The older man’s mana passes through each of my limbs—every muscle, tendon, and bone. Through each nerve, vein, and cell. I feel exposed, like he’s peeling back my skin and seeing straight through me. Meanwhile, the dilettante healer behind him keeps glaring at me like I personally insulted his ancestors.

  Fuck you, cunt. If you were even a quarter as good as you think you are, I wouldn’t have asked for the head healer. And I wouldn’t have had to pay triple the rate.

  The older healer frowns, pauses, and runs another series of probes, his mana sinking deeper. He makes me move my arms, roll my shoulders, take deep breaths. His eyes linger on my scars and calluses—reminders of lessons learned back when my [Force Aegis] wasn’t good enough.

  A minute later, he sighs, sits down, and starts writing on a piece of paper.

  "You’re generally healthy. Just extremely exhausted," he says, leveling me with a disapproving stare. "You, young man, need to take better care of yourself. I can tell you’re skilled with mana manipulation and body reinforcement, but the ability you use to aid healing—it’s not real healing. It only accelerates your body's natural recovery and does not solve the underlying issue."

  I blink. No shit. If it was real healing, I wouldn’t need to visit a damn healer.

  "Sir, that doesn’t explain what happened to me."

  The healer leans back in his chair.

  "Your mana nodes are strained from overuse. You haven’t given them enough time to heal properly. Every part of the body requires rest—the flesh and the mind. Exercise must be followed by recovery. That’s how we grow stronger. You, young man, have not done that. You’ve pushed yourself further than is safe."

  I may have overdone it with preparation for the Evaluation which was followed by a week of daily dives. But still...

  "You’re telling me that the sudden episode—the ringing in my head, the full-body cramp—that all happened because I’m just... tired?"

  "No," he says simply. "The body and mind are connected. Every organ affects the others. What happened may have been a cascading effect—your body deteriorating, your mana overstrained, and your mind following suit. A downward spiral. This will be a good lesson for you."

  This can’t be it.

  "You’re sure there’s nothing else that could’ve caused this?"

  He smiles slightly, shaking his head.

  "You youngsters, always making elephants out of flies... You’re not cursed. You’re not afflicted with Vampirism, Lycanthropy, or anything similar—I checked. That’s the good news."

  There must be something. Something new. Something I changed. I frown, replaying the last few weeks in my head, searching for anything different, anything unexpected—

  I freeze.

  Okay.

  There was one thing.

  "Uh... Sir?"

  "Yes?"

  "Could this have been caused by... an active lifestyle?"

  "That’s exactly what I’ve been saying this whole time. Too much action, in fact."

  "No. Uh. I mean... an active... intimate... lifestyle..."

  I can feel my face and ears heating up.

  The healer stares at me for a moment.

  Then he barks with laughter.

  The dilettante with a thin mustache at least has the decency to look away.

  "Ah, the passion of youth!" he exclaims, slapping his knee. "You’ve no idea how many girls I bedded in my prime! The number of times I danced the horizontal tango! Ha! What a time it was!"

  I stay silent.

  He coughs, composing himself. "I didn’t detect any venereal diseases, but I highly recommend using protection in the future. And avoid the red-light district, however ‘safe’ their patrons claim to be. Not everything can be cured. And most of it is quite painful." He gives me a pointed look.

  I try to maintain a neutral expression, but my face is betraying me. How red is it right now?

  The healer scribbles the last notes on his paper and hands it to me.

  "Take this to the pharmacy. A valerian extract, mixed with other relaxing herbs—it’ll help with muscle tension and pain. Take it once a day after a meal. And no physical stress for at least a week. Walk. Enjoy nature. Find a relaxing hobby. Eat well, drink plenty."

  I take the paper, thank him, and head downstairs to the pharmacy.

  There, I pick up the prescribed medicine—but I also ask for sleeping pills. Just to be safe.

  Maybe I genuinely do need to rest. The dark tunnels have been getting to me.

  Still...

  Mentor always said, "The best rest is a change of work."

  The army orc quest is in a week. That should be enough time to recover. And a bit of camping in the woods might help clear out whatever’s left.

  I glance at the medicine packet.

  Might as well start the treatment now. No point in delaying it.

  But first—food.

  Something from the street stalls. Fried meat, covered in spicy sauce. That’ll do.

  ...

