Chapter 9: Side Job
Armored Dragon Calendar Year 414 – Claude, Age 9
[Claude POV]
A year had passed since Rudeus left for Roa.
The forge fire crackled before me, throwing shadows across the workshop walls.
I pulled the blade from the flames, examining the color of the metal with eyes that had learned to read steel like a language.
Not quite ready. A few more minutes.
The color was wrong, too bright at the edge, too dark near the spine.
The blade needed even heating throughout its length, or the differential cooling would create stress fractures that might not show for months.
I returned it to the fire and worked the bellows with practiced ease.
I watched the flames lick at the metal with hungry intensity.
My father watched from his own workstation, a complicated expression on his weathered face.
He had been watching me more often lately, his eyes tracking my movements with the careful attention of someone trying to solve a puzzle he wasn't sure he wanted to understand.
"You're getting too good at this," he said.
"Is that a complaint?"
"An observation." He set down his hammer, wiping soot from his hands with a rag that had seen better days.
"Orders are coming from three villages over now. People asking specifically for the work of 'the prodigy child.' It's bringing money we never expected."
I shrugged, not looking up from the fire. "Good money is good money."
The reputation had grown gradually over the past year.
At first, it was just local recognition, the blacksmith's son who produced surprisingly good work.
Then travelers began carrying word to other settlements.
A knife here, a set of tools there, each piece spreading the story a little further.
Now merchants were making detours to Buena specifically to commission pieces.
The prices they offered would have seemed absurd a year ago. For our modest household, the income had transformed our circumstances entirely.
The truth was more complicated.
The combat presence in my head, the one that guided me through fights, also seemed to have opinions about metalwork.
About angles and temperatures and the hidden stresses in forged steel.
I didn't understand where the knowledge came from. I had stopped questioning it months ago.
Some of the expertise felt different, though.
Subtler than the combat presence, less forceful in its guidance.
As though multiple lifetimes of forge experience had been compressed into impressions that surfaced when I reached for them.
The blade was ready now.
I drew it from the flames and began the careful process of shaping.
Clang. Clang.
The hammer fell in rhythms that my arms knew better than my conscious mind.
Each strike deliberate. Each blow calculated to move the metal without weakening it.
The combat presence was silent, having no interest in craftsmanship, but there were other whispers.
Fainter, less distinct. Memories of another life where these same motions had been performed thousands of times.
The sword took shape beneath my hands.
Simple design, meant for a village guard who couldn't afford anything fancy.
But the edge would hold. The balance would be true.
It would be a weapon someone could trust their life to.
That mattered more than artistry.
When the disaster came, people would need reliable equipment.
Would need blades that wouldn't break in their hands at critical moments.
Every piece I forged now was a potential life saved later.
"Letters came while you were working." Father held up two sealed envelopes.
"One from your friend in Roa."
Rudeus. We had maintained correspondence over the past year, trading observations about training and magic and the general absurdity of life.
The letters had become a lifeline of sorts, a connection to someone who understood, at least partially, what it meant to carry knowledge of the future.
He never mentioned his fears directly. Neither did I, but between the lines, we understood each other.
I set down the hammer and took the letters, careful not to smudge them with soot.
The first was indeed from Rudeus, his careful handwriting describing his latest misadventures with Eris Boreas Greyrat.
The noble girl sounded like a force of nature, all temper and violence.
Rudeus's attempts to teach her anything seemed to involve more bruises than breakthroughs.
His letters painted vivid pictures of their conflicts, broken furniture, shouted insults, and the occasional magical duel that left scorch marks on ancient stone walls.
But there was affection beneath the complaints.
I could read it in the way he described her gradual progress, the small victories he celebrated when she managed to control her temper for more than ten minutes.
He was growing attached to his student, whether he realized it or not.
Good. She would need that attachment when everything fell apart, and they both would.
The second letter was from Mike.
Mike had left Buena months ago, apprenticed to a merchant family that traded across the central continent.
The arrangement had taken considerable effort to orchestrate.
Conversations with traveling merchants, carefully placed suggestions, a demonstration of Mike's natural talents that convinced the right people to take an interest.
I had encouraged the arrangement, knowing that his skills would be more valuable in commerce than in our quiet village.
He had talent for negotiation, for understanding what people wanted before they knew themselves.
I had seen that potential in him immediately.
The way he read people, anticipated their reactions, understood what they wanted before they said it.
I was simply giving that talent room to grow.
Mike had been confused when I first approached him about the opportunity.
We had been friends, but my interest in his future had surprised him.
"Why do you care what I do after the training ends?" he had asked.
"Because the world is bigger than this village," I had answered. "And I think you could go far in it."
The truth was more calculated.
I needed people spread across the world, people who owed me favors and would remember them when the disaster scattered everyone.
Mike's instincts made him perfect for building a network that might survive the catastrophe.
Mike's letter was full of observations about trade routes and market conditions, the kind of information that seemed mundane but would become vital when disaster scattered everyone to the winds.
He wrote about the price fluctuations in grain markets, the political tensions between noble houses, the rising influence of certain merchant guilds.
I filed the details away, adding them to my map of the wider world.
Every piece of information helped. Every connection strengthened the web I was weaving.
Three more years. Maybe less.
The countdown never stopped. Even in moments of peace, working the forge or reading letters, the number lurked in the back of my mind.
A constant reminder that time was running out.
"Claude!" Aisha's voice rang out from the cottage door.
"Claude, play with us!"
I set the letters aside and allowed myself a smile.
Aisha was a bundle of energy and curiosity who had decided that her older neighbor was the most fascinating person in the village.
Aisha had inherited Lilia's features but Zenith's gentle heart.
