Meeting the Legendary Craftsman
No, it's a musical instrument? As soon as I stepped into the market, a harsh metallic screech assaulted my eardrums without mercy.
"What the hell? Don't they ever take a day off from these performances?"
I pulled my hood down low and patted the precious guitar blueprint tucked against my chest one more time. Yesterday, I'd just been rushing around trying to get my bearings, but today I had a clear goal.
"Excuse me... do you know where I might find a place that specializes in magical materials or special metals?"
I cautiously asked a street vendor selling dried monster meat. He looked me up and down, scratched his scruffy chin, and tilted his head.
"You look like a mage, sir. You don't know the Blazing Mane Workshop around here? That's weird. Anyone in this city who deals with materials heads straight there. You must be new in town, huh? Never seen your face before."
"Ah... yeah. I've only been here a short while, so I'm not familiar with the streets."
I flashed an awkward smile and brushed it off, but inwardly I was stunned.
Did the original owner of this body hole up at home as much as I did? In the heart of the capital, with such a standout appearance, and no one even recognizes her face.
The vendor jerked his chin toward a deep alley where thick black smoke billowed unusually heavily and added,
"The quality of their goods is the best in the empire, if I do say so myself. But the old man's got a temper like no other. He grills you about what you're using it for, and if it doesn't sit right with him, he'll kick you out no matter how much gold you pile up. Don't go getting your feelings hurt—tread carefully."
Purpose, huh... If I said 'materials for making a musical instrument,' he'd probably treat me like a crazy mage and boot me out...
After all, every "instrument" I'd seen in this world was just a lump of metal for banging on.
"Thank you so much for telling me. That's a huge help."
I bowed slightly to the vendor with genuine politeness. Leaving him blinking in surprise, I headed into the alley he'd pointed out.
......
A short while later, I stood before a massive iron door at the end of the alley—spotless, without a single speck of rust—my heart pounding with anxiety.
Deep breaths. Three times. Then I clenched my fist and knocked.
Bang, bang!
"Anyone there? Excuse me!"
After a moment of silence, a gruff, rumbling voice grumbled from inside, and the heavy door creaked open.
A middle-aged man with a bushy beard appeared in the gap.
...Wait, but he was way too short? Though his shoulders were as broad as two grown men put together.
"What do you want, brat? Oh, mage getup. This ain't a place for little mages to buy toys for pretend play—go to the toy shop over there."
He was a dwarf. And yet, the eye level of this guy calling me a brat was hovering right at my nose tip. Without thinking, I glanced down and opened my mouth.
"I'm not sure who's calling who a brat here. Our eye levels seem about the same, don't you think, old man?"
His thick eyebrows twitched at my comeback. I could even see his bushy beard quivering with rage.
"What'd you say?! You little punk, after all this...! I'm tall for a dwarf! Don't compare me to you lanky types!"
"So what? You're still short. Anyway, I'm not here to bicker about height, so let's get to the point. I heard about the legendary craftsman, so I came looking for some materials."
The praise seemed to land just a tiny bit; he snorted and crossed his arms.
"Hmph. Yeah, that's right. Scraped by in this trade for ages, I have!"
I set aside my timid nature for a moment and channeled the pickiness of my former composer days, listing out my requirements.
"I'm looking for string-shaped material with excellent tensile strength and resilience. Density as uniform as possible, smooth surface, and above all, highly corrosion-resistant to withstand air humidity without changing properties. Got anything like that?"
He narrowed his eyes with interest as he listened. Maybe because the specs were overly physical and precise for a typical magic material request.
"What're you so picky about? Mages and their fancy talk. Wait here. Got something too good to let rot."
What he pulled from the depths of the inner warehouse was a thin spool of thread glowing with a subtle blue sheen. It looked delicate, but the mana density swirling around it was no joke.
"This here's Mana Bind. Spider silk from giant monster arachnids, soaked and reinforced in magic alloy solution."
No way... this actually exists?
My heart started racing as he explained.
"Usually for bowstrings on magic bows or invisible traps by assassins. Tensile strength? Ten grown men hanging off it wouldn't snap a thing."
To prove it wasn't a lie, he grabbed a pre-cut length of Mana Bind and yanked hard.
"Surface is so smooth, infuse it with mana and it doubles as a weapon—slices fingers like butter. That's why it's used for capturing monsters alive, too."
