Blacksmith vs. the System

I disliked Broken Tankard.

It was a loud and crowded pub, filled with people who were far too happy to start throwing punches at the slightest disagreement. Violence was something I hated even before people started to have superpowers, and it had become a perfectly acceptable form of self-expression once more. Also, the drinks were overpriced and terrible, and the food was even worse.

Despite all those, it had one redeeming factor, one that made sure I had ended up visiting the place many times. It housed the single most active job board in the whole town for the people who were not a part of the guilds. People looking for parties, specialist jobs, trainers, guides, miners…

I bypassed the crowd and walked toward the receptionist's desk. Only to be interrupted by a familiar face. "Wow, that's a sight for sore eyes, Devon. Do you need information on the dungeons again, or are you buying information on the other towns?" Rosie greeted me. "We have managed to connect with another cluster, and I have some interesting stuff for you."

Rosie was an interesting woman. She was young, cheerful, personable … and absolutely deadly in combat. I didn't know what her class was, but it was clearly something better than a mere warrior. I had seen her go through a large group of wannabe gangsters who decided that trying to force her to pay a protection fee was a smart decision.

It was not. There was a reason the pub had turned into the de facto center for the independents. She had enough strength to ensure that she could hold the payments in escrow without being targeted by thieves — naturally, for a modest fifteen percent cut — or intervene as a third party in case of disputes.

She wasn't exactly a bank, but it was close.

She was also too important to deal with an unimportant washed-up Blacksmith who made wrong bets in this new world until he turned completely irrelevant, but I had been a customer of hers since the beginning, so we had some rapport.

I shrugged. "Unfortunately, no," I answered as I lifted my pouch, which was noticeably empty. "This time, I'm looking for a job."

She frowned. "Follow me," she said as she gestured, and I followed her to her office. "Don't tell me you're having problems with the workshop. Is it Mark?"

I wasn't surprised that Rosie knew about my new supervisor even though it had been a while since my last visit. Her business relied on information. "No, he's annoying, but not enough to kick me out. I'm still the only one that can repair the sharpness-enchanted weapons."

She said nothing, and I sighed. I had already made that decision, but it didn't make sharing any easier. "I decided to take a different job. Outside," I commented.

That earned a raised eyebrow. "That's a change of pace for you," she commented. "What happened to Mister I'm-not-a-barbarian-thank-you-very-much."

I shrugged. "He had been screwed up badly because he had misread the situation," I said with a shrug.

"Oh, it's rare of you to admit that," she said. "What are you looking for?"

"Preferably as a part of the group that's not filled with complete idiots," I said. "Security over speed, but I need at least three gold coins as payment, but I wouldn't say no to more," I explained the conditions.

My request was not excessive. Three gold coins were hard to earn in the town, but the same wasn't true for expeditions outside. A good working day meant somewhat around one and a half silver for me most days, and that was with working overtime.

Meanwhile, even a mediocre day outside for a hunting party brought more revenue. Anyone with revenue below five silver would be complaining about a slow day, and a good hunter easily had a revenue of twenty silvers a day. A gold coin in five days.

A lucrative business … but one with a terrible rate of mortality. The exact rate was hard to pin down with many hunters going on long expeditions, sometimes choosing to just settle in another town without informing anyone.

Still, even without exact numbers, it was enough that a hefty hazard premium for the jobs outside the wall had become commonplace, with three times being the accepted benchmark, adjusted by the exact circumstances and need.

Meaning, that just by accepting to repair weapons outside, I could expect to earn at least five silvers a day rather than one and a half at a minimum. More, if it was a more dangerous job, or something that required my abilities.

The post-Cataclysm economy was difficult to understand, especially without a central authority to guide it.

The only thing that prevented it from completely collapsing into barter was the System. For some reason, the dungeons actually produced money. Not just metals, but actual coins, stamped by the System. It was possible to melt them, but considering they were the only currency accepted in the System Stores, no one was stupid enough to do that for material gain.

Ordinary gold and silver were far less valuable.

Of course, I still didn't understand why a hundred copper coins equaled a silver coin, and a hundred silver coins equaled one gold. It was a weird fixed exchange rate … or, perhaps, not so weird, not in a world where monsters popped from every corner and every single person had superpowers.

"Perk Reset stone?" she asked. I nodded, not surprised by her accurate guess. "You want to switch to Efficient Repair."

"Looks like the best method," I replied. "With the repair spell getting more and more ubiquitous, it looks like the best way."

