Chapter 24: The Seamstress
The next morning, amidst the clanging of metal, Lan leaned his Bear School silver sword against the wall of the village blacksmith's workshop.
"Thanks for taking care of this, Ivan," he greeted the blacksmith.
"Don't worry, you can pick it up in an hour. The elder instructed me to charge the silver plating to the village account; I guarantee the quality of this batch of silver ingots is top-notch," Ivan replied, pride evident as he patted his storage chest.
According to him, the silver came either from Vizima or from the capital, Gors Velen. While his craftsmanship might not be exceptional, it was sufficient for re-plating the silver blade.
Bordon's sword hadn't been maintained since he went into hiding, and after slaying eighteen drowners yesterday, much of the silver coating had worn away—worth at least two Orens.
With a wave of his leather-gloved hand, Lan stepped out of the smithy. He couldn't help but appreciate how wise his decision had been.
If he had settled in a big city, he would have had to deal with not just rent and the prejudice of others but also the lurking dangers that came with it. At least in this village, he could enjoy such attentive service and generous treatment.
"Ugh—" As he walked along the village's wooden path, Lan occasionally pressed a hand to his forehead.
"I overdid it a bit yesterday, Mentos."
"I have fully recorded your feedback, but please—"
"Cut it out. Don't read your protocols to me!"
"Understood, sir." The AI complied promptly.
Lan was well aware that he would receive the same response every time, but he couldn't help his complaints after being inundated with knowledge like a shaken soda bottle. But in truth, Mentos's capabilities were undeniably superior.
Last night, the skill analysis section revealed that the integration in [Tracking] had reached 13%. This indicated that Mentos had accumulated 13% proficiency and knowledge of Bernie's skill.
After a night of intensive knowledge infusion, the results were evident as Lan walked along the wooden path.
His foot brushed against a scratch on the surface, and he immediately recognized it as a mark left one to two weeks prior, likely from a barrel tipping over or colliding. Combined with his enhanced witcher senses, he deduced that only barrels used for transporting fish or wine would have passed this route.
"If I didn't want to fight, being a detective would suffice." Suddenly, Lan thought to himself.
But he quickly chuckled at the notion; how many people would actually hire someone with cat eyes to investigate their concerns? Despite being a skilled tracker, a witcher could still starve if they didn't receive work.
"Sir, I do not recommend you indulge in such musings right now. According to the plan, you need to have your cotton armor repaired immediately to prepare for this afternoon's hunt. Your skill in [Surgery] still requires much practice material, and the [Biological Structure] project has vast gaps waiting to be filled. Additionally, [Tracking] needs more analysis of target individuals."
"I'm just walking here, you know? Just a few little tears to patch up; it'll be done in no time." The young man lowered his hand from his forehead and muttered to himself.
[Surgery] was a practical skill, unlike [Tracking], which was primarily about accumulating knowledge and experience. Simply pouring in information was quite limited; Lan needed to practice hands-on and refine his techniques with Mentos's guidance.
Skills such as [Bear School Swordsmanship] and [Horsemanship] fell into this category.
As he made his way along the wooden path, twisting and turning between the wooden huts, he thought, "This should be the way Old Allen described—the best seamstress in Oreton."
The construction of the huts was chaotic; after all, this was a village of around a hundred people, with about thirty huts scattered around. Even the village elder could only vaguely point out the location of the seamstress.
The fishy odor in the fishing village was unbearable, especially in such a primitive setting. The fish blood seeping through the wooden boards, exposed to sun and wind, smelled far worse than rotting meat in summer. With his sensitive witcher senses, Lan found himself feeling slightly dizzy.
Just then, a familiar young voice piped up from the gap between the wooden huts. "Master Witcher, are you looking for someone?"
The voice was cautious, laced with an unrefined eagerness. Lan's distracted cat-like eyes snapped back to attention, as if someone had splashed cold water on his head.
He turned stiffly to face the child. The man who had faced down drowners without flinching now hesitated to meet the gaze of those innocent eyes. In Lan's heart, he felt like a debtor.
"Um, I need my cotton armor repaired, so I'm looking for a skilled seamstress."
The boy's face lit up. "A skilled seamstress? My mom is one, but I know the best seamstress in Oreton! I can take you there!"
With that, the boy hurried closer to Lan and began leading the way. Lan followed closely behind.
He bounced along cheerfully, his undernourished body giving him a wobbly gait reminiscent of a walking weeble. Lan clearly noticed that the boy attempted to strike up a conversation several times during the walk, but after hesitating, he ultimately gave up.
For a child, it was one thing to present a friendly smile, but it was quite another to speak flattering words. After a while, perceiving that Lan wasn't inclined to speak either, the boy breathed a sigh of relief, as if escaping from an obligation to converse.
His steps became lighter and more exuberant. A genuine case of social anxiety.
When they arrived near a wooden hut, the boy seemed to gather his courage for the task at hand.
"Master," he stammered nervously, "even though I don't have a relation to her, this seamstress is really good. Even patching things up, she can make it both sturdy and beautiful. You can't wear armor all the time, can you? I think if you get a few regular outfits made from her, they'll last for years and be worth it."
"You should knock on the door; I'll head back now."
The person inside seemed to have heard the commotion and came to open the door. Little White turned and hurried away, disappearing around the corner of the hut.
The door creaked open, revealing a weary woman whose exhaustion was evident on her face. It was White's mother.
"Elder Allen has already informed me. Your cotton armor was sewn up by me and a few companions yesterday. Is it holding up well?" Upon seeing Lan, the farmer's wife mustered her energy to greet him with a smile.
The interior was fairly normal for Oreton, the wooden floor kept clean. One could easily imagine the effort this woman had put into maintaining her home, even with the absence of a man in the household.
It was evident that she had likely sold some of their furniture due to the sudden drop in household labor.
At this moment, Lan felt more nervous than he had when facing monsters for the first time.
Because now…
"Very, very good. The drowners' claws tore a few places, but the seam on the abdomen is still intact. Excellent craftsmanship."
"Really? That makes me feel relieved."
White's mother began to help Lan remove his cotton armor, preparing to start the repairs. Lan still had the bear school trousers and the linen undershirt on.
"Earlier at the door, was there a boy recommending that you make a few more outfits?" The farmer's wife rummaged through the corner of the wall for sewing tools while asking Lan.
"Yeah, a boy. He mentioned he didn't know you."
"Ha ha, that's my son. I'm Donna." White's mother laughed brightly. "Please forgive him; he just wants to bring in a bit of easy work for me. Recommendations from strangers are more valuable than those from relatives in the business, I suppose? He's quite clever!"
"Of course, if you really need a few outfits, I would be delighted to make them. After all, it's tough for a woman to work in the fishing grounds, and I could use a little help."
Lan nodded, acknowledging her words. His cat-like eyes scanned the clean yet impoverished home, his brow furrowing slightly.
"I will need quite a few outfits. I can wear out my current ones quickly. But, Donna…"
"Hasn't the elder or the village helped you at all?"
The witcher issued a pointed question.
****
If you are craving for more, and want to enjoy 15 advanced chapters, be sure to check my Patreon.
https://www.patreon.com/FictionForge