My heart, which had been progressively sinking as I watched the blacksmith, skipped a beat at his words.
I took a glance at the swords in his shop, and the few two-handers and claymores that did reach my sword's size were priced at the low dozens of gold coins, at their cheapest.
If there was really something wrong with-
"I'll start with the good news."
Apparently, my preference was not a factor in that decision.
"Actually, before I start, mind if I ask you where you got this sword?"
"...it's an old family heirloom."
My answer was completely genuine, given the fact it was passed to Sebastian by his father and referred to as his 'old sword'.
"Alrighy. I have no idea who those ancestors of yours were, but they definitely weren't common guards, I'll tell you that."
The half-dwarf gently brushed his fingernail against the blade.
"Have you ever heard of adamantium?"
"It's a very strong metal?.. Oh, also an adventurer rank."
"True, on both accounts, but I am talking about the alloy. Its second most known property is its magic resistance. Or, as we blacksmiths know it, arcane friction. It's important to note adamantite ore possesses friction, specifically, rather than repulsion!"
I looked at him with a confused expression, and he quickly continued.
"Ehem! This sword… its alloy contains adamantite."
The smith made a dramatic pause. By now, much of my stress has been alleviated, replaced with excitement.
"So… does it mean it's very strong?"
"Ha! Definitely stronger than anything you'd find in this shop. By my estimates, its strength should be near adamantium grade. Eh, it's another smith term – I know it's confusing, given the sword has some literal adamantite in it. Let's just say it's one step below the toughest alloys that can be made by mortals, at least using any known means."
"So… it's expensive?"
"It is. It actually is quite expensive, but not for the reason you think."
The blacksmith's voice turned ominous.
"And that's part of the bad news. But let me continue for now."
"..."
"Usually, adding adamantite to an alloy would, among other things, grant it magic resistance."
"But not here?"
"No. Well, yes, but not exactly. There is an ancient forging technique, the name of which I do not know. I also do not know which nations or groups possess this technique, although some do, as evident by the few newly forged swords of different origins popping over the centuries."
"How do you even know this?.."
"Usually, when a sword like this makes an appearance, it's in the hands of a legendary adventurer undertaking an epic quest, or a war hero descending upon the field of a decisive battle. And those swords are so few, each addition to their ranks is easy to distinguish. Us blacksmiths, at least those who take pride in the art, treasure such stories."
I could see the embers of passion ignite in the burly man's eyes.
"So… you're interested in this type of sword?"
"Interested… Hmm…"
His tone was contemplative, as if gauging the word.
"The technique makes use of adamantite as an auxiliary material, along with many others, and likely many reagents and techniques I've never even heard about. While I wish I could study it, I'm afraid that even if I sold this smithy for ten times the price, I wouldn't have sufficient funds to purchase the required equipment, not to mention hiring the necessary assistants."
He sighed.
"It takes incredible skill, knowledge and means to produce a sword that has both the magic disruption properties of adamantite weapons, and magic amplification properties."
"...what?"
"Remember how I said adamantite possesses arcane friction? Imagine two scenarios. First, a simple Magic Missile, the most basic 1st Tier spell, is flying at you. Normally, you would be unable to dodge or block the spell, as it is akin to a homing bubble of arcane energy that can't be disrupted via physical means. However, with this sword, you could just… pop it. If you can hit a magic missile mid-flight, of course."
Magic piercing sword? This sounded really, really cool.
"Of course, it won't work against all magic – if a wizard flings a boulder at you, destroying the arcane power binding it mid-flight won't save you from getting hit by a ton of rock. Still, in most situations, this sword would be unparalleled, like any adamantium arm ought to be."
Well, this was still amazing.
"What separates it from a 'normal' adamantium weapon, if such a term can even be applied, is its friction being one sided. Or rather, a better word would be one-dimentional."
Looking at my confused face, he elaborated.
"What this means, in practice, is that there is a certain area of the sword, near the hilt, that can receive enchantments, and apply them to the whole blade. What's more is that, somehow, it can even amplify them."
"This type of weapon is called an Arcane Harmony one."
The dwarf had finally taken the time to catch his breath.
"So… all of this sounds great. What's the bad news?"
