Diffused morning sun streamed through the grimy windows of Rivyn's shop, casting long beams of light across strewn tools and projects half-finished. He stood at his workbench looking down at the armor he had made, shining perfectly. Far from perfect, there was a shine about it, a promise radiating like this new skill the mysterious System had unlocked within him.
The debt collector had given him a week, but that was just plain too little time to really relax. Rivyn knew he had to make more-more weapons, more armor, more of anything, really-to make coin and keep the shop. The System had given him tasks, but he couldn't rely on the slow trickle of System points alone; he needed real customers, and real gold.
The door groaned open as he buckled the last strap around the chestplate. Rivyn tensed. He half expected a repeat visit by the collector he didn't wish to see. Instead, a man stepped inside—a man Rivyn did not recognize. The fellow was lean, his features keen, head darkened by hair cropped short. His cloak was plain but of good fabric, and in his eyes something flashed that turned Rivyn's stomach.
"G'day," the man said with a smooth, businesslike tone. He moved up to the counter, looking over at the strewn tools and projects in an evaluative manner. "I take it you're Rivyn."
Rivyn cleaned off his hands on his apron and nodded. "I am. What can I do for you?"
The man kept silent. Tucking an arm beneath his cloak, he drew out a piece of parchment and began to unroll it with slow, ponderous motions. He slapped it down upon the counter, nudging it toward Rivyn.
"I hear you've been doing some impressive work recently," the man said, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of authority. "I have a commission for you."
Rivyn blinked and glanced at the parchment before meeting the stranger's gaze. "A commission?"
The man nodded. "I represent a client who is. in need of something special. We've heard whispers that you've made a sword—one that wasn't a failure."
Rivyn felt his gut tighten. That had spread quickly. But the man's voice was measured and he clearly wasn't there to mock him.
He hesitated for a moment before retrieving the parchment. It was a drawing of a sword, not just a sword. The design was way too elaborate—stylish, with sweeps along its blade that looked decorative in nature. He wouldn't imagine it to be the kind of weapon a normal mercenary would use, but one meant for someone of importance.
Rivyn swallowed hard. "This… is way above what I usually charge."
"But not beyond what you can make," the man said, curtly chopping off any protest. He tapped the parchment with a gloved finger. "You will be compensated handsomely. If you succeed, the commission will pay off your debts and leave enough for you to stock this workshop for years."
And this promise hung there, tantalizingly, like a carrot just too juicy to turn your back on. Rivyn's heart was racing with deliberation. Though the offered sum was more than generous, the design was excessively intricate, asking for craftsmanship that he wasn't so sure he could pull off, even with the System's help. The man must have seen the hesitation in his eyes, because he hunched closer, lowering his voice.
"Let me be clear about one thing: my client is very much specific about this request. He will have this sword made perfectly, without mistakes or delays. No failure.
Rivyn's throat went tight. Something in the way the man was speaking, all calm but with weight in his words like a tiger hiding behind the first screen of foliage. Whomever his client was, he wasn't the kind a person crossed.
He turned his gaze back to the design for the sword on the parchment. The task was monumental, but if he could pull it off… If he could make the money, the reputation, the resources to finally rebuild his shop…
He nodded slow. "I do it.".
The man's lips formed into a thin smile. "Good. You have three days.
Rivyn's eyes widened. "Three days?"
"It will do you good; you can buy what you need." Ignoring his protest, he reached back inside his cape and produced a small leather pouch, which he tossed on the counter with a soft clink-the sound of coin.
Rivyn snatched the pouch open; out fell a heaping pile of glittering gold coins. His hands were shaking somewhat. It was more money than he had seen in months. It would be enough to buy materials and pay for help if needed, but all the same, three days…
"The sword is to be delivered to me here. If it is not done by then, or if it is not to the standard my client has grown accustomed to." The man let the sentence trail off, but Rivyn didn't need him to finish it.
He knew the implications.
Rivyn swallowed hard and nodded. "I get it.".
He turned and strode for the door, his weighty leather boots making little sound on the cold grey stone beneath his feet. "Three days," he repeated over his shoulder as he vanished out into the morning's paler light, leaving Rivyn standing alone in the workshop, the weight of the commission settling upon his shoulders like an iron chain.
