Blacksmith vs. the System

We arrived at the camp at dawn. As much as I hated the necessity to keep my eyes open more than necessary, I forced myself, trying to catch the important details. It was smaller than I expected. A wooden palisade around about twenty wooden buildings, surrounded by double the amount of tents. Also, there was quite a bit of empty space.

The number of guards I could see on the wall was less than I had expected. I could only count a dozen on each wall, each armed with bows, but the safety of the camp suggested that they were stronger than our town guards.

Even from such a great distance, the quality of their armor was apparent, and each of them were marked with a stylized griffin. I hoped that it was a guild, and not one of the new houses that was popping out, quick to declare themselves as nobles.

Three years had passed since the Cataclysm, and the political situation was still in flux.

The rest of the camp was barely stirring into movement. A quick estimation suggested that there were about three hundred people currently in the camp, including the guards. Less than I expected considering the size of the camp. I assumed that they were at the dungeon.

That was all I was able to assess until the vertigo hit, forcing me to close my eyes once more. I had fought against monsters many times, but still, heights were my greatest enemy.

"Finally, we're here," Maria called loudly as we landed, stretching her legs. Eleanor helped me to step down. I appreciated her help. I doubted that I would have been able to do so without help. "Hey, are you alright?" Maria asked, noticing my state.

"Just a cramp. It's my first time riding a griffin," I replied, doing my best to be calm and collected. I failed. Luckily, Maria didn't care about me enough to pay attention to why I was reacting like that. "Eleanor, let's go. Father expects a report."

"Just a minute. Let me show Devon his workshop first," she said. Maria didn't look happy. "The sooner he settles, the sooner he starts working. We need sharpened weapons to move deeper. We're running low," she said.

"Alright, but don't waste too much time. We still need to lead the team to the dungeon," she said before moving to the central building.

While Eleanor led me toward another building, I looked around, trying to catch the movements. "Anything I need to know," I asked. "We haven't been able to talk a lot."

"There's nothing too exciting," she said. "It's a lower-tier dungeon, populated with some kind of giant beetle with thick armor. Fire magic would have been a good way to deal with them, but the mana density prevents it from being a sustainable solution. But, they have several weak spots. Sharpened weapons are the most efficient method of taking them down."

"Ah," I said. Suddenly, I understood the reason for the good contract. Sharpened weapons were cheap — compared to other enchanted weapons, still starting somewhere around fifty silver at a minimum for second-hand ones — and useful, but their durability was their biggest problem. "Their shell degrades the weapon even more, right," I asked.

"Worse. They have some kind of secretion that ruins the edge," she replied. "Even with multiple weapons assigned to each person, it goes slowly. And, we can't keep going to the nearest town for repairs either."

Understandable, as even with a flying mount, travel wasn't exactly easy. We didn't struggle against monsters because Maria was strong enough to deal with them easily. However, it wasn't exactly smart to assign the top combatant to logistic work.

Especially when there was a limit to the carrying capacity of the griffins.

"I see," I replied, considering the implication. The fact that the edge was the part that was being damaged was good news. It was far easier to sharpen a new edge than repair structural damage, which meant that I would be making even more on bonuses than I had initially expected. "How about my work… The contract outlines my job requirements, but nothing else."

"You're going to join our team of blacksmiths. We currently have six capable of repairing enchanted weapons, each with both Analyze and Warm Blow. Seven with your inclusion. There's also a dozen other apprentices that are working hard to raise their Repair over twenty-five with some disposable weapons so they could join the main work."

I frowned, wondering whether I should mention that I didn't have [Warm Blow] yet, which was a perk that allowed the blacksmiths to repair the enchanted weapons without heating it too much, as it had the risk of destabilizing the enchantment. Then, I decided against it.

There was no mention of the perk in the contract, and I could fix the weapon without it. No need to give them useless information that could change their mind. People had weird expectations when it came to Stats and Skills, seemingly determined to ignore that we were not robots, and could easily surpass their limits.

The lack of Warm Blow didn't mean I couldn't keep up with the others. It would be some help, but even without it, I could keep up with the performance requirements outlined in the contract easily. All the tricks I figured out during the three years I spent working overtime were enough. All I needed was to be careful about the heat.

