[24 — Forge? (1)]

At long last, I'd cleared the breathing phase of my training.

Looking back at where I started, I had to admit: my progress wasn't bad at all.

Even so, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still miles away from that ideal, overpowered version of myself who could actually stand on his own.

And that doubt was exactly why, last night, I reviewed everything I had at my disposal and came to a depressing conclusion:

My skills were garbage.

Oh, and let's not forget my starter gear. I didn't even have a single piece of armor, and my weapon… well, better not even talk about that.

I'm not usually one to blame my tools, but honestly, I couldn't help feeling cheated with the hand I'd been dealt.

Still, that didn't mean I was going to surrender to the oppression of the system. No, if anything, it only meant I needed to change my approach. I admitted how flawed my first attempt had been, and decided to start over.

Mocking the system wasn't the smartest move. I already knew it was petty, so of course it would try to screw me over on purpose.

But how was a defenseless creature like me supposed to win against it? How could I possibly trick it into giving me—even just a little—some plot armor?

Maybe someone else would've felt cornered. But me? I knew personalities like the system's all too well. I'd faced dozens like it, fought beings with the same rotten nature countless times.

And from all that experience, I'd learned the perfect way to deal with creatures like this. The infallible method to beat them before they even realized it. And I was ready to put it into practice.

"Oh mighty System, whose ornate letters echo the timeless days of holy scripture. Whose radiant screen reflects the prism of human perception. Thy faithful user comes humbly, begging for mercy. Grant this poor soul a single ability." I pressed my forehead to the floor. "I do not ask for something new or absolute. I do not ask you to rig the scenario in my favor. All I ask is this: let me see my skill list— no! Just one skill. Just a single active skill I can use…"

Yes… a real man knows when to retreat.

[...]

…Was that too obvious?

[Hmm… so you've realized your place.]

Hah. Bastard. So you really were that kind of system.

[Still… I don't quite buy it. You? Of all people? Humiliating yourself like this?]

He's sharper than I thought. Looks like it's time for plan B.

"Humiliating? Who's humiliating themselves here?" I shot up to my feet. "Since when is telling the truth humiliation? Since when is recognizing something well done a weakness? If sincerity is a flaw, then I haven't learned a damn thing about this world."

I clasped my hands together.

"So if, even after hearing my words, you still want to call it humiliation, then fine. I have no problem humiliating myself if it means speaking from the heart."

[...]

…Come on, damn you.

[Well… if you say so.]

My heart started pounding.

It had been so long since I'd felt this kind of tension.

It was almost exactly like the day I got my first university acceptance letter.

I held my breath, forcing my ragged lungs to stay quiet. The system's silence smothered the entire room. Would my prayers be answered?

[Since you enjoy humiliating yourself so much:]

There it is!

No way! I actually pulled it off? I'm a genius! I'm— wait. What the hell does it mean by—

[ACTIVE: HUMILIATING EXCHANGE
— For those who think they're clever —
In exchange for self-humiliation, you gain access to one humiliating secret of your target.
Limited to one use per person.]

"..."

"Show yourself, you bastard! I'll kill you right now!!!"

*

Since the cheat-skill plan didn't exactly pan out, I moved on to my second option: head over to Cjorn's forge and try to get something decent.

Well… maybe putting it that way makes it sound like my expectations were high, but really, they weren't.

Every time I'd passed that forge, it left me with a lousy impression. Still, anything I could pick up there had to be better than the chunk of iron sitting in my inventory.

And as if that wasn't enough, I even had to drag a 'keychain' along, just so Ruru would lend me the money.

"Why do you even need another sword?" my keychain asked.

We stopped in front of Cjorn's forge. It was the first place in the city with a sign that wasn't falling apart, so hey, that was a point in its favor. Maybe there was a chance I'd misjudged the place?

"As they say: don't judge a book by its cover."

"Hm? What book? Where?"

Tch. Before I walked in, I had to deal with this girl.

I couldn't risk her screwing things up for me.

I crouched down beside her.

"Listen, Sera…" I leaned in close to her ear.

"Whisper, whisper."

"…! That! That's impossible!" Her eyes went wide.

"Hoh? You doubt me? For your information, the word 'impossible' doesn't exist in my vocabulary."

"B-but… how?"

I lifted a finger and closed my eyes.

"A good mag—"

"…Never reveals his secrets." She cut me off. "I know already."

When did she—

"Hmph."

Damn it. That explanation alone wasn't gonna convince her. I had to sweeten the deal.

"S-Sera… Eh… There's no way this could ever happen, but if by some miracle it does go wrong, then…" I looked away.

"Then?"

"Th-then I'll grant you one wish."

Heh. Got her now. I knew that'd get her excited. After all, she was still a kid.

"Ugh!"

"Wh-what? A wish from me doesn't mean anything to you?"

Damn brat! How dare she dismiss me like that?!

"That's not it. It's just… you didn't sound very honest." Sera scratched her ear with a finger.

"What do I have to do to make you believe me?"

Wait… when did she get this crafty?

She held out her pinky.

