Walking around the busy streets of Olis was a strange experience, but somehow it was easier than talking to Kearse’s family had been. I received more than a few stares, but that was fine. It was only to be expected. I was a foreigner. Foreigners were expected to be a bit odd, so I didn’t feel the need to force an act of normality.

I pulled a flask from my storage, cursed my dress’s lack of pockets, and took a sip. If I had known that I would have been eating an entire meal with Kearse and his family, I probably would have started earlier. I had been drinking too much lately, and I couldn’t deny that I was doing it more to calm me down than to help with my words. I enjoyed drinking, but was no longer doing it for enjoyment, and that meant that I needed to start cutting back.

The main purpose for this outing was just go get out of the room at the inn that Haylen had placed me at. She had offered to find me a room at the monastery she called home, but I had turned her down. Being surrounded by religion made me nervous. Father Gregor had been nice, but I didn’t want to risk accidentally pissing off a fundamentalist. The inn was directly across the street from the monastery anyway, so it wasn’t like I somewhere Haylen couldn’t find me.

Kearse was, for now, content to walk alongside me while I took in the sights and waited for the alcohol to kick in. I was mostly outside because I wanted to adjust to my new life as quickly as possible. There were a few places I planned on going, so once I felt my thoughts loosen into a less erratic flow, I started asking for directions.

The first place we went to was an apothecary. I was far from an expert on the subject of chemistry, but I had done a bit of basic mixes back in Peninsula. I was no researcher though, and had stuck to the simplest of the simple. So far, I hadn’t made a single potion that could be considered magical.

The apothecary was a small building, connected to a row of other shops. Its bricks had been painted green, and while the signboard didn’t have any name written, the large beaker engraved on it made it clear what the store sold. If that wasn’t enough, the lattice display window was full of bottles filled with colorful liquids. One was in a constant state of flux, and shifted from light blue, to pink, to yellow, and then back to blue.

“Looking to get some supplies?” Kearse asked.

I shook my head. I had most of my tools and materials carefully packed away in my storage, but chemistry wasn’t a hobby suitable for travel, and I doubted that I’d be making much use of them any time soon.

“No. There is something I’d like to get, but I mostly just want to look. I can’t start dropping hints to people if I don’t know what they know. I need to see what the standards are before I can start trying to raise them.”

I reached for the door, but paused.

“Did that sound conceited? I think that sounded conceited.”

“A little bit, yeah,” Kearse said and he looked at me sideways. “Do you really know so much?”

“No,” I replied with a frown. “Just enough to know what’s dangerous. Just enough to know that I don’t know enough.”

I grunted, and opened the door. I’d have to keep in mind that, no matter the level of technology, whoever ran this shop had more experience in the subject than I did, and I shouldn’t get full of myself. And Kearse was right. I didn’t know everything.

The inside of the shop was clean and organized, but had a strange layout. The room was square, but only a quarter of it was open to customers. A long counter divided the space, and all of the shelves were on the opposite side.

“Is it because this place is like a pharmacy, or do all shops keep their goods in the back?”

A bell on the door jingled as Kearse closed it behind us, and a middle aged man stepped out of a back room at the sound. He had on an apron, and pulled off a pair of thick work gloves and a cloth mask that covered the lower part of his face. Most likely he had been in the middle of making something when we came in.

“Hello. Hello. Uh…”

He stalled and tilted his head when he saw me, but caught himself staring and went on as if nothing had happened.

“What can I get for the two of you?”

“There’s no need to force that smile. I’m not gonna be offended just because you think I’m different. Even I think I’m different.”

“Hello,” I greeted him casually. “I was told I might be able to buy hemp flower here. Or do you have it prepared as a resin?”

That was the real reason I had made this our first stop. Haylen had piqued my curiosity when she mentioned that I could buy weed at stores like this. If I was lucky, a few puffs would get my words working as well as alcohol did, and I wouldn’t have to wake up with so many hangovers.

I could feel Kearse’s suspicious glare on my back. He probably knew that I had no intention of using it medicinally.

“Ah,” said the man. “I have both in stock. I assume you would like the resin then? How much do you need?”

“Hmm... I think five grams should be plenty.”

“Thank fuck for the metric system.”

That the Ancestor’s had used the metric system was a weird coincidence, but it actually made sense the more I thought about it. All of the units were based on generally consistent things, and it was fairly natural that a similar world was using a similar system. It was actually harder for me to believe that the Imperials had been able to keep those units standardized after the Ancestor’s fall, but even that only required a small leap of faith.

“Very well. That’ll be five scepters, silver. While I get that for you, is there anything else you may need?”

