At noon of the first day, the Initiate brought his horse and cart back to the city of Bluebell, three hours east of Redmarsh. The easiest solution to the supplymaster’s test would be to purchase fifty cheap spears, and the Initiate had no doubt that some of the richer merchant recruits would try to do just that. Perhaps they would even find a weaponsmith willing to sell such a quantity without calling the City Guard on them once the money changed hands. After all, this close to Redmarsh and the Sun Revolution, weapons peddling was a dangerous business.

As the Initiate migrated from the northern markets to western Redmarsh, he had focused on gathering information rather than profits. He had enough coins in the cart to purchase spears at a typical price, if only just, but one did not rise in life by tossing one’s money into the wind. Careful investment was the way to success. Why risk suspicion from a law-abiding weaponsmith when the Initiate could go straight to the source? Of course, the average peddler couldn’t just approach the City Guard armory and ask for weapons. However, the Initiate wasn’t average, and he had a plan.

The Initiate put up his horse and cart at a nearby inn’s attached stables for safekeeping. Under a tarp, the sacks and wine jars in the bed of the cart were full of rusty scrap metal and vinegar of various strengths, respectively. There was also a modest bedroll with one blanket and a change of clothes. Any robber would find those poor pickings indeed.

Of course, the real value lay underneath the false wooden cart-bed. There, a hidden compartment held several sacks of gold coins: a small portion of the profits from the Initiate’s antique business. The remainder of his funds was safely distributed among various trusted associates in other cities. This hidden compartment also contained a carefully wrapped set of well-made glassware, useful for handling stronger acids than vinegar.

The Initiate transferred about a hundred coins to a melon-sized pouch, which he hung on his belt, leaving the rest of the money in the cart. The coin pouch jangled as he walked. Outside the stable, the Initiate scooped several handfuls of small pebbles from the roadside and added these to the pouch as well. The plump moneybag, now filled to the brim with coins and rocks, made him look like a very wealthy man indeed.

With the hefty pouch of coins at his belt, the Initiate swaggered up to the City Guard armory and knocked on the door. The inventory keeper opened the door halfway, looking surprised to see a non-military caller.

“Do you want to be rich? I’ll buy any weapons you have.” The Initiate flashed his customary sales grin. “Not the good ones, mind, just the ones too rusty to use.”

The inventory keeper frowned, half-hidden behind the door. “What for?”

“My nephew wants to join the City Guard when he grows up. Problem is, he’s always dreamed of practicing with ‘a real City Guard weapon, one of the ones they actually use!’” The Initiate pitched his voice up, imitating the squeak of an awestruck pre-teen. “So I told him, I’ll get you something good for your birthday. Now he’s turning ten, and here I am.” The Initiate laughed. “Well, it’s not like I’d get him a real one. But maybe an old spear or sword, something too rusty to use.”

The inventory keeper’s face softened.

“My son is the same way. Always asking for expensive presents.” He sighed, opening the door all the way. “We usually have the weapons recycled when they get too old, but you might be in luck. With all that fuss about the rebels out west, the smiths have been too busy making new armor to recycle the old steel.”

The inventory keeper disappeared into the back room. When he emerged, his arms were full of rust-stained weapons. He spread these across the table, and the Initiate came over to look as well. The inventory keeper picked up a sword covered entirely in brown and pressed a fingernail into the rust. Several large flakes fell away.

“This one is definitely beyond repair,” the inventory keeper said, setting it on the Initiate’s side of the table. He inspected a spear and two daggers as well, but these were only partially rusted, and the metal finish could still be seen beneath the brown spots. After some contemplation, the inventory keeper shook his head. “We might be able to polish off the rest—I can’t sell you weapons that we can still use, you understand. It would end my career. That sword is the only one that I’m sure we can sell.”

Once upon a time, perhaps, the sword had shone with a beautiful metallic finish. Now, its steel was invisible underneath a jagged outcropping of red-brown texture across the entire length of the sword. Rust had even grown across the metal crossguard, making it just as unpleasant for a wielder to hold as for the recipient of the blade.

“All that rust—looks dreadful.” Inwardly, the Initiate was pleased. Despite the sword’s pitiful appearance, the rust looked to be only surface-deep—well beyond the help of mechanical scrubbing, but not impossible to fix with a bit of chemical assistance. A thorough vinegar etch and polish would restore the shiny steel surface in no time.

“Too dreadful to buy?” the inventory keeper asked, glancing wistfully at the prominent bulge of the Initiate’s coin pouch.

