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THE FIRE THAT Mink had lit in the stove that morning hadn’t even gone cold yet, but a group of people had already moved into Badger’s house. There were carts in the middle of the yard packed top to bottom with my buddy and his sister’s stuff. Inside, the house was teeming with work. From inside, I could hear women’s voices shouting, and dishes and furniture clanging. I was immediately brought back to the day I left my parents’ home. Heh... Every world has its bottom-feeders.
When the coachman, a thin little man, saw Badger walking through the gates looking angry, he froze with his mouth open. His closely set little eyes stared with fear and disbelief.
Walking decisively toward his house, Badger gave a short bark to the stunned coachman:
“Put back everything you’ve taken!”
I turned around. On our way back, we had picked up a crowd of onlookers. They clearly already knew what was about to happen, so they’d come to enjoy the spectacle.
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
A ringing impudent shout from inside the house made me turn my head.
On the porch there stood a stout older woman, her short legs splayed and her hands on her hips. Her plump red face was affixed with a look of defiance and superiority.
“Feathergrass! Don’t even think about it!” she thundered out when she saw the coachman reach for a box full of dishes.
Walking past, I saw a mug in a box out of the corner of my eye that Mink had used just two weeks earlier to drink berry juice.
A minute later, two more ladies joined the woman looking just as corpulent and rude, though they were younger. Based on their physical resemblance, it wasn’t hard to guess that the women were related.
“Mrs. Beaver!” Badger shouted out in rage. “Not so scared anymore, I see!”
The old lady blushed even harder. Jutting out her chin and squinting her eyes, she answered sonorously:
“Pup! It looks like you forgot who you’re talking to! Ever since the Selection, all this belongs to me and my husband! The house, too! My husband made a payment to the Chief just yesterday!”
“Well he wasted his money!” Badger answered, walking up the steps. “This house belongs to a hunter!”
“Not anymore!” Mrs. Beaver shouted out defiantly. “Your father died a long time ago!”
Badger, going up the stairs, loomed over the impudent lady.
“Who ever said I was talking about my father?” Badger asked coldly and smiled ravenously.
After that, he turned to the crowd waiting at the gate and watching greedily, then loudly asked:
“What’s the punishment for breaking and entering?!”
“Death!”
“Death!”
Dozens of voices could be heard roaring in approval from the crowd. I watched the expressions on their faces and realized that Mrs. Beaver, her husband and their “beaver pups,” were not held in particularly high esteem by the townspeople. But based on how quickly Mr. Beaver got this transaction ironed out, he wasn’t exactly no one either. Prissy people like this, as a rule, weren’t particularly appreciated anywhere, so the local populace was fully supportive of us giving them a public swirlie.
“Just look at this!” a woman’s voice shouted from the crowd. “The Beavers are stuffing their cheeks! They’re committing burglary in broad daylight!”
“The kid just got back from a hunt, and now they’re hauling his stuff out in boxes.” a raspy man’s voice came after.
“He cut off the head of a possessed creature...!”
“The Prince’s envoy himself said Badger is a hunter...!”
“A pillar of the tribe, its strength...!”
The shouts were now coming from every direction. Mrs. Beaver at first kept her brave face on but, once she heard about the possessed creature and the Prince’s envoy, she went silent and deflated all at once.
Feathergrass hurriedly unloaded everything onto the ground while the crowd jeered. Pulling his head between his dry shoulders, he would occasionally shudder and try to speak in his favor. He had no choice, he said... He just drove where he was told...
“I give you one hour to put everything back where it was!” Badger shouted. “Otherwise you’re done for!”
Mrs. Beaver dashed off with her brood to help the coachman, while Badger and I went into the house.
“Who are they?” I asked, nodding at the fussy women.
Badger waved it off.
“Mr. Beaver’s wife and daughters. The Chief’s lackies. His son is getting married this year. That goon has approached me a few times already with offers to buy the house.”
“Let me guess...” I chuckled. “Did he lowball you?”
“You’re an insightful one,” Badger chuckled back.
Inside the house, to my surprise, everything was surprisingly fine. And that’s easy to understand ― Mrs. Beaver already considered it her property, so her robbery was exacting and careful.
While the would-be looters carried back everything they’d taken and the crowd looked on, Badger and I went up to the second floor and locked ourselves in his room.
Putting a pointer finger to his lips, Badger nodded at the door as if to say, “come look.” Then he hopped up, grabbed a thick ceiling beam and hoisted himself up.
Moving a couple boards around to make a hole, he gracefully slipped inside. A few moments later, his unkempt head poked down out of the hole. A satisfied smile was playing on his face. He didn’t have to tell me twice. The family hiding spot was untouched.
Once he came down, Badger said:
“I have almost five gold. Me and my sister were saving it for a rainy day.”
I nodded and took a hundred gold out of my pocket.
“Here... If you need any more ― tell me.”
When Badger saw the heap of gold coins, he gulped.
“We need four horses at least,” I said. “One for you, one for me, one for Mink and one backup. Better two, or even three.”
“With that kind of cash, we can buy a whole herd,” Badger said delightedly.
