"Okay." She started walking out the alleyway. Just before we were out, she asked, "Just a question: are you bad with crowds?"
"Yes and no." I gave a short answer as we stepped out into the sunlit street. The marketplace beyond the alley was alive with noise—carts rumbling, hawkers shouting, and the mingled scents of bread, spices, and sweat filling the air. The crowd pressed together in little knots, people weaving and bartering. It was busy enough that my ears twitched at every sharp sound. We started walking towards Steve's smithy shop, trying not to bump shoulders with every passerby.
"Aah, I see." Stacy nodded, glancing at me with that knowing look again. "So there were too many eyes on you, and it made you panic. You like the shadows, don't you? Being out of the spotlight?"
I just nodded at her. It still baffles me how she can figure so much out from so little information. Her tone wasn't judgmental, just matter-of-fact, as if she was laying down a truth I didn't even know I was carrying.
"Better teach me everything you can," she said suddenly, smirking. "I want to be as scary as you."
"Huh? I am not scary. I am an angel." She clasped her hands beneath her chin and put on an exaggerated angelic smile, tilting her head like she expected a halo to pop out above it.
"Yeah, and I am the cutest creature alive," I deadpanned, rolling my eyes at her antics. "You said that you'll get me a class that fits with my looks. How are you planning to do that?"
"I will train you in every weapon this world has to offer," she declared with absolute confidence. "I want to see if my dad was right about a legendary class. I'm already good at every weapon, but I got my class before I was finished. Once you have a class, you can never change it. That's why we're going to take advantage of the things on your arms and buy ourselves as much time as needed. Besides, you wanted to learn every weapon there is, right?"
"That sounds cool," I admitted, tail swishing lazily behind me. "But if you teach me every weapon, what class will I get?"
"My father said that a person who masters all weapons will get a legendary class called Weapon Master. It sounds plain, but the boost it gives is insane, apparently. I've never heard of someone with this class, though, so I don't know how big the boost really is. It's kind of a myth, but with your stats and curses, we can try and get you that class—if it exists, of course."
"Hmm. That sounds fun. We can do that."
"Yes, I can't wait." She smiled, eyes sparkling with the thrill of a plan. "But you'll need to have a class before going back to the capital. That gives us four years. We'll need to train extra hard."
She stopped walking in front of a long, blocky warehouse that stood a little apart from the more polished shops nearby. Its wooden frame was scarred by years of smoke and heat, the iron-banded doors propped open to let out wafts of hot metal and ash. The hammering inside was steady and rhythmic, a metallic heartbeat that seemed to echo even in my chest.
"Haha, why don't we do our bonding sessions over training instead of tea parties?" I joked, hoping to push her into starting sooner than she'd planned.
"We can," she replied smoothly, "but you need to relax for a while. I don't care if you feel fine; you need to settle in first."
"Fine." I gave up on the idea with a little sigh, then glanced at the warehouse. "Is this the place? There's no sign saying this is a smith shop."
"Yup." She didn't hesitate. Walking inside, the noise grew louder, the clang of metal and the hiss of quenching water surrounding us. Weapons hung from racks nailed into the walls, others stacked in barrels or simply resting on long benches. The sheer variety was dizzying—swords, spears, halberds, axes, and things I couldn't even name, their shapes wicked and strange. There were even massive weapons lying carelessly on the ground, too big to fit anywhere else.
The space bustled with activity: apprentices hauling coal, journeymen shaping metal at side forges, and sparks dancing like fireflies under the high rafters. It smelled of smoke, sweat, and oil.
Still following Stacy, we pushed our way through the crowd to reach the counter, where a tired receptionist sat behind a ledger.
"Go tell Steve I have business to talk about," Stacy instructed firmly.
"Yes, Lady Stacy." The receptionist bowed quickly and scurried deeper into the store.
"Are we getting it from a dwarf?" I asked, lowering my voice.
"Yes. You got a problem with that, miss?" A gruff voice cut in before Stacy could answer.
I turned, blinking down at a stocky figure on the other side of the counter. He barely reached my waist, but his presence was like a boulder planted firmly in the earth. His beard was thick and braided, his arms corded with muscle despite his size, and his dark eyes peered up at me with a scowl.
"No, I just… never met a dwarf before," I admitted honestly.
"Is that so?" He grunted. Then he shifted his gaze toward Stacy. "Stacy, did you pick up a new friend or something?"
"She is my daughter. Adopted one," Stacy said bluntly.
"Huh, daughter? Does Dean know?" Steve raised a bushy eyebrow.
"Can we just go to your office?" Stacy cut him off, clearly not in the mood for small talk.
