On Tuesday morning, at precisely eight o’clock, Fyar stepped out of the inn’s door and found Rasie already waiting for him. The woman was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest with an impatient expression.
Fyar’s steps halted for a moment. "Rasie..." he murmured, a little surprised.
Today, Fyar was still wearing his black shirt and pants set. Rasie’s presence in front of him somehow made him realize that this was the only outfit he owned.
Damn it, I need to buy a few new sets of clothes soon. Or maybe find a tailor who can make clothes more to my liking.
"You? What do you mean by just saying my name? Speak clearly," Rasie sighed, as if Fyar’s very presence was a burden. "Zaefal is busy with something and Illya was suddenly summoned by her father to an event. So, I’m the only one left to accompany you."
Fyar sighed as well. "Alright, what’s our agenda for today?"
"First, we’re going to the equipment shop to buy you a weapon and some gear. Second, we’re going to the adventurer’s association to register your identity. Got it?" Rasie explained in a quick, firm tone.
Fyar replied softly, "Yes, mommy."
"What did you say?" Rasie narrowed her eyes, looking confused.
"It was nothing. I meant, alright, Rasie," Fyar said, putting on a gentle smile.
"Tch, I hate that fake smile of yours," Rasie sneered before turning and starting to walk.
The two of them walked down the city’s main street. Fyar let his gaze wander, observing his surroundings with great interest. The city’s architecture was truly unique. The neatly laid stone streets, large pillars, and buildings with distinctive arches reminded him of images of the ancient Roman Empire. However, statues of griffins standing proudly guard over a gate and street lanterns that glowed with blue crystals provided a strong touch of fantasy.
He saw merchants beginning to open their stalls, a few stray dogs playing in a narrow alley, a couple walking hand-in-hand, and spirited groups of adventurers. In the distance, a crowd of neatly uniformed children walked together, likely heading to an academy.
As they continued walking, Fyar glanced over at Rasie. "Is there a magic academy in this kingdom?" he asked.
"Stupid question. Of course, there is," Rasie answered without looking at him. "The education period is four years. The requirements are to have a talent for magic and be at least fourteen years old."
"Then what happens if someone doesn’t have magic?" Fyar asked again.
"Of course they can’t get in, idiot," Rasie retorted curtly. "Most of them become inn servants, merchants, or farmers."
Not a bad life, either. Fyar thought to himself.
"We’re here," Rasie said, interrupting Fyar’s thoughts.
Fyar looked up at a simple, stone-walled building before him. It was rectangular with two glass windows and a single sturdy wooden door. As soon as they entered, the faint scent of toasted bread and machine oil greeted them. Inside, a dwarf was relaxing in his chair, munching on a large piece of bread. His frame was short and stout, perhaps around 145 centimeters tall, with jet-black hair and work clothes similar to a miner’s.
Seeing them enter, the dwarf quickly swallowed the rest of his bread and stood up from his creaking chair.
"Welcome, Rasie. Anything I can help you with this time?" he greeted them with a rough, heavy voice. "Mm, don’t tell me another one of your weapons is broken."
"No, Robert. This time I’m looking for a weapon and gear for this companion of mine," Rasie replied, pointing at Fyar with her chin. "He just lost his weapon and his memory. Pretty stupid, isn’t it? His powers are gone too. Can you find a suitable weapon and some items for him? Oh, and he also wants to place a special order." This update ıs available on 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡✶𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚✶𝙣𝙚𝙩
Robert raised one of his thick eyebrows, his sharp eyes looking Fyar up and down. "A special item?"
"Yeah. He calls it a ’bullet’," Rasie explained, "It’s small but sharp. I hope you can make it."
Fyar stepped forward, shaking his head slightly. "That description isn’t quite right. The bullet is just a small metal slug. That’s the easy part." He looked directly at Robert. "The problem is the component that pushes it. It requires a special powder. When struck by a small spark inside a metal tube, this powder explodes with great force, launching the metal slug at high speed."
Robert stroked his thick beard, his expression turning from confused to intrigued. The clatter from the workshop outside seemed to fade as he focused intently on Fyar’s words.
"A propulsive powder..." the dwarf mused, his rough voice now filled with a craftsman’s curiosity. "A controlled explosion to launch a projectile... I’ve never heard of such a mechanism... Fascinating."
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Making the metal slugs is simple. But this powder... that’s an alchemist’s domain, not a blacksmith’s. However," he looked at Fyar, "I know a few suppliers who deal in rare minerals and reactive substances. There are tales of certain black powders from the eastern mines that ignite with incredible speed. I might know of materials with a similar effect. I can look into it."