“By the way,” I stroked my chin. “Who are you gonna buy horses from?”
“Aytyr,” Badger answered without hesitation. “His farm is just past the village.”
“Interesting name.”
“Yeah,” Badger confirmed. “Aytyr is a horseherd from the east. He came to these parts seven years ago now. He raises horses. He doesn’t come into town much. He pays tribute to the Chief for his family. Nobody touches him.”
“It’s actually great that this Aytyr is not from the village,” I lit up. “What do you think, can we buy supplies and feed for the horses from him too?”
“I think so,” Badger answered. “But why is it good that he isn’t from the village?”
“Because if he were, as soon as you started looking for horses, everyone else in your tribe would know. I hope I don’t have to explain what their first thought would be.”
“No,” Badger shook his head. “But don’t you think us leaving the village will lead them to the same idea?”
“It will,” I answered. “But if we can do it properly, if they ever even realize we’re gone, it’ll already be too late. It’s crucial that we leave quietly without anyone noticing. Your Chief will probably send people out to track us. Though I don’t think he will try to stop us.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because he’ll know you’re trying to get Mink. Beyond that, he’ll be sure this is suicidal to even attempt. Two little kids against thirty retinue soldiers, who are altered on top of it? Hehe! Doesn’t that sound like suicide?”
Badger’s face went gloomy. I could see that my brother in arms had been chasing off unhappy thoughts all that time. He was clearly trying to stay focused on his sister and not how we were going to get her away from the Prince’s men.
Patting him on the shoulder, I said:
“Don’t let fear into your heart. If you do, it will eat you alive before you even know it. We have lots of work to do. Better think about how to solve the horse issue.”
Badger nodded and asked:
“What about you?”
“I’m gonna go pay a visit to a craftsman.”
“Who’s that old man to you anyway?” Badger sighed.
Luckily, I’d found the time to ask him about the craftsman whose machetes were assigned a low chance by the Great System. For now, it was the best I’d seen from this world.
In Badger’s words Ogrun, which was the old smith’s name, had stopped making weapons a long time ago. Now he kept busy making and repairing all kinds of little trinkets. He catered to a middle-class clientele. They brought him all kinds of iron implements to repair. The old loner worked more to eat than to really earn money. But seemingly, he was fine with that arrangement.
“It’s a long story,” I waved it off and added: “And by the way, here... On your way back, buy a keg of hooch... And make sure as many people as possible see you doing it.”
“What’s the point of that?” Badger asked in surprise.
“I want them to think we’re going on a bender. As for why ― let them make up their own minds. When you get it back here, we’ll lock ourselves in and leave under cover of nightfall. I’m hoping that’ll earn us a day.”
Ogrun’s blacksmith shop was on the very edge of town on the west side. Small but neat. Obviously, this craftsman kept a tidy shop. I was also getting the impression that the old man hadn’t always lived in this part of town. Honestly, I didn’t see any blatant evidence of that, I just had suspicions based only on the quality of his work.
The smithy was quiet. At first, I even thought I might have missed him. The coming of the Prince’s envoy is a big event after all. The old man is probably down at the docks or in some portside tavern. But as I approached the cracked-open gate, I realized I was wrong. Ogrun was there. The old man was doing exactly what we were just saying we were going to pretend to do – drinking.
Broad shouldered, thickset. Despite his gray head of hair and old-age wrinkles, I was sure this guy was still strong and bursting with strength.
“We’re not open,” he muttered when he saw me at the gate.
The blacksmith was sitting at a wide table against the wall of the building and sipping from a wooden mug. There was a squat barrel towering atop his table.
“Don’t you recognize me?” I asked. “I recently bought two machetes from you.”
The smith frowned, then nodded.
“I remember. What about it?”
“Well, I came to thank you for the quality work,” I said. “And to bring you the money for the second machete. I believe you sold me the pair for the price of one. Now that I’ve seen how good they are, I feel like I’ve taken advantage of you.”
“How you feel is your own problem,” the blacksmith answered with a loud belch. “I sold you that junk for a fair price.”
The craftsman’s response made me shudder internally.
“And yet,” I continued, getting myself back together. “Your machetes, despite the price, are higher quality than the ones I bought from other master craftsmen.”
“Master craftsmen?” Ogrun grunted into his beard. “What master craftsmen? There are no master craftsmen in this village.”
In my memory, he wasn’t quite this talkative the first time we met. The booze must have gone to his head and loosened his tongue.
“What about you?”
“Bah! A pitiful fool who never completed his studies,” the old man waved it off. “My late father... Now he was a Master Craftsman! He used to make blades for princes!”
With a proud belch, Ogrun got back to his mug.
I waited for him to finish it and sighed cartoonishly, saying with pity in my voice:
“Too bad.”
“What do you mean too bad?” the old man took the bait.
“That your old man isn’t around anymore. It would be cool to see a prince’s sword. Even just a peek!”
The old man squinted and sniffled thoughtfully as if he was making up his mind to do something.
“Ughh!” he waved a hand and, stumbling, got up off the bench. “Come with me!”
I didn’t make him say it twice. Quickly hopping over to the old man, I walked into the house after the stumbling, broad-shouldered blacksmith.
