Dreams of the Future (2)
I roared with a fury so blinding it felt like my eyes were rolling back in my skull. “How much more is it now?! You fucking son of a bitch!!!”
It was the accumulated rage of more than three years spent trying to live like a decent person in this other world, all the madness I’d swallowed from its absurd inhabitants finally exploding out of me.
“You piece of shit! So you wanna throw hands, huh?!”
But the quack suddenly started swinging at me like a brain parasite had thrown a seizure. Even with my vision painted red, I caught every sloppy punch easily and grabbed his fist with the hand that wasn’t under Beast Regression.
Crunch!
“You motherfucker! I’m asking you a goddamn question and you answer with your fists?! Who the hell taught you that?!”
I had only asked a question, yet this fraud had thrown the first punch. A shopkeeper throwing hands at a customer simply asking the price—what a perfect example of a total quack! Whatever twisted logic led him to that conclusion, I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand there and take it.
I released the Beast Regression on my right hand and yanked his fist forward.
“If you’re selling it as a set the price should go down, not up, you idiot!”
“Uuuuurgh!”
Whoosh—CRACK!
My fist slammed squarely into the quack’s face. The contact lasted only a split second, but the satisfying impact reverberated all the way up my spine.
“Holy shit, that felt way too good! Die and get reincarnated as a punching bag, you bastard!”
“Gurgh—!”
Thud! Thud! Thud!
My merciless barrage hammered his upper body. The moment the first blow landed, his legs gave out completely. His brain rattled, his face bled, his breathing choked off, and the idiot’s empty head decided to snore instead of fight.
“Get up, you piece of shit! This is too easy!”
I cursed my own shallow judgment. I shouldn’t have started with the face! Now that his legs had buckled and he’d collapsed, throwing proper punches was awkward. My striking power had been stronger than expected. Training with boulders had built raw strength and crushing grip; that grip in particular contributed massively to punching power. Add the passive enhancement from Beast Regression to the muscle I’d gained swinging rocks bigger than a sink, and my bare fists had become far too destructive to use casually.
“Get up! A customer is here—why aren’t you getting up?!”
“Uuuuurgh…”
At least he was groaning, so he wasn’t dead or fully unconscious. And yet he still wouldn’t stand! If you’re too exhausted to serve customers, then don’t open the damn shop!
“You spineless piece of trash!”
I was genuinely furious at this pathetic fake macho act. Unlike the clichés in RPG games, blacksmiths in this world were outnumbered by mages. Enchanted leather armor was lighter, cheaper, and offered better cost-performance than steel. Metal simply didn’t take magic well, so beyond a certain level it was avoided as equipment material. It couldn’t compete with enchanted leather, cloth, or monster materials. That was just common sense.
If anyone could slap magic onto any random metal, what would be the point of mithril or orichalcum? Enchant an alloy and you’d basically have adamantium. Mana-infused rare metals were expensive, so they were used for weapons, not armor that consumed huge amounts of metal. There were rich people who commissioned full rare-metal armor, but those cases were rare.
That was why most blacksmiths only needed moderate physical strength; the rest of their reputation came from enchantment magic and craftsmanship. Magic, however, was an advanced skill. That was why so many blacksmiths who could work iron had no idea how to enchant leather armor. This quack was the perfect example—a self-proclaimed “master” (dumbass) who couldn’t use combat magic and barely knew any enchantments. A pathetic old bastard whose strength and magical ability were both garbage, yet whose arrogance and pride overflowed.
He looked like the type who’d been chewed up and spat out by some mediocre company due to office politics and incompetence, then opened his own shop. Some people in that situation still worked hard and stayed decent, but this guy was nothing like that.
“You’re exactly like those crooked computer repair shop owners from back home!”
I roared, remembering my middle school days. The memory of getting charged 60,000 won just to format a PC made my head spin. Back then that was enough money to buy a mountain of Pikachu pork cutlets from the neighborhood snack shop!
“Wake up! Reboot your left and right brain before I format your skull, you son of a bitch!”
I was just about to grab the snoring quack by the collar and haul him up when—
Crash! Bang! Thud! Thud! Thud!
“W-what’s going on?!”
A loud commotion came from inside the forge, and a woman burst out. She had brown hair tied back behind her neck and wore heavy protective work clothes the color of dark chestnut that reached down to her knees. Not a single inch of skin was exposed—clearly to protect her from flying sparks. Maybe she was the quack’s daughter? Her tone seemed awfully rough for that, though.
The appearance of a third party helped me regain some sanity. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m in the middle of negotiating the price with this gentleman, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t interfere.”
“Wha—price?! What on earth did he sell you that you’d beat a man half to death over it?!”
The female blacksmith looked utterly bewildered. I let go of the quack’s collar, straightened my clothes, and answered.
“He tried to charge me ten coppers for a single whetstone. The price seemed rather high, so I was politely asking whether he knew how to count.”
“…That can’t be!”
The woman cried out in shock and rushed straight to the collapsed quack without even glancing at me. She was carrying a small box. Some kind of first-aid kit?
“Jason!”
Once she reached the quack’s side, she lifted the box high.
“You’re seriously trying to run my shop into the ground, you bastard! Just die already!”
Thwack!!
She brought it down mercilessly on the quack’s balls.
“Holy shit.”
“Gaaah…!!”
The ball-busted Jason let out a deathly shriek and collapsed. Like every man whose jewels had been crushed, he clutched his genetic bank with both hands and writhed on the floor. But the brown-haired woman didn’t stop there. She stomped mercilessly on his back again and again.
“Ten coppers?! Ten coppers?! Do you think you work for the Merchants’ Guild?! Even those bastards don’t sell whetstones for ten coppers!”
