The Neutral Blacksmith's Neutrality Crumbles More Easily Than Expected
The cold war and the neutral blacksmith's neutrality shattered far more easily than anticipated. Yotron's forge became a subsidiary of Recetio's essence company through an alliance with their European branch. It was a mere bonus. This was the moment when centuries of guarded neutrality crumbled to dust. Such was the power wielded by the name of a legendary essence.
"Just when I was getting sick of these materials," Yotron chuckled roughly as he signed the contract. Of course, the representative's signature wasn't solely due to temptation by the essence itself. The biggest reason was...
"Finally, I can process entity byproducts to my heart's content!"
Everything unfolded exactly as Amon had hoped.
If Amon's memories were correct, the blacksmithing domain hadn't seen a technological singularity in nearly 50 years. Other technologies were advancing rapidly under the banner of mystic power. The reason lay in the incompatibility between forges, entities, and mystic power wielders.
A forge's purpose was to craft objects. In contrast, divine power was an innate personal possession, impossible to store like electricity or mana. Thus, forges couldn't create items infused with divine power. Entity byproducts offered similar effects at best, but...
"Entity byproducts are too extreme—that's the problem," Yotron grumbled.
As he said, for blacksmiths, entity byproducts were all or nothing. Either excellent value as new materials or impossibly tricky to process. Since entity byproducts embodied 'concepts' that ignored scientific laws, processing them required embodying those concepts themselves. In other words, only divine power wielders with related concepts or other entities could handle them.
Without that? No method worked, period. The issues were that divine power wielders had no reason to visit forges, and companies monopolized entities. So blacksmiths could only process a tiny fraction or company-sold scraps.
But that was now history.
"I've wanted to experiment if only essences were supplied steadily!"
Essences wielded conceptual power akin to entities. Yotron knew this and had considered acquiring them. But it wasn't easy—unstable supply, costs that didn't add up. Even for a master craftsman like Yotron, success wasn't guaranteed on untrodden paths. Failure rates were high, and costs would skyrocket with each flop. He'd thought about it but never acted.
Amon's proposal solved every problem.
"Just to confirm again—you'll supply the essences I want regularly, right?"
Amon nodded. "Feel free to disassemble and reassemble equipment as you please."
Process entities with essences or dissect essence-infused items. Yotron could do whatever he wanted.
"At the very least, your managerial independence within Europe will be fully guaranteed."
With managerial independence assured too, there was no reason to refuse. Even Yotron, hearing it, doubted his ears at the terms.
"Even if I repair other companies' gear, no penalties?"
"Of course. As long as you're not actively supporting them."
"That's a given."
And so, Yotron's forge became Recetio's subsidiary.
"Sheesh. Even after signing, I can't shake the feeling this is a scam."
Even after all procedures, Yotron clicked his tongue in disbelief. A subsidiary ignoring the parent company? In a world where corporate ties mimicked feudalism, it was unthinkable. He'd signed because it was irresistible as a blacksmith, but even he wasn't fully convinced.
"Your company gets nothing out of this, does it?"
"Why not? We get free top-tier gear from Master Yotron's forge indefinitely."
"Tch... Does this even make financial sense?"
"It does for us."
Recetio's essence business desperately needed high-end equipment. Dungeons let bosses absorb gear to produce legendary essences, based on market value—not purchase price. Yotron's workshop was the perfect partner. Produce essences with his gear, sell some on the market, supply some back to him. Pure profit, like a money-duplicating cheat.
"This can't be right..."
Yotron, unaware, couldn't accept it. Amon soothed him masterfully.
"You'll see in time, so no need to doubt for now."
Long-term ties would reveal dungeon secrets naturally. Until then, just supply gear innocently.
Sensing something in Amon's words, Yotron's suspicion lingered. "You can be trusted, right?"
"Words alone won't convince you, so take this as an advance."
But when Amon offered a golden essence as prepaid signing bonus, doubts melted like snow.
"Tch, haa. Tch, haa."
Yotron repeated light climaxes, inhaling the scentless golden essence. Watching, Amon smirked inwardly.
'Well, it is a bit of a scam.'
The clauses were flawless. Just a minor secret in the contract's true purpose. He hadn't told Yotron yet—that it wasn't mere expansion but also to checkmate rival companies. Unwittingly, Yotron's forge became a forward base against pharma corps.
But calling it a scam? No harm to Yotron. No oaths to Kashi, no troops or funds, no sabotage or opinion-shaping. Just stay neutral in his zone, hammering away for centuries, playing with new essences and entity hides. No picking sides, remain the impartial forge. Keep neutrality—that was Amon's desired role.
'Just stay a craftsman like this.'
Neutrality could be the strongest shield. Perfect, as it prevented buyouts. While Amon and Sonia schemed covertly in Europe, it served as sturdy cover.
'Don't think too badly of me, Yotron.'
Cyberpunk absolute law: No favors without compensation. Balances must equal. Amon inwardly apologized repeatedly as he shook Yotron's hand.