“Sit!” He pointed at a stool next to the forge and went into a different room.
For the next several minutes, I heard thundering, clanging and drunken cursing on the other side of the door. A little while later, the sound fell quiet and the door opened. Ogrun appeared in the doorway with a small bundle in his hands.
Walking up to the table, he set it on the tabletop and started unwrapping it.
“Here! You wanted a peek? Look as long as you like! You can even pick it up. Just mind you don’t cut yourself!”
Looking at the blade, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The thing lying on the table was none other than a veritable artifact of the ancients! The blade was one and a half times as long as my forearm. Perfectly straight. Razor-sharp cutting edge. Easy to wield. Very light. I delved greedily into the description.
― Spike short sword.
― Category: Simple.
― Damage +75.
― Restrictions: None.
― Durability – 115/145
“Ever seen anything like this before?” the smith asked in a self-satisfied tone. “This here is a genuine...”
“Treasure,” I interrupted, my eyes transfixed by the blade.
I was also feverishly imagining how it could be possible. Who was Ogrun’s father?
“Exactly,” the old man nodded, reaching for the sword. “My father’s final piece. He finished it right before he died...”
“Died?” I asked.
“Yes... I was still a young man. When he finished this blade, he was happy as a kiddo. He told my mom and me that he had finally managed to get all the materials. He had a gift ― he could tell good metal from bad just by looking at it. When he worked with a hammer ― it was a sight to behold. Not a single misplaced strike...”
The old man sighed sadly.
“How did he die?” I asked.
“He went to the Black Forest and he never came back. He said he found an interesting bog and was gathering some special iron there for this blade...”
“And you never went looking for him?”
“In the Black Forest?” the old man chuckled bitterly. “I can tell right away you’re not from around here. Only my father was brave enough to go poking his nose in there. He wasn’t just a blacksmith. He was also a renowned warrior... If he wanted to, he could have been not only chief, but prince. But he just wasn’t cut out for it. Metalworking was his true passion...”
Got it. Seemingly, his dad was an otherworlder like me.
Watching the old man gingerly wrap his father’s sword back up, I asked:
“Is it for sale?”
I was ready for the smith to start shouting at me, but he caught me by surprise. He answered calmly and affirmatively:
“Yes, but with one caveat. My father made me promise to uphold it.”
“I don’t get it.”
“He told me and mother before he left that, if he never came back, I could only sell this sword to a person capable of handling it.”
“What does that mean?”
“He said we would know when we saw. He also said this sword contains more power than you might think at first glance. Here, look...”
The old man unwrapped the blade again. He grasped the handle backhand and brought the blade down full force into the thick tabletop. The cutting edge sunk deep into the wood, nearly cutting the table in half.
“See?!” Ogrun said proudly. “And this is stone oak!”
I had to strain not to wince. That had just cost the sword nine points of durability. Now I knew what probably happened to the other points. The old man must have tried that trick a couple times before. I also could tell what Ogrun’s father meant. Locals couldn’t fully make use of all the features of items from our world. They also got crazy penalties.
“Wanna try?” the old man asked, extending me the sword and smirking behind his gray whiskers. “Just swing it how it should be swung.”
What do you mean “swing?” This thing can do seventy-five points of damage! This tabletop will be reduced to splinters.
“Sure, why not?” I answered with a smile, and jokingly asked: “What if I am able to handle your father’s sword?”
The old man laughed, slapping me on the shoulder with his big hand as he did. I had to pretend it hurt and slightly staggered.
“Good one, kid!” the old man said, wiping his tears with his sleeve.
“And yet?” I asked, rubbing my shoulder.
Crossing his powerful arms on his chest, Ogrun stared at me.
“Well, you got the money?”
Based on his jocular look, he was still mocking me.
I stroked the back of my head and said:
“Maybe I do. Depends on the price. How much you asking?”
Ogrun, pretending to think, stroked his beard. He rubbed his forehead and rolled his eyes back a few times. He chewed on his lip and finally, waving his hand as if chopping through the air, responded:
“Okay, why not?! I’d give it up for two hundred gold! But first you have to show me what you can do with it. Here!”
As he said that, he tilted his head toward his shoulder. The old man was clearly relishing my bewildered state. I then, doing my best to look disappointed and clumsy, asked:
“So you’re saying if I awaken the power of the blade right now, you’ll sell it to me for two hundred gold coins?”
“I give you my word!” the old man laughed and extended a hand to me.
“Deal!” I said.
Ogrun sensed that something was amiss the second I failed to wince at his handshake.
And what happened after that made him hiccup loudly.
Gripping the sword backhand, I slowly placed its edge against the tabletop and applied pressure. My strength plus the blade’s damage took their toll. Spike easily pierced through the tabletop like a needle through a silken dress, not losing a single point of durability. The hilt got stuck in the wood, bringing the sword to a stop.
I watched as the blacksmith sobered up in the space of an instant. Then he started gaping as I pulled the sword out of the thick tabletop just as easily.
“I believe I’ve done what you asked, esteemed master craftsman Ogrun!” I said with a smile and set out two hundred gold coins on the table.
