Chapter 69: Nice

  Tristan fully expected the next two days to be some of the hardest he’d ever faced, at least mentally. Following Tempy’s directions and letting his soon-to-be-sword just rest for a while before he worked it any further was going to be difficult.

  He tried different ways of coping with the sudden lack of sword-making. First, he tried going back to his cabin and sleeping, and while that definitely helped, it didn’t occupy nearly enough time. When he woke up, rather than rushing directly to the Foundry, he went up to High Dining and got one of the best meals he’d ever had... though not the breakfast he’d hoped for, since it was already midday.

  That reminded him of the discussion he’d had earlier with Sophie, so he went down to the Central Market to find himself a [Clock] skill. It didn’t take long at all to find a self-proclaimed “Interface Specialist” offering all sorts of skill scrolls for upgrades that promised to “change the way you see the world.” Since none of these were crafting related, they were all listed at full market price, but thanks to the sale of his ‘art sword’ Tristan was still more than able to afford the [Clock] skill’s price, and he threw in a [Calendar] skill, too.

  While browsing the merchant’s wares, he’d been impressed by the scope and scale of the man’s offerings. There were upgrades that promised to add casting and cooldown bars (for the user as well as others nearby), even something called the [Deadly Battle Notifications] that supposedly gave warnings and notifications during boss fights for all the normal versions of the most popular tier 2, 3, and 4 raids. For the briefest moment, Tristan considered adding it to his purchase. Then he realized that the skill’s double-digit price was in platinum pieces, not gold or silver like the others had been. There was a markedly cheaper version, which he considered for all of two heartbeats, until he saw that it was written by Dungeon Delver Dave.

  Needless to say, he walked out with only the two he’d intended to get from the start.

  He didn’t love that both his new skills were sold as scrolls, though. He remembered how much he’d disliked learning from scrolls, as he had with the [Create: Portable Forge] Tempy had given him, and here he was going to do it twice more. He resolved that these two would be the last.

  And I’m only doing this because they aren’t really anything I’d develop naturally on my Path.

  Without any fanfare, the scrolls disappeared, and he’d gained the last two skills that he wouldn’t work to learn himself.

  The [Clock] appeared in the corner of his vision. He innately knew that he could move it around, recolor it, and do all sorts of changes, but those things could come later if he really wanted.

  Before leaving the Central Market, he considered picking up a little more tier 3 black mithril. He had been burning through it faster than expected. However, when he checked what was left in his [Crafting Materials Bag], he decided against it. He didn’t want to over-buy, after all, since anything he didn’t use on the Ark would vanish when he left.

  Instead, he walked farther into the market, browsing several stalls until he found one with enchanting materials. He bought a few “greater essences,” which the seller assured him would be enough for many full-tier-3 crafts, just to make sure he had plenty to pull from when it came time to eventually [Imbue] his tanking blade.

  Then it was back to the Foundry, because Tristan simply couldn’t stay away.

  As he approached his and Tempy’s workbenches, he noticed several people crowding around them with sour expressions and arms crossed. While Tristan wasn’t an expert on body language, it was clear these men and women were all upset. Tempy, across from them, had clearly been interrupted while working, and she didn’t look too thrilled either.

  As Tristan drew nearer, the voices abruptly stopped, and several heads immediately shot around to glare at him with narrowing eyes.

  “Good afternoon... everyone,” he said before looking past them toward the runesmith. “How are things going today, Tempy?”

  The chiseled woman put on a smug smile. “Oh, you know, as wonderful as ever. I was just telling some of your admirers how good a job you’ve been doing as my student.” She emphasized the last few words, causing several of the assembled smiths to squirm. “I was even telling them, again, how you were going to kick all their proverbial asses in the crafting competitions at journey’s end. Not all of them are in your tier, though. I bet you’ll still find a way to show half of them up anyway.”

  “Not with Gorrek judging,” someone sniggered.

  Tristan really wasn’t sure what all was going on, but he could feel the tension mounting. Part of him wanted to draw the sword on his back, just in case, but he resisted that urge. This was the Crafting Ark, after all, and Rule 1 was crystal clear. Instead, he pushed his way through the bunch and drew up right beside Tempy. “What’s going on here?”

  “They’re Steelbloods,” she announced loudly, her smile vanishing entirely. “They just wanted to come back and give me more of their ever-unwanted advice. Though there is one piece that’s good from it, so I’ll pass it along to you.” Her smile turned devilish. “Don’t ever wager more than you can afford to lose on a street fight, Tristan.”

  Tristan’s eyes widened a bit as he realized what she was referring to, especially as several of the Steelbloods’ jaws tightened and chins lifted.