Okay, I didn't need that feature... but hey, if things got dicey, fighting with a guitar could be fun. There were games back home where you bashed monsters with a flute—why not a guitar?
Anyway, for the guitar's high strings, especially the first one, nothing could be more perfect—not even in my previous life. The bass strings could be jury-rigged somehow by twisting them together.
"Whoa... so, uh, how much...?"
But as soon as I asked the price, my heart sank for a whole different reason.
"Fifty silver coins."
...Huh? That's... five million won?
"Fifty silver?! Old man, isn't that way too expensive? It just looks like a spool of thread!"
"Not rare, but the process to extract a single strand is a pain in the ass. Plus, I got connections, so this is cheap. Normal quality like this? At least one gold coin easy."
He shrugged.
"And like I said, uses aren't limited, demand's sky-high."
I clutched my head in despair, but he kept talking without a care.
"So, mage. What're you using it for? From what you said earlier, obvious—explosive spell research aid or trap material, right? Boring, predictable stuff like that? Even if you had the cash, I wouldn't sell on principle. I only hand my goods to folks who get their true value."
He eyed me like he was testing me. I swallowed hard and pulled out the guitar blueprint I'd finished yesterday amid a nosebleed—not because of the blueprint, mind you.
"...I need it for this."
He snatched it with an annoyed grunt and skimmed it. But soon his lip curled in disappointment, and he let out a sigh.
"What is this? Some new magic tool? All those lines and numbers, thought it was something special—turns out just another mana-dispersing gadget. Tch, my fault for getting hopes up. Mages are all the same, chasing toys to swing their mana easier."
He tossed it on the table and turned away, interest completely gone, like I'd confirmed he was right to be bored. That dismissive look lit a fire in my pride.
"It's not a magic tool! It's a musical instrument. A tool to make sounds that don't exist in this world!"
"Musical instrument? This contraption? You messing with me? This complex thing's just for making noise?"
He picked up the blueprint again. His eyes scanned the intricate numbers and string anchoring methods. Silence stretched.
I blurted desperately, fearing rejection.
"I'm serious! See, the strings' vibrations transfer through the bridge to the body, and we impose mathematical order on pitch variation... If you can't tell that at a glance from the blueprint, maybe you're not such a legendary craftsman after all?"
I kept explaining passionately, even resorting to provocation when he didn't respond, but he just stared at the blueprint, fueling my anxiety. Then, after a beat, he looked at me blankly—before bursting into gut-wrenching laughter.
"Puhahaha! Order in music? Those plaza clowns banging tin cans and screaming—that's music? Man, you're one crazy kid!"
He laughed till he wheezed, wiped tears, and peered intensely at the blueprint again. A spark of that peculiar artisan curiosity replaced disappointment in his eyes.
"Alright. Take the Mana Bind. Nah—I'll make it myself, to your specs."
"Huh? For real? You'd do it yourself, old man?"
He snorted at my shocked face.
"Don't get it twisted. In my hundreds of years smithing, I've never seen a structure this bizarre and needlessly precise. Wanna make it with my own hands, that's all. If that 'ordered sound' of yours doesn't pan out, I'll smash this blueprint in your face."
He slammed it on the table and crossed his arms.
"But on one condition. If it flops not like you claim, you'll pay materials and my labor—full. Can you handle that? Screw up, and you'll be stoking my bellows for life. If that's too much, get lost now."
It was practically a threat, but I was thrilled. The top craftsman making my instrument? Worth the risk. I forgot my shyness in excitement and rattled off more requests.
"Of course! I'm confident! Oh, and I need body wood too! Something resonant like well-dried spruce or maple? Gears and screws for headstock tuners, alloy for frets on the neck. And the neck itself—ebony or something hard like that would be ideal...!"
My nonstop barrage twisted his face into a scowl.
"Hey, you shameless brat! When'd I sign up as your errand boy? Enough! Get inside before word spreads and dents my rep."
He grumbled but stomped toward the workshop interior. Grinning with victory, I followed.
"By the way, what's your name, old man?"
"My name? Hmph... You come to me and don't even know it? Garvan. Garvan Volund."
I smiled at how he grumbled complaints but answered anyway.
"I'm Cecilia."
"Got it, brat."
"...You're doing that on purpose, right?"