The dwarf looked at me with thinly veiled sadness.
"Lets start with the minor things first. In order to truly bring out the sword's potential, you'd need a weapon enchantment scroll for each such battle. More than one per battle, if it continues on for long enough."
I didn't know what enchantment scrolls were in this world, but I had a feeling they were one-time use consumables, and that they were probably not cheap.
"Alternatively, you'd need a mage companion, one who can cast weapon enchantments themselves."
So far, I haven't even seen a 'real' mage, not counting the one dropout apprentice.
"The first option is extremely expensive, the second nearly as expensive and even less probable, given how high level mages usually are. Oh, the second option also exasperates the main problem."
The glimmer of pity reflected in the blacksmith's eyes.
"You guessed the sword is quite expensive. With all I've told you until now, do you want to guess how much gold this sword would go for?"
The sudden weight of realization descended upon my chest, making me unable to utter a word.
"Aye, you get it now. If you ever enchanted this sword, and someone saw it come out unscathed, they would assume this is at least a high tier arcane weapon. If you ever cut a spell with it, the one who saw it would assume this is an adamantium weapon. Either of those observations could bring more than some bandits upon you - from some greedy noble, to a criminal syndicate, to a high level raider - there would be plenty who would covet this sword."
A shadow flickered through his eyes, as his expression darkened.
"If someone saw both? By the gods, I wouldn't be surprised if the Silent Knights themselves were sent out to get it."
I didn't know who those Silent Knights were, but I instantly decided I didn't want to find out.
"So… what should I do? I can't just sell it…"
"You could try. Although the price you'd get would likely be a fraction of its real value. Also, if the transaction would be open, you'd have to spend most of the gold on bodyguards, while trying to sell it on the black market would net you a dagger in the back… that's if you even live long enough to find a buyer or an auction that would be both powerful enough to guarantee such a sale, and honorable enough to keep such an agreement."
This sword now started to feel like a poisoned chalice, putting me one sip away from oblivion.
However, I couldn't get rid of it. Not now. This sword was the main guarantee that Glenn, my father's friend, would recognize me.
Also, I felt like if I were to simply throw it in a well or bury it in a forest, I'd be giving up my best chance at getting stronger fast - something I desperately needed.
"Why are you telling me all this?"
"Ha! That's a smart question. Let me tell you – never trust another smith with this sword again. If you decide to keep it, as long as you maintain it like I showed you, it will never chip or break, unless you're fighting a dragon…"
"..."
"As for your question – Ornor finds you to be a good lad, and if he does, so do I. Moreover, I'd never want to possess this sword anyway. I've got a wife, and two sons now. I didn't move to this small town to seek anything as… exciting."
The smith sighed, before handing me back the sword. I sheathed it, following him back into the main shop.
"This will be the last time I speak of this sword. In a few hours, I'll meet with Ornor for a round of drinks, and by the time I wake up tomorrow, it will be as if this sword never entered this shop."
The half-dwarf stopped, and a thick silence filled the air – until the smith spoke again, reverting back to his hearty tone.
"Anyway, lad, if you ever need something better than Ol' Ben's patchworks, come buy some real armor. I'll give you the best price in Pine Harbor – after all, I run the most generous smithy in town, ha ha!"
"...thank you."
"Don't sweat it, lad."
"By the way, how much is that chainmail over there?"
"Oh, good eye. That is one of my standard chainmails, tough as nails, cheap as dirt. It usually goes for 55 gold, but I can make it 50 for you."
"On second thought, I gotta go. Thanks for everything!"
"Hey, don't forget your kit!"
"Oh, thanks!"
***
I went back to the inn to have dinner. It was a wonderful mushroom and meat stew – a great meal, even without any arcane moss.
Then, I went to the guild to train a bit more. This time Harold still wasn't there. I did see two adventurers that weren't in the hall this morning – one dancing between the training dummies with a sword and shield, one shooting at the practice targets, hitting the bullseye most of the time.
I didn't interrupt their training, of course, and simply continued my sword training from earlier.
By the time Jane came to shoo us away, I had already finished training my skills as well - even [Charge (work in progress)].
