Chapter 23: Seria (2)
Balun seemed utterly clueless about her, but Seria didn't mind one bit. If anything, the novelty of it thrilled her. How many humans had come crawling to her, begging for ego weapons? Desperate types who'd stop at nothing to win her favor just for a single piece of gear. After dealing with that endless parade, encountering Balun—who knew nothing about her—felt refreshingly liberating.
"So, ego weapons... that take a long time to make, right?"
"Obviously. At least two months, minimum."
"Whoa. That's way too long."
"You have any idea how tough and complicated it is to imbue a weapon with a soul? Of course it takes time."
"Tricky."
"What is?"
"Balun wants new weapon fast. Can't you just make regular axes instead?"
Look at this guy. Talking like he didn't even need an ego weapon. She'd never seen a reaction like this in her life.
"Don't you have any ambition? Everyone else is dying for one. Why are you like this?"
"Doesn't matter. It's just fingerprint-locked anyway, right?"
"Fingerprint what?"
"Balun never locks phone. Too annoying. No need for fingerprint weapon."
"What the hell are you even talking about?"
"Plus, they're arrogant. Tools that pick their owners? Don't need 'em."
"Pfft."
She finally burst out laughing. The unexpected, utterly fresh response caught her off guard. Arrogant? Who ever called an ego weapon that?
"You know that's rude, right? I'm an elf who makes ego weapons."
"Oh. Right. Sorry. Didn't think of that."
A spark of deep intrigue lit her eyes. Her passion surged. She wanted to show this ignorant barbarian the true value of ego weapons. The craftsman's fire, long dormant in her chest, roared back to life.
"Fine. I'll push the timeline as much as I can. Three weeks. Deal? I'll have them done for you by then."
"Sounds good, but... won't the quality suffer?"
"Why worry about pointless stuff? I'm Seria. The Grand Smith."
Seria puffed out her chest proudly. Balun nodded. If she said so, he could trust it.
* * *
After leaving Seria's forge, Balun headed straight to an inn near the workshop district and booked a room. He paid a month's stay upfront, unpacked in his room, then sat on the bed, lost in thought.
What to do while waiting?
His original plan was to practice Reinforcement Technique with the new weapons once he got them. He'd figured on four or five days at most, but now it was three weeks minimum. That left a gaping hole in his schedule. And it could drag even longer.
Maybe take some mercenary jobs in the meantime.
No point idling—he'd earn some coin. Short-term gigs should be no problem.
"Hey, innkeeper."
"Y-yes? What can I do for you?"
"Where's the mercenary guild?"
"Oh! Head west down the main road from here—it's straight ahead!"
Balun ignored the terrified innkeeper and set off. Sure enough, a familiar two-story silhouette appeared: the mercenary guild.
Oh, stone building here.
Milford's branch had been wood. This one looked grander, with a bigger interior and more people. The stares came pouring in, of course. Whispers of "barbarian this" and "savage that," snickers included. Racial crap didn't even faze him anymore. He'd learned: they wouldn't attack over words.
"What brings you here?"
"Take this."
First things first: update his mercenary rank. He handed over Marco's recommendation letter, and the counter clerk's eyes bulged.
"Whoa! This is...!"
"When's the silver badge ready?"
"W-well, we'll have to check, but... probably three months?"
"Insane."
Balun clicked his tongue. Three months for a palm-sized silver badge? Ridiculous.
"It takes time to coordinate with the artisans, and then..."
The clerk babbled excuses, so Balun quietly slipped him ten silver coins. Eyes widened instantly.
"I'll get it done ASAP! Don't worry, heh heh heh!"
"How 'ASAP'?"
"Within a week!"
"Good!"
Bribes were the best. Look at that 180-degree attitude flip. Gotta make bank. No other way to grease these glacial bureaucracies.
"Gotta carry the wooden badge till then?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
"No temporary mercenary card or anything?"
"Uh, not that I know of."
"Primitive!"
"Pardon?"
"Shitty administration!"
Balun grumbled. Why no temp ID like for lost citizenship papers? The clerk, oblivious, was baffled. A barbarian calling them primitive?
"Fine. Keep up the good work."
Balun headed to the massive bulletin board nearby, plastered with requests.
Whoa. So many.
His eyes widened as he scanned them. Then someone tapped his shoulder. He turned. A man in a deep-hooded black robe, sword at his hip—likely a swordsman.
