Unforged

Chapter 7: Only a Blacksmith

Tristan

Tristan went to work the next day with a plan. With his father’s guidance, he’d undertake more projects than ever, starting with three daggers. He knew blacksmiths didn’t usually learn [Craft (Basic) Weapon] until level 5. He also knew that you often got bonus experience from striving toward something seen as “above your level” in difficulty. He hoped crafting these daggers this early would push him to level 2.

After the third was complete, Tristan knew he’d been correct. A new rush of stats and knowledge flooded into him and he heard that familiar dinging sound again. He was reviewing the new [Craft Tool] skill that he gained, and already felt it would make the next steps in his plan markedly easier.

[Craft Tool] An active ability allowing a user to turn raw materials into basic tools usable by many crafters and professions.

His father must have noticed the bright golden light, because he quickly came over to congratulate Tristan and check out what he’d made. “These are really nice,” his father said, “especially for a beginning blacksmith. You’ve actually managed to craft a common...”

Tristan pushed away the blinking notification in the corner of his eye for now, instead watching his father appraise one of his blades. Tristan was elated. “It’s really a common? I knew they were well made, but a common rarity already. Not bad for a level 2!”

His father chuckled. “You got that right, but since you made them, you should be able to see that for yourself.”

Tristan was glowing with pride as he looked at the dagger his father had set aside. For the first time in his life, a small textbox overlaid his vision displaying information. It genuinely surprised him, as the assumption was that only Tier 2s could [Identify]. But there it was: a little pop-up giving name, rarity and a property.

[Simple Dagger (common)]: Soulbound

There was that word from his Core again. Except, for some reason, it was colored green.

When he looked at the other two daggers, they were the same, albeit “inferior” in rarity.

His father’s expression shifted. “These are all ‘Soulbound’. Did you do that purpose, Tristan?”

Tristan grimaced slightly. “It wasn’t exactly on purpose, but, you know, my Core...”

“Yeah... and these daggers, you made them without a skill, right?” His father put one down before using [Identify] on another, curiosity knitting his brows. He turned the dagger over in his massive hand before spinning it around and stabbing the air with surprising dexterity. “It feels... odd. Not in the balance, but..."

Tristan picked up one of the other daggers, feeling it for himself. It resonated with him somehow, a feeling that utterly baffled him because he had no idea where it came from or what it meant. Come to think of it, he’d noticed his hammer had felt similarly different after he’d altered it the other day.

Tristan was so absorbed in this new mystery that he wasn’t aware of what his father did next until the man’s hand briefly sparked with bright reddish light. The armorsmith looked at Tristan’s dagger with even more concern.

“I can’t use it,” he murmured. “The property is red, and it apparently keeps me from using the item at all. When I try, it says ‘Not equippable by you.’”

Red? Tristan blinked. Mine is green... He held up one of the two inferior-quality daggers for his father to see. “Here, check this one."

But as they exchanged daggers, the results were the same as before: red for Marrik, and green for Tristan.

“So,” Tristan began, voicing his theory out loud, “I guess only I can use these--and probably anything else I craft.”

His father rubbed the back of his neck. “Seems so. Such a shame, too. They’d have likely sold easily. They’d be incredible for newly-Awakened kids like you.”

Tristan felt conflicted. On the one hand, he beamed at the compliment, but then he had to recognize that his selfish desire for power and growth really had cut the legs out of his future money-making as a blacksmith. I’ll have to be careful with what I craft if only I can use it. I’ll waste lots of materials leveling up otherwise, even with the discount from my Core.

His father sighed, shaking his head. “Still, congrats on the level-up. Now get back to work. One finished project does not mean it’s time to slack off.”

Tristan shelved his disappointment for later and hefted his hammer again. His father was right: he had a lot more crafting to do. He was only level 2 after all.

Unfortunately for his plans, at the end of the workday, two of Tristan’s recently-Awakened friends paid him an unexpected visit. It turned out that Chessa, who was now a hunter, and Opie, her boyfriend and healer, wanted to have some fun and thought Tristan would like to come along.

“Want to join us for a dungeon run?” Chessa asked, nearly bouncing on her toes.

Tristan was immediately interested. But how to sell it to my parents, he wondered.