  "Good morning, hard worker," says Lana, already at the counter, moving freshly baked loaves onto display like she’s orchestrating a delicious little symphony.

  "Good morning, Lana," I say, and can’t help but smile as I make my way down the stairs.

  Without a word from me, she picks out the crunchiest-looking loaf—golden brown and piping hot—and places it on the counter beside me. I just give her a nod and slide a silver coin back across the surface, smile still tugging at the corners of my lips.

  I bring the bread close and breathe in. The scent—yeasty, earthy, just the faintest hint of sweetness—fills my lungs and slows my thoughts. Eyes closed, I let it wash over me. Then I press the loaf to my ear and tear a chunk off. Crunch. The satisfying sound echoes just right. Steam curls out from the broken surface, and I pop the piece into my mouth, chewing slowly. Each crunch, each soft center—it’s perfect.

  "Someone’s in a good mood!" Lana says with a cheer.

  I glance at her, confused. "Sorry?"

  She finishes covering the rest of the bread with a cloth, then turns, wiping her hands on her apron.

  "You’re smiling. And your shoulders aren’t up around your ears for once. Something good happen to you, sugar?"

  "Nothing much." I shrug, still chewing. "Just slept well today."

  "Well, that’s good. Very good." She walks over and brushes a few crumbs from my shirt like she’s done it many times before. "You’ve looked like a ghost this past week. Don’t let life grind you down, love. It all comes and goes."

  I didn't say anything at first. Just step forward and wrap her in a warm hug.

  Lana’s been the only one in this city to show me kindness since day one. A steady warmth in a world that often feels like it's made of sharp corners.

  "Thanks, Lana," I whisper, and she pats my back like a mother hen.

  "Oh! By the way," she suddenly jolts upright, digging into her apron. She pulls out a small metal card, etched with fine script and a bold number. "A man from the Communication Guild dropped this off earlier. Said something about a scheduled call from the capital tomorrow. Wanted you to confirm if you’ll take it."

  I take the card and blink. "Capital?... Oh. That’s from my parents. That’s good! I wanted to call them anyway and share the news."

  She nods, satisfied. "Then don’t keep them waiting, yeah?"

  After a final goodbye, I step out onto the street. The bakery door clicks shut behind me as I look up into the sky—blue, vast, warm with sunlight. The breeze is just light enough to carry the smell of baking bread even out here.

  There’s still so much to do. But for once... it doesn’t feel as if it is a challenge.

  ...

  "Yeah, sorry about that. So in the end, it’s just you, me, and Joe," Olev says, offering a wry smile.

  "No problem at all, man," I reply, raising a thumb and nodding. "But are you sure you still want to go? If your uncle thinks it’s too dangerous for Edd..."

  "Oh, no worries there. I passed the academy graduation exam with flying colors, so a week in the forest will be nothing special. Ha! I’ve seen things—things you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy."

  He shakes his head, his grin faltering as a shadow crosses his face.

  "Those sadistic teachers, man... I get that they were just trying to prepare us, but some of the stuff they put us through... It was just too thorough, too..." Olev sighs, rubbing his temples. "Anyway, it’s not about me. Uncle’s just worried about Edd. He couldn’t pass the academy selection because of his low mana pool. A Tier 2 may not be enough for this."

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  "Hey," Joe interjects, momentarily pausing his meal.

  "Oh, shut up, Joe. Archers like you don’t need that much mana, to begin with. Tier 2 for a ranged adventurer is more than enough. But for a frontline warrior like me, Edd, or Harv? It’s just asking to get hurt."

  Joe grumbles but returns to his food, stuffing another bite into his mouth.

  "Edd knows how to wield a sword, and he can use mana—I taught him everything I know—but he’s not... you know... that good. And he refuses to switch to using ranged weapons. He’s stubborn, wants to be like me and Uncle, right in the thick of battle." Olev hesitates, his voice dropping slightly. "And Uncle worries a lot... Edd and I are the only family uncle has left."

  I nod in understanding, letting the words settle between us. Then, after a brief pause, I finally ask the question that’s been gnawing at me since the start of this conversation.

  "What happened to Vana that she... can’t deal with orcs?"

  Olev’s lips press into a thin line. He takes a moment before answering.

  "It’s not as bad as you think," he starts. "I mean, she can deal with trolls—maybe because they’re gray, not green. And goblins... well, they’re small and lanky, so she manages. But something about the combination of orc tusks, muscles, and that dark green color... It triggers bad memories. Her old team was attacked by orcs on a particularly dark night, and... some of them didn’t make it."