I pulled out the coin purse that held my money and counted out five of the smaller silver coins. Father Gregor had done me a favor, and had agreed to be the first buyer of some of my looted treasures. He understood that I’d needed some currency to get started, and I guessed that he’d probably be able to resell them for a better price than I could.

I now had a small collection of bronze, silver, and gold coins in various sizes. The denominations were fairly easy to remember, with the small coins being worth half of a large one, and then ten large coins being equal to a single large coin of the next metal. The math may have been simple, but the actual value was going to take some getting used to.

“Is five small silvers a lot? That’s more than what I paid for the fruit basket. How much does my room at the inn cost? Shit. I should have paid more attention. How much silver is actually in each coin?”

The actual material value of the coins was something I doubted I’d ever need to spend time thinking about, but I was still curious.

I put the money on the counter and refocused on the task at hand. I had been hoping to get a better look at the shop’s inventory, but it was behind the counter, and I was not.

“Do you have any books or reference materials for sale?”

The shopkeeper’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but his smile started to look a little less forced, and he rubbed at his chin in thought.

“You looking to become an apprentice or something?” he asked.

“No, I just want to expand my knowledge base. I have some experience with the use of acids for purifying metals, but I’d like to start learning about plants and make things with more… consumable results.”

He looked me up and down quizzically before he finally gave an answer.

“Well…” he began, “I can’t just sell you all of my recipes. I’d go out of business if everyone could make what I do. You understand, right? But if you’re willing to pay, and it’ll cost you, I suppose I could be willing to part with one of my older books. Any proper apothecary or potion maker would already know what’s in it, so it’s not exactly secret. Still interested?”

I nodded.

“How much?”

“Five crowns, gold.”

I looked to Kearse for advice. He seemed to be doing some math in his head.

“Is that expensive?” I asked.

“It’s a book,” Kearse said. “Of course it’s going to cost a lot. A gold crown is about what an average worker makes in a month. So yes, it’s expensive. But for a book, that’s about average. I think. So I’d say it all depends on what’s actually in it.”

I turned back to the shopkeeper.

“You said the book only has things that are common knowledge. How much of “common knowledge” would you say it covers?”

“Ha!” he laughed. “Not much. Not much at all. But it’s enough to keep an apprentice busy for their first year or so. It’s quite an investment though, so I’ll understand if you need a day or two to think about it.”

“Hmm…”

I could afford it, but at the same time, if it was only the basics, I could probably find it somewhere else. I had several boxes of paper. If I was able to visit a decent library, I could probably just make copies of anything I found there. Then again, copying an entire book would take a lot of time, and I’d be leaving Orlis in less than a month. How much could I really write by then?

“I’ll take it,” I decided.

I probably wouldn’t spend an entire year trying to master its contents, but it would be good to have on hand. Whether the potions inside were magical or nonmagical, it was guaranteed to be knowledge that I didn’t have, therefore, I wanted it.

He went to the back room, and returned a moment later with an old tome. It was worn, and looked like it had seen a lot of use, but it didn’t seem particularly damaged. Its thickness also hinted that it really did have enough content to keep me occupied for a while.

I handed over the money, and shook his hand.

“My name is Indigo,” I told him. “I’ll probably be back later this week or next to ask some questions and buy some materials.”

“Rolf,” he replied. “And as long as you’re buying from me, I’ll be happy to help.”

* * *

“Where to next?” Kearse asked when we returned to the street.

I was leaning against the wall, and took another swig from my flask. Short interactions like that one weren’t difficult, but two years of isolation had left some cracks in my social skills that couldn’t be filled in all at once and covering them up took effort. I was confident in my ability to hold a conversation, but each one stressed me out more than it should.

I was thankful that Kearse had so easily agreed to show me around today. He was one of the few people I could spend any amount of time with and not feel exhausted afterwards. I really hoped that he would make the pilgrimage with us.

“Blacksmith. I’ve got some metals that I need identified. Also, I’d like to get a sword made.”

Kearse laughed.

“Did I say something funny?”

“You? A sword? I saw you kill an entire horde of zombies with sling stones. And you’re a mage. What do you need a sword for?”

I glared at him, but my size probably made it look more like a pout. Why wouldn’t I want a sword? If I was going to be living in a primitive fantasy world, you can bet your ass that I was gonna get me a sword.

“Firstly,” I began, “I don’t have those metal balls any more. I still need to replace them. Secondly, I’m not a mage. I just know some magic. Mayra probably knows a hundred times more spells than I do. And lastly, I don’t need a sword. I want one. They’re cool. Also, having a visible and recognizable weapon will help when I go on the pilgrimage. It’s the same reason Haylen and I want you to come with us. If… I dunno, bandits or whatever see that we’re prepared to fight back, they’ll be less likely to think we’re an easy target.”

