Chapter 6: Reflections of a Young Girl
There was nothing like helping my father in the workshop.
I sat quietly, the rhythmic clanging of metal and the roar of the forge filling the air. The warmth of the fire was soothing, and I found myself lost in thought. My father, Mìcheil, was working diligently, his strong arms expertly shaping metal into useful tools for the village. I loved spending time here; the smells of the forge and the sight of my father at work filled me with a sense of comfort and joy. I admired him immensely and felt a deep sense of pride as I watched him while I tended the fire, adding just the right amount of fuel to keep it burning steadily—a skill I had honed over the last few months. This place was my sanctuary, a place where I could be myself, a place that bridged my new fantasy life and the old mechanical engineering life before I became sick.
It was almost my sixth birthday. It sounded young when I put it that way, but that made me almost the equivalent of a nine-year-old back on Earth. Here, a year was 548 days. I didn’t know if days were the same length as on Earth, and I had no way to measure that without a watch. All I had was the sun and my biological clock, which was completely attuned to the sun of this planet, so useless.
I thought again about my skills.
LV: 23 Experience: 8230/13553
Vitality: 30
Endurance: 14
Strength: 11
Agility: 8
Senses: 26
Mind: 56
Magic: 30
Clarity: 2
Status Points: 230
Skills: [Acting] (12), [Carving] (1), [Cleaning] (4), [Cooking] (1), [Dancing] (4), [Drawing] (3), [Expel Mana] (18), [Fire Tending] (16), [Mana Manipulation] (20), [Mathematics] (24), [Measurement] (6), [Meditation] (21), [Running] (8), [Sense Mana] (23), [Sewing] (2), [Writing] (18)
When I started to accumulate Tier 1 skills, or basic skills as my mother called them, I realized they ordered themselves alphabetically. I constantly tried to change the order, but all my attempts were in vain.
"Lost in thought again, little one?" my father asked, his voice gentle.
I snapped out of my thoughts. “Yes, sorry Dad,” I said and felt myself blush, knowing I should have been tending to the forge.
“Trying to sort your skills again? Any progress yet?” he asked.
“No, they are as stubborn as always,” I answered.
“Well, if there is someone who can do it, it is you. Now help me bank up the forge and tidy up the tools,” he said while retrieving the bags of ash and a small hand shovel needed to bank the forge. “Pack away the tools while I spread the ash on the fire. Remember the rule.”
“Everything has a place and stays in its place,” I interrupted him before he could finish, jumping up to put everything away.
He let out a short laugh. “Well, miss smartass, if you know everything, then tell me why we put ash over the forge fire,” he asked, looking at me.
I stopped packing the tools away. “Is it to kill the fire?” I asked.
“No, banking the forge is not done to smother the flames; I could put out the flames with water, which would be more effective,” he retorted, his voice carrying the weight of years spent in front of the glowing hearth. “We bank the forge to keep the fire ready for the next day. At the end of a work session, we cover the live coals with a layer of ash. This slows down the burning process, keeping the coals hot longer without wasting fuel.”
He gestured towards the forge, where the faint glow of banked coals could still be seen. “By doing this, we can easily rekindle the fire the next day. It saves time and effort because the coals are still warm and ready to catch flame again. Plus, it’s safer than leaving an open flame burning unattended. Do you understand?”
“Yes, father,” I answered.
“Good. Then come here and see how it’s done. From tomorrow, you will be responsible for banking the forge and also rekindling it every morning when we need it. If you do a poor job of banking the forge, you will spend a lot of time getting a burnt-out forge back up to proper heat the next morning, thereby wasting time.”
I nodded, imagining the ancient tradition passed down through generations of blacksmiths. “So, it’s about efficiency and safety?”
“Exactly,” he replied with a smile. “It’s one of those small but crucial parts of the craft that makes all the difference.”
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He spent the next few minutes showing me how to properly bank the forge and helped me put away the other tools.
As we worked together, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of connection to my father. His patience and dedication were evident in every movement, and I aspired to be as skilled and knowledgeable as he was. The workshop was more than just a place of work; it was a place where I learned valuable lessons, not just about blacksmithing but about life itself.
With the tools neatly stored and the forge banked, we finally called it a day. I looked around the workshop, feeling a sense of accomplishment. This place, with its comforting warmth and rhythmic sounds, was where I felt most at home.
My thoughts drifted back to my skills. Each one represented hours of practice and learning, and I was proud of my progress.
“Dad,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence, “thank you for teaching me. I love working with you.”
He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m proud of you, Aerorae. You’re a quick learner and a hard worker. Remember, the skills you’re developing now will serve you well in the future.”
I nodded, feeling a swell of pride. “I will, Dad. I promise.”
