Emerging from the bathhouse, Dave felt properly reborn. He felt cleaner and more refreshed than he had been in his entire life. The healer mermaid's innate magic had worked wonders on his skin. Clad in his new gray robe, he surveyed the items he had acquired for his draconic friend - a large bottle of oil and a net brimming with fruit. His inquiries had revealed that the oil was commonly used by dragonfolk to maintain the health of their scales, while the fruit was a delicacy they particularly enjoyed.

As he approached the entrance of the smithy, Dave's heart pounded with merry trepidation. The heavy, weathered door creaked open, exposing the inferno of steam, smoke, sparks and dragon blacksmith.

Remicra’s eyes instantly narrowed into slits of suspicion as they scanned the contours of Dave’s new outfit, noting the unblemished fabric and absence of bandages and bruises on his skin. Her iridescent scales seemed to take on a sinister, blood-rent glint in the flickering light cast by the glowing coals.

"Did you trick me?" Remicra growled, her voice tinged with rapidly rising outrage. "You had money on you all this time?!"

The barked words struck Dave like a hammer blow, but he remained stoic.

"I haven’t tricked you," he said, pushing the oil and fruit towards her on an old, wooden table. "I simply made money at the market using my haggling skills."

Remicra eyed him warily, her sharp claws clacking against the stone floor. "Haggling skills, huh?" she said, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed the oil and fruits. "You spent a lot more than seven coppers... these are of premium quality. Why?"

"I know that you needed the oil for your skin, so I got you the expensive stuff," Dave replied. "I could spend more money because I turned your seven coppers into four silvers today."

"Impossible," she snapped, her eyes glittering with suspicion. "You smelled like death just this morning... How?!"

"It was a fairly simple operation," Dave said. "I got mana crystal from a merchant in the shady area of town for seven coppers and sold it to a crystal shop for four silver. I turned the money you gave me into more money. As for my bruises, I’ve had a healing bath.”

Remicra's jaw dropped, her violet-gold eyes widening in disbelief.

"Four silver pieces from seven coppers without making a thing?!" Remicra exclaimed, her voice rising in excitement. "That's almost unheard of! What kind of ungodly negotiation magic do you possess?!"

"I don't have negotiation magic," Dave laughed. "I simply paid attention to the world around me for once in my life. Dying and getting reincarnated really changes a person, I guess. I worked hard to make sure to get the best deal possible for us."

"Us?!" The dragoness blinked.

"Yes, us," Dave said. "Whatever else you want purchased, I can get it for you with the remaining cash."

The look on Remicra's face as he poured the remaining money on the table in front of her was priceless. Dave felt a small sense of triumph coursing through his being, like he had just beaten the High Score on his favorite arcade game.

"Perhaps, after all, you're not as pathetically useless as I thought," she muttered.

Dave felt his chest swell with pride, a grin spreading across his face. "So, what do you want me to get you?" he asked. "Make a list! I have more market investigations to do and the Adventurer's Guild to visit while I'm at it."

Remicra seemed to hesitate, her gleaming scales reflecting the light of the forge. She reached for the bottle of oil and sniffed it before applying it to her hands. Rubbing them together, she seemed to mull over the offer.

"You win this round..." she began, her eyes narrowing in reluctant concession.

"Dave," he supplied with a grin.

"Dave," Remicra resumed, finally uttering his name in lieu of the generic epithet 'human.'

Dave basked in the glow of this newfound connection as Remicra finally relented to his persistence at forging a friendship. She grabbed a nearby piece of scrap metal, and with the precision of an artisan, began to jot down items in neat block letters using her sharp claw.

Dave accepted his new quest from the local dragoness with a sense of pride far surpassing that of the mission to collect gold teeth issued by the dragon god-emperor. In fact, he had all but forgotten about that peculiar directive until the thought of it stirred in his head. The menu of the Quest suddenly flashed to life on his bracelet, asking him once again if he wishes to accept or deny seeking teeth.

[CITADEL GATE - QUEST: Bring back one thousand gold teeth to gain access to Citadel D-114.]

[Accept: Y/N?]

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"No to collecting human teeth," he declared to the bracelet, his voice resolute. "I've got more important business to attend to."

The Quest flickered and vanished like a dying ember, leaving him free to pursue the new path he had chosen.

"What are you muttering about?" Remicra inquired.

"I've just rejected my job position as a slave to the local God-Emperor," Dave announced smugly, reveling in his newfound self-declared autonomy.

"I see," the dragoness muttered.

"Are you going to tell me who owns you so that I can attempt to buy your freedom?" he pressed.

"I cost a lot more than a few silver coins," Remicra replied, her eyes flicking to the money on the counter with a sprinkle of disdain.

"I'm certain that I could make more money with some more creative thinking or perhaps some adventuring," Dave shrugged.