  He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck before continuing.

  "That’s why we never take long quests. Half a day at most—start in the morning, back before dark. You’ve probably noticed she never sits on the forest floor, never even rests against a tree. I don’t know why she can handle dungeon darkness but not the night outside. Maybe it’s the moonlight, maybe it’s the open space... I don’t know, and I don’t want to pry. She’ll tell me when she’s ready."

  Before I even realize it, my hand moves on its own, giving Olev a firm pat on the back.

  And then, without thinking, words spill from my mouth—words that don’t entirely feel like mine.

  "It’s okay, man. It’ll be fine. We will be fine. We’ll all make it."

  Olev’s eyes widen, just for a second. Then his smile returns, more genuine this time. He nods.

  "Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

  We raise our cups in a silent toast to our upcoming mission, to our team’s success. I down my drink, letting the crisp taste of apple juice wash over my tongue. Not like anyone needs to know that part—not even my teammates.

  We spend another hour discussing the quest details—what we need to bring, where we’ll meet, the terrain we’ll be facing.

  Eventually, I say my goodbyes and step out of the tavern. For the first time, I actually glanced up at the sign swinging gently above the entrance.

  Old Boar.

  Strange name. But somehow... it feels homely.

  I let out a small chuckle, shaking my head. Doesn’t matter.

  I smile to myself and start walking toward the Smith Guild.

  There’s still so much to do today, before the morning call with Mom and Dad tomorrow.

  ...

  "Are you alright, lad? You seem a bit loopy," Mike asks, eyeing me with a mixture of confusion and skepticism while weighing my offer.

  "Yep. It’s been a somewhat long day, but in general, I’m fine," I answer, smiling faintly. "So, what do you say?"

  He narrows his eyes at me, clearly not convinced. I just widen my smile, leaning into the moment like someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.

  "Hmph," he grunts, folding his arms.

  "Five gold a month," I repeat casually, "for a small corner and access to the forge and anvil. Sounds fair."

  "And what if I need it while you’re busy fiddling with one of your weird-ass prototypes?" he retorts. "Or working on a personal order?"

  I shrug. "We make a schedule. I only use the forge half the day, with advance notice. Simple."

  His frown deepens, arms still crossed.

  "Alright," I pressed on, "five hours a day, including cleanup time. I notify you at least the night before, and you’ve got full right to say no if something’s already booked. If that happens, I get to roll those hours into the next day. I keep my stuff in my little corner, and I pay up front for the whole month."

  I stretch out my hand.

  Mike stares at it for a second, then slowly shakes it with a grunt that sounds more like reluctant acceptance than enthusiasm.

  "Is tomorrow afternoon okay?" I ask, still holding his hand.

  He narrows his eyes again. "Already? Did you finish the legal part already?"

  "Oh yeah," I say, still grinning like an idiot. "Got my temporary permit, paid all the fees. I’m officially Rockwall Smith Harv Livar now. They already scribbled my name into the guild register. All that’s left is giving them an address for complaints if any of my shit falls apart."

  We trade a few more lines, all of them circling around terms and petty technicalities. After a few minutes, I hand over the five gold coins, which vanish into Mike’s apron with practiced ease. I step outside of the smithy, which is partially mine.

  Not a full smithy, just a small corner.

  But it’s a start.

  My own place to work. My place. My name in the books.

  Good enough for now.

  What’s up with Mike today, though? Grumpier than usual. Eh—doesn’t matter.

  There’s still so much to do.

  A call in the morning, then some snooping around the market to see what competitors are selling.

  Things are moving.

  And life...? Life isn’t that bad after all.

  ...

  I sit quietly in a small room, the walls and floor covered in smooth white-purple marble. The polished surface reflects the soft glow of the enchanted mirror in front of me, its black screen eerily still.

  Seconds pass. Slow, heavy, stretching longer than they should.

  Then, finally, the mirror hums to life. A low buzzing fills the room as colors flicker across the surface, shifting erratically before settling into familiar patterns.

  I take a deep breath, straighten my shirt one last time, and run a quick hand over my hair. No stray strands, no wrinkles—good.

  Then, the static fades, and an image forms.

  A wide smile breaks onto my face as Mom, Dad, Kae, and Lea all appear.

