"Calm down, you fucking imbecile," Mike groans, his hands gripping his head.
I glance at him, then go right back to work.
"You've been at it for two whole days already!" He stumbles up from his chair, wobbling toward me.
I snort but don’t stop. The hammer keeps falling, metal ringing through the smithy—until a calloused hand grips mine, stopping the rhythm.
"Stop it! The damn shield’s fine as it is!"
"No... It. Is. Not." I growl, shoving him away.
He stumbles, barely catching himself on a table before he hits the ground.
I don’t care.
My focus is on the shield in front of me, the failure sitting on the workbench. I run my hands over it, mana flowing into the metal, searching for the flaw I know is there.
A minute passes in silence. Mike watches, arms crossed, scowling.
There it is.
Failure once again.
The hammer flares with mana as I bring it down. Shield cracks into two jagged pieces.
I just sigh once again, pick up the failure and turn back to the forge.
Okay. One more attempt, and then I should move to revising other things.
An arrowhead.
A dagger.
A curved blade.
And... uh...
Doesn’t matter. I still have a few days left.
...
The bell above the door jingles softly as I step inside, the scent of baked bread filling in the air. Behind the counter, Lana greets me with a familiar soft smile, though the shelves behind her are bare, not a single loaf left in sight.
"Good evening, hard worker," she says, her voice warm.
"Good evening to you too, Lana," I reply, returning her smile. My eyes flick to the empty shelves. "Already sold out?"
She chuckles.
"Oh, don’t worry, hun. I would never forget to leave one for you." She reaches under the counter, pulling out a loaf wrapped in cloth.
I nod in gratitude, placing nine coins on the counter—the price had increased again. More than last time. How much higher will it go?
As I pick up the bread to take a bite of the delicious creation out of wheat, water, and yeast, Lana swipes the coins into the front pocket of her dress, but I notice that there is no springiness in her movement, no playfulness that is usually present. Just a monotone movement.
I stop mid-bite, and blink. Confused. I meet her gaze, though I’m not sure what I’m looking for.
"Is everything okay?" I say, not breaking eye contact.
She smiles again, softer this time, but still somehow wrong.
"Nothing for you to worry about, sweetie."
I could leave it at that. No one would fault me for accepting her words and moving on. I’ve asked, fulfilled the social obligation. There’s no reason to press further.
And yet—I don’t.
Not after I learned how much those small interactions can be worth to some people.
"Lana." I set the bread back down on the counter. "What’s wrong?"
A beat of silence passes. Then another. Then a dozen more. Something flickers in her eyes, and I see it—a sheen of unshed tears catching the dim lantern light.
"Oh, love," she breathes, her lips curling into a wide smile.
Lana steps around the counter and pulls me into a hug. Awkwardly, I return the embrace, wrapping my arms around the plump woman who barely reaches my shoulders. For several long moments, we stand there, silent, as she strokes my back.
She steps away and looks up at me with warmth. Her hand moves up to my face, correcting my hair, moving some of them to the sides after which he licks her thumb and corrects my eyebrows. The same way Mom did when I was young.
"How you remind me of my Bobby..." she whispers, patting my arms.
I hesitate. If I recall correctly, Bobby is—was—her son.
She gazes at me a moment longer before shifting, busying herself by straightening the front of my coat.
"I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be making bread," she admits, voice quieter now. "Things are changing. And not for the better."
The next minute I quietly listen and nod to the explanation.
The magnitude of rebellion in the East and its consequences finally takes form. The whole Empire has been dependent on the stable wheat supply coming from there, and now that it has been cut so suddenly things are starting to fall apart.
Big and powerful ‘vultures’ have been buying out all of the available supply, which caused the price to rise these past few months. Those in power tried to keep the price stable for some time, trying to suppress the uprising in the East quickly to return to normal. Things didn’t return to normal and the rebellion is still ongoing.