  She wasn’t done yet though. “And color me odd, but wouldn’t you think it was a bad idea to out one of their own as a judge, especially if they’re suggesting he might be biased in said duties?”

  One of the broader men at the front of the bunch, one Tristan quickly recognized as the man who’d elbowed him previously, huffed and threw up his hands. “You’re a fool, Temperance Garrow. If you keep goading us like this, you’ll--!”

  Tempy cut him off. “And if you keep threatening me, one day you’ll have to follow through! But until you do, leave me--and my student--alone! We’ve both got work to do!”

  “Not that it’ll matter,” another Steelblood said.

  Tempy slammed her hammer down on her anvil with so much force Tristan was kind of surprised she didn’t break it. The resulting TING! was so loud that seemingly everyone in the Foundry stopped to look her way.

  At that moment, Tristan was both a little impressed and a bit scared. If nothing else, he suspected that Temperance Garrow wouldn’t really need his help to protect herself at all, and was glad he hadn’t been foolish enough to draw his sword.

  In short order, the crowd of Steelbloods wandered off, perhaps to go bother someone else.

  After a minute or two, when it was clear the others were no longer lingering, Tempy turned her attention fully to Tristan. “You look better today. Did you finally get some sleep?”

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  “Yeah, actually,” Tristan replied with a laugh. “Stocked up on a few more supplies, too. I’ve still got a lot to do, you know. Need to finish the charm for the Secondary Contest, then shape and enchant the sword for the Primary.” He began setting out a few smaller bars of white mithril.

  “What's all that for, then?” Tempy asked.

  Tristan measured and marked a few more lines. “I'm going to need a few more tools before this is all done. And since using anything I haven't made myself is like wearing thick, crusty gloves, I figured I could use this in-between time to make a few. You know, some awls, drifts, punches, and the like.”

  “Your Core... Right." She shook her head. “Have fun with that.”

  And, honestly, Tristan did have fun. It had been a while since he'd made tools. It was something they used to do regularly in his father's shop. Whenever a job required something new or even just a bit different, they'd make it. In that way, each tool was a reminder of a job completed. A symbolic history.

  Now it was Tristan's turn to begin building his own history.

  It was also fun to set himself so many smaller jobs that he could knock out in a single day. Within only a handful of hours, he’d been so productive that nothing in the world could dampen his mood, let alone remove the smile from his face.

  When he finished the last punch, which he thought might do to make a few smaller hammers in the near future, he leaned back and let his shoulders rest a little. He was overdue for an actual break, as the long-expired timer from his new [Clock] skill confessed. It was late enough that he even decided to call it a day.

  One more day, he thought as he looked at the black-and-white layered billet one last time.

  Rather than head straight up to High Dining, he instead went downstairs, hoping to catch Sophie near their cabins. Maybe she'd want to dine together, too. It had been a while, and he kind of wanted to share his good mood from such a productive day with her.

  But the only thing that answered as he knocked on her door was silence.

  Not totally surprised, given how absent he himself had been, Tristan went up to the dining area alone, devoured a phenomenal dinner of steak and mashed potatoes, enjoyed a lovely chocolate torte of some kind, returned to his quarters, and fell quickly and blissfully asleep.

  - - - - -

  “What do you mean I didn't really have to wait? You literally told me to leave it alone for a day or two! You said something about having to let the magic settle into the material!”

  Across the anvil, Tempy at least had the decency to grimace as she looked away. “Yeah, well, that wasn't really true. At all. I’ve just noticed you tend to have a one-track mind when it comes to crafting. And while I respect that--especially your endurance and focus--I just also want you to not die.” She stopped and squared up to him. “You weren't sleeping or eating almost at all. You’re only tier 2, Tristan. Your body may have changed, but not so much that it can do without its basic needs!”

  The tiredness lingering as tightness around his eyes, in his arms, and down his back spoke to the truth of what she was saying. He’d been working nonstop for days. Weeks by now, actually. Two days of rest wasn’t enough to magically cure him of that level of exhaustion. But Tristan couldn’t just let it go. “This is the Crafting Ark. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, and I can’t waste the few weeks I’ve got left. I’ve got to finish my sword--!”

  “You won’t waste those weeks,” Tempy replied evenly, “and of course you’ll finish your sword. But you still have to take care of yourself. Look, you came to me and asked me to teach you, right? Well, this is a lesson you still haven’t learned, so listen to me now.” She paused until he met her gaze. “No matter how limited your time, or how much bonus experience you can earn, nothing is more important than your health. Dead people don’t make swords.”

