“Your beveling could use some work, but it’s usable,” Yormir said as he turned the shearing knife over a few times. I gave my father a flat look that he pointedly ignored as he examined my work. “Still not good enough to move onto swords and the like, maybe I could teach you hinges?”

  “Aren’t those really complex to shape?” I said.

  Yormir shrugged. “Only at first. Besides, you’re an elf, you’ll get the hang of it quick enough. Unless you’d prefer working on more broadheads?”

  “Wouldn’t be against it, the hunters need it right?” I said.

  “They do,” Yormir nodded, not elaborating.

  The gruff man tended to do that a lot, but I’d be able to piece it together if I went around asking, so I didn't bother prodding. That would just annoy the stout fool I called father, and I wasn't interested in being a pest. He grunted at me, indicating the end of our conversation and a signal for me to get back to work.

  I gave a nod and went over to a box full of broadheads yet to be sharpened, picking it up and placing it down next to a grindstone, filling my time with blessed monotony as my father worked on whatever tools the village has commissioned lately. The sharpening gave me time to mess around with my mana, though all I could do with it was release it to the world and let it do whatever the fuck it did.

  Controlling mana with my will while focusing on another task just wasn’t in the cards at the moment, but I’d put it on the list of shit to train. It felt good to have so many avenues of strength lately, even if I was just a bitch ass scrub. If only I remembered what year Armageddon began, then I could have a more concrete plan

  I had plenty of pointless knowledge stored in my mind for however long I'd live, but the shit that mattered didn’t stick by the time of my reincarnation. I’d learned to begrudgingly accept that I wouldn’t know when the fuck the End started, not until the war at least.

  Paranoia was a bitch as a six year old when I had started suspecting I was in the game, but hey, I’d summoned a demon and bound it to my soul. Now I could take measurable steps to survival! Being forced to waste time because I had nothing to do in terms of getting stronger was a cunt of a condition. But I’d passed it, figuring out new ways to train my mana by the day, though I didn’t know the effectiveness of said training.

  I tried to condense the mana in my pathways, like the cultivators in those novels I used to read. If I had such free reign over the energy, then why not? That hurt in a way I found hard to describe, so I stopped. Pain was the universal warning signal after all, and I had no reason to believe it worked differently in the spiritual.

  I ground more broadheads, humming a tune from a wandering bard. I used to hum music from my old world, but that freaked out whoever was there to listen. So now I only did it when I was sure I was alone.

  I tossed the last broadhead in a different box filled with my finished work, I picked it up and headed over to the fletcher. He didn’t live far, and no one bothered me since I had the look of someone with shit to do, the box likely helped a bit as well.

  I made it to the man's door and walked in without knocking. It was filled with bows since he was also the village’s bower. Smelled like fowl too. “Tairo!” I yelled. “I got more broadheads for you to fuck around with.”

  I heard a series of grumbling as a man walked over from a side room, he was a tall fellow and distinctly undressed. His beard was wild and unkept, filled with strands of white to contrast a balding scalp.

  “Couldn’t have knocked?” Tairo grumbled.

  “And trust that you’d actually answer? Please, I wasn’t born yesterday. Now come on, the whole thing is eight copper pennies.”

  “Five,”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Seven,”

  “Fine,” he sighed, walking back to the room he emerged from and came back out with the agreed coins. I dumped the broadheads onto a pile and presented the box to him. He grunted and deposited the payment.

  “Now get out of my house, I’m going back to sleep,” Tairo yawned.

  “Don’t the hunters need you working?” I said, nodding to the pile of broadheads. “That’s a lot of work left unfinished.”

  Tairo glared at me. “I’ll go at my own pace, if the hunters don’t like that they can find a different fletcher.”

  “Just saying.” I shrugged.

  “Keep your saying to yourself,” Tairo said. “Now get out already.”

  I nodded and exited the house, walking back to the smithy with the box and coin. When I got back, my father collected the pennies and placed them in a coin purse, leaving three for me. “More broadheads?”

  “I don’t see the point.” I sighed. “Tairo looks like he’s in one of his moods.”

  Yormir grunted. “Lazy eedjit, don’t take after his example you hear?”

  “When have I ever?” I raised a brow.

  “Just making sure, now c’mon, let me teach you how to make some hinges.”

  Hinges were, in fact, a lot simpler after I got a few done as practice. My initial attempts were horrendous, but they paved the way to less horrendous displays of metal. I’d gotten to an acceptable degree of proficiency eventually, and my father didn’t seem to care for the iron wasted teaching me. Which was fine by me, smithing was good for strength and my ability to communicate with the world.

  And it was fun.

  Day became night and I slept on my collection of straw, staring at the ceiling until eventually sleep took me. The next day I hung out with Uria and Jiso for a bit, we didn't do much other than talking and some silly dares. They’d learned my limits for the games, and tended to respect them. Which was rather polite for village brats, I did the courtesy of not daring them to do anything too insane in turn.

  We stopped by Uria’s farm, to admire the sheep grazing in an open field.

  “That one looks like it’s on its last legs,” I said, practically drooling. “I call dibs on some of that meat when you’ve gotta put it down.”

  “Hey! No fair!” Jiso said.

  “It’s plenty fair, now c’mon Uria, favour for a friend?”

  Uria scoffed. “You’ll still have to pay for it.”

  “Of course!”

  “I’ll talk with my dad.”

  “Hell yeah!”

  I said my goodbyes after a bit more sheep-watching, each of us headed for their respective homes to get to work. Well, not Jiso, but he was an exception to the rule. Uria was already at her home so she just jumped the fence and took over shepherding from her brother. I headed back home with a skip to my step.

  Then another day passed.

  And another.

  Time flowed like a river…until an unwanted guest decided to approach the smithy.

  “Greeting my metallergic friends!” said a plump man dressed in a proper toga. “It’s been too long since we’ve last spoken! The routes have been a mess lately, courtesy of the monsters, but I’ve got plenty of wares to offer to your personage.”

  “If I was interested, I would’ve visited the carriages when they came in,” Yormir said as he stopped shaping the head of a pitchfork, turning to give the man a thinly veiled glare.

  “You wound me with your words! I am but a humble merchant looking for potential customers, is that such a crime?” Rodin said as he clutched at his heart.

  “It should be,” Yormir grumbled.

  “Ever the jester,” Rodin laughed. “What about you young lady, are you not interested in the gifts of the wider world? I’ll give you a discount.”

  “And have me spend time with your son,” I said. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “You as well! Truly the gods have shunned me on this day.” He said in dismay. “Whatever shall I do if your personage isn’t tempted by my offerings?”

  “Leave us alone?” Yormir said.

  “Now that’s just droll.” Rodin shook his head.

  “It’s also respectful,” I pointed out.

  “Bah! What is respect but a thinly veiled barrier for trade?”

  “It shows good character?”

  “You don’t get far in my profession with something like that,” he laughed. “No matter! I have plenty of time to tempt you with my wares while I’m here. I’m sure that this time I’ll convince you to spend some coin.”

  I rolled my eyes but didn't say anything, Yormir waved the man away and he obliged with a shallow bow. I turned to my father, exasperated. “The next few days are going to suck, aren’t they?”

  “You have your mothers wisdom.” Yormir sighed in resignation.

  “You’re plenty wise.”

  “Hilarious.”