Intermission (1)

Two days passed, with little to nothing to vent my growing vexation. Elvira had literally robbed me blind, and I couldn’t get a refund. Not because I didn’t know where she was – we worked together every night in the hotel restaurant, albeit on different tasks. Nor because I couldn’t find the money – she waved it in front of my face from time to time. No, it was simply because I stood absolutely no chance at beating her, much less put even a bit of resistance.

So, I let it out on the usual assailants during my daily performances. The guards were so iconic that most of the audience believed it was part of the act. Thanks to them, I made back half of what Elvira stole, though that didn’t abate my anger in the slightest. Actually, the number of attackers had decreased to around three or four, leaving me to think they were planning something. I didn’t detect anything usual with the surrounding mana, so there wasn’t much I could do.

Well, it doesn’t matter. Even if they come up with something, I can just escape with another illusion spell. Rather, this is much more important.

Bits and pieces of blades, guards, hilts, and pommels littered the room table. In addition to a hammer, chisel, brush, and glue, these scraps were what Elvira charged me almost two thousand reales for. I had only just finished dividing them into four piles – one for each type of part – as I continued to stare at them.

…yep. Still have no idea how to do this.

Sure, I understood what I was supposed to do: build a dagger. It was the perfect workaround to the legitimate means I would never be able to obtain. But that didn’t mean I was an expert at assembly. The best I had was a rough understanding of how to use each tool. Of course, I tried asking Elvira for help, but she always brushed it off with an irritating grin, going, “Really? I thought it would be simple for you. Oh well,” before walking away!

Argh, whatever. It’s no use crying over spilled milk, or I guess not getting the milk from a stubborn cow. I just need to figure it out myself.

I picked up one of the more ruined pieces from each of the piles, laying them out in the center. Using these as practice, I should be able to put together a semi-decent dagger after enough trial and error. After all, with how much there was, I could easily make over a hundred attempts.

“Are you not going to make it?” the familiar voice asked, though this time, it didn’t come with any added baggage.

If there’s enough left over.

Now, let’s start.

The first thing to do was figure out the assembly order. Fortunately, this part was obvious, almost as if the weapon was modular in design. The guard – a thin flat wooden piece with angle-like brackets – slid on the blade from the tip. Then, the two pieces of the hilt were glued together, holding the guard and blade in place. Finally, the pommel – a wooden marble with a carve out on one side – was glued and slotted onto the bottom of the hilt. There were probably other, and much better steps, but this was the solution I came up with the tools provided.

From there, everything went downhill.

First, I checked to see if the blade was warped, knowing that it could make the blade completely unusable. There was only a slight bend near the center, so I figured I could just get rid of it with a hammer. Keeping my hands free and clear while holding the blade against the table, I rhythmically swung my hammer, roughly hitting the correct spot. After a few raps, I held up the blade once again.

“...why is there another warp?” I muttered aloud. For some reason, the blade had risen up near the tip. So, I tried again, only to end up with another warp near the base. At this point, it almost looked like a flamberge, in the worst way possible.

Ok, not to worry. I can always figure it out later. Let’s just move on for now.

Next, I slid the guard onto the blade. Luckily, the major warps didn’t stop it from slipping on. No, rather, the width of the opening was just slightly too small, stopping the guard halfway down the weapon. As one would expect, having a bunch of different parts meant they wouldn’t always fit together nicely, so the smart thing would be to replace the guard with another.

At that moment, I wasn’t that smart. Instead, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to use the chisel.

The chisel blade was small enough to fit snuggly inside the guard, so all I had to do was line it up and smack it with a hammer. Of course, since the tools required both hands, I used my feet to hold the guard steady. The position was a bit uncomfortable, but manageable.

And, as I should’ve expected, the guard moved the moment I brought down the hammer. The side of the guard splintered diagonally as the chisel barely missed my toes, embedding itself into the table. I couldn’t help but stare for a few seconds, but after snapping out, I easily attached it to the blade.

Well, if you ignored the bulging crack.

That’s fine. It’s only practice after all.

Then, there was the glue. Given the blade would be used to slash, it had to bind wood and metal pretty tightly, something I didn’t initially think about. Rather, I brushed on a coat of paint to both parts of the hilt before slapping on the warped blade plus broken guard combo. It didn’t need to be perfect; I could simply adjust it in the golden time before it stuck, just like I had with PVA glue. Rather, in the single second I spent figuring out what to align, the glue had already settled. Even worse, without thinking, I put the other piece of the hilt on at an angle when I was trying to pull the two apart. Paper towels and water didn’t help either, only adding to the problem by adhering to any unbound surfaces.

…just…

In the end, I was left with a monstrosity. A wavy blade etched by a hammer. A cracked guard with a bit of the edge poking through. A hilt with one side at a ninety degree angle from the other. And some paper towels to tie up the look. I didn’t even bother attaching the pommel.

I wasn’t sure what it was, but it definitely wasn’t a dagger.