After the deal, Amon and Sonia toured the forge. They could return to lodging, but nothing awaited there, and passing up the chance after coming this far felt wasteful.
Guided by Yotron, they visited various workshops.
"This is the car workshop. Eight hundred years ago, we mainly built magic stone-steam cars, but my predecessors phased them out. Used to get luxury orders back then, but not even those anymore."
"Do you still know how to make them?"
"Basics, yeah. Made a few. But orders come once a decade—hardly essential knowledge."
"What do you make now?"
"Diesels mixed with magic stones and electricity. Mostly specialty vehicles."
Yotron was craftsman and mentor before representative. He understood every process, his disciples ran the shops. Eyeballing alone, he critiqued; owners bowed and corrected. Like a professor touring TA labs, hands behind back, stern stride amplifying the vibe.
The tour continued. En route from car to gun workshop, Amon asked his curiosity.
"What does your personal workshop make, sir?"
"I'm R&D."
His shop experimented with unestablished techniques. Amon got it: disciples honed known processes; he pioneered the future, passing it on at retirement.
'Just a regular lab.'
Like grad school. Blacksmith grad school. A snicker escaped.
They reached the gun workshop. The direct disciple from morning guided them earlier.
"We met this morning, right?" Grinning warmly. Mornings assisting Yotron, afternoons crafting guns here, teaching apprentices—like a TA.
"Back to work for me."
He returned to his station. Yotron guided as before.
"One of our company's lifelines."
Their guns were for elites: top Vatican holy knights, government black ops, corporate security chiefs.
"Europe's elite all arm from our forge. Want one made before you go?"
Amon politely declined—guns weren't his main. He glanced at Sonia; she nodded.
"Could you make one for her, then?"
She had her weapon, but why refuse? Active in Europe awhile, local gear made sense.
Yotron started on Sonia's custom gun: measurements, specs, shaping.
Passing by, the disciple remarked, "Ooh, Master won't touch it for tens of thousands of euros—what's the occasion?"
"Get back to your shit."
Yotron flipped him off. The disciple chuckled back to work.
Yotron's methods were old-school: pen on parchment, no apps or holograms.
"Just so you know, I can use modern tech. Old ways are just best." Paper and pen captured imagination purest. Hacking-proof bonus.
"I'll add features. Use as jokers if needed."
His pen scratched parchment. Habitually signed the edge, rolled it, tied with string, sealed with magic stamp.
"Takes a month—backlog."
"Grateful already."
"Mind experimental features? Essences and byproducts you gave—perfect for ideas."
"If stable."
"Stability's basic."
Yotron snorted excitedly. Amused, Amon silently offered another golden essence.
"...This?"
"Personal thanks. Respect for a master craftsman."
Yotron snatched it—no refusal. Checking contents, eyes rolled back in inspiration.
The hairy dwarf's mild ahegao began. Sonia distanced, averting eyes. Amon smirked, enjoying the show. Wondered what two more would do.
Then the disciple whispered behind Amon, teaching apprentices.
"Stop there."
"Huh?"
"More inspiration, he'll streak naked."
"Ah."
No eye terrorism after coming this far. Amon pocketed the extras deep.
Minutes later, Yotron snapped back.
"More essences?"
"Nope."
No dwarf-Eureka sprint desired; benevolent lie.
Yotron wasn't disappointed. "Great day. Gotta get back to the shop."
Eager to finish and fondle new materials. Image tarnished from first impression, ironically boosting craftsman trust.
Recalling his tour guide role, Yotron resumed. "Continuing the tour."
"Thanks."
Next: sword workshop. Forge's symbol, he hyped. Amon brimmed with anticipation.
Yotron halted abruptly.
"Something wrong?" Amon asked.
"Nah, inspiration hit."
"Genius moment?"
"Not quite..."
Yotron turned to Sonia. "You a nun?"
"Attending seminary, yeah."
"No, I mean... tch... maybe not..."
"..."
Yotron pondered, then exclaimed. "Ah!"
"What?"
"Vatican! They ordered like this. No orders in 20 years—forgot. Made 'em as your direct disciple age. Memories."
"..."
"Vatican affiliate?"
"No."
"Master?"
"...No..."
Sonia's face darkened slightly. Amon caught it, silently took her hand. She flinched, then gripped tight.
Yotron sensed the misstep, stopped. "Ahem. Sorry. Forge-bound, no tact."
"It's fine."
"Apologies again."
"Really fine."
Yotron stiffly turned, striding to sword workshop—giving them space.
Once distant, Amon asked worriedly, "You okay?"
"Yeah, really."
"Tell me anytime it's tough."
"Amon."
"Yeah?"
"Sorry."
"No apologies—we promised."
"Right..."
"What do you say instead?"
"Thank you."
"That's it. Let's go."
Amon led her by the hand to the sword workshop, squeezing resolve never to let go, come what may.