I woke up to the sensation of someone slapping my cheek with the gentleness of a tenderizing mallet.
"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!" Herbert's voice boomed, vibrating through my skull. "The Lady left, the gold is in the till, and you've spent the last thirty minutes hugging the floorboards like they were your long-lost mother."
I groaned, my head swimming. I felt... weirdly clear-headed, though. There was a lingering taste of mint and ozone on my tongue.
"She gave a Low-Grade Restoration,'" Barnaby grunted, leaning over me with a look of pure disgust. "A waste of good mana if you ask me. Could've healed a broken leg with that, but she used it to stop a twig from heart-failure because she felt 'guilty' for scaring the life out of a peasant."
I sat up, rubbing my shoulder where she'd touched me. I checked my skin. No hives. No swelling. My heart was still hammering, but I wasn't dead. Venus was right, I thought, a manic grin spreading across my face. The allergy is gone. It's just my brain that's a coward now!
"Did she... did she say anything?" I asked, my voice still a bit shaky.
"Aye," Herbert laughed, tossing a copper coin in the air. "She said you were 'the most fragile creature in the kingdom' and told us to feed you some iron before you blow away in the wind. She even left an extra copper for 'the boy's funeral fund,' but since you're alive, consider it shop tax."
I didn't argue. I didn't care about the copper. I reached into my pocket, looked around and felt the cold, sleek glass of the phone. The two guys thankfully busy with the new arrived adventurer, I tapped the screen surreptitiously.
[Current Balance: 60 VP]
Sixty points. I felt like a millionaire. I could buy twelve packs of ramen. I could buy a pocket knife. I could buy...
Before I could browse, the front door creaked open, and the air in the shop instantly changed. It didn't smell like vanilla this time; it smelled like expensive musk, aged leather, and power.
Mistress Helga had arrived.
I slowly put back my phone inside my pocket.
She was wearing a merchant gown of such a bright, aggressive yellow it hurt to look at. Her corset was tightened to within an inch of its life, pushing her "assets" up so high they were practically chin-restraints. Her lips were painted a deep, blood-red, and she looked at us with the calculating eyes of a woman who knew exactly how many coppers were in every pocket in the room.
"What is this?" she demanded, her voice echoing off the shields on the wall. "Why are my smiths standing around like decorative statues? And why is my clerk sitting on the floor like a discarded rag?"
Barnaby was the first to snitch. "The boy's a dud, Mistress. A Mage-candidate touched his shoulder to be kind, and he folded like a wet napkin. Wasted thirty minutes of shop time being unconscious."
Helga stepped toward me. Every step was a rhythmic clack-clack of her heels on the stone. She loomed over me, the sheer scale of her—and her "merchant's display"—making me want to crawl under the anvil.
"Is that true, Arthur?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "Are you so weak that a woman's touch sends you to the void?"
"I... I was overwhelmed by the Lady's mana, Mistress," I lied, my New York instincts kicking in. "Her power was so great, it was like a physical weight. I'm just a commoner, I wasn't prepared."
Helga hummed, a sound that vibrated in her chest. "Get up. If you faint again, I'm deducting it from your pay. Now, go to the back and organize the shipments. Move!"
I scrambled to my feet and bolted for my tiny room. I needed a moment. I needed to see what sixty points could actually get me.
I locked my door—well, I shoved a chair against it—and pulled out the phone. I scrolled past the food. I scrolled past the clothes. I needed something that would help me earn more. Something that would make me indispensable.
I clicked on the [Modern Sundries] tab.
Option 1: Industrial Grade Disinfectant (45 VP) - In a world where people die from a paper cut, this is liquid gold.Option 2: Family Pack of Double-Stuffed Oreos (20 VP) - Sugar is a luxury here. This could bribe a king.Option 3: Stainless Steel Multi-Tool (60 VP) - Pliers, wire cutters, a sharp blade... it's a shop-owner's dream.
I looked at my 60 VP. I looked at the moldy walls of my room.
"If I buy the Oreos, I'll eat them all and be happy for five minutes," I whispered. "If I buy the disinfectant, I could start a medical miracle... but I'm just a clerk. Nobody would trust me."
