I very quickly remembered how heavy a Boar was to my 16 year old body. My ki control was shaky, so I couldn’t use the First Stage of Spiritualism all that much and had to rely on my physical strength. And even slung around my shoulders, I had already walked with it for kilometers.

Fortunately, there was always at least one butcher near each gate, and if they couldn’t use the meat themselves, they usually did a pretty good wholesale business to butchers farther into the City. Given my starting resources—nigh nil—I could get a lot more use out of it if I kept and carved it up myself, but I couldn’t control my ki well enough to create a cutting edge and the only one I had on hand was that tiny knife. As it was, I was already exhausted and I was at least several steps away from securing a bed for the night. The Boar was unfortunately the right resource at the wrong time.

With that I walked into the first butcher I saw, to dispose of my excess baggage. He wasn’t interested in the Squirrels at all—too much work for too little meat; if anyone wanted one, they went hunting for themselves—and the Boar he would only offer for a pittance of marks. I would need food, and likely would be cooking for myself for a while, so I ended up bartering with him for some fresh and dried sausages Boar sausages, lard, a large cut of Boar, a cut of Deer, and some mixed stew cuts.

As I left the butchershop after haggling for meat for a fifth of a bell, I heard the noon bell and realized I was famished. I purchased a spiced Raptor sandwich from a street cart for a mark, inhaled that, then popped into a bakery for a large loaf of bread and a jar of honey.

With my food issues for the next few days sorted, I found myself wandering around the City trying to get my bearings. I knew where Old Time Square was… I just didn’t know here I was. Hey, it’d been a few decades from my perspective, okay? After a fifth of a bell wandering, I finally found myself on a familiar street. Oh, yes, that’s Sal’s bakery, which means that right there was that awful clothing store Sam dragged me into, and that means… My thoughts came to a standstill as I saw from an angle the front wall and doors to Master Throm’s dojo.

I hadn’t even given Master Throm a single thought since waking up this morning. That dojo had been where I found refuge in the City in my prior life. And it was where I met each of the other members of the party that I’d travel with almost my entire life. It was, I was finding, a place wrapped in suffocating feelings of nostalgia.

Forcing those feelings down, I turned around, went into an alley, and leaned against a wall to compose myself. Master Throm had been a decent sort and had meant a lot to me emotionally in my last life. But even by Dorflich’s standards, his dojo was very much a middling one. Vince’s attendance at the City Tournament, even at his late age, was a cause to celebrate within the dojo, but was a mild embarrassment without it. And compared to the standards of nearly every other city I later traveled to, Throm’s dojo was little better than a garden for children.

It hurt to acknowledge, but instinctively I knew that joining Master Throm’s dojo wasn’t an option this time around. I still hadn’t sorted out any long term plans, but in the short term, I was going to gain back my old life’s strength. And as far as I knew, no one in Dorflich was going to be able to help me with that. It was going to be a lonely path for a while—that I had known the last bell—but I refused to accept any lesser path.

Having accepted that I had to turn my back on Master Throm, I now found myself considering what to do about my old party. We had spent decades together, traveling the continent, and fighting threats that would shame every spiritualist in Dorflich. But now they were strangers, weren’t they? We grew stronger together and older together, and I knew them better than my own parents when I was a child. We loved and we laughed, were merry together and were once married together. When we lived in Dorflich, they were young and bright-eyed spiritualists.

But now? I was—or felt like—an old man, burdened by decades of battle, killing, and loss. In my last life, the five of us had vowed to defeat the dark lord and… we failed. I didn’t know if I was going to attempt that again this lifetime, but if I was, did I have the right to bring them into that? And maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I’d ignore the dark lord, and just take it easy and enjoy life this time around. I could be the spiritualist I was without committing to a suicide run, couldn’t I? I deserved that, didn’t I?

My brain was starting to feel like mush, and my shoulders were heavy from the long day. It’d only been one day back in the past. Last lifetime, we hadn’t left the City for years. I had time on my side, not only to decide what I wanted to do, but what I wanted to do with them. And once I did, I would have plenty of time to find them and reestablish my friendships. It was in short, tomorrow’s victory.

