"You have got yourself a deal." Doma said, clearly glad to have accepted the offer. He eyed his little boy apprentice, who immediately ran into the only other door in the room. The boy came with a sword that was as tall as he was, gripping the pommel with his two hands.
Doma was quite proud to see one of best works displayed to a customer as good as Ren. The Silversteel sword reflected the warm orange light that came from the hearth, giving it an ethereal glow—like it bathed in the sea of flames.
Ren accepted the sword from the boy, and looked at the satisfied blacksmith, clearly expecting some words from him. What was sliversteel? What did the markings on the pommel, and on the blade bottom mean? Did they actually signify anything?
Doma cleared his throat, and handed the cups to his apprentice. He took the sword from Ren, and thrusted it up, letting more of the flames light hit it.
"Silversteel, the gods' own metal. I got a small adamantium igot as a gift from a friend from the capital, a beautiful thing. A sword made from silversteel is the sharpest and toughest there is, and I have heard rumors that they could even undo magic spells."
He turned over the sword, showcasing its bottom, "The marks are names of the god of war, and the god of protection. They were an artistic choice, and they bear no added feature save for maybe a slightly increased confidence from the knowledge that perhaps the gods would watch you a little bit more closely."
"Oh oh!" Ren exclaimed in excitement. Doma's words excited him, never did he think that he could be excited about a sword. The farmer cultivator had simply been expecting a mundane sword, one that he could wield and that would have a bandit think twice before attacking him, but this, the sliversteel sword was even better, he had struck a good bargain.
"I'll cherish it." He said to the Blacksmith.
[You have successfully completed the quest Great Sword]
[You have earned two points of charisma.]
[The god of trade thinks you wise, and likes your bargain, you've earned 7 favor points.]
[The god of war appreciates that the sword pays tribute to him, you have earned a favor point.]
Ren read these on his way back home, he had the sword buried in a scabbard, and tied across his waist, dangling about his right flank. He noticed however that the people looked at him differently with the sword strapped to his waist, their look of distrust had not faded, but it wasn't just distrust that was on their faces, especially on the men he came across. Their eyes bore a hint of envy. It was like they liked the way Ren looked, and they wanted to look just like him, if only slightly.
Ren looked better than all of the villagers with his fairly modern clothes, and his glowing skin which he did well to care for as that was a thing popular from where he came. The people of the village in comparison wore simple clothes whose colors had long since been washed away with many bearing little holes, and tears. Their skins were frequently dirty, and they almost all had the terrible smell of old sweat and soil. Oblivious Ren was a lord in their midst, and they did not like that.
The young man got to his home late noon transiting into the evening when he spotted a figure in his field. Eldrad had insinuated that the village was frequented by thieves and bandits but this was a fellow villager.
Whoever they were, they were bold. They kicked through his cabbages, stuffing some under their arms while gnawing on carrots they'd just torn from the soil. Their backs were turned to Ren.
He crept toward them, careful and silent. When only a few meters remained, Ren drew his Silversteel sword. The whisper of steel startled the thief, cutting through the quiet.
The man fell on his back pouring away the vegetables he held, and Ren caught a good look at his face. His brows were raised in surprise, it was the first villager he had seen, the one with the rooster. He held his sword over the frightened man now. Renegade town allowed its residents to shoot and kill thieves, and Ren had shot a thief in his farm once, but there was something intrinsically different about stabbing a man to death. He could see the man's body trembling, could see clearly the horror in his eyes.
He let out a sigh of defeat, he could not kill him, he did not even know if the village allowed the killing of thieves, and even if they did, he would still not be able to have done it. He needed to tread carefully, the villagers still had not welcomed him, killing another could trigger even more negative feelings from them.
"Get lost," he said, sliding the sword back into its scabbard.
The man scrambled to his feet and bolted, letting out a cry of mischief, as if he'd somehow gotten one over on Ren.
Ren sat on his field crestfallen. He had been strong in accepting this new life of his, he was still strong about it, but now, all the negative feelings he had bottled up came pouring. The man had done some damage on his crops, but most were fine.
'I miss pa, ma. I miss my neighbors.'
He missed the late nights he spent with his good neighbors, he missed seeing the fields of wheat and corn, he missed all that made him feel alive.
"I should have gotten a dog."
[The goddess of compassion admires your mercy, and feels compassionate about your position]
The message appeared in his mind, but this time, it was without the migraine, only an intrusive message.
He turned to his pen of cows, sheeps and pigs. The thief had not bothered them, and for that he was relieved. He might not have been able to restrain himself had the thief harmed one of them.
Ren chuckled, eyes still on the pen.
"At least he did not get you guys."