"Hah… not without a formal contract, huh?" I muttered. "Fine. But remember: just one wish."

We linked our pinkies and sealed the blood pact. No turning back now.

*

We stepped into Cjorn's forge.

Immediately, the smell of iron rushed up my nose. There wasn't the familiar heat of a blazing furnace like I'd expected, but still; it lent the place at least a little credibility.

I glanced around and spotted several boxes tossed into the corners. The whole place was a mess, the kind that would take days to clean up.

The floor was wooden, the counters made of rustic iron. Some were open, others fitted with frosted glass in the front. Probably meant for displaying weapons.

…Despite the chaos near the entrance, it wasn't as bad as I'd imagined.

Not that this was a compliment. I'd seen far worse places in this city.

"Hm…"

What struck me as odd, though, was that amid all the scattered clutter, there wasn't a single sign this was an actual forge.

I mean, there were no swords, shields, maces, tridents, daggers—nothing!— anywhere I looked. Just boxes and scraps of paper.

Sure, there's that whole 'blacksmith's pride' thing, but to not even find a single arrow? That was… suspicious.

"Here you are, madam. Exactly as you asked. Don't go losing them again this time, alright?"

A deep voice snapped me out of my thoughts. It came from the back.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Cjorn. You're always such a lifesaver. And if you'd like to keep one of the copies, hehe~ just in case I lose it again…"

A blonde lady took a small object from the man behind the counter. From the way she addressed him, I guessed this was the owner: the so-called blacksmith.

"Rest assured, I'll keep this one safe, my lady." He winked.

"…"

As I approached the counter, the woman left. I thought it odd she hadn't paid, but didn't ask. Maybe it was a custom order, the kind that needed a deposit up front.

When I got to the counter, I realized Cjorn hadn't noticed us come in. Either that, or he'd chosen to ignore us, since he turned his back and started fondling a metal object identical to the one he'd just handed over. It looked a lot like a key.

"Ahem… are you the blacksmith, Cjorn?" I cleared my throat.

He quickly shoved the thing inside his coat.

"Huh?"

The second he turned around, it felt like I'd been slapped. The disappointment was just as sharp as when my parents told me Santa wasn't real. This guy… this guy's the blacksmith?

"C-customers! Welcome to the for— ah, just some brats. You lost or something?"

…No. No, his appearance didn't matter. I wasn't expecting some dwarven godsmith in this city anyway. He could still be a master in disguise. I knew that twist too well.

"Listen, we're not a charity. So why don't you run along— wait, hang on. Are you Constance's kids? Here for her keys?"

This bastard… treating us like kids? And did he just say keys?

Looking more closely now, there really weren't any swords at all. Not even in the back.

Wait— hold on. What the hell was that in the display cases?

"You came for the keys, or—"

"K-keys?! You scoundrel! How dare you call this place a forge when you're nothing but a damned locksmith?! Where is your dignity? How dare you sully your hammer making keys?!"

"O-oi! What the hell do you mean, scoundrel?!"

The glass counters were packed with keys of every shape and size.

"Hah… blacksmith's pride, my ass. I can't believe what I'm seeing." I pressed a hand to my face. "And here I thought I'd finally get my hands on a sword."

Sera glanced around nervously. She was clearly holding herself back.

"S-sword?" Cjorn looked confused.

…No way was I giving up now. After all I'd gone through, I wasn't leaving this so-called forge without at least one piece of equipment.

"What the hell happened here? Don't tell me that in a medieval world there are more requests for keys than weapons?" I raised my voice.

This city never missed a chance to disappoint me.

"Medieval? Look, kid, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but if it's weapons you're after, you're in the wrong place. I stopped making those over ten years ago."

He didn't sound like he was lying.

"T-ten years? That's impossible. This is the only forge in the region. How could you do this to the people? What am I supposed to do about my starter gear now?"

"Hah, the people, you say?" Cjorn's expression hardened.

Suddenly, I actually felt intimidated.

"You don't know a damn thing, brat."

"You don't know what it's like to watch your clients march to war and never come back. You don't know what it's like when their families storm your forge, screaming your weapons were trash! That their husbands died because your blades weren't good enough. That thirty years of hammer-swinging meant nothing. Do you know what that feels like? Huh?!"

I… hadn't thought before I spoke. I didn't realize he carried something this heavy.

"C-Cjorn… I'm sor—"

"Well, not to mention that making keys for widows has its perks, hehe."

"…"

This bastard. I almost pitied him.

"Sigh…" I rubbed my face. "So you're saying you don't have a single weapon for me, huh? Thirty years of forging, and you don't even have one blade left in your personal collection… No wonder they say you're a disappointment." I leaned across the counter.

"Y-you've got a sharp tongue, kid. Guess nobody taught you manners." He leaned in too, staring straight into my eyes. "But as it happens, I do have a personal collection. My most precious treasures. The works I value above everything else in this world."

For the first time, I saw real pride flash in his eyes.

Could this be… the light at the end of the tunnel?

"But I doubt you've got the strength to even lift one of my masterpieces with those scrawny arms of yours." A smug grin crept across his lips. "Do you dare try?"