With that, I pulled myself back up, slung my bags back over my shoulder, and got going. Besides a terrible heartache, finding Master Throm’s dojo gave me something else: directions.

***

After a half bell, I finally found myself in front of the blacksmith recommended to me by the guard. I had never been here in my previous life, but blacksmiths were largely the same everywhere in the City, and I didn’t expect much.

Pushing the door open, I heard a bell jingle. I looked up and saw that the door had a rod attached to it and would strike a loose hanging bell when the door was opened. That was unusual for Dorflich, and I peered at it quizzically. I had known such devices in other cities I had visited, but couldn’t recall running into any in Dorflich in my last life.

As I continued to stare at the bell like an idiot, the door to the rear forgeroom was kicked open. Through the door strolled a tall, heavily muscled woman, late 40s, with short cropped black hair, and the heavy leather apron her craft was known for. “Can I help you?” she asked, not unpleasantly.

“Yes,” I said, gathering myself, “Frank sent me over; said you could help me get an apartment by the West Gate.”

“Damn it, Frank,” she cursed under her breath, glancing away from me. Then, staring at the ceiling and in an ever-suffering voice, “Yes, I can hook you up with an apartment by the West Gate. Head south two blocks, then west ten blocks. Four story apartment building, with a sign out front with a Mammoth. Talk to Lily, and tell her Dolores sent you. And,” she said pointing a finger at me, “if you ever see Frank again, knee him in the groin and tell him I am not some kind of… damned welcoming committee he can just pawn every green farmers’ kid on. Ya got that?!”

Here’s to hoping I don’t have to go to the South Gate. “Yes, I can manage that.”

“Good. Now, can you at least tell me you need my actual services as a blacksmith,” she said, emphasizing her words oddly.

“Yes, actually, I do need a few blades. Right now I could use a basic two handed longsword and a hunting knife, and sheaths for both, though I’ll need some other weapons in a few weeks.”

“Basic longswords in the corner. I make them in batches to keep ‘em cheap, so they’re all the same. Pick one, then come over here for the knives.”

I went to the corner and pulled one at random out of the barrel of sand. Examining the hilt, the cross-guard consisted of an unadorned plain bar 12 cm long; the grip was pine wrapped in Boar leather; and the pommel was too small for effective smashing. That said, each of these was fairly common for basic longswords. Turning to the blade, I noted that it had a basic lenticular cross-section, which was common for cheap sword. The hammer pattern though was impressively above-average for cheap swords like this, but this particular sword had a bit of discoloration to it. This suggested to me that Dolores was an above-average smith, at least, but had been in a rush when completing this, and that this sword may have been one of the last of the batch. I could feel Dolores’ eyes on my back as I eyed the sword. Hmm, if I play this just right, I thought, drawing upon old crafting knowledge.

“The oil was contaminated when this sword was quenched. It’ll probably chip within a few months unless its reforged,” turning around, “but your hammerwork is sound. Will you do a diamond cross-section for custom work?”

“Yes…” she said carefully, “most of my custom swords have a diamond cross section.” She paused for a moment, eyeing me. “Father a blacksmith?”

“Something like that. I know my way around a forge and can craft some trinkets, but I leave the weaponsmithing to the professionals. Speaking of,” I glanced up at her, “do you have a secondary forge I could use occasionally?”

“Yes, I do, for whenever I get another apprentice around here. Though you strike me more as a spiritualist than a true craftsmen.”

“I am. But I’ll need to make some trinkets from time to time, and I got an earful the last time I asked a blacksmith to something so trivial. I’ll be glad to pay a usage fee and clean up afterwards. I know how to care for a professional space.”

Dolores rubbed her chin at that, smudging some soot over her face. “That you do. Alright, fine. I’ll need to think about what to charge you, but it’ll be good to have that forge run every once in a while. But we were talking about swords before we got distracted.”