But now that the autumn is close, which means the last batches of wheat are to be gathered soon. And the long winter will start after that, only worsening the situation. The number of monsters in the wild has increased, making the gathering of crops more dangerous. Farmers require protection, but the army can’t provide much as its resources are already stretched thin because of the rebellion, Light Border, and now this.
The city lord has taken full control of the wheat supply in Rockwall City, And by his order wheat can be bought and sold only by the newly appointed ‘Supply Minister’ and his office. All for the security and prosperity of the city. And this new office has the sole discretion on who will get wheat and at what price if they even get it in the first place.
Lana heard a rumor, that they are planning to make an auction every few days, where the highest bidder gets the wheat. No one knows yet who will be invited to this auction, and if they will be allowed to resell the wheat.
There have also been rumors that vultures, nobles, and city lords may be all working together to form an empire-wide monopoly.
After explaining everything Lana looked tired and somewhat resigned, though she tried to dismiss the whole thing as being just a rumor and gossip.
That’s too elaborate to be just a rumor.
Bread is the staple food of not just the poor, but the whole continent.
What will people do if bread becomes just too expensive?
...
Dozens of hard wooden chairs stand near the wall, with people occupying them, and one of them is me. All of us are awaiting the same thing. We aren’t even the first batch today who will be taking the evaluation, nor are we the last. It’s not even the first day that this has been going on, and that will continue for at least another week based on what I’ve heard.
It was quite shocking to learn that at least five hundred smiths have been in this city awaiting the same thing I did. I’ve got no idea how I encountered only a few of them during the last four months. What I assume could’ve happened is that I just arrived very early and the majority of the smiths joined within these past few weeks, while I’ve been away from the army smithy, completing the adventurer quests and learning from Mike.
What has been even more interesting is that about a third of the people are here for re-evaluation, which explains why I’ve seen some people in their late thirties and forties.
Another minute passes as I try my best not to look at the people who will be taking the exam with me, especially the lanky creature sitting several seats away from me.
There are hundreds of smiths attending, and I somehow end up in the same batch as the damn goblin thief. What are the odds? What was his name?... Shit. Fuck it. Don’t care. Thieving goblin he stays.
Another minute goes by as I continue staring at the wall in front of me while reviewing the content of all the books I’ve read over the years. No one even said what exactly will happen during the evaluation. I asked deputy Terbal for at least some general advice several times, but the only thing he said was to get a good rest beforehand.
As if anyone could do that.
A sigh escaped me.
I feel vulnerable, weak, and exposed. Maybe that’s related to the fact that they took my swords when I entered the building. Light and Heavy have been on me more often than not. And it somehow felt wrong just giving them away at the reception. I understand the security concerns, but it doesn’t make me feel better. The closest description of what I feel right now would be as if I’m about to join a battle while fully nude. Not the best feeling in the world whatever way you look at it.
Several more minutes pass as I do my best to stir my thoughts, review everything again. Who know what exactly they will ask-
The main doors open sharply and a person in a smithing apron walks out with a stack of papers in his hands. He flips the paper, reads it in apparent boredom, and announces a name.
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One of the people sitting rises up.
The smith in the apron writes something on the paper in his hand.
Another name is announced and one more person rises.
One after another names are announced until everyone except me rises.
A long second passes as my heart starts beating rapidly in my chest.
Why wasn’t my name called?
Did I mess something up?
Am I in the wrong batch?
Was there a mistake?
Is this some kind of revenge?
Was this a-
"Harv Livar."
A second passes as I blink and my unsteady legs move, raising me. All the previous thoughts are forgotten as I try my best to take control of my shaking limbs.
The smith looks over all of us with bored disinterest once again and nods.
"Follow." he states shortly and starts walking back from where he came from.
We follow him in an incoherent line.
What meets us inside is a huge room with several dozen work tables all around it. Each of the tables has a set of hammers, pliers, an anvil, and a wide assortment of tools. We walk further into the room, passing the tables until we reach the other end. A wide table stands on a podium with an assortment of food and drinks, and sitting behind the table on huge chairs are the people who more than likely will be judging us.
