Soulweaver 42: Blacksmith… Recycler (Patreon)

It turned out the answer was ‘as soon as possible’, and so I ran back to the inn and quickly grabbed my laundered jeans and shirt that had been drying outside our window on a clothesline. I wore them under the clothes Aerion—the stingy, penny-pinching Aerion—bought me. That she’d gone out of her way to get me clothes regardless really meant a lot. 

Ever since I’d learned I could Initialize clothing, I’d wondered about layering up to see how much I could abuse that feature. Turned out, even with just my jeans, wearing two layers on my legs took some getting used to. 

My upper body was much easier, and my thin machine-made shirt fit perfectly under the sweater. Though, considering I was about to do a lot of physical labor, I wondered whether I’d overheat. Oh well, the stat gains were more important.

Touching my shirt, I mentally gave the command to Initialize it, and followed it with my pants.

Woven Fabric Sweater [Common]

It’s an ordinary sweater that you’ll find just about anywhere. Cheap, but relatively durable.

Essence Cost: 3

Condition: 15/15

Stats: 

— Grace: 1

— Cunning: 2

Abilities: None

Woven Fabric Trousers [Common]

It’s an ordinary pair of trousers that you’ll find just about anywhere. Cheap, but relatively durable.

Essence Cost: 3

Condition: 15/15

Stats: 

— Vigor: 2 

— Grace: 2

Abilities: None

And so I showed up to my first job in a new world. As a blacksmith… recycler. Well, it was something. And I was getting paid, too, although Aerion would probably bring in the lion’s share of the income for now.

That was alright. As a Champion, I doubted I’d have to worry about earning once I outed myself. The Blessing I’d given Aerion had earned me a zero interest rate loan, after all. I was perfectly happy letting that balance rack up for now.

The dwarf-like owner even had a dwarven-sounding name—Rogar. He was a short guy with a long, unkempt brown beard and messy hair.

“Oi, Philip! Got a new hand to help ya. So quit rubbing your back and get back to work. I need that scrap melted down by morning.”

“Aww, why, though?” Philip—the gray-haired man said. Upon getting a closer look, I realized he actually wasn’t that old. At least, not by my world’s standards. He couldn’t have been much more than fifty. He was in great shape, too.

The guy had thick, toned arms and didn’t look like he had much fat, though that wasn’t saying much. Everyone around here was far slimmer than I was used to seeing. It made me a little self conscious.

“Because you’re old and slow as fuck, that’s why. Be happy I even keep you around,” Rogar barked. As far as employers went, Rogar reminded me of my manager at the game store. The difference was, I wasn’t here for the money. I was just here to take advantage of a unique opportunity, and then I’d be gone.

“Oh, alright,” Philip said, huffing. “I sure could use a rest.”

“Rest? You think I hired him to make your life easy, did ya?” Rogar cried. “I expect you to work even harder now.”

“And you! What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, but it’s Greg,” I replied.

“Right, Grug. You keep him in line, you hear? If he slacks, you don’t get paid.”

“Uh, okay?” I said, taken aback by this new addition to our unwritten contract. I hadn’t pushed for a formal document, figuring I was treading on thin ice as it was. As for him butchering my name, I didn’t even bother.

“What kind of a half-assed response is that?” Rogar spat.

“I get it, I get it! You’re altering the terms of our deal. I’ll pray that you do not alter it further.”

Rogar searched my eyes for a moment, then nodded. “You do that. Now, get to work!”

Both Philip and I exhaled after Rogar stormed back into the forge, leaving us alone.

“Is he always like that?” I asked.

“Only on the good days,” Philip said, cracking a small smile. “I’m Philip, by the way. Nice ta meet ya, Greg,” he said, extending an arm.

I mirrored the movement, guessing, but not knowing exactly what the custom was in this world. I also noted how Philip had actually listened and gotten my name right.

Luckily, Philip clasped my forearm, and I grabbed his, before we both let go. 

“Well met,” he said. “Now, how about I show you the lay of the land, so to speak. Recycling’s a dirty job, but it isn’t without skill. Get it wrong, and you’ll just waste your time. Get it really wrong, and you could even break the whole forge. Not ta mention all the ore we refine in the Bloomery. That’s part of the job, too.”

“Sorry? Bloom-what?”

Philip pointed to the clay forge with the tall chimney. “S’what that one is called. For refinin’ iron ore into a bloom. Ours isn’t the best, but well, ya work with what you’ve got, eh?”

“Uh, right. Well, let’s get started then, shall we?”