Kearse didn’t respond, but he gave a side-nod to show that he understood my point.

“I suppose we can try asking Weland Velun. Don’t get your hopes up on him making you a sword, but he should at least be able to help with the identification part. He’s famous, so I doubt he’d have time to start on your order before you have to leave.”

“I’ll buy a premade one if I have to, but I was hoping to bring the cost down by supplying the materials. Maybe I can get bumped up the list if I provide the metals and pay full price.”

Kearse shrugged.

“We’ll see. It’s probably a long list though. He’s the best smith in the city. In the kingdom! Maybe even one of the best in the empire. But he’s an elf, so I suppose that’s only natural.”

“What do you mean?”

“Haylen didn’t tell you that either?”

“Tell me what?”

“About elves.”

Now it was my turn to shrug. I really had no idea what he was talking about.

“I know they’ve got tattoos, but that’s it. I only know about the fae elves the Ancesters wrote about. I don’t know anything about the new ones, and I don’t think Haylen likes to talk about them.”

Kearse stopped walking, and scratched at the back of his head while he thought about what to say.

“Elves are… they’re weird. I think it’s the fae in them. Calling them obsessive would be putting it mildly. They’ve all got a passion, or at least the ones that live with other races do. Their passion is what defines them. Whatever that passion is, it becomes the only thing they care about. I heard about an elven boat captain who would go entire years without setting foot on land. When you combine that level of singlemindedness with how long they live, it would be weird if they didn’t end being the best at what they do.”

“I see.”

I thought I did.

“The age thing makes sense, but how could someone go so long and only do one thing? I’d go insane if I had to do one job for the rest of my life.”

Kearse waved me on, and went back to leading me through the streets.

“I’ve never met an elf before,” he said. “Not personally. So take my words with a grain of salt, but be prepared either way.”

We walked on, heading towards the edge of the city. This time Kearse got to enjoy being the guide, and I was the one asking question after question. At one point we had to stop and make way for a goblin herding flock of chickens down the road. I stared at the chickens as they went by, and the goblin stared at me as I openly gawked at the large number of birds.

When the goblin had guided the birds around a street corner, Kearse allowed himself chuckle at my reaction.

“That’s not something you see every day.”

“They’re going to the butcher right? Or would it be the slaughterhouse?”

“No, not… well, yes that’s probably where they’re going, but I was talking about the hob. Now that I think about it, you don’t know about hobs either, do you?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” I asked, not hiding my sarcasm. “They a kind of goblin, ri-”

Kearse’s hand shot over my mouth, and he looked over his shoulder before he took it away.

“Sorry, but I need you to shut up for a moment. Do not, under any circumstances, call a hob a goblin. They. Do. Not. Like. That. Yes, they’re hobgoblins, but they really don’t like to be compared to the wild ones. Hobs stick to the cities as a rule. Even farming is usually too… outdoorsy for them. Damn. It’s a good thing you were staring at the birds. If you had looked too long at the hob, he might have gotten angry.”

I grimaced. So far, the Imperial culture had seemed rather relaxed, but I was reminded that I’d only been around these people for a bit over a week. The mix of fantasy knowledge from my past life, and the factual knowledge from the Ancestors were both incredibly outdated, and I’d have to take care not to rely on either too heavily.

The Ancestors hadn’t thought too highly of goblins. Most of what I had read pointed to the race being nearly extinct. Whatever the difference was between a goblin and a hobgoblin, they had bounced back remarkably since the time of the Ancestor’s collapse.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m still getting used to all of this so… Thank you.”

I’d have to ask Kearse or Haylen for a better explanation, but later. Preferably somewhere private, and out of earshot of anyone who might be angered by my naivety.

A few streets later, the crowd had thinned, but the noise had increased. Forges, and shops dealing in metalwork lined the road, and the sound of hammers was ever present. Kearse took me to one in the very middle of it all.

It was quite different from the apothecary, and we were surrounded by weapons, armor, and tools from the moment we stepped inside. It reminded me of my storage space. Weland must have had an organizational system for all of this, but probably didn’t organize it all too often.

A green skinned woman was sitting behind a counter by the wall. She had been writing in a book or ledger, but looked up when we entered. Her gaze went straight to my horns, but quickly started bouncing back and forth between Kearse and myself. She seemed less interested in my appearance than most people, and I got the impression that she was trying to figure out which of us was the customer.

“Welcome,” she said. “Are you here to browse, buy, or place an order?”