She paused, hesitant. Interesting.

Of course, I didn't believe that she was actually hesitant. Not even for a second. While I trusted myself to read people well — one benefit of working as a professor for years — Rosie wasn't as easy to read. I saw her hesitation, because she wanted me to see. "Come on, let's not waste time. Just spill it," I said.

She frowned before her expression settled to a calm smile. "Fine, ruin my fun," she said. "You want to change your skill just because you want to make money, right?" I nodded. "There's a better way for you to do so. It's still a secret, but…"

"Let me guess. You're willing to introduce me to them for a finder's fee," I said.

"It's good to do business with smart people," she said. "It's such a pity that you didn't get a class with Intelligence."

I didn't respond to that. Rosie was too smart not to know my frustrations about that topic, meaning she was doing it intentionally to unsettle me. Another trick that my old career as a professor helped me to handle. Mobbing through snide comments was hardly unfamiliar.

She seemed to realize that it wasn't effective, but that didn't seem to bother her. I liked her, but she was not a particularly nice person. "A new dungeon is discovered. It's about a week's travel," she said.

"I see," I replied, tensing. "You want me to join them? Why?"

"Yes, and for payment, I just want you to write a report."

"Really?" I asked. "Even if I don't have Perception or Intelligence."

She waved her hand. "I'm not worried about it. You might not have a good class, but I'm aware of just how much you know about the dungeons," she commented. "I just need a detailed report from you about the place, and I'll not even ask for a cut."

Coming from anyone else, that statement would have scared me. Despite my best efforts, I didn't know much about the dungeons, but considering their importance, even the little knowledge I had could have turned me into a target. The only reason it didn't scare me was the fact that Rosie was the middleman for all those transactions, and knew exactly how much I knew. Not to mention, my research focused more on the general details and how it affected the nearby towns rather than more militaristic details that people cared about.

While I spent a lot of money collecting data, the data I did collect was not something most people found useful. I wasn't trying to find the ideal skill and class combination to raid a dungeon efficiently, but to understand its impact on the communities around one.

Ironically, it made me even better for her purposes. However, it was clearly not as simple.

The discovery of a new dungeon was not a simple thing. Every dungeon was essentially a pocket universe, or at least some kind of expanded space. Their geography and the hazards hidden within had little to do with the location they were in.

They were also filled with all kinds of monsters, some just enlarged beasts, some too bizarre to contemplate. Every step in a dungeon carried the risk of death. Yet, people raided them regularly. One reason was for survival. Letting a dungeon sit untouched too long was never a good idea. Its potential continued to build up … until one day, it broke, spreading those nightmares around.

Yet, that wasn't the main reason people were desperately searching for dungeons. They searched for it, because every dungeon represented a giant economic opportunity. There was no guarantee what kind of treasures it would spawn. The repair spell it had generated that ruined my income was a good example.

"And, they need a blacksmith?" I asked. "One that can repair enchanted weapons? Why?" It was obvious with her comment about not changing my perk.

"The dungeon doesn't have any mana," she explained.

A smile appeared on my face. That changed things. Unlike Health, which was easily replenished by food, mages relied on the mana from their surroundings to replenish it. A cheap, renewable source was why a repair spell had ruined our business. While it took half a day for me to repair an enchanted weapon, they could repair dozens with ease.

A scale I could never match.

But, if the dungeon had no mana, it meant that they had to rely on mana potions and other portable sources. And, those methods were expensive, ridiculously so.

Meaning, I would not only get far more money than I had expected, but also I would be an important part of their logistics. The more importance I had, the safer I would be because the fighters would protect me.

As far as risking my life went, it was a good deal.

"That sounds like a fascinating deal," I said. "But, I have two conditions." She nodded, gesturing for me to speak. She didn't warn me about not having any excessive requests, as I wasn't a moron. I might be lucky enough that my unique perspective was valuable, but it had limits.

And, it was safer to leave things on the table than to push excessively.

"One, I need a small storage room. I need a place to keep my books and other stuff," I said.

"Easy."

"And, I want you to negotiate with the expedition for me. You can take a ten percent cut from my share," I added.

"Oh, interesting," she said. "Sometimes, I forget how smart you are. Fifteen percent."

"Deal," I said. As much as I needed money, Rosie's involvement would help more. Not only did she know the details of the expedition better than I did and could assess the value better, but also it was a way to signal her protection.

When working with a bunch of people I wasn't acquainted with, it was better safe than sorry.

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