A week flew by. Cleaning the workshop and getting everything in the house in order took more time than expected. I barely had time for anything that wasn’t cleaning or reading the beginner’s blacksmithing manual. That, and hauling all the scrap to make use of it. I’m still sore.

  “Come on, Fred!” My excitement is palpable in my voice.

  Finally a day out of the routine—there’s not a minute to lose.

  “Relax. I’m coming.”

  We climb into the carriage together.

  “I’m glad you had to go see the captain today.”

  “Do you really need to go down to the city that badly?”

  “Even all the material you got me isn’t much use if I can’t light the forge.”

  I keep the existence of the fire gem to myself, the one that will make me need much less charcoal. Thanks to the books I now know how to use it, even if my magical capacity isn’t enough.

  “By the way, I’ve been wanting to ask you something for a week. You know how when you look at a person you can see their class, titles, and so on?”

  “Yes. We can all do that since our baptism,” he comments, intrigued and not knowing where I’m going with this.

  “Sometimes when I focus on certain forged objects, especially weapons, I can see their stats and effects. And not only that—I can also see what material they’re made of and how to replicate them.”

  He stays thoughtful for a few moments and then draws his sword.

  “Tell me what you see.”

  I focus on the sword. It’s very beautiful and cold to the touch. The blade slightly condenses the air around it, giving it a magical feel. It’s the most complicated object I’ve looked at since I passed out with the anvil. Information starts appearing in my mind at the same time I see its stats.

  Material: steel, ****, ****, frost wolf fang.

  Stats: attack: 250

  Durability: 100

  Effects: freezing.

  With the information comes a headache and dizziness that I now know is due to running out of mana. Thanks to practice, my capacity has increased, but it’s still low.

  “It’s made of steel and two other materials I don’t recognize along with a frost wolf fang. I suspect they’re two magical metals. It has 250 attack, although I don’t really understand what that means. As for the forging process, I understand part of it, but I can’t grasp the part about adding the freezing ability from the fang.”

  “I think it’s one of your talents,” my brother replies after thinking it over. “I know a merchant from the Celeste Company who can tell the price of almost any object just by looking at it. I’ve never heard of someone seeing how it was made, but I’ve never discussed it with a blacksmith either.”

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  “The bad part is that it drains my mana. With a sword like this I almost pass out.”

  Fred laughs out loud.

  “When I started training, using my ability even once would exhaust me. And not just mana—swordsman skills require your body to be trained enough to withstand them. Don’t be impatient. If you want to master your talent, the first thing you have to do is practice. Looks like my sword managed to trick you.”

  Before I can answer, the carriage stops.

  “This is my stop,” my brother says as he gets off. “Good luck with your charcoal.”

  I wave goodbye. The trip lasts long enough for me to recover from the headache. I get off the carriage when it stops in front of the blacksmith shop my father does business with. He wasn’t thrilled that I used the family name, but I need them to send me the charcoal.

  The place is a weapons and armor shop. The actual forge is in the back, away from customers’ eyes. Since no one’s around, I start looking at the swords on display. The simpler ones look mass-produced, with less care.

  They look exactly the same to me, but when I use my ability on two of them, I realize one has 5 more attack points.

  “Those swords are too big for you, kid.”

  “I was just looking out of curiosity. This one is slightly better than that one, even though they cost the same,” I reply to the huge woman who spoke from behind the counter.

  “Hoo! Looks like you know a thing or two,” she says, slightly surprised. “Seems I judged you wrong. I thought you were some kid dreaming of being an adventurer, but I see you’re one of mine. You’re dressed too well to be looking for an apprenticeship. Tell me, boy, what do you need?”

  “I’m Termin, the marquis’s son,” I introduce myself, bowing my head respectfully. “I’m looking for charcoal so I can light the old forge at the mansion.”

  She looks at me with pity when she realizes who I am.

  “Sorry, kid, that must be tough,” she runs a gloved hand through her hair. “I could increase the order for next month. You’ll have it in a couple of weeks. We don’t have much to spare right now, but we could send you 100 kg tomorrow.”

  I do the math in my head. With 100 kg I have enough to get the forge running and keep it going for two weeks. Actually, I don’t think I could afford much more per month unless I start selling what I make.

  “I’d need 250 kg for next month. The forge is for personal use, so that’ll be enough for now. I also need some tools,” I hand her a sheet. “I don’t need materials this month, but I’ll order some from you in the future.”

  “I can prepare all this no problem,” she says, nodding while reading the note. “I’ll send it tomorrow along with the charcoal. That’ll be 15 reales total, including the charcoal order, which I’ll need you to pay in advance.”

  That’s a bit less than I calculated.

  “Thank you.”

  I hand over the coins. The pouch is discouragingly empty now, but I still have 5 reales left. My father was pretty generous. Though honestly, I couldn’t afford the material if it weren’t for Fred.

  I leave happy, knowing I can start forging tomorrow. The carriage is waiting to pick up my brother. Vin, the coachman, waits by the door.

  “Isn’t that the Briemen family’s useless one?”

  I turn to see a boy about 13 years old. He’s sturdy and dark-haired. The eldest son of Count Pitiago. Behind him is another boy. We’ve known each other as long as I can remember. He’s the son of my father’s best friend and a few months older than me. Bron.

  “I thought your father would’ve thrown you out already. If it were me, I’d have died of shame.”

  I look at my friend for support. I think I see hesitation on his face, but then his eyes harden.

  “Relax. His father’s just waiting for him to come of age. My father says in five years that trash will be out on the street selling nails.”

  I want to answer. To shout, but the words won’t come out. I hear them laughing at me, and I waver between tears and rage. I know I can’t win a fight against either of them. I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Vin. He leads me to the carriage.

  “That’s right, run away, trash,” they shout behind me, but I can’t hear them anymore.

  When the door closes and the carriage starts moving, I clench my fists. I can’t help breaking into tears, partly from anger, but mostly from my friend’s betrayal. Part of me wants to curl up and cry, but the part that wants to smash their faces in is growing stronger by the moment. Right now I’m not strong enough. One day I’ll make them regret it.