I didn't rely entirely on the instincts fed to me by the skills.

In the end, I decided to stay silent. In the worst case, I could focus on bringing my Repair Skill to the next level. It should take only a few days as long as I was willing to ruin some weapons.

Eleanor continued to talk, giving me a quick tour of the camp while I watched. "And, this is the forge, where you'll be working —" she started, only to freeze.

I assumed the reason was the tall, armored man at the center of the room. He was decked in full plate armor. On his chest, there was the symbol of a griffin like the guards, but it was far more intricate. All of it identified him as a high-ranking member of the same group, but another thing commanded my attention. One that was radiating an aura that demanded respect and adulation.

Charisma.

I cursed internally. Of all the stats that were brought by the System, I hated Charisma the most. On the battlefield, it worked wonders, allowing people to fight with a greater focus and coordinate better. In social life, it was disgusting. It was like an airborne drug.

Luckily, it was a pretty rare stat, and none that possessed it deigned to live in a small town, making sure I never had to deal with them.

Even without my own prejudices relating to the existence of Charisma wielders, I could sense that he was bad news from Eleanor's reaction. Up until now, she had given me the impression of a kind, affable woman despite her very obvious power.

The moment she saw him, her attitude changed, radiating a dark, dangerous feeling. It was like I was standing next to a giant sword, ready to spill blood. "Sir Thomas, how can this servant help you?" she said, but I had heard people less frustrated being thrown into the garbage. She didn't bother hiding her hatred.

"Is this the way a retainer should act, Eleanor? Why aren't you on your knees?" he said, his smile mocking. His Charisma turned even more pointed, focusing on Eleanor. Her legs trembled, but she resisted it.

I took a step back, not willing to be affected. I hated the impact of Charisma, especially since the level difference made it very difficult to resist.

"As the sworn sword of Lady Maria, it's not appropriate, my lord," she replied.

Thomas smiled. "How fun," he said. "I wonder how long you'll be able to resist until you beg for me to save you from your grievous mistake."

"This humble servant doesn't deserve your concerns, my lord," she replied. As I watched them absentmindedly, I couldn't help but be fascinated by the way culture had changed in merely three years. Centuries of traditions relating to democracy and equality had been abandoned, replaced by a mockery of tribal politics, often with a cursory veneer of medieval nobility.

I never understood how such a drift could happen in less than a year, which was another reason I had been so enthusiastic about joining the rare research institutes that were finally popping around — only to fail.

Thomas smirked, no doubt about to follow up with another subtle insult, but his expression changed when Eleanor grabbed her sword. "Don't worry, Eleanor. We're old friends. I'm just worried about my dear cousin, and wanted to see if I can help any."

"She's busy, and she doesn't want to see you," Eleanor replied. "But, feel free to visit and see if she changes her mind."

"Oh, what a pity," he said, his smugness back. "I'll just deal with my mission and leave, then," he said.

"Your mission," Eleanor asked.

"Yes. The family council honored me with an emergency mission of protecting one of the trade routes. And, I'm here to get the necessary resources."

Eleanor froze as he passed her a sealed envelope. "No. That's against the deal. We have been promised no interference."

"From our side of the family, and we fulfilled it. We can't help it if the family council assigned me with a critical mission that's more important than a mere dungeon's subjugation." He smirked as he looked at the blacksmith. "Anyone employed directly by the family, follow me. You have your orders," he said.

I watched from the side as the majority of the employees had left the room, leaving only five behind.

Eleanor followed them, panicked, and the rest of the blacksmiths followed her, no doubt wanting to leave.

I considered following them but decided against it. I had no idea what would happen, but there were two options. Either the operation was dead, or it would continue. If it continued, getting familiar with the workshop and the weapons would be useful.

And, if the operation was dead, I better repair a few weapons. Maybe I could push Repair to the next rank before they kick me out.

After all, even if they failed, the dungeon wouldn't disappear. Another team would establish a new camp, where I could work.

Either way, it was better than watching a pointless competition between a bunch of rich kids to finalize.