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Chapter 32 - Too Poor 18+

Darkness walked back into the city, her boots dragging slightly against the cobblestones. The weight of the day pressed on her shoulders—not the soreness of battle, but the sting of disappointment. She had carved through seven goblins in the forest, only to be driven to the edge of a cliff where the river roared below. With no choice but to leap, she plunged into the current, the water wrenching her hard-won trophies from her grasp.

Soaked to the bone and battered by the rapids, she had dragged herself ashore—only to face three more goblins waiting on the bank. Weary but unbroken, she cut them down as well, her rage fueling every strike. Yet when it was over, she found her hands almost empty. Out of ten victories, only three ears remained fit to claim as proof.

She lifted the flap of her pouch, peering into it as she walked. A few bronze coins clinked together at the bottom, their dull glimmer mocking her. She frowned, snapping it shut.

This isn't enough. Not nearly enough. If I keep fighting like this—with nothing but an old splintered stick, and armor dented by every hit—I'll never stand a chance against stronger foes. And Kara…

Darkness walked back into the city, her boots dragging slightly against the cobblestones. The weight of the day pressed on her shoulders—not the soreness of battle, but the sting of disappointment. She had fought, she had bled, she had thrown herself into the danger she so often craved, yet when all was counted, the result was pitiful. Only a handful of goblins defeated, hardly enough to boast about, and even less enough to fill her purse.

She lifted the flap of her pouch, peering into it as she walked. A few bronze coins clinked together at the bottom, their dull glimmer mocking her. She frowned, snapping it shut.

This isn't enough. Not nearly enough. If I keep fighting like this—with nothing but an old splintered stick, and armor dented by every hit—I'll never stand a chance against stronger foes. And Kara…

Her thoughts trailed off. She clenched her hand into a fist, frustration rising.

The market street stretched before her, lively with evening trade. Lanterns flickered on wooden posts, smoke from roasted meats curled through the air, and merchants barked out their final offers of the day. Darkness ignored them all, her eyes fixed on one destination: the smithy at the end of the lane.

The heat struck her before she even stepped inside. Sparks danced out into the street as the blacksmith hammered iron against the anvil, the rhythmic clang echoing like a heartbeat. His forge roared, painting the workshop in fiery orange.

He looked up when she entered, his broad face shining with sweat.

"Well, if it isn't the tall knight with the oversized shield. What brings you here, lass? Looking to actually buy something this time?" His grin revealed a missing tooth, but his tone wasn't cruel—just the kind of teasing a seasoned craftsman might give to a regular window-shopper.

Darkness inhaled deeply, her golden eyes tracing the racks of weapons lined along the walls. Blades gleamed, some simple, some ornate. Spears, axes, hammers—every one of them whispered promises of power.

"I need a weapon," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. "Something stronger. Something that won't shatter the moment I strike down a real foe."

The smith chuckled, setting aside his hammer. He wiped his hands on a leather rag, then gestured to the display. "A weapon, eh? Then you'll need coin. And plenty of it."

Darkness stepped closer, scanning the price tags carved into the wooden plaques. Her eyes narrowed. Every single weapon started at five hundred bronze coins, some climbing to a thousand or more. Her pouch weighed at her hip like a cruel joke.

She turned back to him. "I don't have that much."

"I figured as much." He crossed his arms, studying her. "Adventurers come in here all the time thinking they'll pick up a fine blade with pocket change. Weapons worth wielding aren't cheap, lass."

Her jaw tightened, but she didn't look away. "Then what can I do?"

He tapped his chin, squinting at her with shrewd eyes. "Two things. Either you bring me the coin, or you bring me the materials. Ore, beast bones, enchanted fragments—whatever can be worked into steel or sold on the market. You bring me the goods, and I'll craft a weapon for you. Or I'll buy the materials outright. Either way, you walk out richer than you came."

Darkness considered this, her brows furrowing. The idea of scavenging for raw materials wasn't foreign, but it wasn't glamorous either. She preferred the thrill of combat, the rush of a sword crashing against her shield, the sting of arrows piercing her armor. The thought of hacking apart carcasses for bones or dragging sacks of ore through the mud didn't appeal to her pride.

Yet the glimmer of steel on the racks reminded her—this wasn't about pride. This was about survival.

Her voice dropped, low but resolute. "If I bring you what you ask, can you truly craft something worthy? A weapon fit to slay more than just goblins?"

The blacksmith grinned again, but this time it carried weight. He stepped to the back wall and lifted a longsword from its rack, holding it out for her to see. The blade shimmered faintly, the edge clean and sharp enough to cut the very air.

"I made this one from wyvern bone and iron pulled from the deepest mines. Sold it last week to a mercenary captain. If you can bring me materials like that, I'll make you something you'll never forget."

Darkness's heart stirred, her breath catching at the sight. A blade like that… in my hands…

She forced her gaze back to him. "What exactly do you need?"

"Depends on what you want." He set the sword back in place. "For a solid steel blade, I'll need high-quality iron ore, not the brittle rocks you find scattered near rivers. A few bundles of sturdy monster hide wouldn't hurt either—for grip and reinforcement. If it's something stronger, we're talking rarer parts—goblin chief tusks, warg fangs, even enchanted shards from magical beasts."

Her pulse quickened. Goblin chiefs… wargs… These were not easy targets. But the thought of it—the challenge, the risk—lit a fire in her chest.

"And how much would you pay," she pressed, "if I were to sell you the materials instead?"

He stroked his beard, calculating. "Depends on the quality. Good ore and hides, I'll give you a fair deal—enough to line your purse faster than odd jobs in the city. But rarer finds? Bring me something like a wyvern scale, and I'll give you more bronze than you'll know how to spend."

Darkness fell silent, staring into the flames of the forge. The heat washed over her face, sweat beading on her brow. She imagined herself standing tall with a weapon that didn't feel like dead weight. She imagined facing Kara again, not as the woman who stumbled with broken tools, but as someone stronger, someone reliable.

Her fist clenched at her side.

"I'll do it," she said finally, her voice steady as steel. "I'll bring you what you need. I'll find the materials, no matter how far I have to go."

The smith chuckled again, a low rumble of approval. "Now that's the spirit. You adventurers live to risk your hides, don't you? Just don't get yourself killed before you make it back here."

Darkness's lips curved faintly, not in amusement but in determination. "If death comes for me, it will find me armed."

She turned from the forge, stepping back into the cooler air of the street. The night had deepened, stars beginning to pierce the sky above the rooftops. The bustle of the market faded behind her, yet her thoughts only grew louder.

The weight of the day still lingered—the disappointment of her paltry victories, the frustration of weakness—but now it was tempered by something new. A goal. A path forward.

She tightened her grip on her pouch, the bronze coins within still pitiful, but no longer a mockery. They were a start. A reminder of what she needed to grow beyond.

Her golden eyes gleamed beneath the moonlight as she whispered to herself:

"I'll gather what I need. And when I return… I'll claim a weapon worthy of my resolve."

The city's lights stretched before her, a thousand possibilities hidden within the shadows. Somewhere beyond those walls, monsters waited—creatures with the strength, the hides, the bones, and the shards that would one day forge her weapon.

Darkness's heart beat faster at the thought. Not with dread, but with anticipation.

Because for her, pain and struggle were not deterrents—they were promises.

And tomorrow, she would hunt not just for coin, but for the steel of her future.

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