“A little bit of everything,” I told her as I approached the counter. “I’d like to place an order, if it can be completed in time. More immediately, I’ve got some metals that I‘d like to have appraised. Do I talk to you about that, or is Weland available?”

The green girl, half hob if I were to judge by her height, angular ears, and lack of tusks, pointed to an hourglass sitting on the side of her workspace. The top half was close to empty, but there would still be some time before it ran out.

“Master Velun is busy at the moment. If you want to commission a work, I can get the general information now, and arrange an appointment for you to talk to him about the specifics. Naturally, a rush order will cost more. Master Velun is a busy man. For the appraisal, I can handle that as well. I may only be an apprentice, but I am one of his. You don’t need to be concerned about my skill.”

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

I nodded slowly while I thought about my options. From the sound of it, I would be able to get my own sword made here in time, but I didn’t doubt that it would cost an arm and a leg. I wouldn’t be surprised if getting added to the top of the waiting list cost as much as the sword itself. I wasn’t planning on making any other large purchases for the foreseeable future, and I could afford it… technically.

Money wasn’t an issue but, the faster I spent it, the sooner I’d have to go back to a necropolis for a loot run. Returning to a place like Peninsula wasn’t something I wanted to do any time soon. Now that I knew how to come and go as I pleased, the necropoli no longer held the same level of despair that they once had, but two years of being stuck in one wasn’t something to be shaken off so quickly. The more I could make my money last, the better.

“I’m planning on having a sword made. If the metals I have turn out to be useful, or of high quality, I was hoping that I could use them to supplement some of the cost. Would that be possible?

The probably half-goblin woman didn’t bat an eye at my question. If it was a strange request, she didn’t give any indication.

“It would depend on the metal. And the quality. Of course, we can make a small discount, but there are very few metals that are as rare as the skill needed to work them. I’ll need to see them first, but if you do have something special, I’m sure we can come to an agreement. Do you have the samples with you?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “I’ve brought them with me.”

That was good. That was very good. A good blacksmith was a good blacksmith, and the world or time period made little difference in my opinion. After a certain level of skill, the materials on hand made just as much of a difference as the one working them, and I was confident that metallurgy was something the Ancestors could boast of doing even better than the people of my old life’s world.

The businesslike woman stood and directed me towards a door leading farther back into the building.

“Do you uh… Do you mind if I stay here and look around?” Kearse asked.

I grinned, showing my teeth.

“Fine by me,” I laughed. “But you’re not allowed to make fun of me for wanting a sword any more. If you decide to buy one yourself, try not to look like you’re overcompensating for something.”

Kearse scoffed, but he would probably have more fun browsing than he would listening to me talk about metal. Swords were a man’s romance after all. Most of the stock on display was a bit showy and ostentatious for my tastes, but… If the weapons and armor around me were women, I would have done my best to bed every single one of them. They were beautiful. Gorgeous even.

“If only this world had bikini armor. Oh well. It’s probably for the best. If I ever saw Haylen wearing that… Damn. I should have brought her along with me instead of Kearse. Maybe I could have gotten her sized for a custom set.”

The door I was led through really did lead out the back, and went straight to the main work area. Forges, bellows, anvils, and the sound of hammers were everywhere. Half a dozen people were moving about, working on one project or another. There was a high roof, and despite the lack of walls it was oppressively hot, and I was glad that we didn’t stop as we walked through.

The apprentice opened a door along the side of the building, and brought me in to a smaller, more personal workspace. A long bench filled one side, and the walls were covered in shelves containing different kinds of hammers, tongs, files, and many other tools that I didn’t know the names for.

I only hesitated slightly before I reached into my storage and began to deposit different pieces of scrap metal on the table in front of us. The goblin woman, still businesslike, cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

“I’ll need to start carrying a backpack. Storage magic might not be unheard of, but it still draws more notice than I’d like.”

After that, I was forced to wait as she inspected the metal. She would hit the pieces with small hammers, brush them with a file, and for one, she even licked it lightly. Whenever she found something of note, she would chalk it down on a slate board.

Most of the pieces were only looked at once before being set aside, but three of them were placed in front of her. Whenever she put one in that pile, she would glance at me, probably hoping to gauge my reaction. I had a good guess as to what most of these metals were, but I wanted a second opinion, and a better idea as to how useful they’d actually be.

“May I ask where you got these samples Miss…?”

“Indigo. And sorry, but I’d like to keep the source to myself.”

Her face took on multiple expressions at once, and she looked at me the same we she had looked at the metal while she was appraising them.

“I… I see.”

For a brief moment, she seemed disappointed, but then she brightened back up.

“You said you wanted to get a sword made with this. Does that mean you have more?”

