“So anyway, Adam,” I idly ask as we make our way out of the storefront and into the back room.  “Feel free not to answer, but I’m curious how you ended up in the blacksmithing business.  I know you said you’ve been doing this kind of work for twenty-odd years, but…”  I trail off.

“Oh, no trouble at all.  Well, as is the case for quite a lot of folks, I didn’t do so well in school for a long time.  Mouthed off to teachers, got into the occasional fight, rarely studied, bad grades.  I think nowadays they would’ve diagnosed me with ADHD and given me medication, but then again, my folks never thought to get me tested and the small town we grew up in just outside San Antonio didn’t have the kind of money for that sort of thing either.

“So I just wandered around, getting passed from teacher to teacher, being promoted to each grade mostly so I’d be out of one teacher’s hair.  At least until I got to my freshman year, when I met Mr. Wilhelm, the man responsible for turning my life around.  Woodshop teacher.  Even when I was in school, he was getting up there in the years.  I think he passed the year before last.”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe says.

Adam shakes his head.  “It’s fine.  Anyway, it’s the first day of class and I get into my usual, childish antics.  But Mr. Wilhelm immediately shut me down.  Warned me that in his class, the rules were there for a reason.  He told me that if I was lucky, I’d lose a finger.  If I wasn’t, it’d be someone else who did instead, and that I’d have to live with the guilt of causing that.”

He pauses for a moment.  “Really made me think for the first time, about my actions and the consequences they’d have.  About how much trouble I’d been causing for everyone.  Not all at once.  Old habits die hard and all.  But thanks to his stern yet fair instruction, he slowly got me on the up-and-up.  The fact that it was working in the shop, making stuff with our hands instead of sitting at a desk, memorizing dates that no one gives a damn about?  That also helped a lot.  Ended up eventually going to technical college and took up artisanal smithing.  And the rest is pretty much history.”

I nod as he finishes his story.  It’s not too dissimilar from my own.  Unfavorable childhoods, lots of opportunities for things to go awry.  But thanks to a few shining lights— Chloe and Alicia for me, Mr. Wilhelm for Adam— we were able to become more than the product of shitty circumstances.  It’s an opportunity we each were given, but many others never received.  I feel a certain degree of camaraderie with the older man now, and even more determination to see this plan commenced.

I take a good look at the forge in the back of the back room.  It’s quite a bit smaller than I’d expected, the furnace itself only about four feet cubed, made of bricks and clay, with a roaring white-hot flame of wood and charcoal burning inside.  There’s a small chimney exhaust protruding through the ceiling and into the outside, but the walls are otherwise mostly bare.  Bare and made of concrete I have to assume, the uniform gray slab being a case of function over form.  There are quite a few unfinished swords and spears and other weapons on a rack on the wall nearest the front of the shop, along with a couple of half-finished pieces of plate armor.

“But that’s enough about my story, Seraphina.  You said you wanted me to build a silver spear, so let’s talk about that.  First and most important question: have you given much thought to weight or length?  Or what sort of spear you want me to make?  There are a lot of different options, each with their own strengths and weaknesses”

“Filia,” I mentally ask, moving a bit closer to Chloe to strengthen the tenuous mental connection.  “Is there anything in particular I should strive for?”

“No, this part is all you.  The schematics you found are for a weapon core.  To put it in other words, I’ll form the enchantments and glyphs arrays that empower your new weapon.  The exact construction of the physical design and how you plan to wield it in a fight will be up to you.”

“Understood, and thank you again.”

“Uh…  The weight shouldn’t be too much of a concern; I’m quite a bit stronger than I look.”

“That’s true, and I don’t doubt you, but that’s not the only factor at play.  There is a reason why most spears are made of wood, with only a metal head and counterweight, and that’s because inertia is a pain in the ass to try to divert when you’re in the middle of a fight.  I’m sure you can flail fifty pounds of steel or silver around, but will you be able to move it freely when you’re being attacked on all sides?”

Adam walks over to the wall and picks out a spear about eight feet long.  The weapon itself is unremarkable, a long rod of some sort of polycarbonate compound, with a head that’s shaped like a relatively wide isosceles triangle, except with two small extra heads on either side.

“This is a type of spear called a partisan.  Why don’t you give it a few swings, see how it feels?”

I pick it up and twirl it around in my hand.  Gripping it around the center of the shaft, I thrust into the air, sprouting my wings and launching myself toward the wall.  More thrusts follow, aiming toward imaginary enemies as I allow myself to fall into a meditative trance, envisioning the monsters from the golden floor of the Tower Gauntlet and how I might have fought them with a similar weapon.  One thrust, then a second, then a third, all in rapid succession.

I drop low to the ground, cutting an arcing path around the ground, envisioning myself either knocking all of them to the ground, or better yet, severing their limbs just above the ankle joint where their defenses are likely weaker.  More attacks follow in my illusory training sequence, a mix of thrusts and slashes, most for offense, with the occasional block or deflection.

“Well, I’ll admit, you’ve got some moves,” Adam says.  “I gave you one of my heavier weapons, and you handled it like it was nothing.  How are you feeling?”

I smile.  “Feeling amazing.”

Adam chuckles.  “Glad to hear it.  Now, from the looks of how you moved just then, especially those sweeping attack patterns, I think you’re going to be looking more at a swordstaff over something like a pike or a javelin.  You’ll still have the benefits of range and versatility versus something like a sword, and it’ll be more effective against hordes of monsters.  The tradeoff is that it’s going to be a bit weaker when being used as a thrusting weapon against a single target, especially those enemies with particularly sturdy defenses.”

He walks back out into the display room, returning a moment later with a large book.  He opens it up, flipping through some pages until he finds what he’s looking for.  “So, the basic references I’d be looking at would be along the lines of the European glaive, the Chinese guandao, or the Japanese naginata.  Here, if you want to take a look at some reference designs.”