The smith in the apron walks to the podium and turns back to us.
"Present before you are the Evaluators, master Smiths, unparalleled Craftsmen, leaders in their fields, and people generous enough to provide a window of their valuable time to evaluate if you are worthy of the title of a Smith."
The smith's palm rises and points at the people behind the table one by one.
"Jeniffer Ostmann, representative of the Merchant Guild."
A beautiful blonde lady with cold eyes in a blue suit nods slightly.
"Frederick Mahadam, representative of the Smith Guild."
A wide smith, with a bushy beard, friendly smile, and brightly shining eyes that look at us with interest.
"Kvahal Branderlock, the Head Smith of the Rockwall Army."
The fat, hairy shit just grunts. Enough said.
"Tiganel Planimor, senior enchanter of the Blue Star Consortium."
A lanky man with thin metal glasses on his nose with very sharp eyes doesn’t even react to the introduction and just studies us all in absolute silence.
"Yahijav Levkum-Kaz, expert of the Levkum-Kaz clan."
A man in his early thirties, with slightly darker skin color, and in loose clothes smiles at us, puts his palm on his chest, and bows slightly. Everyone notices a wide assortment of gold rings with large gems covering his fingers. I have a feeling that each of them is enchanted, because the enchanter in glasses, left from him, keeps glancing at them with very hungry eyes.
Finally, the smith’s palm points to the person in the middle.
"Timedus Valentine, senior Army Smith from the Capital, representative of the Smith Guild Council, and the head Evaluator."
The cold eyes of this clean-shaven man in a military uniform travel over each of us, as if categorizing us into groups, but into which one exactly and based on what is hard to say.
Timedus studies us as his finger continues to drum against the table for several long seconds. He shifts slightly in his chair and starts talking.
"There is a reason it’s called an evaluation and not a test or exam." he starts and his cold and authoritative voice silences everyone.
"Tests have specific answers. Exams have defined criteria and requirements. But there is no such thing for us, creators. Our craft is a combination of art and science, power and grace, extremes so far apart that they can be called different concepts altogether. And yet it’s their combination that moves the world ahead. And today you will show if you are worthy of bearing the title of a creator and smith."
Just a few moments later the smith that brought us here, guides everyone to the tables.
One by one everyone gets their table.
I quietly place my personal tools which I brought with me on the table as the smith continues to guide the others.
Absolute silence falls upon the room.
I look at the tools, then the anvil, and then at the other people.
All of us stand and await what is to come.
I think this is the moment where I should pray to some god...
...
"Is there anything you want to add?" says Timedus while inspecting the shiny dagger in his hand.
The question was addressed to the young man before who is deathly pale. He doesn’t utter a sound and just shakes his head in response.
Timedus nods, places the dagger back on the table and starts writing something on the papers in front of him.
"You can take it." he said without even looking up from the documents in front of him.
The dagger’s creator walks to the podium while nearly tripping over the steps, picks the dagger up, and presses it to his chest tightly with his shaking hands. The young man bows and walks away from the podium to the left with all others who have been evaluated.
Everyone was given the same task.
Create something that you would take with you into battle.
We were given a choice to either make everything from zero, or use provided templates.
Few made armor. Several made shields. But the majority just ended up making swords and daggers. Most of them looked quite shabby, and even if they contained pathways, they didn’t look promising or battle-ready. I can’t be sure as I didn’t examine them personally but they didn’t inspire confidence because-
"Harv Livar." announced the head evaluator and interrupted my thoughts.
I stop breathing as all the attention turns to me. I try to breathe, but my lungs refuse to move as if something heavy was placed upon my chest. The struggle continues for a few seconds until I swallow my saliva and the pressure disappears, allowing the precious air to enter me. My legs start moving, carrying me to the podium and I tenderly place my creations in front of Timedus.
