Finally, we reached the Great Smithy.
Calling it a "shop" was like calling the Grand Canyon a hole in the ground. It was a cathedral of fire and iron. The heat hit me fifty feet before we reached the doors—a dry, searing blast that smelled of coal and molten steel. Inside, the walls were lined with weapons that looked like they belonged in a museum of legendary artifacts. Broadswords long enough to decapitate an ox, daggers that hummed with a faint purple glow, and axes with heads the size of car doors.
A figure emerged from the smoke of the back forges. He was short—barely reaching my chest—but he was built like a brick wall topped with a mane of wild, soot-stained hair. His beard was braided with iron rings, and his eyes were a deep, intelligent brown that seemed to weigh my very soul.
"So," the dwarf rumbled, his voice like grinding tectonic plates. "This is the boy. The one the gossips say is carrying a piece of the Heavens in his pocket."
"I'm Arthur," I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "And this is Elsa."
"I know who the Elf is," he grunted, wiping his hands on a greasy leather apron. "I'm Rufus. Master of this forge. Now, show me. I've heard talk of a 'Divine Needle' that makes the King's Master-Smith look like a toddler playing with mud."
I didn't hesitate. I reached under my tunic and unclipped the pouch of my Tactical Utility Belt.
The moment the black nylon and the plastic quick-release buckle were exposed, the air in the room seemed to freeze. Elsa gasped, and Rufus actually stepped back, his thick fingers twitching.
"Even the pouch..." Rufus whispered, leaning in until his nose was inches from the nylon. "This weave... it is so fine it looks like the skin of a dark serpent. And this material? It is neither leather nor silk. It is firm, yet light. Who are you, boy? How did a beggar acquire a carrying-vessel of such magnificent craftsmanship?"
"I told you, I made it," I said, leaning into the lie. "It's a hobby."
Rufus's brow furrowed into deep, rocky ridges. "You are mana-less. I can see the flow of the world, and you are a dry well, Arthur. No magical aura, no spirit-bond. And yet you claim to have birthed these items from your own hands?"
"Magic is just science you haven't figured out yet, Rufus," I said, pulling out the Leatherman. "Here. See for yourself."
I handed him the needle-nose pliers. Rufus took them with a reverence usually reserved for holy icons. He held them up to the light of the forge, and then he started chanting—a low, rhythmic dwarven tongue that made the metal glow a faint, golden hue.
He was testing the purity.
"By the Ancestors..." Rufus breathed, his hands shaking. "The alignment is... perfect. The steel is purged of all impurities. I have spent eighty years at the anvil, and I cannot produce a hinge this seamless. I cannot refine steel to this level of crystalline perfection. This isn't just a tool, boy. This is a challenge to the gods."
He looked at me, his brown eyes wide with a mix of terror and profound respect. "I am the best smith in this kingdom, but I could live a thousand years and never rival the 'nothingness' of this design. It is so simple, it is divine."
I stood there, looking at a legendary dwarven smith having an existential crisis over a china-made tool. I felt a surge of adrenaline. I wasn't just a clerk; I was a man holding the keys to an industrial revolution.
"So," I said, crossing my arms and giving him my best New York smirk. "About those supplies? I think I deserve a 'genius' discount, don't you?"
The moment I flicked the mechanism of the Leatherman, revealing the hidden serrated blade, the wire cutters, and the precision file, the air in the Great Smithy didn't just get hot—it turned electric.
Rufus's mana didn't just "leak"; it erupted. A golden, earthen aura slammed out of his body like a shockwave, rattling the massive axes on the walls and making Elsa's rainbow hair stand on end. They weren't just looking at a tool anymore; they were looking at a shapeshifting relic of a forgotten era.
"It... it changes?" Rufus choked out, his beard trembling. "A multi-form divine artifact? By the stones of the deep, boy, I will give you this entire shop! My forges! My soul! Just let me own it!"
"Not for sale, Rufus," I said, snapping the tool shut with a satisfying clack. "I'm a businessman, not a charity. But maybe we can talk about a partnership."
Rufus practically dragged me into the back room—a private sanctuary filled with blueprints on ancient parchment and glowing ores. Elsa stumbled in behind us, looking like she'd just seen a god trip over a rug.
"How?" Rufus demanded, locking the heavy iron door. "No mana. No circle. No forge fire. How does a boy who looks like he's made of twigs create something that defies the laws of Dwarven Artifice?"
I took a deep breath. It was time for the "Big Lie." I'd spent all night rehearsing this in my head.
"I'm not an ordinary orphan, Rufus," I said, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. I leaned back, trying to look ancient and mysterious despite my acne. "I recently discovered I carry a dormant, ancient bloodline. A lineage that doesn't use the world's mana. We use... Internal Logic Resonance."
I made that up on the spot. It sounded fancy.
"I can craft and summon items through pure mental geometry," I continued. "But to do it, I have to perform a silent ritual."
I decided to show them—partially because I was hungry and partially because I wanted to see if the "Venus System" worked for things other than violence. I pulled out my phone.
To me, the screen was a brilliant blue window of icons. To Rufus and Elsa? I was just hovering my hand in the air and tapping at nothing like a lunatic.
"What is he doing?" Elsa whispered, her emerald eyes wide. "Is he... petting the ghost of a moth?"
"Shh!" Rufus hissed. "He is weaving the unseen threads!"
I scrolled past the "Home & Garden" tab and hit [Snacks]. I found the "Party Size" bag of Flamin' Cheetos.
Price: 20 VP.
Click.
I started waving my hands in a ridiculous, over-the-top "mumbo-jumbo" dance, whispering gibberish like, "Oh, Great Frito-Lay, bringer of the crunch, manifest thy spicy dust!"[Current Balance: 80 VP]
Suddenly, with a soft pop and a puff of orange-tinted air, a shimmering, bright-red bag of Cheetos appeared out of thin air, hovering between my hands.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then, Elsa's eyes rolled back into her head. "A... a creation spell... without a circle..." she whimpered, before hitting the stone floor with a soft thud. She'd fainted again. Honestly, the women in this world really needed more iron in their diets.
Rufus ignored the unconscious elf. He was staring at the bag with a hunger that was almost sexual. "What... what is this crimson treasure?"