As the bus leaves me at a stop near the capital, I decide it's time to call Rika.

"Hey, where are you?" I ask with some desperation in my tone.

Rika's voice comes through clearly, directing me to a part of the city I haven’t explored yet.

With news that would let my mouth open, I wonder what it could be.

----------------------------------------

Navigating through the bustling streets, I spot a commotion ahead. A crowd has gathered, and at the center of it, I recognize familiar faces—the elf and her party. But something is off. One of their members, a young adventurer with daggers, stands triumphant over an older, bloodied man who is being dragged away by others.

“Hahaha! Guess you’re not as tough as me!” the dagger-wielder taunts, pocketing a pouch of money handed to him by the opposing party.

The elf’s sharp eyes catch mine through the crowd. Looks like I know her, but I can’t quite catch her name. She recognizes me, it seems. I can tell by the slight narrowing of her gaze. I return the look, which unfortunately makes me noticeable to the rest of her party.

“Well, look who it is—the dirt miner,” the dagger guy sneers, his voice dripping with contempt.

I cross my arms, unfazed. “Seems like you’ve gotten stronger.”

The dagger-wielder grins, chest puffing up like he’s just conquered the world. “Of course! My level is eight now.”

Level eight? I frown and activate my analysis skill.

Sure enough, the elf is level six. The others hover around level seven. Colt, though? He’s made a significant jump. No wonder he has that ego now.

“I don’t have time for this,” I say, already turning away.

But Colt steps into my path, smirking. “Last time, your attitude really pissed me off. Let’s settle it now, miner.”

“Colt, stop,” the elf says, her voice calm but laced with warning. She doesn’t look much worried, but the slightly fear in her tone is clear. “There’s no need for this.”

Colt doesn’t even glance at her. Instead, he pulls out a small pouch, jingling it for the growing crowd. “How about a wager? Or are you scared?”

The crowd murmurs with excitement, their curiosity turning to eagerness. They want blood, and Colt knows how to play them.

"I bet for the miner!"

"I bet for Colt!" The crowd speak louder than speakers

I sigh. “I don’t have any weapons.”

Colt laughs and tosses me a sword. I catch it, blinking at the unexpected gesture.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. You’ll need it. Unless, of course, you’re scared now.” His smirk widens, the crowd erupting into taunts and jeers.

The sword is heavier than I expected, but I give it a test swing. Awkward, clumsy—this isn’t my style.

“Good,” Colt says, grinning like a predator. “Remember my name: Captain Colt.”

“Okay…” I reply, unimpressed.

The crowd begins counting down, their voices buzzing with excitement.

Three… two… one…

Colt launches forward the instant the count ends. His knees bend low, his body coiling like a spring before exploding into a rapid, upward slash with his dagger aimed at my face.

I sidestep it—barely.

But before I can counter, Colt twists mid-motion, his body spinning like a top. In the blink of an eye, he’s behind me.

Pain shoots across my back.

“Haha!” Colt laughs, his voice mocking. “What’s wrong? Too slow?”

His smirks widens as I see his dagger with my blood in it. That bastard become more agile.

I grit my teeth and swing the sword, but it’s useless. He darts around like a monkey, agile and unpredictable. Every move I make feels sluggish, every swing a wasted effort.

The gap between us is painfully obvious. While he fights monsters daily and gains experience, I spend my time digging holes and swinging a pickaxe.

Frustrated, I drop the sword and summon my pickaxe.

The crowd bursts into laughter.

“What are you gonna do, miner? Dig me a grave?” Colt sneers, holding his dagger loosely at his side.

I don’t bother responding. Instead, I swing the pickaxe with all my strength.

CRACK!

The blow strikes his dagger, sending it flying from his hand.

“AUCH!” Colt yelps, stumbling back. His face twists in pain and shock, his free hand clutching his wrist.

Gasps erupt from his party, their expressions a mix of disbelief and disgust directed at me.

Colt’s eyes burn with rage. “You’re dead now.”

He reaches for the sword on his hip, and the crowd loses their minds. Some are shouting, others fainting from sheer excitement. Even I have to admit—it’s a beautiful weapon, though barely longer than his dagger.

Without hesitation, Colt charges again.

I dodge—or at least I think I do.

“What—?” Blood trickles down my shoulder.

I’ve moved out of his sword’s range—or so I thought. But the blade still connects.

Every swing is the same. Even when I’m sure his sword will miss, it hits. No matter how much space I leave, it’s like the blade ignores logic entirely.

Blood pours from my wounds, my vision starting to blur.

“What’s wrong, miner?” Colt mocks, his smirk wide and triumphant. “Giving up already?”

I clench my teeth, using my pickaxe for support as I struggle to stand. “Not yet.”

The crowd roars at my defiance, their excitement fueling Colt’s ego.