His eyes narrow as he starts inspecting the first item, a standard issued army sword. The evaluators to the left and right of him turn their heads slightly in the direction of the sword, notifying that they would also like to examine it, which would happen only after the head evaluator is done.
They all await their turn in absolute silence.
I can see as the evaluator's mana slowly crawls across the sword, inspecting it. Timedus nods, passes my sword, writes something on the paper, and moves to the next item, a Heater shield. He inspects it once again with mana but puts it back on the table just a few moments later, after which something more is added to the paper.
Finally, he moves to the last item, or items to be more precise. He inspects the three throwing blades, which can be used as daggers, with amusement and snorts as a tiny smile spreads across his face.
"Adding pathways is not a universal solution to every problem. They compromise the structural integrity." he states.
Several long seconds pass until I realize that his eyes are on me and he expects a response.
"Ah. Well. But with pathways, they’re more versatile." I responded hastily.
"In what way?" asks the blonde lady to the left as she inspects the sword without even looking at me.
I cough to clear my throat and continue.
"What I mean is, that in case the wielder has unique mana or special skills, they can better utilize them if the weapons and tools don’t hinder them."
"Such as? Give an example." continues the lady.
"Uh. If the user has a poison or fire attribute they can inflict more damage using throwing weapons that will carry over their mana properties. But there are also the cases when-"
"What about the shield pathways?" the blonde interrupts me.
She didn’t inspect it yet but somehow already knows that the shield has them.
I blink and respond.
"If the wielder has enough mana and skills in mana manipulation, they can utilize the pathways to add a mana layer which will dampen the impact and absorb the vibration, tensile and compressive stress, decreasing the wear-out and lengthening the shield’s lifespan. Without the pathways the wielder would be fully dependent on material hardness to keep them alive."
She nods and writes something on her paper, not once even looking in my direction.
"And you believe that most people have enough mana to constantly maintain such control?" adds the thin man in glasses.
"Yes and no. It-"
"So which is it?" he injects before I could elaborate.
I swallow my saliva once again and continue.
"You don’t have to keep it up all the time, battles aren’t unending." I replied. "You rest and restore mana between the engagements. At least that’s what I would do."
"And you have enough combat experience to claim that?" asks the man in glasses with his eyes narrowing.
I pause, not sure what to answer. I can’t explain that I was taught that in the clan...
"I was taught by my dad, an adventurer. Did some adventuring and dungeon diving myself." I reply with the truth, but not the full truth.
The evaluators write something on their papers once again.
"The shield is of noticeably lower quality compared to your other creations," remarks the broad smith with a thick, bushy beard. His tone is firm but not unkind, his sharp eyes studying the piece before him. He strokes his beard thoughtfully before continuing, "Do you believe the lack of time was the cause? Perhaps you stretched yourself too thin, trying to craft too many things at once?"
"No." I say, lowering my eyes. "The cause is my lack of skills. I started learning how to make shields only a couple of months ago. And that’s how much I can-"
"So you know how to make high quality pathways, but not a decent shield?" Timedus interrupts me. "Who was the Smith who taught you?"
Why do they keep interrupting me?
I pause trying to think if I should answer that.
I really don’t want to.
"Answer the question." demand the man.
I raised my head, meeting their gazes and replied simply.
"Sivero Lampros."
Silence falls as all of the Evaluators turn to me at once. I can practically feel their eyes stripping me naked and re-assessing me in a new light.
So I ended up using the teacher's name... And here I thought I could prove myself with skills alone. But I ended up like everyone else, using connections and practicing nepotism.
"The Sword Hermit?" asks the blonde with renewed interest as her eyes lock onto me.
I simply nod.
Several more seconds of silence pass.
"I heard about your teacher." says the foreigner covered in rings who had been silent the whole time. "Is it true that he makes nothing but swords?"
I cough and respond.
"Uh. Well. He makes other things, sometimes at least. But it’s mostly swords, yes."
