Sorath woke refreshed in the dead of night. On the nightstand, the clock’s hands glowed a dim chalk-blue. 3:15AM. Only four and a half hours had passed, yet he had rested a full eight hour session due to Temporal Haste Aura. This was going to be tricky to manage, but nothing impossible. The advantages were worth the hassle.

Next to him, Gwyn was still asleep, her chest slowly rising and falling. Her silk nightclothes for sure weren’t comparable to her legendary Druid robes and shrouded cloak. She was vulnerable, though her security enchantments would wake her. But right now she was in a weakened state. Someone could hurt her, kill her.

For once in a long, long time, the desire to protect overcame him, mellowing the darkness in his heart to the point that all he could feel was psionic mana pulsing through his arteries, energetic like liquid lightning but also calm and focused like arcane.

Gwyn’s eyes cracked open a little. One of her enchantments must’ve triggered. “Why are you staring at me?” Anxiety dripped.

“I like watching you sleep. That’s all.”

“Ah.” She relaxed. “My head’s staying attached tonight.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.”

She said groggily, “I know, but there’s always a chance I’ll end up in your youth potion.”

He didn’t blame her for worrying. “You’re not thinking straight. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay, don’t do anything weird though.”

He gently flicked her pointed ear. “I should rummage through your soul inventory like you did with mine.”

“Don’t you dare,” she playfully said, rolling away from him.

“But I have better things do.” He patted her shoulder. “I need to repair my gear. There are crafting stations here, right?”

“Yep. Blacksmith by the stockpiles, Tailoring next to the Jail.”

Sorath pulled out of bed, dressed in woolly linen, and sauntered outside. The moment he opened the front door and stepped into ankle-deep snow, freezing wind stung his face. He shivered as a snowflake landed on his forehead and didn’t melt, staying frozen with a speck of icy mana. He had taken Gwyn’s heating enchantment for granted. Out here was a subzero hell.

Teeth chattering, he stomped down the main path, vast stockpiles of stone blocks to his right, dwellings to his left. Walls were thick; he sensed only smudges of living mana in each home. He hauled open a cast iron door under a round, pointed roof. Inside sat two Blacksmith stations, both only tier-two, judging by the dilapidated look of things: dull tools, uneven anvils, small forges. At least ruby crystals were shining bright and giving off sweltering heat, recently topped up with fire and earth mana. This would have to do.

Sorath unsheathed Vetara’s Reckoning, held the blade at eye level. Dragonsteel had a missable scale patterning that was more visible when tempered correctly, unique to this metal, and the pattern’s repeating unbroken symmetry was indicative of quality. This blade was inarguably legendary-quality, but even a legendary edge needed to be sharpened now and then. The tip was dull. No chips or scratches, however, as expected of dragonsteel of any quality.

From his pouch, he grabbed his good old trusty Blacksmith’s tool, wielded it. A bronze glitter caught his eye. The small diamond-shaped gem embedded in the leather handle was now flush with mana. “Unveil,” he invoked in the divine language.

High-Quality Multipurpose Steel Blacksmith’s Hammer

A crafting tool fit for any blacksmithing job. Can only be wielded by those with the Blacksmith Profession.

+2 effective Blacksmith ranks

Greater Steady Hand: Reduces probability of failed crafts by 25%

Gwyn must’ve enchanted this with Greater Steady Hand the other day. A nice surprise. And free of charge; the enchant was worth at least several hundred gold at Greenwood. Not particularly useful for repairs, but indeed nice to have.

He got work: “Repair.” He concentrated on his intention, and from all directions, from the divine realm, mana flowed into his mind and put him at ease. His arms moved by themselves, guided by the gods, sharpening the blade against a whetstone on Hammer’s side. Mana sparks showered the floor on every motion. It didn’t take long to fully sharpen both edges and the stabbing tip.

Then his fingers were prying off the ill-fitting leather grip that he had salvaged from his previous sword. The metal beneath was dull and dirty, which a thorough wiping and polishing took care of. His hand went into his pouch, retrieved a square of normal-quality leather, a spool of thread, and a sewing needle. His hands were a blur as they crafted a proper-fitting grip.