“Yeesss…” I said hesitantly. “But I’d like to make sure I know what they are before I start doing anything with them. I’ve made some educated guesses, but… Your opinion?”

The apprentice motioned towards the rather large assortment of metals she had set to the side.

“These ones are base metals. Copper, tin, iron, zinc, bronze, and the like.”

I had been fairly certain about all of those, although I frequently got tin and zinc confused. I knew that names of plenty of metals, but generally assumed that anything “silvery but not jewelry” was iron or steel, and anything with a reddish color was copper. Most people could probably tell you that bronze was made with tin and copper, but aside from the people who worked with it, the average person probably didn’t know how to spot the difference between fine tin and silver.

“This one,” she continued, “Is aluminum. Almost unheard of in most places. If you had gone to a lesser smithy, they’d probably have no idea what it was. It’s more than worth its weight in gold, but completely useless for making something like a sword.”

Again, it was something that I kinda sorta mostly knew, but it was still good to have confirmed. I took note of the “worth more than gold” part, but my stomach protested the idea of how much I’d have to eat and drink before I could make use of the cans sitting in my storage.

During my time in the necropolis, it hadn’t been long before I noticed the lack of a sanitation department, and the amount of trash sitting around my water tower had begun to build up. There’s nothing like seeing how much waste you actually create to make you want to start recycling. Even a zombie apocalypse and the possibility that I was the only living person left hadn’t been enough to stop me from feeling bad for Mother Nature, and I would magically melt down empty cans whenever I had enough to validate the mana expenditure.

I heard a certain green apprentice clear her throat, and realized I had zoned out.

“These three,” she said, kindly continuing as if I hadn’t been ignoring her, “are more special.”

She held up the first of the metals she had set aside.

“Orichalcum brass. Brass is brass, but orichalcum is orichalcum. It’s a finicky alloy, but this piece fits the requirements perfectly. This piece looks like scrap metal, but its composition is of the highest quality. It would be an exaggeration to say that it could hold twice the enchantment as what you usually find floating around the markets, but only slightly.”

I thought of what I knew of the magical alloys. Normal brass was a mixture of copper and zinc, but in the right proportions, it became orichalcum, and was well suited for holding magic. Iron and steel were… shit. They were shit. Plain and simple. Some materials held magic like glue, and others scattered it like the wind.

I had a magical hotplate made of steel… At least I was pretty sure it was steel. Because of the material, I had had to carve the magic circle into it directly, and it used up my mana almost as quickly as I could shove it into the thing. Something made of the correct form of brass however, would readily accept a nonphysical form of magic inlay, and could hold the spell within itself.

The exact rules for what things could be enchanted, how easy it was to put the spell into them, how long they would last, and all sorts of other minor details… were complicated. As usual, magic was fucking bullshit, and only acted logically long enough for it to kick you in the metaphorical dick when you weren’t looking.

My past life self probably would have gone on a rant about the exact nature of orichalcum, but I ignored the trivia bouncing around in my head. We were in fantasy-land now, and attempting to connect past-life imagination with current-life reality was an existential crisis waiting to happen. I had constructed a very solid wall between my conscious thoughts and the questions of this world’s probability for existence, and I wasn’t about to tear them down any time soon. Or ever.

“And the next?” I asked.

“Electrum. It’s better than orichalcum for enchanting, but not by much. It’s worth more for the material than for the magical.”

Electrum was an alloy of gold and silver. I would be willing to bet money that the “gold” coins I had in my purse were technically electrum. I didn’t have much electrum in my storage. Modern thinking, like that of the Ancestors, said that electrum was only good for being gaudy. If you wanted something to hold a spell, brass was usually good enough. Electrum was meant for showing off the fact that you could afford it, and little else.

My lack of reaction spurred on the explanations, and we finally got to what I wanted to hear.

“And this,” she said, holding up a piece of thumb-length silvery white metal, “is mythril. And… wow.”

To the best of my knowledge, mythril was a naturally occurring alloy of titanium, silver, aluminum, and half a dozen other elements that had no business being in the same room as each other. Brass had several different ratios that could be considered enchantable, and thus, orichalcum. Electrum was generally enchantable overall, but still had varying levels of magical quality. Mythril though… Mythril was pretty damn fucking specific. It was either mythril, or it was useless crap. Even a small change in its composition could radically alter the amount of magic it could hold.

According to the Ancestors, mythril was easier to find in nature than it was to make artificially. Even for them, it had been rare. Most of the mythril I had had come from the wiring in cars. It could be found all over the necropolis, but at the same time, I’d have to scrap an entire vehicle just to get enough to wrap around a finger.