"Fine, fine." He turned around with a huff, waving us to follow. "Follow me."
We trailed him through the forge floor, past sweating apprentices and roaring fires, until we reached a side room tucked behind the main workshop. When we stepped inside, I blinked in confusion. It didn't look like an office at all—it was another forge, though smaller. No tables, no chairs, just anvils, racks, and a low fire.
"Steve," Stacy said with rising frustration, "we're here to talk business. Not for you to make us a weapon. Take us somewhere we can actually talk."
"What sort of business?" he asked warily, narrowing his eyes.
"Just take us to your real office."
He rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. At least it's just next door."
We stepped into the adjoining room, and this time it looked the part. Two couches faced each other with a sturdy table in between, maps and blueprints scattered across its surface. Stacy and I settled onto one couch, while Steve slumped onto the opposite.
"Happy now?" he muttered.
"Thank you," Stacy replied, smoothing down her skirt. Then she leaned forward, all business. "Now, I want you to make me every type of weapon there is in this world."
Steve's bushy brows drew together. "Why?"
"It's for her." Stacy pointed directly at me.
"Why does she need so many weapons?"
"She is still ten years old, and she is still level one."
"What?" His jaw dropped. "She's only ten!?"
We both nodded.
"So you want to find her main weapon or—" His eyes suddenly widened. "Don't tell me you want to do that."
"Yeah. I want to test the myth of the Weapon Master," Stacy said without hesitation. "Will you help me?"
Steve groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Stacy, that's just a myth. You'll be wasting her time."
"Myth or not," I cut in before Stacy could speak, "I already asked her to teach me everything she knows."
The dwarf stared at me, then at Stacy, then back at me. Finally, he threw up his hands. "Fine, fine. If you're certain. Kiddo, what's your int?"
"Huh? Why does that matter? Isn't it strength that matters?" I frowned at him.
"Most people think that," he said, wagging a stubby finger at me, "but some weapons eat mana like it's water. Best example? Cross wheels. They need mana to spin properly, and you can even add elements to them if you've got the juice. So—what's your interest?"
"One thousand," I answered flatly.
Steve froze, then blinked. "I think I misheard you. Did you just say one thousand? Like, two thousand mana, in other words?"
"Yes. I have that much."
"What the—" He gawked, then slowly turned his head toward Stacy. "What's her race? She's no normal demi-fox."
Stacy only smiled, clearly enjoying his shock.
"Take that smile off your face right now!" Steve barked.
"It's not easy to surprise the Forge King," Stacy said sweetly. Then she looked at me. "Well, Kitsuna, may I tell him your story?"
"If you trust him," I said simply.
She nodded, then laid it all out—my past, the experiments, the curses, and the duke's crimes. By the time she finished, Steve's face was red with fury, his fists clenched so tightly I thought he'd snap his own beard braid.
"That bastard deserves worse. Dean let him off too easily. How could he do something like that to children!?" His voice thundered like a hammer strike. "I should go and resummon his soul just to destroy it—or lock it into a rusted dagger where it belongs."
"You can do that?" I asked, ears flicking in surprise.
"Yes. When I want to make a really strong weapon, I can use souls and infuse them." His tone softened, almost distracted, like a craftsman talking about favorite tools.
"Calm down," Stacy interrupted. "Let's talk about the weapons you're going to make for her."
Steve grunted, forcing himself back into his seat. "Fine. I'll do it. But you know it's going to be expensive, right? I can't make normal weapons for her because of her race's elements."
"I know," Stacy said smoothly. "Don't worry about money. We'll pay. All you need to do is make them."
"Alright then," Steve sighed. "We'll start small and work up from there. Give me a sec—I'll go grab some weapons to test her mana power."
He pushed himself up and stomped out, muttering under his breath.
I turned to Stacy. "Stacy, how do classes even work? You never told me."
"Aah, it slipped my mind again." She smiled sheepishly. "You need to become level fifty to get a proper class."
"Level fifty!?" My tail puffed out. "What's the max level a person can get?"
"One thousand."
"I see. That's a lot of leveling. But how do you get the class you want?"
"You train in that category the entire time before you reach level fifty," she explained.
"And how do people level up if they don't kill monsters or anything?"
"There's passive leveling from working jobs—cooking, smithing, anything really. But no, you can't just rush to fifty by accident. There are magic items that stop passive leveling before class selection."
"That makes sense," I admitted. "Then why aren't there more people with strong classes?"
"Because most people don't want to wait until they're twenty without a class," she replied, tilting her head.
"I see…" I muttered, ears flicking thoughtfully. "Second thing—what's mana power?"