“Ah, right,” I said, feigning the sword catching my attention again. “I’ll need some custom work later, but need something basic now. I’ll take this one at full price if you throw in a hunting knife for free.”

“Hmm. Fine,” she said, feigning surrender, but secretly pleased, “but only one of the cheap ones,” pulling out a bucket from behind the counter. I quickly pawed through the bucket, selecting one that appeared to be slightly better quality than the rest before handing over the hundred mark Boar core, and leaving. She didn’t have any whetstones for sale, but that was tomorrow’s problem.

***

The apartment building was the easiest thing I found today. Lily was apparently Dolores’ aunt on her mother’s side, and had been taking care of the building for almost twenty years now. She had plenty to say, but little of substance, so I let her prattle on in the background as she led me up the stairs to the fourth (and top) floor and showed me the studio. It was a cramped forty square meter space, but it came with minimal furnishing, which was a plus. Looking out the window, I could actually see the rise where the West Gate was and figured it was probably less than a tenth bell walk there. I handed her the first months’ rent—300 marks, over half of what I had left—and she let herself out, still talking, though I had lost the stream of the conversation a while ago.

Dropping all my belongings on the floor, I plopped down on my back onto the bed. The mattress was a lumpy thing of hay and was probably the worst thing I had slept on within civilization in twenty years. But it had been a long first day back into the past and my 16 year old body was ready to sleep on cobblestone itself if need be.

Sleep though was unavailing as that same 16 year old body grumbled for food, despite my having eaten only a bell ago. Moaning in frustration, I decided that sleep could wait for at least one meal.

Retrieving my groceries from my baggage, I went over to the kitchenette and opened up the small window to the outside for light and ventilation. Pressing my hand on the appropriate rune, I channeled a thread of ki into it to heat up the built in griddle. Doing so in a controlled fashion was a little more difficult than it should have been—these appliances had been designed for use by non-spiritualists—but if anything it sufficed as a mild exercise to regain control over my ki.

As the griddle began heating, I opened up the cabinetry to take stock of what I was working with. A few plates, a cup, a fork, a spatula, and a soup pot. It was not a lot and I mentally added a note to acquire some other cooking basics. The largest cabinet was an insulated ice box for preserving perishable foods. During winter, the chill from outside would keep food inside cool and fresh, and during the rest of the year, a twice-daily infusion of ki into the runes on the outside would keep it cool and prevent spoilage. It was warm now from disuse, so with my other hand, I fed ki into the ice box to get it cooling as well.

When the griddle was finally hot, I greased it down with a touch of lard before putting three large fresh Boar sausages on to cook. I periodically fed the runes ki to keep it hot, and then flipped the sausages with the fork on hand. By this time, the ice box was cool, so I stuck all my provisions from the butcher in there. The three Squirrels I tossed into a small sack, and also put into the ice box; I’d dress those tomorrow. Just as the sausages were finishing, I sliced a third of the breadloaf, and toasted the slices on the griddle. Pulling the sausages off onto the lone plate, I used the warmed bread to mop up the grease remaining on the griddle, then turned to sit and eat my dinner.

Incidentally, there was no table or chair in the studio. There was a low dresser which was about table height, and there was the prep station in the kitchenette, but nowhere for me to sit and have a surface to eat on. Sighing, I sat on the edge of the bed, and started digging into my meal ravenously with only my fingers as utensils. It was only after the first sausage that I realized I had nothing to drink. Grunting in frustration and thirst, I tried to gather some water ki, but quickly gave up on that notion; that level of control was still beyond me at the moment. Even more frustrated at this point, I went over to the wash basin in the kitchenette and channeled some ki into the runes there. It was slow going—I suspect the runes needed fixing—but eventually the basin was filled with water. I scooped some into my solo cup and drank deeply to wash away the first portion of my dinner. With a cup of water in hand, I returned to my dinner, making short work of it. Setting the plate on the floor with a contented sigh, I laid back on the mattress, and with my booted feet still on the floor, fell into a deep sleep with the sun overhead.