As to how I had first discovered that the Ancestor’s cars had mythril… The answer is boredom. Boredom may kill slower than a pack of zombies, but it’s harder to escape. At the time, taking apart an entire car had seemed like a very reasonable thing to do to keep myself distracted.

I was glad to know that my time spent bashing things apart just to get at a single wire or two hadn’t been wasted. Just knowing that I had some real, actual, physically holdable mythril made it all worthwhile.

“Mythril,” I said, finally showing a bit of reaction to her words. “I want a mythril sword.”

The green woman’s skin changed to a paler green when I spoke.

“That… uh. That might not be possible. At least, not if you want it done any time soon. We already have an active commission for mythril goods, and it isn’t one that can be given a lower priority. Mythril is hard to come by, and when a noble orders a set of mythril plate armor, the noble gets a set of mythril plate armor. That order alone has taken us more than a year to get as far as we have.”

“What if…” I began, and pulled out an ingot.

“I had enough mythril for the sword already?” And I pulled out another.

“What if…” I continued, placing a third bar on the table in front of her.

“I had a bit extra, to help on your other work,” and brought out a fourth.

The first bar alone would have been enough to make an entire sword. Probably. I wasn’t a smith, so I had to guess.

The second bar had shown that I was serious. The third was to make sure that I got top priority. The fourth was in the hopes that I’d walk away from all of this with a sword and a little bit of extra cash. I didn’t know the full value of this metal, and I was probably massively underselling it, but I wasn’t going to be concerned about losing money that I didn’t know I had.

Each time I reached into my storage was painful though. Every piece of mythril I placed on the bench represented hours of effort taken to gather that single specific metal. The little magical nerd inside my mind was screaming. There were a lot of things that I could use all this mythril for. Old-Self however, had the geek bound and gagged in the basement. He wanted a mythril fucking sword, and wasn’t taking “no” for an answer. Indigo-me was trying to gag him as well before I tried to buy a claymore that was bigger than I was.

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement that benefits everyone. So... When might I be able to speak to the smith about my sword?”

Her eyes bounced between me, the mythril bars, and a point on the wall that likely went in the direction of the hourglass in the front room.

“Soon,” she blurted out. “Very soon, Miss…”

“Indigo. Thank you for your help.”

“Gherti. Likewise,” she said, shaking my hand. “Would you like some tea while you wait?”

I hadn’t even opened my mouth before she was out of the room, and she returned before I even thought to close it again. She placed an elaborate little device on the workbench, and I was immediately fascinated by it. The thing looked like a bronze urn, with a water spigot attached to the bottom, and a tea pot to replace the lid.

“What’s that?” I asked before Gherti could leave again.

“A samovar,” she said. “A forge doesn’t have much need for candles, so this works better. We can throw a hot coal or two in there and have the water ready much faster.”

That wasn’t much of an explanation though, and she was back out the door before I could ask for more details. As I examined it, I realized that it wasn’t too complicated of a contraption. The base of the urn had a small door that opened to a compartment containing the smoldering coal. The jar part held water, which was heated by those coals, and the teapot sitting on top was kept warm by the heat rising through a tube in the center.

Really, it was just a water boiler with an added tea pot. It was a rather simple thing, but I couldn’t deny that the design was ingenious. I’d have to add one of these to my shopping list. Like the sword, I didn’t need it. I could do everything it did with magic. But I wanted one. I was more of a coffee girl, but I couldn't wait to try the tea that this thing made.

Gherti returned again, this time with a platter of meats, cheeses, and crackers. More importantly, she had brought Weland with her.

“Miss Indigo,” she began, “May I present to you Weland Velun, Master Smith of Orlis. Master Weland, this is Miss Indigo, and she is here to have a sword made. She may also be able to solve our current mythril shortage.”

I tried not to stare. I stared anyway. Weland seemed to be a slab of meat that just happened to be wrapped around the body of an elf. He was nowhere near as big as an orc like Corlo. Instead, his wiry muscle made him look like a fashion model. The fact that he was only wearing trousers and a thick leather apron only added to the effect.

And then there were the tattoos. From fingertip to eartip, he was covered in dark lines, swirls and dots. Technically, they were closer to being a birthmark, but they looked like they had been artistically designed for him and him alone. It was like that tattoos had known who he would become, and his body had merely grown to fit them. On anyone else, they would have looked intimidating, but on him, they seemed beautiful.

His bright blue eyes and greenish brown hair added to his otherworldly effect, and I was reminded that he was a descendent of the fae. Internally, I was drooling. The part of me that preferred women had been bound, gagged, and thrown in the basement to keep my other thought processes company.

“Oh, the things I would do to a man like this… Or better yet, the things he could do to me.”

