3 hours of arduous work passed like a second. By the time Barda was finishing his task, he could feel his energy levels were dwindling, despite his ability to passively absorb energy from the surrounding. Nevertheless, he was satisfied with his production. He held the newly minted dagger in his hands and handed it over to the blacksmith.
Admittedly, Markell was intrigued. He had never seen that method of metal handling before, but he had been enamored by it. The beauty shown as Barda went about his work had seduced the old blacksmith's heart, injecting the long-forgotten passion back to his bones.
At first, he had very low expectations, especially when he saw the boy was not using conventional methods to smelt the metal. In his mind, it had been an apparent failure from the get-go. The only reason he didn't stop the boy was so that the boy can taste the bitter sting of failure himself.
As time passed, he noticed that despite the boy's methods not being what he normally would have done, or had been taught to do, it was quite effective. For starters, even though he had done his best to clear off any impurities, he hadn't done enough, but this was acceptable.
It was a well-known fact that the purer the metal, the sturdier it would be. The boy had taken time to purify the metal but in a different way than Markell knew. However, Markell had to admit that the boy's method was far effective that his. That being said, the end product was what was important.
The boy went ahead and began to shape his molten metal, before casting it to become what it was. He then imbued the knife with complex patterns. Finally, his method of cooling the metal once it was forged was different compared to Markell's. Now all he needed was a whetstone to sharpen his dagger.
"Not bad, not bad at all." Markell examined the knife in his hands and was very impressed with what he saw. He could not think of a better way he could have done it. If his pride were to allow him, he'd freely admit that the dagger in his hands was the best he had ever held.
"Do you have a place to stay?" He spoke softly now, his earlier animosity extinguished.
"Not yet."
"Come with me." He said as he walked out. Barda followed suit. The blacksmith led him to an unoccupied shed in the smithy's warehouse.
"You can stay here. Meena here will bring you what you need to get ready, we start work tomorrow at the crack of dawn, got it? Oh, right, almost forgot, what's your name?"
With employment secured, Barda decided to take a walk around the city and familiarize himself. Previously, he had been looking on from a spectator's standpoint, now he would be one of them. Similarly, he wanted to get his face out there, get his presence in the town noticed. This was part of the tradecraft he had learned. While taking on a new identity, be as loud as you can when you can.
That night, three family members sat across each other in the small family kitchen. The food served that day was quite a delicacy, and Anna, Merkall's significant other, had truly outdone herself. However, they were just seated there waiting.
"Alright, he's not coming, lets just ..." Merkall started, but he was quickly silenced by his wife's glare.
"We wait!" She insisted.
"Mom, we didn't invite him for supper, perhaps he's already eaten." Although she understood the need for decorum, the food prepared was so enticing, and she had been so hungry.
"Alright, we can go ahead, but we'll have to leave him a portion."
"Of course dear wife." Markell's words and actions were miles apart since he was already reaching for a drumstick. Just as he was about to sink his teeth in the succulent meat, the door opened, and Barda walked in.
"Just in time No Scars, grab a plate before we finish everything for you!" Anna wore a mock shock at her husband, as she also extended an invite to him. Soon the family had their meal, chatting about many things.
No matter how much the family tried to dig into Barda's past, he remained silent. While he could come up with any number of lies, the mystery persona had its advantages. Right now, his life was just one big blank space, he was in no hurry to start filling up the gaps.
Very early the next day, Barda was already up and ready, waiting for Markell by the smithy. The family was shocked by his efficiency, which was another plus in Markell's book.
Looking at his new employee, Markell wondered what job to give him. The boy had proved himself capable, but Markell still didn't know him well enough to leave him unsupervised with important work. Thinking on this, Markell decided to leave him with a batch order straight from Crane City-state, part of the reason why he had been hiring in the first place.
For the day, Barda was to work on swords and produce as many as he could. This being a rush order, Markell insisted that they didn't have to care about the quality and craftsmanship too much. However, every craftsman had their standards, and they were not to compromise.
Pretty soon, the shop became super busy, and Barda focused on his tasks. Markell took the time to inspect one of the swords that had been made, and he was content with its craftsmanship. He could tell that the design and craft were inferior to the dagger, but even then, he doubted his best product could match. Secretly in his heart, he was thanking the heavens for bringing him such a talent.
The smithy extended from the shop to the store. People could walk in and buy from the retail side or custom order their materials and equipment from the shop. Barda was busy working on his quota when suddenly Meena came in and summoned him. She didn't explain why she had called him over, but judging from her worried look, it couldn't be any good.
As soon as he walked into the store, he noticed that the mood was extremely pensive. On one side stood Markell, who even had veins bulging from his face and bloodshot eyes. On the other, there were 2 elegantly dressed men. Unlike Markell who looked ready to flip at any moment, the other seemed more relaxed, like the shop, nay the very ground on which they stood at was theirs.
"Young man, are you the creator of this knife?" One of the elegantly dressed men addressed him directly, on seeing him enter. Barda didn't know what to think since he had not been part of the conversation, so he turned to Markell seeking guidance. While this may have been a small act, it did not escape the 2 men, and it seemed to calm Markell down somewhat. He gave him a curt nod.
"Yes, I made it." Having received permission from Markell, he had no reason to lie. However, he wondered, did he overdo it? Was his craftsmanship too good that it was causing undue attention?
"How would you like to come to work for our smithy, I trust you know who we are?" This was the other man. His demeanor was less charming. He had the air of richness, and he seemed to think he could have anything he wanted. Barda was no stranger to such people. In his previous life, it was this kind that took him, used him and once they were done, spat him out like a ragdoll.
"No, I don't know you and no, I am quite okay here." The second man was visibly shocked. It was as though he couldn't understand how someone had refused to take him up on his offer, much less claimed to not know who he was.
"Ah, you don't know? Then let me explain to you." This was the other man. "You are standing in the presence of Sir Everlie of house Feilin. I am his scribe, Justus. We are offering you a chance to work in the Feilin Family smithy, do you still refuse?"
Barda was lost for words. For one thing, even a newcomer like him was clear on the benefits he would receive if he got to work inside the capital, or what was referred to as the main city. Not only did this come with excellent pay, but it also elevated one's social status.
These were little prices for Barda though, meaning little. The reason for his consideration was the fact that refusing such an invite would raise more unwanted attention. The 2 men in front of him seemed the kind to cause too much trouble when rejected.
Finally, Barda wanted to enter the capital. All spies are social climbers, always looking for a way to gain more access, and Barda was no different. The capital promised many good things if one gained access to it. Barda had to admit he was tempted.
After much consideration, he turned his eyes back to Markell, see his reaction.
"Why are you looking at me, they are talking to you." Markell retorted. Even he didn't know what answer he would give in the boy's position, but he was not going to make the decision for him.