If they write a book about me, ‘Echidna’ would be a good title. The mother of all monsters who spawned Cerberus and Medusa, the Gorgon sisters, and the legendary Hydra that spawned two heads if one was cut off. That would also make for a good film.

Maybe I should have written a biography of myself.

The simple brassiere model that Sortina has brought me is laughable. It’s no more than a band with two straps made of clothes. I told her to get lost as soon as I saw that. Incompetence. Pure incompetence. I despise people who half-ass their work. A brassiere is made from different pieces, and the first thing she should have tried is a simple sketch on cloth or paper.

There’s also to consider whether or not brassieres would actually sell here if the market would be receptive to them. Half-giants, like any other race, need bras. But what’s the cost to produce and diffuse this trend? Who’s the first client?

When guns started flooding the market, I didn’t simply put up a stall on the streets with a sign saying, ‘open up for small criminals,’ nor went directly to the wholesale distribution. Both would have been too risky. If you go to the minor criminals directly, they are afraid of wielding something like a gun. Or they are too stupid, and they will get caught.

Instead, we armed a few men here and there. Dangerous people who used the guns on other criminals, especially other organizations. Then, we spread the word. We told people that we had some guns, and those who had been attacked came to us to defend themselves. They begged us to sell to them, not knowing how deep our wares were, afraid the supply would run out and that they would remain exposed to harm while incapable of defending themselves.

If I had been a man, I would have just gone up to some idiots, sold some guns, and had them track them back to me by the police. But bras and guns are similar. You don’t just make an inferior product that doesn’t sell. Make your living elsewhere, and build a product that people will covet, not one that you have to desperately sell to survive.

…

Half-giants have a terribly fat cuisine like the staunchest Frenchman. However, it’s not about butter and margarine; they use animal fats to season their meals. Every meal, really. It’s not a surprise. The half-giants do need a lot of calories, I guess.

Does magic consume calories?

I’ll have to investigate. Starving enemy [Mages] sounds like an excellent strategy.

But I do enjoy the little kiosks they have set up along the river that goes through the town. It’s like a small walkway full of tables where you can stop and consume a quick snack. Street vendors own a few of these tables. But, again, this is a modern concept, not a medieval one. You can see this sort of thing in Paris or Milan.

To what extent are these people from a feudal era, and to what extent are they not?

Will I get flagged if I start asking too many questions? So far, I got my share of information from eavesdropping. But I need to know more about them, this world, and this system.

“Lady, care for a skewer of meat? You need some muscle on those bones!”

“Sure,” I smile, “how much is it?”

“Coppers! Three coppers!” the man smiles back widely.

I appreciate people who smile on the job. Even when you are about to shoot someone. It’s a mark that you are having a good time, and if you are having a good time, you are more prone to do a good job. So instead, I don't like grumpy people on the job.

As I take how to the coppers from my bag, which I have discovered it's called back of holding, I start speaking to the vendor. Again, I need information. I'd instead get it from books if it were up to me. However, this is probably the fastest way. Plus, I really don't know if these people. Have a library or any repository for books. My guess? They don't.

“Mister, I have recently arrived in Leggiadra. Could you tell me which are the main attractions of the city? And really, whatever comes to your mind. See, I come from far, far away, and any information would be good to orient myself.”

“Well, lady, you are in luck. This is a rather dead moment of the day. Few people visit this city, and we don't get many tourists. In fact, I make most of my money from people Taking a break for lunch. Attractions, you say. Hm. The glass and Steel District is probably where the most interesting things are going down. However, the artisans can be quite unpleasant to deal with, especially if most of them barely have any work. They are still haughty and arrogant and very, very unpleasant. Did I say unpleasant again? Yeah, they are very, very unpleasant.”

“All good Craftsmen are a little unpleasant,” I smirk. “But often, it's a sign that they are good at their job. I would say that. Unpleasant people are either very good or evil at their job.”

The half-giant chuckles at my remark and gently shakes his head. Then, the half-giant lowers the brazier's flames for the skewers and gets close to me with the food I ordered.

“You know what, lady? Let me sit with you for a second. You look like a smart lass. Whatever you're doing in this cesspool of a city, your problem. But I need a break, and if you need to know more about Leggiadra and what goes down here… why not, right?” the half-giant sits on the chair right in front of mine with a visual on his own little stall. I grin. This is going to be good.

