Chapter 45
Chapter 45
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: Newbie Party
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"Honestly, it was a bit unexpected."
"What was?"
"When you said you'd help us, I thought you meant you'd enter the dungeon with us."
Ever since we entered the workshop district, Yohan and Lucas had been looking around endlessly, like kids in a department store toy aisle. Elis and I trailed a little behind, chatting as we walked.
"There's a saying from my past life: If you want to feed someone for life, teach them to farm rather than just giving them bread."
It was the proverb about teaching a man to fish instead of giving him a fish.
In this world, the oceans were still sealed off, so the saying had evolved a bit differently, but the wisdom of the ages always cut straight to the truth.
"The burdens of a Crawler are heavy. To hold up a sturdy roof, you need solid pillars."
Today, I planned to teach these kids some basic knowledge for surviving as Crawlers outside the dungeon.
Of course, I had no desire to head into the dungeon right now, either.
"If you're serious about life as a Crawler, you should get familiar with the northern workshop district."
The northern workshops sold everything from basic weapons and armor to special magical consumables like protective charms against spirit monsters, or items suited for caster classes.
But Elis and Lucas tilted their heads, clearly not grasping what I meant by "getting familiar."
Seeing these country kids, still pure and untainted, I couldn't help but chuckle.
"Let's just go see for ourselves. Some things are better experienced than explained."
As we approached the entrance of a decent-looking smithy, a kid who had been loitering nearby popped out.
"Looking for something, sirs?"
By my past life's standards, he was just entering middle school.
A little kid, too young to call a boy, greeted us politely and eagerly.
Even as he did, his eyes darted around, sizing up our group.
"Mind if we check out weapons for these two?"
"Of course, sirs! You've come to the right place."
'At least he's not starving.'
He'd looked disappointed scanning Yohan and Lucas's gear, but his expression softened when he got to Elis and me.
Probably thought he'd landed a big sale.
Kids in the workshop district started as apprentices around age ten.
They worked for free for five to seven years, learning the trade and getting room and board in return.
The craftsmen world was more hierarchical than the military, and knowledge was precious, so even journeymen were stingy with teachings.
Anyone without street smarts wouldn't last the apprenticeship.
"How about this sword? Listen to that crisp ring when you tap it with your finger—sharp as can be. Put my hair on the edge? Snip! Cuts right through. Our workshop's blades are the best on this street, dwarf-forged ones aside!"
"Better than dwarf-forged?"
"Come on, claiming to top dwarves would be a lie. We pride ourselves on honest dealings."
From the sales pitch to the sly trustworthiness, this kid was no ordinary apprentice.
Midway through his spiel, a burly middle-aged man who looked like the master emerged from the sweltering back room, wiping sweat from his brow. He'd heard the commotion.
The stern-faced master locked eyes with me briefly, then sat on a crate near the display, watching the apprentice hawk his wares.
"So, what do you think?"
"Looks like a good sword, but isn't something this nice pretty pricey? Honestly, we don't have a ton of coin right now."
Lucas sounded a bit worried as he inspected the blade under the apprentice's urging.
"These swords go for 30 silver each, sure."
"30 silver..."
Lucas's face fell at the clear price tag.
The apprentice quickly pressed on.
"But sir, feel that edge—even a perched fly would get sliced clean off. With sharpness like this, it'd carve troll bone like a potato, don't you think? And tough as nails, too. Built to last."
"...Hmm."
To Crawlers, weapons were like computer parts.
An innate craving for better specs.
Lucas seemed tempted by the kid's pitch.
"Still, 30 silver is steep..."
"What's your budget, if I may ask?"
"...Up to 20 silver, maybe."
Yohan nodded, his finances apparently in the same boat.
"At that price, we could buy back your current swords."
"My sword?"
Lucas glanced at the hilt of the blade at his waist.
"Sure, if you're upgrading, you don't need the old one anymore."
"That's... true."
"Mind if I take a look?"
"Uh... sure, why not."
Crawlers rarely let others touch their weapons, but smithies were an exception.
Lucas drew his sword and handed it over.
The apprentice examined it, swallowed hard, and flicked a quick glance at the quietly watching master in the corner.
It was so brief, only I caught it—the other three missed it.
"Ahem... The edge is a bit dull, but for a sword like this, I could offer 10 silver... no, 12."
"Really?"
Lucas brightened; the numbers seemed to work out.
"Shall we handle the trade-in and pick one of these for you?"
"Uh... yeah, let's do it."
"One moment?"
Right before the deal closed, I spoke up from my silent observation. The apprentice's face stiffened.