She approached the world with boundless enthusiasm, certain that every new experience would be wonderful and every person she met would become a friend.
Her sister was different. Quieter, more observant, with eyes that missed nothing.
She already showed signs of the careful attention.
Both of them had decided that I was their favorite playmate.
I wasn't sure what I had done to earn that distinction, but I didn't question it.
"In a minute," I called back.
"Now!" Aisha insisted, her voice carrying the absolute certainty of a toddler who expected to be obeyed.
I looked at my father, who waved me off with a knowing grin. "Go. The sword can cool."
The girls met me in the yard, Aisha immediately grabbing my hand to drag me toward whatever game she had invented today.
Her small fingers wrapped around mine with surprising strength, pulling with all the determination her small body could muster.
Her sister followed a few steps behind, her wide eyes taking in everything with a quiet attention.
She never grabbed or demanded, but her presence was constant, watching and learning from every interaction.
"We're going to be adventurers," Aisha announced. "And you're the monster we have to defeat!"
"A monster?" I clutched my chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know I'm a very fearsome monster. You don't stand a chance."
Aisha giggled, the sound bright and pure in the afternoon air. "We have magic swords! Show him!"
Aisha produced two sticks she had collected from the forest edge, handing one to her sister with solemn ceremony.
The sticks were roughly the same length, carefully selected from the deadfall that accumulated along the tree line.
I wondered if she had chosen them deliberately, matching their sizes so that neither girl would have an advantage.
It seemed like the kind of detail she would notice even at her young age.
They brandished their weapons with the fierce determination that only small children could muster.
Aisha's grip was enthusiastic but awkward, the stick wavering as she tried to hold it like the swords she had seen adults carry.
My sister's hold was more controlled, her small hands positioned surprisingly well for someone who had never received any instruction.
"Prepare yourself, monster!" Aisha shouted, charging forward.
I let her hit me. Let both of them hit me, flailing their sticks with enthusiasm.
I roared and staggered dramatically.
They shrieked with laughter, pressing their advantage until I finally collapsed in a heap, declaring them the victors.
"We did it!" Aisha crowed, standing on my chest with her stick raised in triumph. "We defeated the monster!"
"A mighty victory," I agreed, staring up at the clouds drifting overhead. "The bards will sing of this day for generations."
Aisha beamed, her whole face lighting up with joy.
Her sister smiled too, a smaller expression but no less genuine.
These were the moments I was fighting for.
The laughter of children who didn't know their world was going to shatter.
The simple joy of play before everything became complicated and painful.
The memories in my head whispered of futures where these children suffered.
Where they were scattered, alone, forced to survive in a world that had been torn apart by forces beyond their control.
I had seen fragments of those futures in dreams, had felt the echoes of grief that came from watching innocent people broken by circumstances they couldn't understand.
I would not let that happen.
Would not allow these children to become casualties of a disaster that could be survived with proper preparation.
Aisha flopped down beside me, her energy suddenly spent.
"Claude?" Aisha's voice was sleepy now.
"Will you always be here?"
The question struck somewhere deep in my chest. I thought of the memories that haunted me.
The deaths. The failures.
The countless versions of myself who hadn't been there when it mattered.
"I'll try," I said quietly. "I promise I'll try."
It wasn't enough. It could never be enough.
But for now, lying in the grass with two small girls who trusted me completely, it was all I could offer.
Later that evening, I wrote my replies.
The cottage was quiet, my parents having retired early after a day of work.
The scratching of my quill broke the silence as the village settled into sleep.
To Rudeus, a letter full of irreverent observations and gentle encouragement.
He was struggling, I could tell. Eris was more than he'd bargained for and doubts weighed him down.
I reminded him of the letter I had sent before he left, reminded him that failure wasn't permanent unless he let it be.
I wrote about my own training, about the strange skills that sometimes emerged when I pushed myself past exhaustion.
Nothing too revealing, nothing that would sound insane to someone who didn't already understand.
But enough to let him know that he wasn't alone in carrying impossible burdens.
To Mike, a more businesslike response.
Questions about specific trade routes, requests for information about certain merchants who might be useful contacts.
The groundwork for a network that would span continents when the time came.
I asked about the political situation in the territories he was traveling through.
About the strength of local militias, the condition of roads and bridges, the locations of settlements that might serve as refuge points.
Information that seemed idle curiosity now but would become critical later.
Mike was smart enough to notice the pattern of my questions.
Smart enough to wonder why a rural boy cared about such things, but also loyal enough to answer without demanding explanations.
And for myself, a private document that I kept hidden beneath the floorboards of my room.
A list of preparations still undone, skills still unmastered, people still unprotected.
The list grew longer every time I reviewed it.
Every new piece of information revealed more gaps in my preparations, more vulnerabilities that needed addressing.
Four more years.
The forge fire had died to embers by the time I finished writing.
I sat alone in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the village settling into sleep.
Somewhere in my head, the presences were quiet. Waiting, ready to emerge when I needed them.
Two that I could identify clearly now.
The combat presence that turned my body into a weapon.
The analytical presence that dissected human behavior with clinical precision.
And others, fainter, glimpsed only in fragments.
Other lives, other skills, other memories bleeding into mine.
The forge expertise. The tactical awareness, the knowledge of magic theory that exceeded anything I had been formally taught.
I would master them all.
Would learn to call upon each presence at will, to use their knowledge as tools rather than suffering them as intrusions.
Because the countdown was advancing.
And when it reached zero, I would need everything I had, everything I was and everything I was becoming.
◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ AUTHOR'S NOTE ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆
Want to read ahead? We have 10+ advance chapters available at eternal-lib com!
◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