“I ended up in Leggiadra mostly by chance. I really don't know much about half-giants. “Why do you say that this city is a cesspool? If I might inquire”

“Why? You really don't know? Do you even have eyes? Half-giants are the poorest race in the world. For Rizilius’s ears, everyone goes nuts when elves and humans hate each other. But when entire kingdoms refuse to do business with half-giants because they are scared of them? Then it's all good.”

“I'm sorry, I—I don't think I asked for your name.”

“Name’s Ziss,” he smiles. “My parents gave me one of those fake dragon names. Like many other half-giants, I changed mine. I think that most of our traditions are useless. All the money we spend on glass for houses? Well, we could certainly use that money to improve the city. It's a miracle when our sewers work.”

Sewers. Plumbing problems.

I’m not an expert in hydraulics, but…

“Oh, But why are not the other races trading with you?”

“You really don't know, do you?”

I shake my head and slightly recline it on my shoulders. If I could blush on command, I would do that as well. Appear bright but not experienced. That brings a lot of information out of people. Everyone wants to show. What they know, especially when they meet someone who has not much knowledge on their favorite topic.

“Giants’ legends, for all they say that the Vanedenis are pieces of crap, At least they used to work with us. They never refused a trade just because we are half-giants. But again, they are not scared little rats. And do you know why? It's because Vanedenis were never afraid of us. Instead, the rest of the world is afraid that half-giants will start some mad war once again. So they starve us. They refuse to trade the most precious metals. They even refuse to let us access some mines. It is public knowledge among half-giants that we are hugely discriminated against, but no other race wants to fight for this. Again, Vanedinis might. But they have enough problems on their own, don't they?”

Vanedenis.

I heard that name before. They are in awe of them even though they are mentioned in various shades of hate and love.

“The main reason this city is poor is that you don't have access to resources and trade… but they must let you trade for something, right? You can't just manufacture everything on your own,” I say.

Even in medieval times, people still had to trade. Hell, especially in medieval times. Resources were very scarce, and different regions had different specialties. Not as specialized as in the present days of Earth, but...

The half-giant looks around wistfully. Many emotions swirl in this pupil and iris. Chiefs among them are anger, sorrow, and resentment. But most of all, sadness.

“Giants didn't have good fame. Neither do we. Hydras are more famous than us, but we waged as many wars as they did. Yes, we do have to manufacture most of the things we use. We can trade with the random merchant here and there, but we will never have treaties regulating commerce like many other kingdoms or towns. And that will forever cripple our economy. What can we do? We either go to war to conquer the stuff we need or keep surviving like this. But if we go to war, everyone will pile upon us. So we live in a cesspool. We live in one of the poorest cities in the world. Even if our artisans are still among the greatest. If you ask me, it's surprising that they can raise their level with so little to work with, and he just goes to testimony. How much competence do those men and women have in their hands? Do you know how the artisans in the Glass And Steel District work? You must have heard something, right?”

I shake my head and look at the ground, looking as ashamed as possible.

“Rizilius’s ears,” the man exclaims, “it’s one of the most famous tales about half-giants. At the raw materials for half a day before doing anything. Many of them have skills that let them visualize the end product, and they go through all the steps in their head. They cannot afford mistakes. The few times they manage to get their hands on something good, they have to succeed on the first try. They like to flaunt their numbers: apparently, a normal blacksmith, on average, has to reforge a steel sword twelve times before the metal settles correctly. I don’t know where they got that, though. And obviously, you can imagine that they can forge a steel sword on the first try pretty much every single time. But what they are really proud of is the number of times they have to strike the sword. They say the more times you need to strike, the less the quality of the steel will be because it's going to be weak in certain places if you hit too much. And well, it doesn't take a genius to imagine that half-giants are one of the strongest races, right? So with a few strikes of their very heavy hammers, they can forge the best steel in the world. Sometimes they even work from scraps of iron from the normal forges.”

The man starts complaining about the price of meat. But I’m not listening to him. Not anymore. I'm getting anxious. I'm sweating. Cold sweats and shivers run down my spine. This cannot be a coincidence. If I had had any doubt before, now I’m sure. Someone placed me here willingly. It was not a coincidence that I ended up in a town where they are proficient with steel. And the great injustice that they are suffering? Anyone who knows me can imagine how angry this makes me.

And even Cordius and his manners.

I smile.

They want me to start trouble.

Whoever sent me wants me to start a revolution for half-giants.

I lick my lips, catching some of the greasy fat of the meat skewer.

Well, they have called the right person for the job.