Forging a greatsword looked a lot like doing the same with a short or longsword.

A layman might've been able to pick out the differences. Like how the anvil had to accommodate the massive increase in size or how I had to hammermuchharder than with the other examples. In truth, I had no clue how to make a greatsword. Working through trail and error alongside prior knowledge of smaller blades because I wasn't willing to pay the ridiculous price the blacksmith offered for a demonstration.

Didn't help that I was forging a lowland sword. It was the largest size before the blades started being classified as Executioners, the blade alone measured around four feet.

Thought that if I was going to try a heavy weapon, why not go whole hog? Challenge my smithing skills as well. I'd been struggling to keep that from rusting. Making new swords whenever I lost old ones was the only case where I could justify the art and even then it was entirely self indulgence considering the gold I made could easily be invested into new weapons.

The amount of Umi's gold I'd wasted trying to make this thing was almost enough to get me feeling guilty.

The fun of it overshadowed any bad vibes though! Hammer up, hammer down and all that. Treat it with flame so that I could hammer in the folds. More metal meant more folding meant more beveling meant more skill needed.

I'd spent a week almost exclusively smithing during the day. Training at night when I didn't need to sleep. It'd been going surprisingly fast. I couldn't tell how in tune I had become to the World compared to before but damn, this would've taken at least a month for the old me back in the village to start figuring out.

Absolutely ridiculous.

That didn't mean I could be lax though. Using the World to my advantage was as much of an active process as bringing my hammer down on steel.

Still incredibly unfair. I doubted a human blacksmith would be satisfied by such a paltry limitation.

I could even pick out lies now! Sometimes. If it was blatant and if I knew the person well, strangers were still a mystery for anything beyond basic emotions. Which was...not great. Once upon a time I considered reading people to be a secondary skill to work on at my leisure.

My experiences since coming to this city had disabused me of that notion.

So focused on the End that I forgot people were plenty capable of atrocities. Yet I still avoided learning before fucked up shit happened because I found it distasteful. Convenient then that I'd get better at it passively just for being an elf.

If that were enough then so much could've been avoided.

But that can be said about any skill.

When would I be satisfied with my swordsmanship? When would I slow down my mana training? Would there ever be a point where I could look at myself and think that I'd done enough?

Always someone stronger. Always someone smarter.

Looking at what could have been was futile because it wasn't the reality of the present. All I could do was look at the flaws that allowed for a tragedy and hope I could fix them fast enough before they were found lacking once more.

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But what about a crisis I had no control over?

The End was the easiest example of that but the idea that I could still suffer without a flaw in sight was...unpleasant.

Already happened with the orc, I think his name was Arr'koro?

Haven't thought about him in a while.

Was it weird that I didn't feel much of anything at the memory? Arr'koro was a force of nature. Like a storm, or a hurricane. Orcs were as they were. If anything, finding out they could communicate was the most destressing part of the memory.

They were portrayed as nothing better than rabid animals, yet if that were true then I'd've been long dead. A couple more months and it would've been exactly a year. Would I do anything special for that?

I probably should've.

I wasn't blind. I could see myself deteriorating.

The smithing was helping but it wasn't enough. I had yet to properly mourn both my parents and my friends. They deserved better, but I needed it too. Everything just...hurt.

All the time.

I didn't like that and the self-hatred had tapered off enough that justifications seemed flimsy at best. Riri and Gar. I'd never forget them. But their deaths would not destroy me. I just had to figure out how to keep this pace and balance everything else.

Just...had to find a few things I enjoyed that could also count as training.

I let out a sigh and eyed the heated lowland sword.

This was the hardest part. Because of its length, quenching the whole thing made it more prone to warping and it'd be useless if I wasn't careful. I'd been doing okay, but one mistake was all it needed.

Wouldn't mind smithing some more, but it had been a week, and a week was plenty enough time.

I'd still have plenty of work to do with polishing if this worked out.

I took a breath and submerged the blade in oil.

Loitering in a city this busy was generally frowned upon but I couldn't help it. Iasolom's faithful were a fantastic test in my willingness to avoid the stockades. Always speaking in riddles trying to lead you to an answer they already had.

Bunch of obnoxious pricks.

Unfortunately they also offered the best essence readings, so I still had to deal with them from time to time. But! If I wasn't the one getting the reading, why would I need to step inside?

The glares of a bunch of busy bodies meant a whole lot of nothing to me.

So I leaned on a pillar outside the temple. Chewing a bit of mint so my breath wouldn't gross out the kiddos. They'd smelled plenty of corpses and excrement but apparently alcohol was where they drew the line! They'd either grow out of it or life would beat them hard enough that they'd stop caring.

What happened to their home didn't count because they weren't alone in their grief.

I perked up when a teenager with short brown locks stomped out of the temple with a stack of papers in her arms. I waved at her with enough enthusiasm to annoy! Oh joy.

Uria glared and made a course straight for me. Pushing past all the poor supplicants looking to venerate their god like a proper heretic. I almost had to wipe a tear from sheer pride.

"Well?" I smirked when she stopped in front of me.

"Just read the thing so my suffering at least meant something."

"That bad?"

"Read. Now."

I chuckled and decided not to prod. Looking over the first page with a hum. Pretty basic shit. Nothing actionable without a broader context, but that was what the other pages were for!

Their ridiculous focus on detail was the only saving grace of this place.

"Well, your essence is balanced, so that's good. A little too much supporting your strength though, we'll have to cut back on the weights."

Uria glared. "Why?"

"Because it's only been what? Six months? People who grow without a plan always end up stilted, great at one thing but with glaring weaknesses. We can talk about specializing a little once we figure out what kind of fighter you wanna be."

"I don't want to be a fighter at all," she grumbled.

"Really? Is that why you train harder than that precious husband of yours?"

The glare she gave me was hysterical. How a child could get so worked up over a lovers spat wasn't something I could ever hope to understand. Neither would I try. It would be a waste of time.

Though the whispers were more honest.

"You know you don't have to go to the dungeon so often right?" I said.

"Are you really takinghisside on this?"

"Just saying."

"Can your 'saying' afford a healer?"

"Kids die all the time girl," the whiplash she experienced from my sudden bluntness was practically physical. "Especially babies. All you're doing is keeping him alive. Not even I can afford to pay for what he needs. Whatever the fuck that is."

Her face twisted in rage.

But she didn't say anything. Uria never did when she got like this.

So we walked in silence and I could tell from the whispers that she was doing an admirable job of fighting off tears.

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