“You know, Sera,” Chloe says as we exit the pawnshop— this time, without getting into a fight.  “Twenty pounds of silver doesn’t really look all that impressive.  Like, I’m thinking that twenty pounds of water or milk is like… two and a half gallons, and I’ve seen how big a forty-pound bag of sand is.  But this is… tiny.”

I stare down at the ingot of three-nines fine silver, about two inches by three inches by a foot.  It is definitely a lot heavier than its relatively small size would suggest, actually weighing closer to twenty-five pounds than twenty.  But I’d rather have a bit more than not enough, especially since, despite having plenty of knowledge of glyphs and enchanting, I’m far, far worse when it comes to actually working in a forge.  My attempts at accessory crafting back in Red Clay City a couple months back are testament to that much.

Once we’re out of the gaze of any would-be onlookers, I let the mass of bullion vanish into my [Inventory], accompanied by a brief flash of teal light.  [Inventory] magic is still far from common knowledge, though there are certainly more than a few rumors already circulating about the power that awaits those who reach the fiftieth level.  Probably closer to an open secret at this point, but I know I don’t want to be the one who confirms it in front of the entire world.

“So, where are we headed?” I ask.  “I know you’d mentioned that you and your mom— it’s still weird calling her Alicia, by the way— had found a blacksmith over near downtown that seemed potentially interested in taking on our request.  Do you remember where, exactly?”

Chloe pulls her phone out of her own [Inventory].  “Yeah, it’s just about half a mile north of the convention center.”  She points to the map app, where we are, and where we need to go. “You really should think about getting a new cell phone.  I know how you are about spending money, but I think replacing your old hunk of junk will do us all some good in the long run.”

“I just spent nearly thirty thousand dollars on a silver ingot, and I didn’t even cry!  Too much!  Can I be spared from the teasing on that account for one afternoon?”

Chloe looks at me with that mischievous grin.  “I mean, you can always kiss me to shut me up.”

I pull her into my arms and do just that; at this point, Chloe and I are well-known enough that the two of us sharing a midair kiss… yeah, we’ve done that more than a few times to the chagrin of certain pearl-clutching segments of the population.  And my response is the same as Chloe’s back at the Capitol.  A middle finger to the face, along with an entreaty to stay mad.  Nothing wrong with two women sharing a hug and a kiss in public.

It doesn’t take long to arrive at the closest thing to an arts district our city has.  Plenty of murals on the wall, along with quite the interesting menagerie of graffiti.  I scan through it, wondering if there’s anything of note, but all the messages seem mundane.  Political messages and slogans that might be gang signs, and might just be messages from activists or maybe just some drunken scrawling that some kid sprayed on the wall as part of a dare.

“Well,” Chloe says, “this isn’t ominous at all.”

“What are you looking at?”

“Not looking.  Smelling.  A dead body.  I think it’s coming from that dumpster, over there.”

I activate [Archangel’s Gaze] and focus my attention on peering through the dumpster.  Sure enough, corpses.  Six of them, all mangled and bruised, belonging to young adults not much older than Chloe and I.  Three of them have wounds around their necks that seem indicative of strangulation, one stabbed in the chest.  The other two likely succumbed to blunt-force trauma and internal bleeding.

I shudder, fearing the worst— a deliberate effort by a person or group to farm levels by killing people.  Something that I thought we had moved past after we’d all come together as a community to rebuild in the wake of the City Slayers’ attack on the world’s major metropolitan areas.  Then again, war and fighting and killing have predated civilization.  Predated humanity, really.  I suppose the only thing that’s changed in that regard is the incentives and power-ups we gain for doing so.

“How many?” she asks.

“Six,” I respond.  “Horrible, each and every one of them.  I’m…  I’m glad you can’t see them.”

She lowers her head, her arms going limp.  “I’ve come to know that scent well, working in the hospital so much these past few weeks.  Even with magic, we can’t save everyone.  But… no matter how many times I experience it, I can never truly become used to it.”

I wrap an arm around her, pulling her into a hug that she acquiesces to without fully reciprocating.  “I’m sorry, Chloe.  I’m here for you.  If we need to come back tomorrow, we can.”

She takes a deep breath, slightly shaken, then buries her face into my neck.  “Let’s just… Let’s get inside.  I’ll feel better once I’m away from all the smell.”

We open the door into the workshop, letting in a warm morning breeze that sets off a wind chime hanging just above the door.  It’s a beautiful piece, delicate silver strands which look like tiny climbing vines dangling from a hook dangling down from the ceiling some fifteen feet above.  The place looks like a cross between a museum gallery’s gift shop and an actual, functional blacksmith’s forge, though more the former in the front and the latter in the back. 

It’s very artsy all around, with several dozen pieces on display.  Some look functional as actual weapons and armor, while others look more like elaborate cosplay pieces.  And yes, to my horror, there is a suit which can be politely described as bikini mail.  Far more revealing than even my least modest swimsuit, consisting of a bra of silver-pink filigree metal and a set of chain bottoms which aren’t quite a g-string, but they sure as hell aren’t much more than that.  Between that and the material they’re made of, they make my lady bits wince just looking at them.  I wonder who the hell decided it was a good idea to put such a thing on display.