Finally, the scabbard that only sheathed two-thirds of the blade was lengthened with another leather square.

Divine influence receded from his mind.

“Unveil.”

[Soulbound] Vetara’s Reckoning

It is said this dragonsteel longsword was crafted by Vetara as an act of vengeance.

Durability: 9376/10000

+65 Dexterity

+25 Intelligence

+10 Strength

Attack Damage: 5298

Brutality: Deals 15% more physical damage

Cruel Edge: Wounds inflicted by this weapon are unusually painful

Greater Imperishability: Significantly increases this item’s durability. May also improve its defensive and offensive properties.

Set Effect (6 Pieces): Runic Echo

Naturally, there were some things which a mere sharpening couldn’t repair. He was only an Intermediate 3 Blacksmith. Reforging dragonsteel at his rank would only ruin this beautiful sword. Even at Master 10, working with dragonsteel was risky business. He would, to begin with, need to equip a legendary Blacksmith’s Hammer and work near a tier-ten Blacksmithing Station.

Now for Vetara’s Reach.

On second thought, it was best not to mess with these almost-broken wristbands. He settled on manually cleaning and polishing the cracked dragonsteel.

Restless, fiery mana was approaching the hut. Curious. Friendly. The door opened with a harsh groan, and a middle-aged man’s face peeked inside. His graying beard was healthy under a bulbous nose and deep-set green eyes. A cut scar on his brow ridge ran all the way to his right ear.

“Arhh, I thought I heard something. I gather you can’t sleep as well?” His voice was deep. And slow.

Sorath turned off Temporal Haste. “You can say that.”

The man grunted as he closed the door. He sat on a stool, placed his sheathed sword on the floor; the blade was thin, long, and curved. Under his ragged cloak was leather armor. Blademaster. He stared at the dragonsteel equipment, his expression giving nothing away, but his mana was flaming in awe and envy. “Those wristbands,” he breathed, “will need much work.”

“Can you fix them for me? What about my sword?”

His head shook. “Not with these stations, and not with my hammer.”

“You’re a Master Blacksmith?”

“I am.” Truth.

A quizzical smile curled Sorath’s lips. “You could have a good life behind Cyesten’s faction lines. Yet you’re here. What was your crime, if I may ask? What’s your name?”

“Tygett Malwyn, and I am no criminal. I have my reasons. Lady Freya has earned my respect. And what of you, stranger?” His mana drew inward to the center of his body, hiding something. Not in guilt or lies. He was guarding a secret, not his own.

So he knows. He’s one of Freya’s trusted leaders.

Sorath quietly asked, “Have you heard of the name Sorath Adanell?”

“I don’t believe I recall. Is this a name which I should be wary of?”

“I guess that depends, but I don’t think you should be wary.”

Tygett didn’t say anything for a minute. He grumbled from the back of his throat, then asked in a strong voice, “Why have you fled your home?”

“Why does it matter? Lady Freya has deemed me—” Sorath noticed Gwyn’s approaching mana signature. “She’s deemed me trustworthy.”

That seemed good enough for Tygett. “Why are you here?”

“No particular reason. You can consider me as her personal guard. I’ll be gone as soon as she leaves, which should be today or tomorrow.” It was going to be a painstaking journey to the Frozen North. The possibility of a dragon egg was too good to pass on.

Tygett’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “Here I was concerned there will be yet another mouth to feed this winter. I was ready to assign you work.”

“And what would you assign me?”

His breath was raspy. “Due north, Gnolls recently have made these mountains home for their burrows. If they are left untouched over this winter, they will become troublesome for this settlement. With a blade like yours, rooting them out will be quick work. We will be leaving two hours after sunrise as a full party.”

Gnolls. One of the many annoying beasts that the gods liked to spawn near civilization for whatever inane reason. Sorath held in a sigh. “I assume Freya can’t be bothered?”

“She has more pressing matters.”

The door opened. Gwyn walked inside with a lively gait, her face hidden in darkness under her hood. “Hello, Tygett. Nice to see you again.”

The Master Blacksmith stood. “Lady Carena. Is there an issue?”

“No,” she said, “but I hear you’re having a Gnoll problem. Sora and I will go take care of it now.”