I flip through the pages.  All of them look like interesting designs, and I’m not sure if one of them has a distinct advantage over the others.  Tradeoffs, pros and cons, here as they are everywhere else.  I like them all, but none of them quite fit the sort of fighting style I envision for myself.

I conjure up the mental image of the [Gravilance] I used in my past life.  This too isn’t quite a perfect fit, either because that weapon was imperfect for my soul, or because I am, despite the parallels, not a perfect clone of who I was a continuity prior.

Instead, with another bit of [Inventory]-related finesse, I pull my sketchbook out and start tracing out the design that best suits who I am and want to be.  A shaft about six feet in length, a double-edged straight blade which stretches out to just before the eight-foot mark.  One edge of the blade extends about one foot into the shaft, while the opposite end has an extra palm rest, meant to buttress against an opponent’s sword during a blade lock.  There’s also a tiny crossguard at the base of the blade, only there because I anticipate further fights with swordsmen and halberdiers alike.

At the far end of the shaft is a small counterweight, a larger one unnecessary due to the added weight spread throughout the entire weapon.  Altogether, the weapon is about an inch and a quarter in diameter, the shaft grooved numerous by to-be-designed inscriptions and decorative engravings alike to prevent slippage.  All of it is formed of a single, carefully-wrought piece of silver, meaning that there shouldn’t be any inherent weaknesses where normally the metallic head would be bonded to the wooden body beneath.

After looking it over and making sure it all looks right, followed by some rough back-of-the-envelope calculations confirming that I should have enough material for the job, I hand the designs over to Adam for inspection.

He looks over it with a focused gaze, looking up at me, then down at the weapon I’d envisioned, then over to the wall where his other weapons are, then back to me.  His eyes furrow as he stares at the block of silver bullion in Chloe’s hand.  He walks back into the gallery room for about half a minute before returning, this time with a large staff about half a foot taller than I am.

“Something about like this?”  He hands the wooden staff over to me.  It’s well polished, though instead of being cylindrical, the overall shape is that of a narrow hexagonal prism not unlike many wooden pencils, designed for ease of grip.

I take it swinging it around a few times, getting a feel for its weight and balance, but mostly how it feels in my hand.  And it feels good.  The shaft is of a good width, thick enough to be sturdy against oncoming attacks, while not so thick that I have trouble holding it one handed.  I hand it back with a nod.

“Perfect,” he says.  “I think I know exactly how I can bring your new weapon to life.”

“Um, Adam,” Chloe says as the older man takes a break from his smithing work.  “I’ve noticed that you’re barely using the forge at all.  Why is that?”

“There are a couple of reasons, Chloe,” he responds, gazing at the silver shaft of the weapon he’s currently making for me.  “First, this is a charcoal forge, designed specifically for working iron and steel.  When working with steel at high temperatures, some of the carbon in the steel can burn out, turning it back into relatively less sturdy iron.  The charcoal burning releases carbon, which helps to counter this tendency.  However, if I did that with this silver, I’d end up diluting the purity, which I understand Seraphina doesn’t want in her weapon.”

I nod in approval, watching as he gently hammers at a small

“And the second?” Chloe follows up.

“Well, as Samantha and I said, silver is a lot more ductile than iron.  Even at room temperature, it’s not too difficult to work it, like so.”

He takes a second piece of the silver and begins hammering it from a block into what will eventually be the blade of the weapon.  Although I’d originally envisioned the weapon as a single piece of silver all the way through, Adam has argued that it’ll be a lot easier to construct it in two pieces, then attach it together with something akin to solder.  Filia raised no objection to his recommendation, and with them knowing better than me what sort of specifications I need, I raise no objection.

“Even before the System,” Adam continues, focused more on his craft than the conversation, “silversmiths would often work their craft with metal that was either room temperature or heated to only a couple hundred degrees.  Now, with higher strength and a couple of smithing-related Skills under my belt, I don’t even need that for all but the most delicate of alterations.”

The process goes on for hours.  Chloe occasionally asks questions either to Filia or me, rarely Adam as well.  Meanwhile, I’m entranced at seeing the man at work in his element.  He reminds me of myself in a lot of ways, knowing that I get much the same when I’m focused intently on my glyphing.  I think…  I think I understand him quite a bit better now.  It might have been just circumstance or even coincidence that the two of us met, but…  I’m glad that we did.

It’s late in the afternoon, about half past five, when Adam finally finishes his work.  My heart races and my jaw drops as I stare at the beautiful piece of work before me.  From the carefully-honed edge to the swordstaff’s overall heft and size to the beautiful spiral etchings along the full length of the shaft, this is truly the quality work of a master smith.  Too bad the System’s interface doesn’t recognize its craft and potential when I inspect it with my [Artificer’s Glasses]

[[Silver Swordstaff]: A simple and mundane weapon made from pure, polished silver.  Due to the high purity of the metal, it is particularly conductive to magical energy, but remains largely unsuited for physical combat.  [Attack +20, Magical Attack +25, Agility +10].  Attacks made by this weapon against Werebeasts and the Undead are always treated as critical.  (Ignore the usual critical hit immunity when used against such targets.).  Each melee attack made by the [Silver Spear] has a 2% chance to dull the weapon, lowering its [Attack] to 0 until it has been properly honed and resharpened.]

“So, what do you think?” Adam asks.

“It’s impressive work,” Filia chimes in.  “I look forward to finishing the weapon tomorrow.”

“As do I,” I respond.

“Absolutely amazing.  Truly the work of a talented artisan.  I really appreciate it.”

“Glad to hear it meets your expectations.  Samantha will get you taken care of out front, and thanks for your patronage.”

“Thank you,” Chloe and I say.