“Get ready.” I swing my pickaxe, but he easily reflects and counters me with a swing, and I see something weird in this new hit he’s giving, different than the other hits. This hit is more loose and more like without shape or stance, but it still hits. It’s like his cuts can hit as long as he swings his sword, like a whip.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

A whip?

“Damn, it hurts!” The pain surges through my body, sharp and relentless, making it harder to focus.

I sidestep in a wide arc, trying to create some distance. But something is off. Colt isn’t rushing in like before. He stands there, his expression guarded, almost calculating.

“What’s wrong?” I taunt, keeping my pickaxe at the ready. “Afraid you let me see too much?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he swings his sword in a quick arc, testing me. I barely dodge, but this time I see it—clearly.

The blade stretches.

It shouldn’t have reached me, but it does. As soon as the strike is over, the sword snaps back to its original length, as if nothing had happened.

Colt smirks, noticing my realization. “I have to admit, you’ve got sharp reflexes. Impressive for a dirt miner.”

“What the hell is that sword?” I demand, my grip tightening on the handle of my pickaxe.

“The cursed sword of Geology.”

“So, you actually found a sword like that?”

The crowd erupts into murmurs, their excitement palpable. Apparently, this sword isn’t just some random enchanted weapon—it’s a big deal. A legendary relic, maybe? But Colt’s made a rookie mistake, saying its name out loud. Even I know better than to advertise rare loot.

I snort, ignoring the pain radiating from my wounds. “So, that’s it? Your precious sword just stretches? What a letdown.”

Colt’s smirk widens, and his voice takes on an edge of mockery. “Stretch? You think this is about stretching? Dumb miner. This sword isn’t about something so simple. It represents the world, but instead of being just a simple divine sword, it bends the meaning of concepts of the world!”

“Bending the world?” I frown, trying to make sense of his words. Concepts? What is he even talking about?

Before I can ask, a sharp, piercing pain shoots through my ear.

“Stop wasting time, Daryn!” a familiar voice yells, loud enough to rattle my brain.

“Ow! My eardrums!” I shout, clutching my head in pain. “You mother—”

Before I can finish, Rika storms into view, grabs me by the ear, and starts dragging me like an unruly child.

“What the hell are you doing, Rika?!” I shout, trying to pry her iron grip off my ear.

“Saving your sorry hide!” she snaps. “You think you can just stand here trading insults like a comedian? You’re bleeding all over the place!”

“I had him right where I wanted him!”

She shoots me a glare that could’ve melted stone. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

The crowd falls silent. Rika’s fiery temperament seems to cast a shadow over the lively atmosphere. Nobody dares to challenge her presence.

As we walk away, I glance back. The elf is still watching me, her gaze unreadable. For a moment, I think I see something flicker in her expression—curiosity? Interest? Whatever it is, I have no time to dwell on it.

Rika releases me once we’re clear of the crowd, crossing her arms with an exasperated huff. “Honestly, picking fights in the middle of the city? You’re unbelievable.”

I open my mouth to respond, but the pain surges again, overtaking my senses. My vision blurs, and I stumble forward, collapsing into her arms.

----------------------------------------

When I come to, the first thing I see is Colt's party.

I groan, trying to sit up, only to feel a sharp sting in my shoulder. The healer—her expression calm and composed—is channeling a soft, golden glow from her palms, healing my wounds.

“What—”

“Please, forgive Colt, he is kind of a troublemaker.”

Colt’s grating voice cuts me off. “Forgive? For what? I was just tying the score with my sworn enemy! Next time, we’ll see who’s better for real, dirt miner.”

I blink, too disoriented to muster a proper response. “Hmmm... okay...” I turn my attention to Cantheris.

“Cantheris,” I mutter, her name slipping out instinctively.

Her eyes shift to me, brows furrowing slightly. “Excuse me?”

Realizing I’ve spoken out loud, I scramble to clarify. “Ah… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About last time. I might’ve said... some weird things.”

Cantheris regards me for a moment, her gaze sharp, as if scanning my soul. After an excruciating pause, she sighs, her expression softening just a fraction.

“I understand. Misunderstandings, perhaps.”

But her tone betrays her words. It’s obvious she still thinks I’m a creep.

I rub the back of my neck, wincing as her healing magic tingles. “Well... thanks. To you guys for healing me, I mean.”

The healer winks at me in response while the rest just looks at me with a smile.

Cantheris smiles faintly, but before she can say something, Colt chimes in, his arms crossed and a smug grin plastered across his face. “It wasn’t free. Stuff like this isn’t cheap, you know. But the spirit of your sister changed our minds.”

I raise a brow, suppressing a groan as I shift uncomfortably. Funny for him to talk about “cheap” while they’re healing me with skills. Still, I can’t help but wonder where Rika got the money to cover this.