“Now, now, good fellow. I didn’t say that.” The Initiate laughed, waving a dismissive hand. “Better if the kid doesn’t have a real-looking weapon while he’s still learning, right? It would scare his friends too much. Say, how about a discount, considering the condition. Twenty-five coins for that rustheap?”

For a sword new from the smithy, the City Guard typically paid between one and two hundred coins. Twenty-five was a ludicrously low resale price for any ordinary weapon. However, a sword in as miserable condition as this was a different story: the City Guard would normally need to pay to have such rusty steel recycled into a useful form. Earning twenty-five from a wealthy traveler was certainly decent for a rusty blade with no practical value, especially when the inventory keeper’s superior would be pleased to receive any nonzero sum of money.

“Fifty,” the inventory keeper negotiated, more for the spirit of it than any actual need for twenty-five more coins than the first offer.

“A fair price,” the Initiate nevertheless agreed, and they shook on it. Money and sword changed hands, leaving the Initiate fifty coins poorer.

It was fortunate that the City Guard only had the one rusty sword for sale. If all fifty of the weapons he needed to acquire cost this much, the Initiate would be out of money before he gathered even a third of the test quota.

The Initiate stashed his new sword in his cart.

As the sun sank into early afternoon, the Initiate wandered around, searching for inspiration. He still needed forty-nine weapons, and he slowly lost hope. If he could not complete this task, then he could not join the Sun Revolution, and another opportunity such as this might not arise in his lifetime.

The persistent clang of metal against metal drew the Initiate’s attention. He followed the sound to a side street, where a blacksmith and three apprentices were pounding on newly forged swords in an open-faced workshop. A nearby table was heaped with completed product, no doubt intended for the City Guard, but a pile on the floor contained several sword-shaped metal pieces with the blue-black sheen of improperly tempered steel. Some of the blades in the pile even looked to have cracks partway through the metal.

Blades were certainly the most prestigious common weapon, and obtaining fifty for the test would be sure to impress the Sun Revolution supplymaster more than, for instance, fifty arrows. Furthermore, the Initiate had plenty of experience changing the look of metal, whereas he was less familiar with wood. It would be easier to transform a low-grade, all-metal sword or dagger into shining freshness than a half-rotted spear.

The Initiate approached and offered to buy the castoffs, which the City Guard surely would not accept anyway. After all, what military man worth his name would use a sword with cracks running through it? He proposed rather generous prices: ten coins for a defective knife, and fifteen coins per defective sword—incredibly cheap for a functional weapon, but still more than the raw iron was worth.

Surprisingly, the blacksmith agreed. The Initiate walked off with a dozen defective weapons, all in various states of ill temper. He stashed these in his cart as well, wrapping them in a conveniently sized potato sack. Then, he searched the city for another blacksmith and repeated the offer.

By late afternoon, the Initiate had twenty defective steel swords and daggers, for a total of twenty-one blades. It was progress, but not enough; he still needed twenty-nine more weapons to meet the test quota.

Another idea struck. The Initiate visited a whitesmith and said, “Lead is easier to work than steel, right? Make me some lead swords for decorative purposes.”

He offered a price that was very generous indeed for lead. Since lead was almost as common as dirt, and could be cast quickly besides, the whitesmith agreed to a small commission of ten short sword-shaped lead pieces for a hundred gold total.

The Initiate visited three other whitesmiths in the city and proposed similar commissions. They all laughed at first—after all, who could expect a reputable smith to churn out ten copies of an object they’d never made before, and within a day’s time at that?

Once the smiths saw the Initiate’s money, they stopped laughing and started working.

In the afternoon of the second day, the Initiate was ready to return to Redmarsh. His cart was loaded with defective weapons. In total, he had acquired sixty-one swords and daggers: twenty defective steel castoffs, forty lead fakes, and one rusty weapons-grade steel blade. He buried the good steel among a sack of defective blades, heaping the four bags of lead fakes on top for good measure.

The City Guard stopped the Initiate at the western gate for a routine inspection. One guard threw back the tarp covering the cart, revealing various jars and several sacks full of swords. Lead swords were spilling out of one half-open bag at the top.

“Weapons,” the guard gasped.

“Seize him!” the other cried.

The Initiate took several steps back, holding his hands up. He recognized neither guard, but he turned a huge smile on them anyway. After all, good customer service was the first tenet of a successful business operation, even if some critics would call the Initiate’s perfectly legitimate business model a sham.

“Now, now, gentlemen. Let’s not be hasty,” the Initiate said. “Think: would any self-respecting merchant with half an ounce of sense smuggle weapons to the rebels in broad daylight?”