  "Hey, everyone." I lift a hand, waving.

  The mirror shifts again, and their faces light up the second they see me.

  "Hello!!" Kae practically jumps forward, eyes shining with excitement.

  A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it.

  "Hello to you too!" I reply, matching her energy.

  Mom and Dad chuckle, the warmth of their smiles making the room feel a little less cold.

  "How are you, my boy? Is everything alright? Are you taking care of yourself? Eating well?" Mom’s voice carries that familiar tone of concern, one I’ve heard many times before.

  I nod, still grinning. "I’m okay, Mom. Everything’s okay."

  "Are you sure?" Her eyebrows lift, just slightly.

  "Yes, Mom. I’m fine."

  She studies me for another second, but Dad speaks up before she can press further.

  "Any news on when the Evaluation takes place?" His tone is calm, but there’s an edge of anticipation in his voice.

  "Oh! Yeah. It actually already happened." I pause. "I am officially a smith. Got a... well, a C-Rank."

  Mom’s smile widens instantly. "That’s great! That’s very good news!"

  "That means you’re coming back?" Lea asks quietly, tilting her head.

  "Uh... not yet." I froze. "I’m still waiting for the official badge. That might take some time. Until then, I’ll be working at a smithy here."

  We talk.

  We talk about everything and nothing—small things, everyday happenings, the kind of news that doesn’t really matter but still feels important. It’s easy. Familiar. The warmth of home, even so far away.

  Maybe we should do this more often.

  Once a month is too rare. The prices for video slots aren’t cheap, but I’ve saved enough to afford them.

  Then again... if I moved back to the Capital, we wouldn’t have this issue at all.

  ...

  The main streets are bustling, alive with the usual morning chaos. Merchants call out their wares, carts rattle over uneven cobblestones, and the scent of street food mingles with the ever-present tang of sweat.

  I weave through the crowd as my eyes study everything.

  All around me, armored adventurers and well-dressed merchants stroll with confidence, their conversations filled with exaggerated tales of battles or the latest financial achievements. The contrast is stark—polished plate next to velvet robes, battle-hardened warriors walking alongside fatties wobbling from side to side.

  I slow my pace as I reach a particular storefront—the one with the most foot traffic.

  The display outside is impressive, a deliberate arrangement meant to lure in anyone with more gold than sense. Swords, axes, maces, all polished to a mirror shine under the sun. I step closer, scanning each piece, my eyes lingering on the craftsmanship—or lack thereof.

  A slight shake of my head.

  The prices don’t make sense.

  A simple sword—a plain, uninspired piece with no esthetic significance, no apparent enhancements—is a staggering ten gold.

  Ten. Gold.

  I suppress the urge to snort.

  I want to inspect it, to see what kind of iron was used, to check if the blade has mana pathways, if it’s even properly balanced. But that won’t happen. No way I'm drawing attention to myself. I'm just a passerby here, no one special. Just someone checking prices.

  My mind flickers back to that drunk noble from the tavern. He bragged about paying twenty gold for my blade.

  Should I sell at that price?

  ...Hm.

  I glance lower. The daggers and throwing knives tell a different story—only a few gold each. Much cheaper.

  Strange.

  They take just as much skill to craft, sometimes more, depending on the balance and weight distribution. Is it about the perception of danger? Big sword strong, small sword weak?

  Hm.

  I push open the door and step inside, into the store filled with loud discussions and arguments.

  The scent of hot iron and oiled leather fills my lungs. Racks of armor line the walls—nothing enchanted, nothing extraordinary. The prices vary wildly. A simple chest piece goes for five gold, while a full set, detailed with intricate engravings, demands a hundred.

  I pause, considering.

  Making a full suit of armor takes time. Too much time. The sheer number of components—the plates, the rivets, the countless adjustments for fit—it’s tedious, exhausting work. Maybe if you mass-produce in standardized sizes, there’d be some money to be made.

  But otherwise?

  Swords are the better option. Faster to forge, easier to sell.

  ...Hm.

  I turn, and my breath catches.

  Across the room, a familiar face.

  His eyes are locked onto the anvil, hammer swinging in controlled rhythm. Every strike is precise, every movement deliberate. The goblin—he’s completely lost in his craft.

  One of the shop employees steps up, murmuring something to him.

  A moment later, the two of them disappear deeper into the building.