Standing quietly in the corner, Rika rolls her eyes. “You gave me some, remember? Since it wasn’t even enough to buy something cheap like gum, I saved it.”

“Oh...” I vaguely recall handing her a few coins this morning, not thinking much of it at the time. “But then... you guys—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cantheris cuts in with a grin, her voice light yet firm. “That amount was enough.”

The healer finishes tending to me and steps back, inspecting his work. "You can move now, but don’t overdo it," he instructs. I nod in acknowledgment, flexing my hand experimentally.

Cantheris, meanwhile, is looking at me strangely. Her gaze lingers, and it’s starting to feel awkward. Do I have something on my face? Is it my teeth?

"So… why are you staring at me?" I ask, breaking the silence.

She hums, her expression shifting to one of mild annoyance. "Nothing. I just thought you remind me of someone."

"Oh yeah? Like who?"

She clicks her tongue, her eyes narrowing slightly. "None of your business."

Ouch. That’s blunt. I wince at her upfront tone, feeling a sting of disappointment. All I wanted was to get along with her.

Seeing my face fall, Cantheris sighs dramatically. "Fine, don’t put an expression like that." Her tone turns playful. "But you must really take showers, though."

Before I can respond, Rika suddenly jumps in. "That’s what I was going to tell him!"

The two girls burst into laughter, glancing at me as though I were some kind of joke. They start exchanging quips about my odor, completely ignoring the fact that I’m right there. Though it’s not fair; my work makes me deal with dirt and mines. Obviously, I would produce odor. But at least it’s a manly odor.

Before I can defend myself further, Colt calls out sharply. "Cantheris, time to go!"

She starts walking away but pauses, without turning to see me. She starts speaking in a low tone. "Take a shower at least once a day, and you might be better."

The comment is bad enough, but then she adds, almost as an afterthought, "Though compared to the first time, you don’t smell like a hobo anymore. Now it’s more like... dirt and soil."

Without waiting for a response, she strides away, her steps confident and unhurried.

I sit there, stunned and vaguely insulted. Rika smirks at me, clearly amused.

"Dirt and soil," she repeats, suppressing a laugh. "She really has a way with words."

I grumble, glaring at her. "Next time, remind me to save my coins for soap instead of you."

Letting that topic aside, I decide to keep forward.

I sigh. "So, what’s this thing you were talking to me about over the phone?"

With a wave of her hand, she motions for me to follow. We walk through a few streets before stopping in front of a modest shop with a "For Sale" sign hanging over its door.

"I want to run my shop here," Rika declares.

I blink in disbelief before letting out a laugh. "Hahaha, you’re kidding, right?"

Her deadpan stare silences me. "No."

Rika has definitely changed. At least in some ways, she’s becoming more... realistic? Economically practical, even. This place looks cheap and dusty as hell, like a room for two people at least. Dust in every corner of this old place, I hope it comes with a discount since technically this is a junk place.

"It seems we can rent it for 250 silver coins a month or buy it outright for 15,000 golden coins," she explains, her tone matter-of-fact.

I scratch my head. "Holy cow, you can’t be serious. I don’t have enough for this."

"Hehehe," she chuckles, a little embarrassed. "Yeah, I don’t really have much money either."

Her face lights up as if she’s already imagining herself running the shop.

For a moment, I consider saying something cheesy, like, I’d buy this for you, my cute little sister. But then I remember—Rika isn’t the type to melt at sweet words. She’d probably smack me instead.

Still, if she could manage this shop and get some portion of it, maybe I could save some money for myself—a proper apartment and a shiny new pair of magnetic boots didn’t sound too bad.

"So," I say, crossing my arms. "Maybe I can help you. But you’ll have to wait until I get my payment. And tell me—no games—what are you planning to sell here?"

She straightens up proudly. "Beautiful gems and handcrafted pendants! Protection against bad spirits, good luck charms... stuff like that!"

I raise an eyebrow. "Sounds like a ton of crap."

Her smile falters. "In my mom’s store, people used to buy a lot of this stuff."

"Yeah, but this is the capital. We’ve got real crafts here—swords, bows, armor. Who’s going to buy cheap jewelry?"

I can see the frustration on her face, like I’ve pressed all the wrong buttons.

"But... maybe," I add, softening my tone, "over time, we can improve it."

She perks up slightly. "So, are you going to buy it or not?"

"Not even a ‘please’? Or a ‘please, older brother’?" I tease.

"Don’t even dream about it," she shoots back.

I chuckle. "Fine. We’ll rent it. But if we do this, it’s our shop. Though I’ll still be busy with mining, so you’re managing it. Deal?"

"Deal."

We shake hands, sealing the agreement. Despite her fiery personality, I can’t help but feel a sense of pride. Rika is determined, and maybe, just maybe, this shop could actually work.

The adventurer quest can wait; first, I need to get well established.