The guards glanced at each other, uncertain. Sensing this hesitation, the Initiate lowered his hands and his voice.

“Of course not. Even the lowest fool knows not to cross the City Guard. I might be just a simple merchant, but I’d never even dream of it.”

The Initiate picked up a grey sword by the blade. The surface was rough from the cast, and the edges were dull enough that he could handle it with bare skin. He would have to resurface all of the blades later.

“Does this look like a real sword to you?” The Initiate held the blade under direct sunlight, but it barely gleamed.

“Er...”

“The rebels don’t know good steel from lead. I give these fakes to them, and they won’t last two minutes in a fight with the renowned Imperial City Guard. I’m just looking out for my business—and yours,” the Initiate said, dipping one hand into a pocket. It came out generously loaded with gold coins. The Initiate distributed the coins among the guards, making sure to tip the older one extra in acknowledgement of his seniority.

“Always admired the hard work that the City Guard does. I only wish that I could do as much for the Empire as you brave fellows.”

The guards had a good laugh at this.

“Splendid, splendid. A merchant who knows his place,” said one. “With this plan, we’ll have barely any work at all.”

Still chuckling, the guards opened the gate to let the Initiate go on his way.

In the evening of the second day, the Initiate arrived back at Redmarsh, a tarp over his cart. He waved at the Sun Army guards, and they waved back recognizing him as the scrap dealer from before. They welcomed him into the city without checking the cart.

At a Redmarsh inn, the Initiate unloaded the swords and jars into his room. Four of the smaller containers were full, but the three large glass jars were empty; he took them all upstairs. He also fetched several pieces of scrap metal from the cart, as well as a large pail of water. Following the usual routine, he blocked off the windows to keep away prying eyes from the neighbors. Once done, he tied a conveniently acquired fine silk handkerchief around his face and slipped on a pair of leather gloves.

The Initiate measured out a generous spoonful of greenish salt commonly used as dye, heating this on the fire until the salt turned yellow in color. Then, he set a glass flask of aqua regia—strong acid, purchased from a jeweler—to heat on the fire as well. The Initiate also lined up a few more jars of powder that would be needed later in the process.

As the compounds heated, the Initiate polished the rust off the weapons-grade steel sword with a rough stone and a few dabs of cold vinegar. Once the steel shone like new, the Initiate set it aside as a reference. He next took out a set of sharpening stones and began transforming the dull, rough-cast lead swords into sharper, smoother lead swords.

The Initiate drew inspiration from a jeweler who had painted copper trinkets with gold leaf, supposedly to help the ladies too poor to afford actual gold. Realistically, it was a scheme similar to the Dealer’s own antiquing jobs, and thereby also a good way of earning extra profit. However, while the tarnishing method used for antiques directly modified the surface properties of the target material, this process would add a shiny new surface on top of the original metal.

The acid and salt were both sufficiently heated. Taking the other ingredients in hand, the Initiate prepared two solutions: a dilute acid bath and a salt mixture. He then treated one of the forty newly sharpened lead swords through both solutions, timing each blade exposure carefully using lines scratched on a thin wax candle. The end result was a lead sword with a beautiful silvery coating. When compared with the one actual weapons-grade steel sword that the Initiate had purchased, the two blades were visually indistinguishable.

“Lead into steel,” the Initiate whispered to himself, mouth curling upward with satisfaction. “Maybe I should start calling myself an alchemist, too.”

The twenty defective steel swords and daggers were another matter. Although the defective blades were the same material as the true weapons-grade sword, the metal had visible speckling or discoloration from improper heat treatment and alloy mixtures. Some also had cracks running along the length. The Initiate heated a piece of scrap lead over the fire and poured molten lead over these swords to fill the crevasses. He successfully created smooth surfaces, but there were still noticeable streaks along the blades where the steel base met lead filling.

The Initiate decided to plate the steel blades as well. It took longer to discover the proper ingredient ratios and exposure times, but after two hours of experimentation, the Initiate was confident that the first defective blade looked indistinguishable from his weapons-grade steel reference.

The Initiate worked through the night, touching up each of the twenty defective steel and forty lead swords.

Two hours after noon on the third day, the Initiate presented the fifty best-looking swords and daggers to the supplymaster. The Initiate kept the steel reference blade for himself, along with the other ten blades that had looked least impressive after the plating job.

The Initiate was the first recruit of his batch to successfully complete the task, impressing the supplymaster enough that he promoted the Initiate to Junior Arms Dealer on the spot.