I hovered my finger over the Multi-Tool. In a weapon shop, being able to fix things with precision was a superpower.
Click.
[Purchase Confirmed: 60 VP Deducted.]
[Item Manifesting...]
A soft, blue light flickered in the air, and a heavy, silver object dropped onto my hay bed. It was beautiful. Brushed steel, heavy in the hand, with "LEATHERMAN" stamped on the side.
"Alright, Venus," I grinned, feeling the edge of the hidden blade. "Let's see how Herbert feels about 'Skinny Boy' when I fix his 'unfixable' enchanted mace with a pair of needle-nose pliers."
*****
The second day started exactly like the first: freezing water at the well, a stomach that sounded like a bag of angry cats, and a piece of bread so hard I considered using it to sharpen a sword.
But I felt different. I had a heavy weight in my pocket that wasn't just my phone. I had leverage.
By 10:00 AM, the shop was a chaotic mess of clanking armor and loud-mouthed adventurers. I was busy cataloging a shipment of iron ore when a man walked in who looked like he owned the street he walked on. He was old, with a beard braided with silver wire, wearing a heavy velvet cape that actually hummed with mana.
This was Lord Varis, a retired master-smith and high-ranking noble. Behind him, he carried a heavy, ornate crossbow that looked like it had seen better centuries.
"Mistress Helga!" Varis called out, his voice gravelly. "The trigger mechanism on this beauty has seized again. My best mages say it needs a full dismantle, but the pins are too small for their tongs. Do I have to melt the damn thing down just to fix a spring?"
Helga emerged from the back, her eyes immediately darting to the expensive relic. "Lord Varis! We can certainly try, but as you know, precision work on ancient mechanisms is... delicate. It might take weeks."
I saw my opening. I stepped forward, wiping my hands on my tunic. "Actually, my Lord, I could probably fix that for you in about thirty seconds. Right here. No dismantling required."
The shop went dead silent. Herbert dropped his hammer. Barnaby snorted so hard he nearly choked. Helga's face turned a shade of red that matched her lipstick. "Arthur! Know your place! You're a clerk, not a master artificer!"
I didn't back down. "I just need to reach the internal pin."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the multi tool, switching to a long nose plier. I flicked it open with one hand—a move I'd practiced for two hours last night—to make a statement and the needle-nose pliers clicked into place with a crisp, metallic snap.
The sunlight from the window caught the polished stainless steel. It gleamed with a cold, surgical precision that this world of hammered iron had never seen.
"What in the name of the Two Moons is that?" Varis whispered, stepping closer.
I didn't answer. I took the crossbow from his hands, inserted the slim, tapered pliers into the tiny gap of the trigger housing, and gripped the bent safety pin. With a tiny, controlled twist, I straightened the metal and seated the spring. Click.
I handed it back. "Try it now."
Varis pulled the lever. It moved as smooth as butter. Thwack! The dry fire sounded crisp and perfect. "What on Venus's name did you do?" Varis gasped. He wasn't looking at the crossbow anymore. He was staring at the pliers in my hand like they were a piece of a fallen star.
"Just a minor adjustment, my Lord," I said, leaning back with a smugness I hadn't felt since I beat my neighbor at chess in 1994. "With this. It's a needle-nose plier."
"May I... may I hold it?" Varis asked, his voice trembling.
I hesitated, playing the "mysterious artisan" role. I let the silence hang for a second before placing the tool in his palm. The moment his fingers brushed the cold steel, his eyes practically popped out of his head. His mana-infused cape began to glow a vibrant blue, reacting to the tool.
"By the Heavens!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "This is... this is a Divine Relic! The metal—it's so pure, so perfectly refined! There isn't a single hammer mark! And the hinge... it moves with the friction of a god's breath! I have never touched anything so intricate. Even the Royal Treasury's artifacts are crude compared to this raw, divine-grade craftsmanship!"
Wait, what? I stared at the tool. It was a $4 plier. I'd seen them on sale at Amazon.