  “You sound like my mother,” he grumbled.

  “Well, I don’t know her, but she sure sounds like a sensible woman.”

  Tristan struggled not to yell as his frustrations twisted inside him. He practically yanked his most important project back onto his anvil, but at least he didn’t slam it down. It took all his control to keep his voice level as he asked, “So, just to be clear, you lied to me, and I could have worked on my sword yesterday?”

  Tempy sighed. “See, that's what I'm talking about: a one-track mind. Did you hear the rest of what I said?”

  “I heard you, and I don't disagree with any of it. The problem though, as I see it, is that you don’t seem to trust me to make my own decisions. It’s my time, Tempy, and I should be able to spend it however I want. Even if that means I make mistakes, they should be my mistakes. And honestly, I’m more likely to make those mistakes if I don’t have all the information I might need to think about. So please, in the future, don’t hold out or lie to me again, OK?”

  There was more he wanted to say to her, like how it sometimes felt like she was treating him like a kid--and he wasn’t a kid any more. But it didn’t feel like the right time. Not yet at least.

  Tempy grunted. “That’s fair. I won’t do it again going forward.” She began moving materials around on her workbench, clearly getting ready to go back to work on her own project.

  Tristan rolled his neck, letting go of some of his tension. “Thanks. So, what I want most of all right now is to work on this sword. Will you help me with that? When it’s time to enchant it, I mean?”

  “Of course I will, Tristan. You’re my student.”

  “Even if I’m considering using [Bless] to enchant it?”

  Tempy’s back went straight. “We’ve talked about that skill, and I seem to recall being pretty clear about why I dislike it. So... why are you bringing it up now?”

  Tristan used his [Combat Switch] ability to produce [Hope’s Aspiration], which he then laid flat on his anvil. “Right, I wasn’t really considering it myself, but I have seen the tremendous potential of using [Bless] to make a talisman.”

  Tempy was beside him in a flash, practically caressing the sword. “This is a nice talisman! Where did you get it, and what does it do?”

  Tristan read her the [Brightshield] property and explained how he’d come by the talisman, earning himself a whistle from Tempy.

  “So that’s how you survived that hit from the half-giant! I wouldn’t have ever guessed--but to be fair, neither could anyone else. You wouldn’t believe how many commissions I had to turn down because I couldn’t reproduce something as insane as this!”

  Tristan’s chest puffed up a little with pride, though he tempered it quickly enough with the truth: “I only added that talisman to the sword. Clearly I didn’t make it. But still, I was wondering...?”

  A harsh guffaw answered his question. “You think I’m able to reach the same level of mastery as the blessed Brightshield?!” She laughed again, shaking her head. “Look at those bloody details! The man was a legend for more than just his shield, you know. Though you did do a decent job incorporating it...” She leaned back. “No, no. Something like this is too far above my skill level. I’d be a fool to try to emulate this. Besides, I don’t do blessings.”

  “Yeah, I guess I was just hoping that seeing this might inspire you,” Tristan began.

  “Like I said, I don’t do blessings,” Tempy repeated, shutting him down. “I also don’t split my focus, and neither will you if you stick with me. So if you want to pursue blessings, you’ll have to give up learning from me while you do. Are you sure you want to do that?”

  The question dangled there, until Tristan picked up his sword, switched it back out with his [Oozebane Greatsword], before sheathing it again. “No, I understand, and I’m not really that foolish. You’ve been so much help already. Better to continue using your expertise to push my current boundaries as far as I can.”

  The runesmith gave a satisfied grunt as she sauntered back over to her workstation where she pulled out a few containers that clearly contained enchanting dusts and essences. “Wisely spoken. Just let me know when and how else I can help, alright?”

  “Sure,” Tristan said, “and thanks again, Tempy. I’ve got a few rune ideas I’ll probably run past you in a while. After I finish shaping the sword, I mean.”

  “So in a couple hours,” they both said in unison.

  Tristan chuckled at that. “Exactly. And then, after I finish all of this, I’ll definitely have all the time in the world to rest, relax, and do all the other stuff I’m supposed to do on this vacation.”

  Tempy, who had leaned down and was beginning to do something that looked to Tristan like an advanced version of [Infuse], quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t even think you have it in you to take a full day off.”

  Chuckling, Tristan lifted his hammer. “You’re not wrong, but hey, a wise and beautiful lady said I needed to try. Who am I to argue?”

  Tristan watched carefully and noticed Tempy’s eyes roll at the word ‘beautiful.’ Still, there was a hint of a smile, even if she didn’t give a verbal response. Something to work toward later, he thought.

  For now, he had a sword to shape.