— — 

It turned out that Philip was right. There was a whole lot more to this process than I’d anticipated. Forget forging or hammering and alloying recycled metal in the hearth forge—Philip had me start on operating the Bloomery furnace, which turned ore into workable iron for forging. 

I’d graduate to reforging items later, once I could work the furnace. He said it was a good place to start—and I believed him—but it was also extremely physical work. 

At least thus far, the old timer had treated me well. I felt bad seeing him break his back over this stuff, so I was happy to help.

Besides, I sure could use the exercise.

The basics were simple—fill the chimney stack with layers of ore and coal, ensure the air intake duct wasn’t clogged, and constantly work the bellows.

It was the details that were hard—knowing when the iron ore had reached the right temperature, being able to sort through the lumps of slag and iron that came out when you raked the contents of the forge out onto the ground, and then taking those and hammering them into workable iron that could then be fused together to form a dagger, sword, pots, pans, nails, and a myriad of other items.

Luckily, Philip was both patient and a good teacher. He explained things simply and methodically, so even a newbie like me could follow along. If I had to take a shot in the dark, I’d say he had formal teaching experience.

Despite his coaching, it was all far too much to take in with a single day of work, so I started with operating the bellows. Calling that an arm workout was a disservice to the task. I was sweating bullets and my heart raced and raced. I was sure I’d be sore that night.

I was starting to get more of a handle on what sorts of gear bestowed what abilities. Clothing thus far had always only given me stats. Weapons and armor had only given me abilities. As for what stats an item bestowed, it seemed somewhat random, though I guessed that, like abilities, they were consistent across items of the same make and quality.

Which was great, because I planned to build up a recipe book, and all the stuff I’d enchanted thus far would serve as the core entries.

It was good that my trousers granted Vigor, because the cardio from working the bellows got that stat to level up in no time at all, bringing my current total Vigor to 20—two points higher than my previously earned maximum. Unfortunately, neither my Grace nor my Cunning improved. I knew Grace required feats of dexterity, which this wasn’t, not really.

As for Cunning, though, I wasn’t really sure how I’d train that one. It was likely either related to skills such as lockpicking and trap-making… Or it had to do with my general awareness. I’d have to experiment with that and some of the others, like Passion, Wisdom, and Order.

That last one, I hoped my patron deity could help with. Though, now that I knew I was his Champion, me having only one point of Order had to have been Cosmo’s idea of a joke.

The sun was beginning to set by the end of my shift, and my arms felt like they’d fall off. I’d alternated between the bellows, feeding the forge, and finally, hammering the ‘bloom’—the hunk of metal produced by the furnace after hours of blowing.

Philip handled the white-hot piece, pulling it from the forge and placing it on an anvil while I smashed it with a sledgehammer.

The goal was to compress the metal, which would eject the impurities—the ‘slag’—from the hunk.

Due to the need to hammer the thing before it became cool, it was some of the most back-breaking work I’d ever done. 

My heart felt like it was going to explode, and when Philip gave the all clear, I dropped the hammer and fell back onto my ass, heaving. Forget keeping an eye on Philip—I was having trouble looking after myself. At this rate, I’d produce less than he did. 

“How have you managed all this alone?” I asked between gasps of air.

Philip smirked. “You get used to it.”

“I don’t know if I want to get used to this.”

“Ah, it’s not so bad. Your muscles adapt. Get strong,” Philip said, flexing his impressive biceps.

I’d signed up hoping to handle scrap metal—Initializing it before I destroyed it—and while I would get to do exactly that, it certainly came with a cost.

Still, I couldn’t complain. Tomorrow, I’d start Initializing with reckless abandon. And hopefully, I’d learn a thing or two about my Blessing.

“So, when do I get paid?” I asked Rogar on the way out.

“End of the week. If ya last that long.”

“So, wait, if I quit before then, I get nothing?”

Rogar gave me a yellow-toothed grin. “Consider it your probationary period. Oh, and ya’ll be on the graveyard shift tomorrow. Show up at dusk. Prepare to work through the night with Philip.”

The night shift? Seriously? The man was most definitely an ass, but I thought better about arguing—I wasn’t here for the money, after all. 

I gave him a nod and walked out, looking forward to a nice hot bath at the inn. And maybe after that, I’d go get some dinner with Aerion.

I walked with a spring in my step, and my mouth watered—both at the thought of food, and of finding optimal builds and Initializing [Uncommon] items that bestowed far more stats than the stuff I was used to. It’d be a double whammy, and if I wasn’t horribly mistaken, my stats were about to shoot up. Way up.