Mannat looked at his reflection in the polished face of the arrow. He moved his free hand through his hair, pulling them up to measure their length. Sure enough, they had grown longer while he wasn’t looking.

He rubbed his thumb on the body of the arrow, and in satisfaction, put it in the barrel with the rest of them.

“Is that the last one?” Raesh asked, looking at him from the other side of the workshop, standing tall over the anvil. He no longer forged arrows. Those he had finished two days ago.

Now, he worked on the tools that the villagers had requested over time. There were skillets, pots, axes, iron dogs, fences, handles, bars, plates to make, nails to be drawn. The two weeks he had given to the arrows had emptied the inventory. It was about time he finished the village orders before the villagers sent the jobs to someone else.

The customers don’t like to be delayed repeatedly.

Mannat boarded the top of the barrel and nailed it shut. With it, they had completed the count's order. Raesh’s newest skill and Mannat help had seen them through the order with half a month remaining.

Mannat cleaned and dried the polishing stones and stored them back in the storage room. He didn’t touch or move the barrel. It was his father’s problem to deal with.

Another week had quietly passed since the day he went hunting with Pandit. He had huge gains for one week. All skills of the mental facility leveled up once. ‘Inspect’ was now level eight. ‘Analyze’ and ‘Mana sense’ had also decided to acknowledge his hard work and risen by one level to each to reach level nine. They were one step away from reaching the maximum level.

Out of the three, the first two leveled up a few days ago. Only ‘Mana sense’ was being stubborn.

There was more good news. His ‘Intelligence’ had reached 20 points. While his Wisdom was still 18 points, he was finally free to do anything he wanted. The Witch’s apprenticeship was in his hands. He could raise a hand and grab it whenever he wanted. Whether he’d bite that fruit or not was another matter altogether. With his intelligence at 20 points, he could finally have another skill, but the Witch wanted him to reserve the slot until his mana sense reaches the maximum level and unlock a higher tiered skill.

Nevertheless, he still needed to do gardening and work in the smithy to practice ‘Inspect’. The next skill level would give him a point in wisdom. He no longer needed to force himself to sit under the tree at night and practice ‘Mana sense’. The last level had higher qualitative demands that couldn’t be gotten over with quantity alone.

Mannat hung his tools and apron on the wall. He changed into normal clothes, before dusting himself and turning to leave.

“I’m leaving, father.” He said. Raesh was busy creating a replica of the lantern holder and groaned in response. Mannat shook his head. His father had been like that ever since he had received his new toy, skill, call it anything, he was like a child fascinated by it.

A day ago, he had arrived at the smithy to find his father hammering at a cup, the like of he saw two dozen already on the floor. Raesh had spent the night at the shop.

“Father,” Mannat had called, but Raesh hadn’t reacted to him and kept hammering away. He hadn’t dared poke Raesh, lest his father acted rashly and hurt him unknowingly. Mannat had simply taken the bellow away. His father had frantically searched for it near the anvil, under the furnace --as if it was a nail lost in the hay— before he saw Mannat and sobered up.

“You didn’t leave?” Raesh had asked. He was shocked to learn he had spent the night at the smithy. At first, he had grown dazed, as if remembering something from long ago, then decided to leave the smithy. Mannat thought his father was exaggerating, but Raesh strictly told him he was not.

“It is not the first time someone forgot time because of a new skill. In reality, it happens far too often. A new skill brings along new and strong stimulations; especially if you haven’t had a new skill for ages. This addiction has taken down many fine people, and it all starts just like this. No one likes to admit it, but everyone knows how lethal the lure to improve the skills can be. If you ever start behaving like me, then stop working for a few days and you’ll be fine. Don’t let it become an addiction. It might not kill you, but it’ll definitely rob life from you.”

After Mannat left, Raesh finished forging the lantern holder. He was looking at it under the skylight when suddenly Mannat returned. A chill went down Raesh’s spine. He almost dropped the tong in shock.

“Did I do it again?” Raesh hurriedly asked, and then frowned. He clearly remembered working on the piece when Mannat was leaving – and it was the same piece. He remembered the spiral he had created at the top. It was something he did for fun. He couldn’t have spent the night again in the shop! A look around gave him confidence. He wasn’t surrounded by a sea of lantern holders either. So why was the boy back so early?

“No, father,” Mannat replied with a smile on his face. “There is someone out front looking for you.”

Raesh let out the pent-up frustration in a loud rumbling sigh. “You scared me there for a second.”

“ You should hurry up, the man looks like a messenger,”

“A messenger?”

Mannat nodded. “He’s wearing the count's colors,”

Raesh stood in attention at the count's mention. He removed his gloves and put them on the anvil. The same he did with his apron. Someone from the town he could deal with any way he liked, but he needed to have basic courtesy toward the count's messenger. He wiped his face with his rag and passed by Mannat.

“I’ll wait,” The boy said. Raesh left him in the smithy with a nod.

There was only one reason Mannat would stay there -- he was curious. He worked the fire while his father talked with their guest. It would be a shame if he let the fire burn out. He simply wanted something to do. Guess, work addiction had not left him untouched either.

It didn’t take long before Mannat heard footsteps and saw his father coming back, carrying a yellow invitation in one hand. He was… confused. Mannat stopped whatever he was doing and asked, “What happened?”

Raesh looked at him with a complicated gaze. He raised the invitation and said, “The count summoned us.”

“Us?” Mannat was appalled by the idea of having to waste another day or two to meet the count, but the invitation was already in his hands.

“Yes,” Raesh said with twitching lips. “You are coming with me to meet the count.”

Mannat went straight to the butchery after leaving the smithy. He was hoping to find Pandit to help get him ready to meet the count, but the boy had already gone hunting. Left with no choice he alone went to the barber. His mother used to cut his hair before his father took the job. This time his father advised him to go to a barber for the occasion.

Walking down the road leading to the center of the village, Mannat had an ominous premonition. People looked at him cross-eyed. They gave him the way and pulled away from him as much as possible. The bystanders openly cursed him. One kid even threw a stone at him. She missed his body but struck right on a painful heartstring. The wave of emotions that rose in his chest was not easy to subdue. He had seen and heard all of it in the last two weeks, but he still hadn’t gotten used to the hostility he received from the villagers.

The barbershop was near the residential area. The vegetable market was also there. He saw Pather on the road carrying a net, but the wiry boy didn’t seem to recognize him.

The more people there were, the more attention he drew. Some ignored him, but the whispers were definitely louder and fingers pointed at him were uncountable. Mannat felt like a cow blocking the road. The people didn’t care what he thought. They simply wanted him gone.

He found the barbershop tucked between a house and a bakery. There was a large scissor hanging outside the shop, indicative of its location. The doorbell rang when he pushed the wooden door and entered, getting the owner's attention. He was a thin, tall man with a mole under his right eye. Clean-shaven, he kept his hair short and drawn to the left side. This was a handsome man.

He was attending to a customer, a bald man, and massaging his head. A group of three boys was sitting on the old beaten bench right behind, waiting for their turn. They were all older than Mannat by a couple of years.

“Welcome, take a seat,” the owner said without glancing at him, but saw his reflection in the mirror when he was about to take a seat and yelled out, “Stop! You are not welcome. Leave.”