“Now?”

Gwyn nodded. “Yep, we’ll go in ten minutes. We’ll be safe. You don’t need to come.”

“Lady Carena, I insist that we wait until sunrise.”

“Don’t worry.”

Tygett wanted to further protest out of genuine concern, but he held his tongue. “I will await for your return at the gates. I also report one of the prisoners you asked me watch tried to escape several times throughout the night. She’s been very difficult.”

“Was she hurt?” Gwyn asked.

“She’s in good health, but I suffered light burns and was forced to place her in an enchanted cell. She is powerful even without a weapon.”

That definitely sounded like Valia. Fire Mage prodigy. Star pupil of Greenwood School of Adventuring while she had been there.

Gwyn said, “I’ll see her in the morning. Afterward, Scarlett and I will be leaving.”

“With her?”

“Likely.” Gwyn’s hood straightened. “Now, some privacy, please. But thanks for keeping Sora company.”

Tygett nodded. “Best of luck, my lady.”

“You too, Tygett.”

The door again opened and closed, and the hut’s heating enchantment dwindled some more. Sorath waited until Tygett lumbered out of hearing range before turning Temporal Haste back on and asking, “Why do you want to fight Gnolls at night in this weather?”

Her mana swirled in not exactly excitement. “Because when Gnolls spawn during winter, there’s a chance they have dragonhide, and you need dragonhide. You didn’t know?”

He thought back to lessons at school. “I do, but it’s like what? One in seventy-something?”

“Still better than zero in seventy.” She was too optimistic.

“Alright,” he exhaled. “Ready to go? Just you and I, right?”

Her hand disappeared into her invisible pouch and pulled out silky back cloth. A cloak. “Here, take this. It was in my wardrobe. For the cold.”

“Unveil.”

Excellent-Quality Hooded Silk Cloak

Durability: 99/100

+5 Intelligence

Lesser Mild Climate: Slightly shifts your body temperature toward a comfortable range

Shadows: Shrouds your body in subtle darkness

He stuffed his tattered cloak into his pouch, then threw her cloak over his shoulders and head. From his perspective, he couldn’t tell that his face was shrouded. This was his first time equipping something with the Shadows enchantment, which was worth tens of thousands of gold.

“Thanks,” he muttered, “I owe you one.”

“I’m pretty sure you owe more than just one. I’d say at least seven or eight now. You can swear loyalty at least.”

“At this point, I don’t think I need to, Gwyn. I’m not going to abandon you.” He held her hand. Her fingers were colder than usual.

“Okay.” Her tone was stilted. Her loopy mind was difficult to read as usual.

“What is it?”

“Don’t be angry, but… there’s a reason why you haven’t seen Madrog’s son around here. He kind of escaped last week, and one my Detection enchants saw Gnolls ambushing him and dragging him off. He’s probably Gnoll poop by now. Sorry, and sorry I didn’t tell you. Again, don’t be angry. So sorry.” Her posture was meek.

He was annoyed but not angry. “This is really why you want to go out right now? To check if he’s still alive?”

“Yep.”

He rubbed his eyes, rationalizing: “You should’ve told me, but it’s not your fault that he ran off. Or that Gnolls attacked him.”

“I agree, and there is a tiny chance he’s still alive.”

“Then let’s go make sure.”

“Mmhmm.”

He squeezed her hand, almost afraid to ask, “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

“Well…” She shrugged. “Scarlett talked to Lesfid. He said since you left Greenwood, there’s been, and I quote, an uptick of crime, mostly robberies. Madrog really wants you back, planning to offer you five or even ten times the regular pay for Town Guards.”

Crazed laughter shook his torso. “Too late now. I’ve murdered a bloody Lord!”

She giggled. “You’re stuck with me. We’re going to build a faction and raise dragons. You and I.”

“We are,” he sighed, and he wasn’t afraid of this new life he was pursuing. A cathartic sort of relief undid knots in his gut and mind that had stubbornly refused to budge for years.

He was now all-in on the Elves’ vision, his only course of action. It was either this or a solitary life out there in the wilderness, all by himself, for the rest of his life. He was only minutely bothered by the thought; either was fine.