That's Not How You Use a Tool...
That's not how you use that.
"Huh?"
The paring knife in the general store owner's hand was unmistakably one of my own creations.
He probably thought my adoptive father had made it. But this was one of the pieces I'd forged in secret, bit by bit, whenever Father wasn't looking.
It was the finest paring knife I could make.
Yes.
It was a paring knife!
Tap-tap-tap.
I jabbed my finger roughly against the words scrawled on my slate.
"What are you even talking about?"
Scribble-scribble-scribble.
That's a paring knife. It's not a tool for carving rough materials!!!!!
I even put five exclamation marks. That ought to get the message across.
Crash!
"Get out of here right now!"
Apparently not.
I got nothing but curses and a boot out the door.
"Eep?!"
Startled by the furious shopkeeper's roar, I tumbled flat on my face just outside the threshold.
Clatter.
"Ah!"
My helmet went flying. I should have made it a little smaller.
"Uuuugh..."
When things refused to go my way, my seven-year-old body started welling up with tears. I scrambled to snatch the helmet back.
Clatter.
And then—
"Hm?"
Instead of my tiny hand, a long, pale set of fingers closed around the helmet and lifted it.
"Are you all right?"
And standing there was...
"Huh?"
"You're not hurt, are you?"
The woman adventurer who had asked me to maintain her weapons just the other day.
Freya had, in truth, been watching Tina for the past several days.
She had grown curious about the life of a child born out of wedlock and raised in a blacksmith's forge. So for as long as she remained in the city, she decided to keep an eye on the girl.
"Get out of here right now!"
And now, for some reason, the child was being thrown out by the general store owner.
"I've worked here for years, and some goblin like you thinks she can lecture me?!"
Thud.
The shopkeeper's rough hand shoved the child out into the street. Apparently the helmet had made him mistake her for a goblin.
Clatter.
The girl fell, and her helmet rolled free. She lay there, eyes already brimming with tears.
"Ah..."
Freya, who had only meant to observe, found herself stepping forward without thinking and picking up the helmet.
"Are you all right?"
She held it out to the child—
"Hic?!"
—and the girl jammed it back on her head in a panic.
"We've met before, haven't we?"
"......"
"The blacksmith's child... Tina, was it?"
"......"
"I'm... I'm Helen."
"......"
The child said nothing, helmet still firmly in place. Freya noticed the slate lying beside her, covered edge to edge in chalk.
That's a paring knife. A paring knife is for peeling soft skins like fruit. If you use it on rough medicinal herbs like that, of course the edge chips! Just because you call yourself a craftsman doesn't make you a blacksmith! Use the tools the way the blacksmith intended! Why are you using them however you please? Are you looking down on me right now?
"Oh..."
Seeing a memo so full of fierce self-assertion—so unlike the girl's usual silence—Freya looked at the trembling figure before her with new eyes. The shaking under that helmet wasn't fear.
It was pure, white-hot rage.
The child shot to her feet without a word and bolted straight for home—the forge.
"Hey! Where are you going?"
Crash! Clatter!
A moment later the forge erupted in noisy chaos. Then, after about three minutes—
Clang.
The girl burst back out. In her left hand: a whetstone.
"Huh?!"
In her right: a small knife.
"Hey! Wait! What do you think you're doing with that?! Hey!"
Tina took off running, both hands thrust high toward the sky, tools clutched tight.
"Wait a second!"
Snatch.
Sensing disaster about to unfold, Freya lunged and scooped the child up into her arms.
"Huff-huff."
"H-hold on! What are you doing?!"
"Huff-huff! Paring knife..."
"Huh?"
"Paring knife... that's not how you use it..."
"What?"
A short while later.
Knock-knock-knock.
"Huh? Shop's closed."
Click.
"Hey. I said the shop's—huh?"
The general store owner started to bark at the customer who ignored his words and walked right in—then stopped cold.
The person who entered was a hooded adventurer whose face was hard to make out... and a small girl carrying the very helmet that had just insulted his thirty years of shopkeeping experience.
"That helmet..."
"What, that was you? You're the blacksmith's little girl, aren't you?"
"......"
The child who had looked like a goblin flinched the moment their eyes met and dove behind the adventurer's legs, clutching them tight and trembling.
"Do you know this child?"
"Of course I do. The blacksmith's little cuckoo— ahem. Anyway, she's the forge girl, isn't she? And who might you be?"
"Ah, I'm the adventurer Helen. I happened to overhear a bit of the... disagreement between this child and the shopkeeper."
"Disagreement? Ha! The brat was just being cheeky with an adult, that's all."
Twitch.
Freya felt the tiny hands gripping her leg give a sharp little jerk.
"Heh. About that..."
"What? You going to tell me I was holding the knife wrong too?"
"......"
Freya glanced sideways at Tina.
"Huff-huff."