My body was aching all over, so I hurried over to the inn, hoping the bath still had hot water left.
Thankfully, it did.
After cleaning up, I went to my room and opened the panel again, only to confirm this training was just enough to increase my [Arc Slash] by a single proficiency point. The other skill stayed unchanged.
I opened the Plant Guide without thinking twice, and began slowly reading through the first few pages. At some point, I fell asleep.
***
By the time I opened my eyes, it was already morning.
The plant guide lay on the floor. Thankfully, it wasn't damaged, because if I had to return to Julia (the alchemist) for another guide after one day, I felt I might have had some explosive concoction thrown at me.
I woke up just in time for breakfast this time around – oatmeal with honey and some kind of dried berries, as well as a sweet, thick milk-based drink which I didn't recognize.
I left the copper coins at the table without regrets, especially considering the day of their replenishment grew closer.
I continued onward, walking the already-familiar streets leading to the Adventurer's Guild.
This time, I got there much earlier than noon. In fact, Jane was just opening the front doors when I approached.
"Good morning!"
Without throwing her a second glance, or waiting for a reply that never came, I strode right past the receptionist and into the training ground.
This time, however, what greeted me was not an empty yard, or a couple of unknown adventurers, but a familiar huge figure, swinging a massive tower shield, releasing a small gust of wind with each swing.
As I stepped through the doors, the large man turned his head, before waving his massive shield in a friendly greeting, a cheerful smile spreading on his face.
"Sebastian! Good to have you here!"
For some reason, that I myself couldn't explain, I had a bad feeling starting to awaken.
"Greetings, branch leader."
"Ohoho, it's fine, call me Harold. By the way, do you still have questions about techniques and Paths? I'd be happy to answer."
Swallowing my baseless suspicions, I approached the branch leader (manager). I really, really needed information.
***
Harold, the branch leader of the Pine Harbor Adventurer's Guild, woke up early, as usual.
After a quick breakfast, he went to the guild.
First was the office – although little changed from yesterday, he still had a small pile of low-priority documents to approve.
In half an hour, he finished all of them. After all, most of the stuff sent to the low priority pile was pretty short.
Among the documents, he found another letter.
He had no real reason to open it, but, with a sigh, he did.
Inside was his monthly salary receipt. Of course, he wasn't paid in coins – the money was deposited into his official bank account, the closest branch of which was in Silverveil. He did receive additional 15 gold coins per month in personal allowance, though.
The amount was laughable, too. 15 gold coins – for a regular person, this would be the monthly salary of a high level city clerk or a skilled artisan, but to a level 4 Guardian, this was more of an insult. He'd make more than this in a week taking even the safest requests.
'This damned doghouse.'
If only he didn't fuck up this badly 4 years ago. He wouldn't be sent to this shithole, no, he would be amassing wealth, progressing through the guild's internal ranks, and might have even gained another Path level by now.
But instead, he got sent to this backwater town for 5 years. And he still had a long, exhausting year left to go. He couldn't even show any of his frustrations – at best, unbecoming behaviour would extend his 'tenure', and at worst, he'd get dishonorably removed and blacklisted from the Guild forever, losing all his former perks and Guild Points in the process.
At least the higher ups were merciful enough to allow for a reduction of his "sentence" under specific circumstances, based on his contributions as the branch leader.
Only that, as usual, the higher up's mercy was more akin to mockery.
He could have his sentence reduced by a whole year if he played a significant role in an emergency town defense, but with this monster of a sheriff, doubly so given his own class, if such an emergency ever were to occur, either the attackers would be lying in pieces by the time he arrived, or the sheriff and his deputy would, likely with the whole town soon to follow.
He could also have it reduced by a few months via another type of contribution.
However, given his location, the second way seemed even less likely than the first.
That was… until he finally met that young man, his eyes desperate for knowledge, his equipment suggesting at least a decent financial base, and most importantly – his techniques, exactly 2 in number, trained to proficiency, but still far from mastery.
He generously answered his questions once. He couldn't get to the main topic of the conversation, but he saw the hungry look in the youth's eyes – hunger for knowledge, which would ensure his return.
This was a golden opportunity.
And Harold would take it.