- - - - -

“I’ve already almost lost you once this week!” his mother was pacing back and forth across the kitchen, practically wearing a groove into the wood. “Marrik, tell him why he doesn’t need to go.”

“I need the experience and items,” Tristan replied calmly before his dad could.

He tightened his newly upgraded belt around his waist. He’d merely added a loop for his hammer as well as three little pouches and sheaths for his daggers, but apparently that was enough for the product to end up with the Soulbound property.

“You’d level faster in the forge!” his mother countered. “You’ve got everything you need here. I’m even making garlic bread tonight.”

Tristan, feeling that everything was secured, bent down and picked up the hefty shield he’d finished just the day before. “You make that every night, Mom.”

It had taken a lot of ingenuity without the direct skill, but he’d been able to combine his [Work Metal] skill with a full day of practice to make workable shields. Eventually. He’d finally stopped when he made one that was common rarity, and noted that this one also had the Soulbound affix. He’d gone to his father for confirmation. As expected, they all appeared with a red Soulbound to Marrik.

Still, he was making progress. And best of all, that day of crafting had gotten Tristan halfway to level three.

“Well, what if I don’t make it tomorrow? Hmm? Marrik, help me out here. Tell him why he can’t go!” his mother pleaded.

The armorsmith was calm, his voice very controlled. “I have, Christa. But he’s clearly made up his mind. You know as well as I do that everyone must walk their own Path.”

“But his Path doesn’t have to include risking his life! He nearly died--!”

“Almost a week ago,” the armorsmith said softly. “He’s already gained a level since then. Nearly another, if I had to guess.”

Tristan nodded at his father. It wasn’t lost on him that his old man was exaggerating the timeline by completely ignoring the three days Tristan had been unconscious.

He knew his father was merely repeating all of Tristan’s arguments from the day before, but maybe his old man would have better luck with them. As he said, Tristan had grown, and he had planned for this.

“But he could get hurt! Again!” his mother sobbed. She was treating him like he wasn’t there again. Like it wasn’t his decision to make all along.

Tristan had heard enough. “Mom, I’m going. It’s just an introductory dungeon, meant for level 1s and 2s. I’ll be fine. And I’m also not doing this alone. I’m going with a hunter, and a healer.”

Stressing that had actually been his father’s idea. One only given after he’d tried to talk Tristan into waiting longer and leveling more. When Tristan had proved that he’d already read up on all the monsters commonly found there and their favored tactics, mostly by passing an impromptu quiz from his father, the old man had seemed impressed. Even more so when Tristan said it was just the three of them going. “Smart. Not a full five, but enough to reduce your strain and downtime. And the healer, too. That’s the only way your mother will agree.” He tapped Tristan’s chest, where his scar hid behind his shirt. “No more of those.”

His father had been right.

“Just... Fine.” She practically spit out the resignation. “But remember that a bigger party means all those monsters are going to be harder to kill.”

“That’s why we’re only taking three,” Tristan replied.

The woman turned to face him and gently pushed his shield aside while taking his face in her hands. “Please, just be careful Tristan. You made a good plan with your friends--and no doubt your father helped, too. But you’re not a combat Class; you won’t get full experience from any kills. You’re only a blacksmith. Please don’t forget that.”

“But that’s the problem,” Tristan replied. “I’m not only a blacksmith.” He looked her straight in the eyes and tried to give a reassuring smile, though he knew it came out a bit sad. “Mom, as much as I’m following in his footsteps, I’m not my father. My Path is not his, or yours for that matter. Mine is going to include fighting. That’s a part of the choice I made at Awakening. It’s why everything I make is literally bound to me! Let me walk my Path my way. Please?”

After a couple seconds of silence, his father spoke up. “At least he has a shield. That’s more than I did, and I made armor for gods’-sakes.”

The look his mother shot at his father suggested there would be a long and very pointed discussion about this later. Tristan also recognized that the job was finally done. He tried not to let his relief overtake his sincerity. Only took four heats, he joked as he stepped once again toward the door.

Tristan once again wondered if his father knew why he’d pushed so hard to create a shield, and why he felt compelled to carry it. It was a pale imitation, he knew, and it didn’t even fit well on his wrist, but it was important to him. The first step of many towards living up to the memory of his hero.