The girl looked ready to explode at any second.
"No, no. That wasn't what the child was trying to say."
"Then what?"
So Freya tried to steer things toward a gentler resolution.
"It seems you may have purchased the wrong item from the forge."
"What?"
"That one's a paring knife, so it's meant for soft materials."
"Ha! A knife's a knife. What does it matter what you use it on?"
"But—"
Rustle.
Freya gently drew the small knife from the still-trembling Tina's arms—the one the girl had been about to storm off with earlier.
"Why don't you try this one instead?"
"Huh? What's this?"
"She says you should use this for hard materials."
"What, this tiny little knife?"
To keep from looking threatening, Freya offered the blade with elegant grace—the complete opposite of Tina, who had looked ready to murder someone moments before.
"Would you mind giving it a try?"
"What am I supposed to carve with this little thing?"
"Huff-huff."
"Just humor us and try it."
"Look here. You trying to sneak another sale past me?"
The shopkeeper eyed the blacksmith's brat.
"I'll try it since you asked, but don't think I'm paying a single extra copper for this thing!"
With that he set the paring knife aside, took the small blade, and began shaving the material on the plate in front of him.
Crunch.
Huh?
The shopkeeper blinked. He hadn't even put real force into it, yet a neat little pinch of powder already lay on the plate.
"......"
Crunch. Crunch-crunch.
He worked in silence for a long while. Before long the plate held a soft mound of finely ground powder.
"W-well... not bad, I suppose..."
Material that normally took thirty minutes per dose had been reduced to powder in five. The shopkeeper scratched his head.
"Ahem... I'll buy it as a special favor for the blacksmith's kid."
Clink.
He had no choice but to dig a coin from his pocket and hold it out to Tina. The powder was clean. There was no ache in his finger joints. And above all, the knife felt comfortable in his hand.
"......"
The child stepped closer. Thinking she wanted the coin, the shopkeeper extended his hand.
"Huh?"
But Tina pointed at the battered paring knife instead.
Scribble-scribble-scribble.
Right there on the shop floor she restored the edge that had been on the verge of chipping completely away.
"Here... take this."
"(Nod.)"
The shopkeeper couldn't help marveling at the razor-sharp paring knife—and found himself paying an extra fee without even realizing it.
Tina accepted the money in silence.
"(Hmph!)"
But she planted both hands on her hips with clear satisfaction and gave a little snort of triumph.
After that she bought a few items from the shop and vanished together with the woman adventurer.
"Heh. Well, you see something new every day."
The shopkeeper shook his head at his own unexpected spending, still half-amused.
"All that fuss over one tiny knife... huh?"
But then, looking at the neat pile of powder on the plate, he carefully pinched a little and swallowed it.
"Wha—?"
The bitter medicinal powder slid down his throat and sent a gentle warmth flooding through his entire body.
"W-what in the world is this?"
He dealt in medicinal ingredients from time to time, so he knew a little about their effects.
"Today's herbs must be especially potent..."
He dismissed it as nothing important—never guessing how bitterly he would come to regret that moment later.
"You're certain?"
"Yes. It is without doubt Lady Freya."
Elsewhere, in a dark corner of the city, two men in black masks exchanged quiet words.
"But... are we really going through with this?"
"We are. The second young master has made up his mind."
"Then..."
"Yes. The Grand Duke dies today. And the will will name the second son, not the first. The young master has already arranged everything."
"So Lady Freya is no longer needed."
"Exactly. Once the will bears his name, the knights will follow our master, the second young master. Freya's supporters become irrelevant."
"Then why not simply leave her alone? A girl becoming Grand Duke? With two sons already?"
"That's not the problem. If those who support Freya throw their weight behind the first son, it becomes a problem."
"Hmm... true enough."
The one who seemed to be in charge drew a small dagger from his coat.
"Which is why it's time for an assassin of your caliber to step in."
"Yes, sir."
"This is no ordinary magic blade. The second young master poured a third of his fortune into this treasured sword."
"Ohh."
"I'm entrusting it to you because I trust you."
"Yes, sir."
The assassin accepted the dagger. Instantly he felt the surge of magical power flowing through it.
Legendary / Mythic-Grade Dagger
Forged from dragon teeth. Said to be unbreakable and guaranteed never to miss its target.
"That is the legendary dagger forged from a dragon's tooth—Blood Fang."
"A blade that never breaks. A blade that never lets its enemy escape."
"Precisely."
The assassin slipped the dagger into his coat, muttered a vow under his breath, and set off at a run.
"I will kill the Grand Duke's third child—Freya—right here."
Several hours later, the assassin finally swung his blade at Freya.
"What?!"
But—
Crack!
The assassin saw it with his own eyes.
"What... is this?"
The legendary treasured blade Blood Fang—
"Who the hell are you?"
—snapped clean in two against Freya's ordinary longsword...