"Can I look at your tools?" says the thin man in glasses as his eyes narrow in suspicion.
That didn’t sound like a request...
I walk up to the podium, take the tools from my hip and place them before the man.
He inspects them for just a few seconds, but his face morphs into a grimace of confusion.
"Creation-bound tools? You even added pathways to them! Why would you do that?" the enchanter says, turning back to me with a look of bafflement as if I publicly insulted his grandmother.
"Um. There were... reasons." I say, trying my best not to look at the hairy dwarf.
Silence falls upon the room once again.
Everyone before me was only asked two or three general questions. Yet, I've been standing here for what feels like three times as long, answering far more. That’s a good thing... right?
"You had only two hours. You could have focused on refining the sword and shield, making them better. So why did you choose to craft throwing blades as well?" Timedus asks, his finger tapping rhythmically against the table.
I pause and try to construct the response in my head before voicing it.
"The task was vague, and what kind of battle would occur was not specified. Would it be on the streets of a city, deep in a forest, dungeon, or in the sea on a ship? Would it be against monsters, people, or demons was also not mentioned. In the end, I decided to focus on what could be useful in most scenarios, not just to me, but also to my theoretical allies."
The bushy beard smith nods in approval as a few others also write something on their papers.
"What do you think of mithril?" the foreigner asks with apparent interest.
Before I was able to stop it, a grimace appeared on my face. Which was noticed, and for some reason caused the evaluator's eyes to grow wider.
"It’s very hard."
"Continue." motions the foreigner, with his hand while a smile grows upon his face. "No need for a book answer. Provide your personal experience and observation, it seems like you have some."
Shit. What do I even say?
I try to formulate an answer in my head before voicing it, but words just do not form.
Fuck it.
I take a deeper breath.
"Extremely hard," I begin, trying to recall every challenge I’ve faced with it. "Unreasonably difficult to work with, requiring immense effort and time to shape. It takes significant energy just to heat it to the correct temperature, without going over the critical point, and it loses that heat far too quickly. You have to maintain a sterile vacuum with a protective mana layer around it to prevent impurities from seeping in while it’s hot. And if you slip up—even for a second—you have to stop and remove every single impurity before you can continue, or else—" I cut myself off, realizing that several of the evaluators are nodding in quiet approval, small smiles forming on their faces.
They are agreeing?
Do they agree with me?
Does that mean I did good, right?
"Were you able to successfully create anything so far?" asks the foreigner.
"... No. Nothing substantial. Just a lump of misshaped mithril... The only thing I was able to accomplish was creating pathways in a mithril sword, but nothing more." I say with regret looking down at the floor, not to mention that it took several months.
A few seconds of silence pass until I return my eyes to the evaluators and notice the new reaction.
The ring-covered foreigner's smile somehow has grown even wider.
The blonde looks at me with an even hungrier stare.
The eyes of the man in glasses are wide open with disturbing emotion on his face.
The bushy-bearded smith just nods.
The fat shit, who has been silent the whole time, stares at me.
"Do you have proof of your claim? Be aware that lying would result in grave consequences." inquired with cold voice Timedus.
"What?...Of which claim?" comes barely audible.
"That you made pathways in a mithril sword." continued Timedus.
I blink several times trying to process what the issue is.
A few minutes later my swords were brought from the reception.
The evaluators start inspecting Light with apparent curiosity.
While I stand in silence and process their reaction several things become apparent.
Was the pathway more important than the creation?
I’ve been so fixated on my failures and mistakes that I’ve not been appreciating what I’ve achieved so far.
How long I’ve been questioned during evaluation was not enough.
The fact that I tinkered with legendary mithril was not enough.
Their reaction to the pathways in Light was not enough.
And only now, after you take them all together do things fall into place.
Mentor Silvero said that several times, but it all fell on deaf ears.
I’m not a useless kid anymore.
I’m a skilled smith.