Greg was working on fixing a broken wheel on a wagon while whistling, and then he heard the noise outside his shop. Just when he thought today was going to be the peaceful day he had been hoping for so long.
This was happening too often, but the voice that rose above the crowd was not like the others. It was melodic, almost like music, and it spoke in what sounded like formal high elvish. "Please, I need to see Master Greyson!"
"It took me three weeks to get to this village!"
Greg sighed and set down his tools. "What kind of woman wants to see me now...?"
He could see a young elf woman arguing with Marina through the window. Marina was apparently on guard duty that day. "An Elf...? That's rare."
"I had enough of woman, I just couldn't understand them."
[Says the man who has rizz-ed four girls so far]
"What's a rizz...?" Greg looks confused at the system window, and he dismisses it fast to look back at the Elf.
The elf looked like all the other elves, with pointed ears, graceful movements, and silver-blonde hair that shone like spun moonlight in the sun. She looked as if she had been on the road for a long time and was determined, and her nice clothes were dusty from the road.
Greg yelled, "Let her in. But just her. They can wait if there is anyone else around."
Marina opened the door, and the elf almost ran inside, her green eyes wide with excitement. She looked around the workshop like someone looking at a holy shrine, taking in every tool and unfinished project.
"Master Greyson," she said, her voice breaking a little with emotion.
"G-Greetings! I—I am who they called Elwen Silverleaf, a Moonwood Grove artisan. I have traveled through three kingdoms to see you."
Greg said carefully, "That's a long trip, is it even worth it? What is it all for?"
"To learn from you!" Elwen put her hands together.
"For two hundred years, my people have made weapons for the never-ending wars between races. Beautiful swords, elegant bows, and daggers that are deadly. All of them made to kill quickly and gracefully." Her face turned sour.
"I hate every single one of them."
Greg felt something change in his chest. "You're a weaponsmith who hates weapons?"
"I came from a family of famous sword makers. The Sword of Seven Sorrows, which killed twelve hundred soldiers in the War of Ashen Fields, was made by my great-grandmother."
"My grandfather made the Bow of Silent Death, which killed three kings." Elwen's voice shook.
"Everyone wants me to keep the tradition going and make weapons that will be sung about in sad songs for hundreds of years. But I don't want to make things that hurt people. I want to make things that help people stay alive."
Greg didn't expect to hear her backstory, which has a little resemblance to his so far, somewhere it made him respect her a bit, knowing she doesn't want to make weapons to hurt or kill people. However, Greg is hesitant to fully believe her story, even though their backstories are somewhat similar.
"So you heard about me," Greg said slowly, trying not to bring his own past into this.
"I heard about the blacksmith who won't make weapons. Who makes cooking and farming tools so strong that they become famous? Who cleaned up a dirty forest with a garden hoe?" Elwen's eyes sparkled with barely contained hope.
"Please, Master Greyson. Show me how to do things your way."
"Teach me how to make peace instead of war."
Greg looked at this young elf who had come so far, still carrying the same weight he had carried for forty years in his last life. How could he say no?
"Okay," he said. "But I'm warning you, my methods are strange, and I don't really understand how they work."
"I don't care! I am keen to learn everything from the Legend himself!" Elwen was so excited that she almost bounced, but then she seemed to remember her formal training and bowed deeply.
"Calling me a legend is kinda overexaggerating, but alright now... I'll teach you."
"Thanks, Master. I promise that I will be the best student you've ever had."
Greg said, "You're the only student I've ever had. The bar is pretty low, by the way."
...
Greg learned a lot about his new apprentice over the next few days. First of all, Elwen was a very skilled traditional smith.
Her hammer strikes were spot-on, she knew a lot about metal, and she knew a lot more about enchantments than Greg did from his formal training. Second, she was really bad at making everyday things.
"Why can't it just be a spoon?" Elwen cried out as she looked at her newest work. The spoon in question was floating three inches above the workbench, spinning slowly and making a sound that sounded a lot like an elven war march.
Greg looked at the floating spoon and said, "You're thinking too hard about it."
"You're trying to use old enchantment theory, but that's not how my stuff works."
"How does it work, then?"
"I just think about what I want it to do and hope for the best." Greg shrugged his shoulders. "The system fills in the blanks."
"That's not a way to do things! That's a mess!" Elwen took her notes, which were already three times longer than Seraphine's research papers.
"There must be some basic rules. A framework that makes sense. Something that can be repeated."
Greg said, "If there is, I haven't found it. I just make things, and they turn out strange."
Elwen looked at him like he had suggested that he could defy gravity with sheer willpower. "But you are a master craftsman who is really a blacksmith. You can't just make legendary items by accident.
Greg pointed to the workshop, where a lot of strange things were kept, and said, "And yet here we are."
"We possess a tea kettle capable of soothing villages, a lamp capable of singing opera, and a frying pan capable of slaying dragons." All of them were accidents."
Elwen said, "There are no accidents except incredible accidents." Then she seemed to realize she was looking at Greg with something like worship and quickly turned away, her cheeks turning pink.
"What do you mean by incredible accidents...?" Greg doesn't even get what she was saying.
"I mean, in terms of my academy. Your work is probably something they called an lovely accident in my academy."
Greg had seen that face before. As a matter of fact, recently. On both Seraphine and Lylia. What's worse is that he probably believes the word "lovely" means "love," which suggests that Elwen may have fallen in love with him.
"Oh hell nah," he said under his breath.