A slight cough from Gherti broke me out of my degenerate fantasies. The glare she was directing at me was one of territorial dominance, and made it perfectly clear that such ideas were forbidden in her presence. Or out of it.

“Weland is spoken for,” her eyes said silently, “and I have more weapons than you do.”

I went back to the current topic as quickly as I could, and hoped that I wasn’t blushing.

“A sword. Yes. I would like a sword. A mythril one. I have mythril.”

“Good job Indigo. Very smooth. I’m sure Gherti is completely convinced that we aren’t trying to steal her man.”

Gherti was an interesting person. First she had been a businesswoman, then she had been a blacksmith, and now she was a maid who had fallen in love with her master. I tried not to look at her, and focused on the task at hand. I had a feeling that no amount of mythril would save me if I drew her ire any more than I had.

“Mythril?” Weland asked, and turned to his apprentice. “You said she had mythril? That’s wonderful!”

His attention went towards the workbench that still had the metal samples lain out. He was completely unaware of the silent battle that had just been fought over him.

“And these…!”

Weland forgot the two of us as he grabbed up the tools Gherti had used in her identification, and began an inspection of his own. He pinged a small hammer against each piece and listened to the sound they made. He rubbed his fingers, and even nose against them, getting a feel for their texture. More than a few were stuck in his mouth, and he sucked on them like candy.

“That’s neat, but being able to identify metals by taste is not a skill I’d like to develop.”

“Gherti this is wonderful!” he exclaimed when he had finished. “We’ll take it all,” he said, turning back to me. “Every bar you have, we’ll buy it.”

“I’m sorry, Master Velun, but… we can’t afford that.”

Weland and I both turned to Gherti, confused, but for different reasons.

“When did this go from using my own mythril to make the sword, to selling them all the mythril I had?”

I looked at the four bars I had placed on the bench, and was glad that I hadn’t taken out any more than that.

“What do you mean we can’t afford it? Lord Soldur ordered an entire suit of mythril plate! How can we not afford it?”

Lord Soldur,” Gherti explained patiently, “pays us in installments for the individual pieces once they’ve been completed. Even he couldn’t afford to pay for the entire suit at once.”

The elf looked crestfallen, and his ears drooped noticeably.

“Oh,” he said. “I see.”

He perked up visibly though when she told him how I had offered to pay for my sword. My ears burned when I heard Gherti explain just how much the mythril actually cost, but he ignored her in favor of the food platter, and began constructing small cracker sandwiches.

“Isn’t he supposed to be the master? How does he not know how much this stuff should cost?”

The four bars I had shown them was most of what I had, but the two mythril ingots still sitting in my storage suddenly felt a lot more valuable. I’d definitely need to make sure they got used for something special. Selling them was not an option. It would be hard enough just to find someone that could even pay for them.

I had been stupid to show off as much as I had. So far, people knowing that I had a storage space hadn’t been an issue, but letting anyone see inside of it had already caused more than enough trouble. I’d need to be careful when I went inside to organize things.

Finally, after a bit of debate, and a lot of math written on a slate board, we came to a deal. Weland would make me a sword, and even promised to start on it this very day. Of the four bars, he would keep any left over, and I would also receive a large pouch of gold when he had finished.

The difficult part was explaining what kind of sword I wanted. I had seen more than a few videos about swords and blacksmithing on the internet, but that had been years ago, and my memory of the correct words was vague.

“Mythril is pretty lightweight, right? And I’m fairly small. It’s probably best if I get a sword that’s more stabby slicey than choppy cutty slashy.”

The elf winced visibly with every adjective that came out of my mouth, as if every syllable was causing him physical pain.

“Please, by all that is holy, never utter such blasphemy in my presence again. Ever. My creations are works of art! They are not… those things you said. Do you even know how to use a sword?”

No. No I did not. Not in the slightest.

“I’m uh… more familiar with the spear.”

Gherti was facepalming in the corner of the room, but came to my rescue.

“How about we go up front and look at some of the swords there. That way, we can use them as examples, and nobody has to speak any more profanities.”

I looked longingly at the samovar as we left the room. I hadn’t had chance to try the tea, and I consoled myself with the fact that I’d be coming back here frequently over the next few days.

Upon our return to the storefront, we found Kearse inspecting a spear.

“See anything you like?” I asked.

“Everything,” he said dumbly.

His eyes were glazed over. He was so enraptured by the weapon that he hardly even noticed we were there. I left him to his day dreams, and I began examining the weapons myself.