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Our beautiful home was located at the edge of town, nestled between the quiet serenity of the countryside and the bustling life of the village. The workshop, where my father spent countless hours forging metal into tools and weapons, was even farther away, ensuring that the constant noise wouldn’t disturb the townsfolk. It stood at the edge of a sprawling farming field, and to reach our house, we had to walk through a grove of trees that marked the beginning of the forest.
As we started our walk home after locking up the workshop, the peaceful evening was interrupted by a rustling sound in the woods. My father immediately stepped between me and the noise, his hand instinctively reaching for the hammer on his belt. He drew it out with practised caution and slowly approached the closest bush. He pushed it aside, his muscles tensed for action, but then he visibly relaxed.
“What is it, Father?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
He stepped out of the way and pulled the bush back further, revealing a brown-greenish viscous blob with a blue sheen stuck to the bottom.
“Slimes,” he said. “They’re probably after Gilliam’s crops. Just waiting in the bushes for nightfall when it’s cooler to start heading that way.”
“Should we go warn Gilliam and the others?” I asked, leaning in for a closer look, my nose wrinkling at the strange smell emanating from the creature.
“Careful, don’t touch them. They’re corrosive and will burn flesh. We will, but first, you need more skills if you want to become a blacksmith. Will you be able to stomach killing them?” He looked me directly in the eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation.
Will I? I thought to myself. They’re not humanoid. They’re pests, creatures that would destroy the fields if left unchecked. Rationalizing it this way, I felt a surge of determination. I had to learn, and this was as good a start as any.
“Yes, I can do it, Dad,” I answered firmly, meeting his gaze with newfound resolve.
“Good,” he said, smiling and putting away his hammer. He took out his shop keys and handed them to me. “Go into the shop and get the old leather apron, a leather pouch, the foundry gloves—the ones with the long sleeves, wrapping cloth, and then find a hammer you can easily wield. There’s a smallish old one in the bin under the workbench in the back. I’ll keep an eye on your prey so they won’t escape.”
“Okay, Dad,” I said, rolling my eyes playfully before sprinting back to the workshop. Once inside, I quickly located the leather apron and slung it over my shoulder. Next, I found the leather pouch and the foundry gloves, placing each item by the door as I gathered them. Finally, I spotted the wrapping cloth and added it to the growing pile.
Now for the hammer. I rummaged through the bin under the workbench, my fingers finally closing around a small, well-worn hammer. Giving it a few experimental swings, I nearly overbalanced on the third attempt but steadied myself just in time. Satisfied, I added it to the pile and locked up the shop.
With my arms full of gear, I half-ran and half-walked back to my father, who was waiting patiently. “What now?” I asked when I was close enough for him to hear me.
“Now you put on your armour, my little knight,” he said, smiling as he took everything from my hands and set it down. He helped me put on the apron, then the long-sleeved gloves, and finally wrapped my neck and head with the cloth.
“Now don’t get any of the slime in your eyes,” he advised, standing up and smiling at me.
Yeah, I probably look like an ice hockey goalie at the moment. I thought to myself, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement.
Approaching the first slime, I swung the hammer with all my might. It sank into the slime, which rippled violently and started leaking from the tears my swing created. The second blow forced its insides to the outside, and it began to dissolve and seep into the ground before my eyes.
“Well done!” my father said, applauding. “Now see the small blue pebble there?” He pointed to the pebble in the middle of the wet ground. “Pick it up and put it in the pouch. These aren’t the rarest of materials, but alchemists use them, and they can be sold to the merchants for some coin.”
“Okay, but wouldn’t it be easier to kill them with a sharp object?”
“Yes, it would be, but you need to develop hammer skills to start forging, right? Killing monsters with tools not only gains you extra experience but also helps you gain skill with the tool. Well, to a certain extent. Don’t go killing things with a frying pan expecting to become a master chef now,” he said with a grin.
I let out a small giggle at the mental image while checking my status.
LV: 23 Experience: 8231/13553
Vitality: 30
Endurance: 14
Strength: 11
Agility: 8
Senses: 26
Mind: 56
Magic: 30
Clarity: 2
Status Points: 230
Skills: [Acting] (12), [Carving] (1), [Cleaning] (4), [Cooking] (1), [Dancing] (4), [Drawing] (3), [Expel Mana] (18), [Fire Tending] (16), [Mana Manipulation] (20), [Mathematics] (24), [Measurement] (6), [Meditation] (21), [Running] (8), [Sense Mana] (23), [Sewing] (2), [Writing] (18)
Only 1 exp and no skill, this sucks! I thought to myself
“Now off you go. Where there’s one, there are bound to be more! I’ll be right here if you need me.”
And off I went, hunting for my prey and my first tool skill