Or, who would be interested in buying such a thing.  Please tell me there’s not some [Seductress] or [Sexomancer] class offering out there.  I hope to goodness that the System isn’t perverted in that sense too.

I turn away, my eyes ashamed to even look at such a thing.  Chloe is staring in a mix of amusement and bemusement.  “Please, Chloe.  I’m not wearing it, no matter how much you ask.”

Chloe sighs.  “Okay, fine.  But, for the record, let me say that you would absolutely rock that outfit.”

Thank the goddesses, a young woman, a few years older than we are, emerges from the back a few seconds later, sparing us the awkward silence that would have followed.  She tilts her head slightly, furrowing her brows slightly, all before her eyes and face both pop in realization.

“Seraphina?” she asks, looking straight at Chloe.

“Uh, that’s me,” I say.  “And this is my wonderful partner, Chloe.”

The girl, about as tall as Chloe, is surprisingly cheery despite the black hair, dark eyes, and overall gothic lolita aesthetic.  She struts around the counter and walks right up to me, extending her hand and offering me a smile that actually seems genuine, not just the faux customer service smile I’ve come to expect.

“Samantha,” she says, shaking my hand.  “From what I understand, it seemed that you had a silversmithing request.  Said you’d provide the material.  Can you get it out for me?”

I reach into Chloe’s purse, performing a bit of sleight of hand as I summon both the silver ingot and then Filia out of my inventory.  I hand the first to Samantha, keeping the second hidden for now.

“Oof, yeah, I almost forgot how much heavier silver is compared with iron and nickel.”  She grunts a bit before setting it up on the countertop.

“Mind if I ask why you’re planning to craft something with this silver?  Normally, silver is considered a poor metal for any sort of weapon- or armorsmithing due to its high weight and ductility.  Especially considering that this is incredibly pure silver.”

“You’re right, if we were just dealing with the base material.  However, silver is a lot better than iron or steel, or even something like titanium or copper, when it comes to its ability to hold and use enchantments.  Have y’all done much glyphwork and enchanting of Etheric gear before?”

“Wait a minute…”  Samantha tilts her head slightly, then her eyes practically sparkle.  “I recognize you.  You’re the girl from that press conference a month or so back.  Like, the one down at the university!  I remember!  I mean, I’m a big fan of your work.  Sorry I didn’t recognize you; the lack of wings really makes you blend in a lot more, even if I maybe should have definitely recognized the arm.”

I sprout my wings after taking care to ensure that I’m not going to accidentally knock anything over.  “Understandable.  I’ve found that they do attract a little more attention than I want to deal with a lot of the time, and so I’ve taken to only bringing them out when I’m actually using them.  Or when I want to show off a bit.”

“Samantha!” a gruff voice calls out from the back.  “We got customers?”

“Yeah, boss!  It’s the clients who called us last night as we were closing up.”

“Do they have the materials?”

“They do!  About… oh, twenty-five pounds of silver bullion, stamped point-999, with the receipts and proof of purchase!”

A tall man of about forty with absolutely massive arms and generally impressive musculature all around walks out from the back room.  He’s got on a thin, long-sleeved white shirt and a black apron.  His face has a very short full salt-and-pepper beard, the type that grows in on most guys when they haven’t shaved in three or four days.  He turns to Samantha, and then to me, and then up to my wings.

“Well, I’ll be.  If it isn’t the Angel herself.”

I dismiss my wings.  “Yeah, I guess some folks are calling me that.  Though, uh, just Seraphina is fine.  No need for titles or formality or anything.  Anyway, I was looking at getting myself a new spear after some recent battles.”

“I’m sure Samantha already told you that silver weapons are mostly ornamental, but if you still want one, I’m not going to turn down a job on that account.”

“Sounds good,” I say.

“Oh, by the way, the name’s Adam.  Been a blacksmith and artisan for about twenty-odd years now.  Started down in San Antonio back in ‘02, but then my wife’s job transferred her up here and, well, we’ve just sorta settled down.”

I idly wonder if Samantha is his daughter, but, being rather lacking in social graces, I decide to live with my idle curiosity unsated.

“Has business been good lately?” I ask.  “I’d figure with all the monster attacks lately, you’d be swarming in requests.”

“Yeah, you’d think, but no,” Adam says with a hint of despondency in his voice.  “All the gunsmiths are rolling in requests right now; like, good luck getting a gun without five figures or being prepared to wait six months until you can be squeezed in on the non-express delivery schedule.”  He looks down at my arm.  “Aren’t you a gunner, yourself?  I’m sure your exploits have only exacerbated that trend.”

“I am, yes.  But recently, I’ve come to realize the disadvantages that come with relying on a firearm, and I’ve decided that I need a weapon better suited for taking down the monsters that are likely to continue attacking in the following weeks and months.”

Adam chuckles, and for the first time, his dour mood softens.  “Well, ain’t that something…  Tell you what, why don’t you two come join me in the back.  I’ll give you a tour of the forge, and then we’ll look into some designs, and once we get a feel for what sort of thing you’d like, we can get started with the forging process.”

I shake Adam’s hand.  “Sounds like a plan.  After you.”