Rivyn wasted not a moment. The second he was free of the man's presence, he was preparing to gather all of the things he would need to forge this sword. He brought out his best steel-what little that remained-and laid it aside. But even with the gold from the commission, he would have to be very conservative. There would be no margin for mistake.
He cast a glance at the System screen, still floating over the very edge of his view. Points had been piling onto that Basic Crafter skill of his, but if this sword worked… If he could pull this off…
He shook his head and dispelled the thought. There simply wasn't time to waste on what might have been. He had to keep his mind on the task at hand.
The hours blurred together as Rivyn worked. He heated the forge, flames lashing to life and casting an orange glow across the workshop. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead as he took up the hammer and struck-over, and over, and over-shaping, molding the steel into the form that the design demanded. Every strike was calculated, exact.
But hours being hours, the work gradually eroded his resolve. His arms were burning, fingers numb from the motion that, again and again, reshaped the blade. Every now and then, a little tickle of doubt wormed into the edges of his mind: What if what the System provided wasn't enough? What if his skill still wasn't good enough for whatever the client expected?
He wiped the sweat off his brow, breathing now coming in shallower gasps. He just could not afford to think like that; he could not afford to fail again.
Just about then, as these doubts were overwhelming him, the System softly pinged.
[Ding!]
A notice was blinking right before him.
[Task: Forge an Exquisite Sword - 50% Completed
The words were blurry, and something in his chest started to flicker: rekindled hope. Halfway there, and the System was on top of it. He could do this.
He started hammering again with renewed vigor, and the rhythm of hammer-fall resounded. The blade got its form – long and slim, as per the order request by his client. Still, the main challenge would come soon: the finer detail, balance, and the magic this sword required….
Rivyn stepped back, wiping his hands on his apron to examine the blade. It was coming, but it needed just that little something more.
The enchantment.
His stomach flipped as he recognized the problem. He had never forged an enchanted weapon; that took a completely different kind of skill altogether. That kind of work was for wizards and very high-tier craftsmen, not village blacksmiths like him.
Desperate, his eyes flicked down to the screen of the System, before he muttered, "System, what is the requirement to unlock Basic Enchantment?".
Before him flashed a new notice:
Basic Enchantment Skill unlocked with 5 System Points.
Rivyn's heart sank. Five points? He launched a quick glance at his status, calling it up in his head.
[Current Mark: 6]
The breath he exhaled was shaking. Six points: he had barely come out of the debt with it. Spend them and he would only have one left—a dangerously close digit to zero, without a guarantee that he could win back enough before the next task would have to be finished. But what choice did he have?
Rivyn fisted his hands as his gaze locked onto the screen of the System. This commission was his last hope to pay off the debt, save the store; he just couldn't afford to fail.
"Unlock Basic Enchantment," he said with assurance. His skin tingled and pulsed a feeble warmth through his body. The notice flashed again: Basic Enchantment Unlocked. Rivyn sagged in relief, yet what he had done weighed heavily upon him. He had spent all but a little, with no more room for mistakes. His mind was already busy with what materials he would gather for this enchantment. His hands started shaking a bit while etching the runes into the blade of that sword after following every little detail from his knowledge which had appeared in his mind when this skill unlocked; it was really delicate. One wrong mark and the whole sword would be ruined. Sweat beaded up on his brow, and he did not relent; he was focused utterly. The forge fired blazed behind him, flickering, as shadows cast by the light played dramatically on the walls. The air hung heavy, as though the room itself were holding its breath. Finally, when it felt like he had spent hours on them, Rivyn stepped back. The runes were complete, glowing faintly down the length of the blade. Holding his breath, he began to work in the final bit of magic the sword's enchantment needed. The sword shimmered, the faint light of the runes beginning to pulse as the magic took hold. It was completed. Rivyn set the sword down onto the workbench, his hands shaking from exhaustion. He looked at it, hardly daring to believe it was real. The blade gleamed in the dim light: perfect and whole. He had done it. And now there was nothing to be done but deliver it.