He could tell from the way his mother’s eyes lingered sadly on the shield, she knew. Or feared, anyways.

Tristan opened the door, and neither parent tried to stop him this time. He made sure that his hammer was secure in his belt-loop and pulled the straps fastening his shield to his arm tighter.

“Thank you for caring enough to try to stop me, and loving me enough to let me go anyways,” he said. Then he let his cocky grin grow across his face. “I’ll give Chessa and Opie your love, too. Be back tonight.”

As he walked out, he felt almost as eager as he’d been on the day of his Awakening.

Time to clear a dungeon.

- - - - -

“You actually convinced her to let you go?” Chessa asked, looking genuinely surprised. She and Opie were sitting on the edge of the fountain, holding hands.

Tristan shrugged. “Yeah. Sorry it took so long.”

Chessa just shook her head in disbelief. She was decked out in deeply-purple leather, which Tristan knew for a fact she’d had her older brother make and dye. When it came to leatherworking, Pavel Klimenta was the best in town. There would probably be a big celebration when he finally reached level 30 and became one of the most advanced people in Woodsedge.

Tristan had to admit the purple gear really looked good on her, enhancing the natural color of her nearly pitch black hair. She’d said it also gave her bonus Agility and improved her [Stealth] if the light was dim enough. Strapped across her back were a longbow and quiver, both relatively basic at first glance, though without the [Identify] skill Tristan couldn’t know for sure. The ability that let him see his own crafts did nothing for this. He couldn’t wait to get to level 10 and learn it!

Despite awakening as a healer, which was increasingly rare everywhere these days, Opie managed to look much less exciting. Rocking back and forth beside Chessa, his shaggy, strawberry-blonde hair was almost always in his face, as if on a quest to cover his freckles. He wore plain white robes, which were a little dirty around the edges. Leaning against his leg was what looked like a tall walking stick. His casting focus, Tristan guessed, but Opie didn’t volunteer anything about his gear.

“So we’re doing this, then?” he asked, lifting his staff and giving it a twirl. It would have looked awesome if he hadn’t fumbled it while trying to twist it around his wrist. It clattered to the ground immediately after. Not for the first time, Tristan was glad his own class gave him any Agility at all.

Chessa burst into laughter before taking out an arrow and showing that she could twirl it around her wrist, easily. In fact, she spun two arrows at the same time, one around each wrist.

Tristan smiled; the silliness helped put him at ease. He pulled out his hammer and rapped it on his shield, producing a nice ringing sound. “I’m ready if you are. Though now I’m a bit scared, since you’re the only thing keeping us alive today.”

“Nah, that’ll be my arrows!” Chessa cut in. “Enemies can’t hurt us if they’re dead.”

“You had it right the first time,” Opie said, winking at Tristan. He promptly received a light tap to the back of his head from Chessa.

Tristan laughed at the couple, enjoying their playfulness. “You guys have done this dungeon before, right?”

Chessa put an arm around Opie and looked at Tristan. “Yeah, I’ve done it twice now! I’m practically a professional guide.”

Opie, meanwhile, scoffed. “Professional guide that hasn’t completed the Baby’s First Dungeon quest?”

“That wasn’t my fault and you know it,” she countered.

Opie straightened his robes and put on a straight face. “I’ve only run a dungeon once, and I also didn’t finish the quest, but I’ve read up on all the variations. It’s marked as a beginner dungeon for a reason. Easy layout. Simple monsters. I mean, it’s usually rats or goblins, for crying out loud. Standard way to lose your dungeon-ity. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

Chessa smacked him and said, “Don’t be crude.”

Then a huge invitation window popped up in Tristan’s interface.

You have been invited to a temporary party by Chessa Klimenta.

Accept?

As soon as Tristan thought Yes, he got a new set of information to the side of his vision. It showed all three of their names, their levels, and their health and mana levels. For some reason, that made him feel immediately better about his decision to join their run. He was in a party, heading to a dungeon, with his friends. What more could anyone want?

The very thought made Tristan smile.

It would only take them a short walk to get to the cave where the dungeon entrance awaited.

“Yeah,” he said aloud, “I’m not worried. How bad could it be?”

Opie let out an audible groan. “Noooo! Why did you have to say that? You jinxed it now!”