As much as it would amuse me to be a little girl running around with a big-ass sword, there were a few problems with that idea. Right off the bat, I wasn’t small enough to make the trope work. I was short, but I wasn’t short enough to fall into the range of “loli,” so any juxtaposition would be lost and I’d only look like I was trying too hard.

Carrying a sword is like using foul language. If you don’t do it right, you only end up looking foolish.

Also, my arms would be too short to actually draw the thing.

Also also, I wanted to be able to actually use the thing.

Weland and I bounced from one blade to another as we discussed what was suitable for me.

I liked the look of the falchions, but it was a bit more of a hack and slash style weapon and, physical strength aside, I was looking for something that used a bit more finesse.

The longswords were much longer than I had expected, and I mistook them for greatswords at first glance. They were immediately ignored, but I liked the idea of being able to use my sword two handed if I wanted.

The shortswords were likewise too short, and had most of the same problems that the falchion did.

Sabers, scimitars, and that thing that looked like a katana? Pass. They all needed too much cut, while I wanted thrust. I wasn’t about to call someone sexist for saying that men were stronger than women. They were. But when skill is taken into account, there quickly comes a point where any such differences become negligible, and I wanted a sword that would minimize them even further.

Finally, after nearly an hour of deliberation, Gherti had sketched out a design that I was happy with. The final product would be something of a cross between a rapier and a bastard sword. The narrow double edged blade had been thickened compared to a rapier to gain a bit more mass and help counteract mythril’s light weight. The handle, like a bastard or longsword was long enough to be held with both hands, and was then lengthened a bit further so that I would have “room to grow into it.” Aside from the guard, which was on the small side, it was very much a fencing style weapon.

It would be a graceful thing, and fit my needs perfectly. I’d have to come back every few days to refine the details so that minor adjustments could be made, but I was pleased with what we had come up with.

It would never compare to the ornate swords Weland had on display, but it still had a simple elegance all its own. Being made of mythril, it would draw plenty of attention if I wielded it, but in its scabbard, it would appear to be just another sword and largely go unnoticed. After all, the point of carrying a sword was to help prevent attacks. Something that could be identified as expensive with a single glance would just cause trouble.

When all was said and done, I left the smithy feeling both exhausted and excited. Spending that much time talking to strangers had left me mentally drained, but knowing that my sword was now a confirmed thing was elating.

I didn’t bother reaching for my flask. I didn’t have any important plans until evening, and wanted to give my liver a rest for the time being.

Kearse was looking up at the sky, checking the sun for the time.

“Are you going to the festival tonight? Haylen and I are having a girl’s night, but it would still be strange if we didn’t see you there.” I asked.

After Corlo’s return with the Ector idol, the orc temple had declared a day of celebration. Orcs weren’t the type to sit around, especially when a party was concerned, but even they had needed some time to prepare.

Haylen and I had postponed our night of fun to match. She suspected that the entire city would get swept up in the event, so it would be the best time for us to go out and party. While Kearse wasn’t technically invited to what the two of us were planning, I didn’t want him to think we were ignoring him.

“How could I not go?” he said with a grin. “Orc holidays are the best! You’re going to love it, I can tell.”

My grin matched his.

“Don’t spoil it for me. I want to find out for myself. Should we head towards the temples now, or wait a little longer? Is there anything you want to do before then?”

He thought for a moment before answering.

“We’ll get there early if we leave now, but I suppose it could be fun to watch everyone setting things up. How about we take our time, do a little bit of window shopping, and grab a bit of food from some street vendors. There’s going to be a lot of drinking tonight, so it’s probably best if we fill our stomachs with food before we fill our guts with beer. Sound good?”

My grin turned to a genuine smile. For most other people, today probably would have seemed like a date. Instead, I was actually having fun with a member of the opposite sex, and didn’t get even the slightest hint of sexual tension coming from him. It was probably a good thing I wasn’t straight, or I would ruin this man. He was too good for me.

I was glad that I was finally winning him over though. For the week or so that I had known him, he had always seemed a bit wary of me whenever I first showed up to talk. He still did. But after I spent a bit of time around him, he always relaxed and was more willing to go with the flow.

I was definitely a bad influence on him, but I was the good kind of bad influence. I made him take things a little less seriously. And if I was lucky, I might be able to steal a little bit of that thing he called common sense. I really hoped that he would decide to come on the pilgrimage with us.

“Sounds like a plan.” I agreed. “Which way first?”

“To food. When it comes to street food, you need to try hob rat.”

He was leading the way, a master of his own domain, and I followed eagerly.

“Hob rat?”

“Hob rat. I know it sounds weird, but hear me out first. The hobs breed rats for racing…”

Kearse talked, I listened, and together we made our way through the city. Today was going to be a good day.