“Yes, this is her,” Andre said. He spoke in Fimian again. The demon language. “The cursed smith.”

The old man watched Vivi with a doubtful expression, brows furrowed. He stepped out of the way, letting Vivi and Andre into the smithy.

The smithy was cramped, as all proficient workshops should be. The whole space was filled with tools and equipment; there were two anvils, sharpening stones, an emberstone forge and a foundry furnace—and importantly, a vise. The shelves displayed more tools: tuning forks, tweezers, and a few crucibles. Most of everything Vivi would need was present.

The metal gallery was lined with ingots ranging from asmite to high-tier mithrils—dark mithril, crystalline mithril. Both were excellent metals that Vivi had rarely worked with. Each metal was nicely formed into a shining ingot.

The smith himself was a hunchback with ruffed hair and a scraggly beard. His thick hands were covered in calluses. He was clearly a blacksmith—not a runesmith.

“This is Einord,” Andre said. “My personal smith. He’s passionate, and he knows his craft.”

“And this girl is supposedly a runesmith,” Einord said. “Bullshit. I’m not giving her a single one of my swords to ruin.”

“She is a runesmith,” Andre said. “That fact is confirmed. Her skills are the question.” He turned to Vivi. “Einord will be assessing the quality and price of your work. He is biased, but he knows swords better than I do.”

“I would prefer to work in private,” Vivi said.

“Einord is trustworthy,” Andre said. “The Stewards believe he’s dead.”

“I can’t reveal information because you don’t let me out of this fucking dungeon,” Einord said. “But it doesn’t matter. This girl is not a runesmith. She might be an apprentice, but she doesn't know how to carve runeswords. The profession requires more years of practice than she is old.”

“I’ll compensate for failures,” Andre said. “Your job is to assess and watch, Einord. Vivian, what do you think?”

“I could work here,” Vivi said. “But that depends on the deal. What are you offering me for my work?”

And what are you going to use my swords for? What will you do to me once the deal is done? She left out the last part.

“Are you after ether?” Andre asked.

“I am not opposed to earning money,” Vivi said.

“I’ll pay you three thousand ether for a functional runesword,” Andre said.

Three thousand ether? Vivi thought. So much?

Grandpa had often joked about Vivi’s swords being priced at thousands of ether. In the golden age of runesmithing centuries past, runeswords apparently sometimes sold for tens of thousands of ether. Legendary runeswords were worth millions. Historical runesmiths—skilled ones—never struggled with ether. Most were rich.

Surprise must have shown on Vivi’s face, as Andre smiled. “Three thousand ether, as well as a request. You will work for me, and me only. Zand will become a mess if runeswords are spread across nimrods.”

“I told you I work alone as a neutral,” Vivi said.

“That is fine,” Andre said. “I simply ask you not to craft runeswords for the other gangs. Aang or Bwern.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Vivi said.

“Good,” Andre said. “The smithy is yours, then. How long will a sword take to finish? A week?”

“Are we seriously entertaining ourselves with her?” Einord asked. “This little pipsqueak. Three thousand ether, my ass. You’ll be paying five hundred for my base swords, and then you’ll lose that sword to this girl’s mistakes.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Einord,” Andre said. He stared directly into the old man’s eyes, as if piercing his soul. “You will assess her abilities.”

Einord clicked his tongue. He turned around and pillaged his shelf of finished swords. “Let’s see, then. A base sword.” He pulled out a green mithril longsword, offering it to Vivi. “This should be good. I won’t cry when you inevitably destroy it.”

“I won’t need a base,” Vivi said. “I’ll be forging my own sword.”

Einord raised his eyebrows, confused. Traditional runesmiths usually worked on existing swords, upgrading a blacksmith’s work into a runesword. Runesmiths were not blacksmiths, as both professions required vastly different skill sets. Blacksmiths and runesmiths had always worked as a team.

Grandpa’s runesmithing method, however, had turned the whole process upside down. “I would prefer if I was left alone,” Vivi said. “I should be done in eight or so hours.”

“Eight hours?” Einord gushed. “Not one runesmith in the world who can carve a sword in eight hours. Perhaps if the blade was made of wood.”

“Well, I’m about to be the first, then,” Vivi said. “Can I get to work, or are we going to argue?”

Einord blinked. “This goddamned witch.”

“Let her work,” Andre said. “She is an honored visitor. If she proves to be a fake, I will bring her out of your smithy.”

“Well, better get to work then, girl,” Einord said. “I’d like my privacy back.”

“Could this guy shut up?” Lucius said. “Translating his words is a pain…”

Vivi had the urge to smile. She didn’t find Einord all too bad. He was stupid and clueless, but something about an old man’s nagging felt homely.

It didn’t seem like Vivi would be left alone to work. Andre wanted Einord to watch that Vivi was a real runesmith. Vivi didn’t know how to feel about that. If she worked in front of others, Grandpa’s carving method would be revealed.

Inside carving isn’t a secret, Vivi thought to herself. Grandpa always wanted to make it public. Nobody wanted his formula. Einord will need years of practice before making use of my secrets anyway.

Vivi left her raincoat on a hanger and put on one of Einord’s smithing aprons. Most of his aprons were too large for her size, but one particularly rough one covered her nicely. She put on light gloves. Runesmithing was an intricate process. Gloves too thick would ruin her dexterity.

Einord and Andre watched as Vivi sat down by the vise. She grabbed the adamantite root from her pockets. Then, she squeezed the ether root between the jaws, pointy side upward. She gathered her tools—a tuning fork, cauterizing knives, and an obsidian carving knife: the type that woodworkers used. She put on her safety glasses and said, “I’ll get to work, then. Please don’t bother me.”

Einord looked utterly bewildered, not understanding what Vivi was doing. To anyone unfamiliar with Grandpa’s method, Vivi must have looked totally idiotic. But if Einord was even slightly knowledgeable about runesmithing, he would soon understand the secret behind Grandpa’s technique.

Lucius, I’ll need help on the next part, Vivi thought. Initiate the root for me. Offer it some ether. Permanent ether.

Vivi felt Lucius protesting at the thought of spending more ether.

We won’t need more than ten, Vivi thought. Fill it slowly, a quarter of an ether at a time.

“Fine,” Lucius said. “This better be worth it.”

A wisp of ether flowed into the root. A crack formed on the tip of the root. The crack grew in size before eventually breaking. From the opening rose a stalk-like piece of metal, as if a seed had sprouted.

The stalk shone white with ether. It grew slowly at the pace of a snail. Its trajectory immediately attempted to turn sideways. Vivi guided it straight up with the tuning fork.

Slower, she thought. A fraction at a time. We don’t want to rush.

Lucius was panicking, but he followed the order. The process was taxing not only for the runesmith’s hands but for the ether provider as well. Luckily, Lucius was a spirit. He was already practiced in transferring and controlling ether. He would just need to get used to the correct tempo.

The ether root continued to grow as more ether flowed in. In the germination state, the root worked similarly to plant seeds. The material that sprouted was ethereal adamantite—an unstable and soft variation of adamantite. Ethereal metals were a perfect conductor of ether. Vivi’s job was to shape the stalk into a specific shape, creating the veins of a runesword.

As the stalk grew, the intricate part began—separating the main stalk into branches. Vivi used her knife and tuning fork to force the main stalk to separate into a branch. The vision of the completed product was already forming in her head.

We’ll craft a sword to defeat a spirit blade, Vivi thought. To finally prove that Grandpa’s life’s work was not a waste.