“Urgh! C-Clara, I’m sorry! Please stop hitting me!”
“Stop?! With what mouth are you telling me to stop?! I used polite speech because I thought you were sent by the guild, and you took advantage of that?!”
Her tone and actions burned with hatred that rivaled my own. I jumped in surprise at the sight of the female blacksmith grinding the quack into the floor like a cockroach and shouted,
“Wait, can I join in too?!”
“Yes! Help me stomp him!”
“Thank you!”
I happily ran over and began stomping the quack with everything I had. Of course! There was no need to bother lifting up a guy who was already on the ground—just kick him while he was down! I’d been so angry I hadn’t thought of that. Getting too lost in rage really wasn’t good for you.
“Gaaaaaaaah!”
And so the two of us—me and this woman I’d only just met—took turns stomping the quack. Since I was a man myself I couldn’t bring myself to step on his balls. Not because I felt sorry for him, but because I didn’t want my foot touching another man’s sack.
…After a long trampling, the quack finally lay spread-eagled. We’d stomped every part of him except the top of his head, which would’ve killed him. A very satisfying result.
The female blacksmith caught her breath and spoke.
“Ah, I’m sorry, customer! I should have introduced myself sooner.”
She was apparently married; a ring glinted on her left ring finger. She smiled brightly and said, “Hello! My name is Clara Smithson, owner of this forge!”
“The owner?”
I blinked at her self-introduction. “Then who is this… uh, gentleman?”
An employee? He probably was, since a wife wouldn’t usually kick her own husband in the balls. He was even more pathetic than I’d imagined. Working part-time at a girl who could be his daughter’s shop and pulling scams on customers? What kind of mental state did you need to live in to play at being a macho blacksmith in an environment like that?
“This… gentleman was sent by the Blacksmiths’ Guild because our sales were low!”
“The guild sent him? A guy like this?”
“They said he was famous for high sales at the guild-run weapon shop! I never imagined he’d be the kind of person who sells whetstones for ten coppers!”
Clara looked around, then took a whetstone from one of the shelves. It was neatly wrapped in cloth. The packaging showed real care.
“Here, this is the whetstone you were looking for! It’s normally four coppers, but since we made a mistake, I’ll give it to you with oil and cloth for just three coppers!”
A seventy-percent discount? This was basically a Steam sale. My chest swelled with admiration at the Jason-style margin that would make even Gabe Newell cry. Anyway, when someone offers you a good deal, there’s no reason to refuse. I didn’t know if the “discount” was real, but three coppers was definitely the fair price.
I unwrapped the cloth, confirmed it was a proper whetstone, and paid.
“Thank you for your purchase!”
Clara smiled as she took the money. I was genuinely moved by the clean transaction. Selling at a fair price and buying at a fair price. Such an obvious thing was incredibly rare in this other world. It felt like the same rush as finally doing an in-person trade on a used-goods site after being scammed endlessly online, only to receive a free bottle of Bacchus along with it.
“Is there anything else you need?”
Her question made me glance at the still-snoring quack. He was cupping his balls like a hen protecting an egg, showing no sign of getting up anytime soon.
Now that I think about it, I don’t have any lower-body armor either.
Lower armor was rare because of structural limitations. Most people either wore chainmail like a skirt or attached a boomerang-shaped steel plate over the crotch like perverted underwear. The former was common, the latter the exclusive domain of deviants who ignored modern trends. But after seeing that quack, I suddenly felt the urge to cover my own lower half. My balls were precious, after all.
Beast Regression did increase defense, but the moment it wore off, a ball-buster kick would turn my dick into the same ruined state as his. Getting my balls crushed would mean the opponent was strong enough to keep me from reactivating Beast Regression. Considering all those factors, I needed some kind of countermeasure before my balls became the Dragon Balls of death.
The future where my dick, like me, escaped the crotch and set off to find freedom! I had zero confidence I could endure that future. The day my dick left to find freedom, I would hang myself. If my dick got cut off, even escaping with a master’s degree would make me a eunuch. A doctorate would make me Doctor Eunuch. Becoming a professor would make me Professor Eunuch. Even if I found a way back to Earth, I’d be the dimensional traveler, otherworld returnee, and eunuch. In that sense, my dick was a vital point second only to my brain. My dick was another heart, a second brain.
Wearing armor to protect something so precious was completely logical. In fact, I couldn’t understand why I’d left it in a cast-off state until now.
“Do you happen to have any lower-body armor? Something made of leather—”
“Our shop specializes in metal armor, sir.”
Her tone was ice-cold. Her face was completely expressionless. She had turned into a mannequin that had been painted with far too much effort.
“Uh, no, it’s just that I don’t have the money for steel armor right now. So I was thinking I’d buy steel later and start with leather—”
“Our shop specializes in metal armor, sir.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
So that was how it was.
“I’m sorry. But I really don’t like leather armor. Oh, please don’t misunderstand—I do know how to enchant.”
Clara let out a sigh so heavy it seemed to shake the entire shop. I took another look around. There wasn’t a single piece of leather armor anywhere, which was unusual for a forge.
“Metal has its own unique charm! I’m certain that one day a technique to enchant metal will be developed!”
Clara clenched her fist passionately as she spoke. Her eyes sparkled with powerful enthusiasm.
“Sure, metal armor is noisy when you walk, it’s heavy, and above all it’s expensive! But still, there is no coolness in this world that can defeat the brilliant shine of steel!”
“That’s a pretty stacked list of downsides, though.”
It was basically a suicide squad. Just as Clara’s unintentionally accurate self-criticism suggested, metal armor had far too many flaws to be chosen purely for style. The cost-performance was terrible and the price was high, so it probably didn’t sell well either.