  So, he found work. And not just anywhere—here.

  Good for him.

  I linger for a moment longer, then step back out into the street.

  The sun has somehow grown brighter now, the crowds thicker.

  ...Hm.

  You know what?

  I glance back at the storefront, at the overpriced steel gleaming in the window.

  I think I can charge at least as much as this place does.

  Maybe even more.

  ...

  "Good morning, handsome."

  A small smile tugs at my lips.

  "Good morning, Tara." The smile grows as my eyes adjust to the morning light.

  She turns from the mirror, eyes narrowing.

  "That’s all? Nothing else to add?" Hands on her hips, mock-offended.

  I chuckle. "Would you want me to?"

  She sighs, turning back to her reflection, carefully applying her makeup.

  "I like the silent, brooding types, but a girl sometimes wants to be appreciated too."

  Hm. Alright. I can work with that.

  "Your smile is as bright as the sun?" I try hesitantly, stretching as I sit up. "Your eyes are like an ocean of... uh... no, wait. They’re as deep as... uh..."

  She lets out a long, suffering sigh. "Just stay silent. You look more handsome that way."

  I laugh, shaking my head as I hunt for my clothes. "Already heading to work?"

  "Yeah, my boss is an ass as always. Who knew a Senior Alchemist would be so picky about time, precision, and not being late?" She chuckles darkly.

  I pull my shirt over my head, glancing back at her. Tara hums a tune as she finishes getting ready, her hips moving in rhythm. My gaze follows the curve of her back, the way her bare skin catches the morning light, the playful sway of her hips, the thin strips of fabric teasing more than they cover.

  "Like what you see?" She smirks, catching my stare in the mirror.

  I just grin and give her a thumbs-up.

  She frowns.

  I mime zipping my lips and throwing away the key.

  Another sigh, another shake of her head.

  I lean back, content to enjoy the view, but as always, my mind drifts. The quiet moments never last. My thoughts twist, turn dark. Before I even realize it, the question slips out.

  "Ever regret it?"

  She pauses. "What?"

  "Becoming an alchemist’s assistant."

  Her hands still. She tilts her head, considering.

  "There are days I wonder if I made a mistake leaving school early. Maybe I should’ve stuck it out, become a full-fledged alchemist instead of an assistant. I might still try again in a few years, once I’ve saved up enough." She straightens, shoulders squared. "But the job itself? Love every moment of it."

  She puffs out her chest, proud.

  I nod, fastening my coat. "I see."

  Her eyes flick to me in the mirror. "What about you? Any regrets?"

  I hesitate.

  Tara stands, moving to the wardrobe. I mull over my answer.

  "Not sure. Maybe. Back then... I didn’t have much of a choice. Smithing was kind of forced on me. But now? It’s the only thing I know. Everything else feels like either too much effort or some obscure trade that’d take years to learn. And I’m not bad at smithing. At least, I think I’m not." I shrug. "Can’t do much else anyway."

  She spins around, hands on her hips, with a pink bra she put on just a moment ago while the assets within them bounce because of the sudden moment.

  "Only thing you know? Can’t do much else?" She raises an eyebrow. "Aren’t you a C-Rank adventurer? In a team with Olev?"

  I blink. "Well, yeah..."

  "And you’re about to head out on a quest to kill giant green orcs, right?"

  "...Yes?"

  "And smithing is the only thing you know?"

  I meet her gaze.

  "Okay, fine. Let me rephrase. The only thing I know how to do that doesn’t involve risking my life and getting drenched in blood every time." I gesture broadly.

  She rolls her eyes, finally slipping into a cream-colored dress adorned with alchemic symbols along the hem and cuffs. With a twirl, she smirks.

  "Like it?"

  I pause, debating my words. Eventually, I let them flow.

  "You look very... Alchemically? Uh, no, Alchemisty?"

  She deflates, muttering under her breath as she heads for the door. "Why do I even bother?"

  I grin, following her outside.

  The city is already alive—merchants shouting, carts rolling, workers hurrying to their jobs.

  Tara leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. "See you later, handsome."

  I wave as she disappears into the crowd.

  My hand drops, and my thoughts shift.

  The quest is two days away. A week out in the wilds. I won’t be around.

  What do I need to handle before then?

  I think there was something important.

  Hm.

  Eh. Doesn’t matter.

  It’ll work out. It always does.