"Lord Burgundy Strao," the dragoness exhaled after a deep pause, the name rolling off her tongue with the weight of dark history. "He is a noble who holds dominion over a third of the city's businesses."

"Well, this Lord Burgundy," Dave said with a wry smile, "sounds like a bit of a twit, if you ask me. But fear not, fair dragoness! I shall find a way to free you from his dastardly clutches."

"Free me to do what?" she inquired, her eyes searching for the truth that lay hidden beneath the veneer of bravado.

"Free you... to free you," Dave shrugged, his smile faltering ever so slightly as he realized the inadequacy of his response.

"That," Remicra declared with a bemused shake of her head, "is quite possibly the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Now, if you would be so kind, please tell me what it is that you truly want from me. Are you planning on keeping me as a pet if you somehow miraculously manage to buy this dilapidated smithy?”

“Oh you come with the smithy?” Dave mulled. “Well, that’s convenient.”

Remicra sent a dangerous glare.

“Look, I already told you what I want, did I not?” Dave said. “Resources, local knowledge and a place to sleep.”

“I have no resources, I know less than a local urchin since I’m confined to this damned tower and this place is falling apart at the seams,” Remicra retorted. “You’d have better luck staying at a pub and leaving me be. I see no rationale behind your insistence on freeing me.”

"Regardless of how crumbling this tower is," Dave's eyes went over the shop. "It is a very solid, magically-reinforced structure that weathered untold centuries from what I can see. I'm from another world and I am curious if I could apply my knowledge to improve this workshop."

"To what end?" Remicra asked. "You think you're the only one summoned here?"

"I'm aware that there are other summoned that inflicted their culture upon this world," Dave rolled his eyes. "A kitsune girl was selling lattes outside of the town gate. A latte is a drink from my world."

"Exactly," the dragoness said. "All of your efforts are useless in the grand scheme of things, like a drop of water in the rain shower."

"You're just being crabby because you're stuck in here," Dave said. "And to counter what you said earlier, you're clearly more intelligent than you let on."

In the hushed silence of the smithy, the dragoness pondered his words.

"Look, Remicra," Dave began, channeling Sherlock, his voice slicing through the silence as he paced around the shop. "I admit, I am uncertain of my ability to liberate you from your present circumstances. However, fate has conspired to bring us together in this lighthouse smithy. This building is an arcane bastion that has tickled my sensibilities of wonder. It would be remiss not to mention that your own presence has had a similar effect upon me."

"What?" Remicra snorted derisively as her eyes glinting with intrigue.

"You hurled me out of the smithy earlier, as if I were but a mere speck of dust," Dave continued, his voice tinged with admiration. "You possess strength, an innate affinity for working with metal, heat and intelligence in equal measure, a combination that I find both fascinating and alluring."

"Enlighten me, then," she challenged, her gaze narrowing with suspicion. "What do you have in mind for me specifically?"

Dave could barely contain his excitement as he replied, "I propose a partnership, a collaboration between your expertise in this realm's metalworking and my knowledge of technology and engineering from my own world. Together, we could begin to revolutionize this place."

Remicra raised an eyebrow, the iridescent scales on her face shimmering in the dim light of the shop. "Revolutionize?" she repeated, her voice laced with skepticism.

"Yes, revolutionize," Dave insisted, his eyes burning with passion. "Imagine the possibilities: projectile-propelling weapons that could slice through monsters without the use of enchantments, or even... a flying machine."

"You know how to make a flying machine?" Remicra inquired, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, as if she were trying to peer into the depths of his soul and uncover the truth hidden within.

"Probably," Dave replied with a nonchalant shrug, the corners of his mouth turning up in a half-smile.

"Probably?" The dragoness echoed, tilting her head to one side.

"Yes," Dave explained, an air of casual confidence about him, "Probably. I know some things and I will learn as I go, adapting to each new challenge that presents itself to me. All I require is your guidance in the art of metalworking."

"You want me to teach you metalworking? You look as though you might faint from the heat at any moment," Remicra scoffed.

Dave could not help but notice the faint twitch at the edge of her mouth, as if she were suppressing a smile.

"That," Dave countered, "is simply the result of the abysmal ventilation in this place." He gestured broadly at the rusted tools and broken machinery strewn about the shop, the detritus of countless years of neglect. "Why don't we begin by refurbishing this establishment, fashioning superior tools, experimenting with novel metals and alloys, and exploring the untapped potential of our combined expertise? Are you not a master blacksmith? Does the prospect of expanding your knowledge not entice you?"

The dragoness regarded him for an extended moment, her eyes scrutinizing his every feature, searching for the faintest trace of duplicity. At last, she nodded her head slowly, as if surrendering to the inevitable.

"Alright," she acquiesced. "I'll bite. Let us see what we can create together. I'll add some stuff to the list then."

"But first, lunch!" Dave announced, slapping another cloth bag onto the table with a flourish. "I suspect you know how to fry a steak on that forge of yours, yes?"