But figuring a priest like me wouldn't spot the scam, he flashed a grin and stepped back.
"Of course."
'Cheeky little punk.'
Sorry, kid.
It's not going your way.
"Hmm."
I took the so-called 30-silver sword from Lucas and inspected it.
The silvery blade gleamed, its razor edge wickedly sharp.
Tapping the flat sent a clear ring—definitely tougher than Yohan or Lucas's blades.
"Solid and sharp."
"Right~?"
The kid's face lit up, thinking he had me hooked too.
"But."
As I added that, I curled my middle finger and thumb into a flicking position.
"It's not a good sword."
My finger blurred, striking the blade's side.
Cling-!
The metal shattered on impact, and the apprentice's eyes bulged.
"S-Sir! That's our shop's merchandise!"
"A Crawler's sword has to slice flesh and shatter bone countless times in the dungeon..."
I ignored his shock.
"If it breaks from a tap like that, you'd need ten lives to survive."
The other three didn't fully get it, but the kid did—his face went pale.
"No matter how you look at it, the tempering was botched after quenching... This is your shop's pride and joy?"
A smirk tugged at my lips.
"S-Sir... That's..."
"Step back."
The master, who'd been watching silently, flicked the kid's forehead hard.
"Too greedy. And you should've sized up the customers."
"M-Master..."
"Go."
Clutching his head, tears welling, the kid fled to the back under the master's glare.
The master sighed faintly and turned to me.
"Cheeky kid, huh."
"Don't tease our rookies too much, Arjen."
"Heh. You could've stopped him sooner if you wanted."
"He's clever with people. Cocky kids like that need a reality check. But what's gotten into you, teaching newbies like these?"
"Goodwill?"
"Goodwill? You?"
He grimaced like I'd told a bad joke.
"Anyway, could you check their weapons?"
"Good blades, but poorly maintained."
"Any recommendations?"
"I'll sharpen the edges myself. Just buy some whetstones and oil."
"How much?"
"...Forget it. As long as you don't spread rumors about today, we're square."
Payoff for our silence—free service.
I grinned and flashed a V-sign at the clueless trio.
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"Those swords the apprentice was pushing? Probably journeyman work."
Apprentices couldn't make sellable goods until they became journeymen.
But journeyman products were inferior to masters', so they didn't sell well or fetched low prices.
Workshops had apprentices handle grunt work and sales, sharing a cut if they moved product.
"That's why apprentices hustle desperately when they get a chance."
Apprentices got one meal a day, so no starvation risk, but they worked unpaid until journeyman status.
Selling workshop goods was crucial side income for them.
"The scam you almost fell for? An old apprentice trick."
A smith forges a sword in four stages.
First: forging.
Heat the iron, hammer it into shape.
Second: quenching.
Dunk the hot blade in water or oil to cool rapidly.
This sets the hardness.
"By this point, the sword's rock-hard. Easy to sharpen to a wicked edge."
But "over-hardened" blades like this shatter under heavy impact.
My past life had a saying about swords breaking before bending. In the Crawler world? Bullshit.
"A bent sword mid-fight weakens you. Losing it entirely? Game over."
That's where tempering comes in—restoring flexibility.
Reheat the quenched blade in a special oven. Delicate work.
Most journeyman blades botch this.
"So you get stupidly hard blades that snap easily—useless for combat."
Plus, they need constant resharpening.
Fine for kitchen knives, razors, or disposable throws, but not your main weapon—you never know when it'll betray you.
But this clever apprentice flipped the script.
He honed the edge obsessively for insane sharpness.
Maximizing the "cutting tool" image: hard + sharp = legendary sword. Peddling junk as treasure.
Like polishing ugly apples and jacking up the price—the isekai version.
"So... those swords we saw...?"
"Proper price? Around 5 silver. Still not cheap, since it takes iron."
I pointed at Yohan and Lucas's swords.
"Yours are better than those. Whoever gave them to you knows their stuff."
They'd nearly traded down—for a premium.
Yohan and Lucas looked deflated at the realization.
"Classic newbie trap."
Most victims never realize, thrilled they "scored a great sword."
'That punk aimed too high, though.'
Yohan and Lucas screamed green; even experienced-looking me was just a priest. Big score attempt.
Probably getting reamed by the master now.
That's how workshop apprentices learn.
I used him to teach these three.
Of course, gambling lives on "lessons" highlights this world's darkness.
The weak and foolish die first. Welcome to fucking medieval land!
"Even vets get burned here sometimes. Blink, and you lose your nose."
I chuckled at the dazed newbies, fresh off their spicy introduction to the district.
"Hope you learn plenty."