nabbed one of my prized possessions—a treasured novel of mine. It’s called the Lusty Lizard. It’s got a green cover and a scaley spine, made of genuine zeal-lizard scales. I’ve had that book for forty-two years. It’s a signed edition, with an author’s note and everything. It’s traveled with me from coast to coast…”

Gross.

“I get the picture,” she drawled.

“Point is, the lass was here, my book was here, then the lass left, and so did my book. I think she’s up in Agatha’s inn with the rest of the heroes. So if you could just go grab my book back from her, that’d be real dandy. And I’d get you your pair of shoes. They can be done by tomorrow morn, if you really hurry.”

Stealing from a hero? Well, alleged hero. Her curiosity was piqued. Plus, sifting through some drunk heroes’ forgotten possessions wasn’t the worst way Akemi could spend an afternoon. Of course, infiltrating the inn and not being found out was a much trickier prospect. She’d have to get a better disguise—something to cover her face—and make sure that she didn’t run into any hero squires. Specifically a certain hero squire.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about the girl? You know, besides her height and eye color?” Akemi asked dryly. “That’s not much to go on.”

“Ah yeah. She was a redhead. At least I think she was. She had her hair tucked under a hood, but a few fiery strands still escaped. Trust me, when you see her, you’ll know. She sticks out like a sore thumb amongst those buttoned-up hero types. She had some good shoes, too. Nice obsidian-plated boots. Real expensive things, much too fancy for a mere recruit.”

“Okay,” Akemi said, clicking her fingernails impatiently on the countertop. “I’ll see what I can do, old man.”

“Good. You bring me that book, and I’ll see to it that you get off those bare soles of yours,” he said. “But for now, take these. I can’t in good conscience have you running a job with me with your feet all exposed to the elements—it’s just a damn embarrassment to the craft.”

He put a pair of slippers on the counter. They were definitely not made to be worn outside the living room, but they did seem to be vaguely her size.

“Er… thanks.”

You have equipped [Cozy Slippers of Relaxation]!