"What?"
"You... go to the workshop district today?"
"Why ask?"
"Answer the question. Did you go?"
Balun's eyes narrowed warily. Suspicious as hell. Why pry?
"Did you go there to see Seria?"
"You tailing me?"
"No. I don't know you. How could I?"
"Then what?"
"Talk outside. Too many eyes here."
"Nah. Talk here."
Balun shook his head firmly. Why follow a shady guy? Kidnapping risk.
"Fine, whatever."
The man flipped back his hood, revealing a face scarred top to bottom. Expressionless, he continued.
"What'd you do with Seria? She agree to make gear for you?"
"If yes, what? If no, what?"
"Yes, you die. No, you live."
"What?"
Balun's eyes narrowed sharply. Out-of-nowhere death threat?
"To live, better be no. Your reaction says yes, though."
"Wrong. I'm closer to no."
"No...?"
"Yeah. Never commissioned gear from Seria."
Balun lied without batting an eye.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Hmm."
The man stroked his chin, confusion flickering in his eyes. Balun claiming "no" was off-script.
"So, we're good? You let Balun live?"
"Mm. Probably."
"'Probably'? You might kill me anyway?"
"Sorry for the trouble. Later."
"Hey, answer! What's 'probably' mean?"
The man didn't reply, just walked out silently. Balun tsked at his back. Jerk, leaving him hanging like that.
"Phew..."
Sighs erupted from everywhere the moment he left.
"Thought we were dead."
"Yeah, that killing intent was no joke."
"Almost pissed myself if he stayed longer."
Balun frowned, puzzled. He'd sensed the killing intent too, but it wasn't that intense...
"Hey, barbarian bro. That guy real? You actually met the psycho from the workshops?"
"Yeah."
Balun nodded. True enough. More sighs rippled out.
"Damn."
"Poor bastard's done for."
"Corpse incoming soon."
Couldn't resist asking.
"What's his deal? That big a deal?"
"Huge. Wolf Blade guy."
"Wolf Blade?"
"Yeah. Pordel's biggest swordsmanship guild. Top dogs who make birds drop from the sky. You really don't know?"
"That's why I'm asking."
"No clue? Total hick."
Balun nodded. He was a hick. No offense taken.
"They're obsessed with Seria. Won't make gear for them, so they hunt anyone who visits her."
"Got it."
Balun tsked. Petty assholes.
"You're lucky, though. No commission? They'll let you off. Scare you a bit, maybe."
"What if I did?"
"This."
The mercenary mimed slitting his throat.
"Strong?"
"Duh. How else they terrorize?"
"Fair."
"And numerous. Why 'Wolf Blade'? Pack hunters."
"Understood."
"No sweat for you. No commission, right?"
Did, though...
"Even if they bully, they won't kill randos. Lord's backing, but not that loose. Don't worry."
Uh. Fucked.
Lord's backing? Rage boiled.
Life sucks.
No peace ever.
"That psycho wouldn't make gear anyway. High-and-mighty elf crafting pricey artifacts for bottom-feeders like us? Dream on."
She did...
Even refused payment.
"Anyway, no biggie. Few punches, call it life experience. Right?"
"Yep."
Mercs nodded. Balun turned sour-faced and left. No mood for jobs now. Giant gang with city lord backing targeting him? Yeah, no.
Heading to the inn, he pondered.
Bail?
Serious thought. This felt bigger scale than past scraps. Lie'd unravel fast. Chaos incoming. Tough call. Those weapons were his dream—tough enough for Reinforcement Technique. Where else get 'em? Grand Smith hookup? Free, no less? Irreplaceable.
Still, better ditch weapon than die, right?
His resolve tipped. Major decision.
Bail.
Weapons? Figure it out. Life's long.
Sixteen years old. Plenty ahead. Didn't wanna die. Coward label? Fine. Who lives your life for you?
Prepaid room sucks, but oh well.
Balun headed to the inn. Pack quick, bounce to another city. Chase? Pfft, on foot? No cop cars, choppers, nada.
Not settling anyway. Wander, find good spot, build career.
Entering the inn, he froze. Hooded scar-face sat downstairs.
"Finally. Been waiting."
"..."
"Lied, huh. Didn't see that coming. Barbarian tossing honor to the dogs?"
Balun thought silently.
Yup. Truly fucked.
No escape. Fight time.