Chapter 38: Foothills [Two Chapters In One]

It had been a week since the last delivery to Elian. The forge was quiet again, save for the occasional clink of tools and the low hum of the furnace. Dory and Horg had set out early that morning, traveling to Foothills to gather the raw materials they needed to make iron ingots.

The path was rocky, lined with sparse trees and patches of grass that swayed lightly in the morning breeze. Horg had loaded a cart with sacks of iron ore, coal, and a few bags of flux. Dory walked beside him, keeping pace, examining the ore closely, testing its weight and feel.

"You’ve got a good eye for quality," Horg said without looking at him. "You can tell the difference between decent and poor iron even without touching the fire."

Dory adjusted his glasses and smiled slightly. "It comes with practice... and a little patience." He paused, kicking at a loose stone along the path. "You’ve taught me a lot already. I just have to keep paying attention."

Horg gave a low grunt of agreement. "Most people don’t. They just hit metal and call it iron. You actually look at what you’re doing."

They walked in silence for a while. The sun rose higher, and the shadows shifted under the trees. Dory took the opportunity to glance at the system he carried in his mind, reviewing the service points, earnings, and the status of his extended deal with the girls. Five hundred copper coins every month. Not a massive amount, but steady and reliable. It would allow them to continue making snacks and working with the forge without worrying about running out of funds.

"...Dory?" Horg’s voice pulled him back from his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"Are you going to sit on that money like some banker, or are you going to learn to get more?"

Dory laughed softly. "A little of both, maybe. I’ve been using part of my free time to figure out how to make coins disappear into the system directly. It’s... handy."

Horg shook his head but didn’t argue. "I don’t care. Just don’t get lazy."

They arrived at the mining area shortly after, the foothills opening up to a rocky plateau where miners had been extracting ore for generations. Horg had his list ready—pick up good iron ore, enough coal to fuel the forge for several weeks, and a small bag of flux for refining. Dory helped as much as he could, hefting sacks, examining the ore, and learning the subtle cues that Horg noticed in weight, texture, and color.

"You see this one?" Horg said, holding up a chunk. "Too heavy, too brittle. Won’t make a good ingot. Keep it for scrap if you want, but it won’t hold in the forge."

Dory examined it. "...I can feel the difference," he said. "It’s heavier than the other pieces, but the grain looks uneven."

"Exactly," Horg said, nodding. "Good eye."

Once the cart was loaded, they started their way back to the village, moving slowly through the foothills. Dory kept his eyes on the surroundings, making sure the cart didn’t tip over, that the ore remained stable, and that the horses were steady. There was little room for error, and Horg trusted him to be vigilant.

They stopped midway when Horg noticed a small trading post by the side of the path. A few sacks of salt, some dried fruits, and a handful of tools were on display. Dory had been practicing haggling during the past week, small things like buying extra flour for snacks or trading minor goods. Today, he stepped forward.

"How much for the salt?" he asked the trader.

"Twenty coppers a sack," the man replied.

Dory leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Fifteen, and I’ll take two. No offense, but I know your supplier sells it for less than that."

The trader paused, narrowing his eyes. "You’re bold for a kid."

"I’ve been around the market," Dory said calmly. "I know numbers. I know value. You sell it at twenty, but I don’t see how that benefits me—or you."

The man hesitated, then finally sighed. "Fine. Fifteen for two. Take it and leave."

Dory smiled slightly and handed over the coins. Horg clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "See? You learn fast. That’s how it’s done."

Dory kept his focus, noting everything. Numbers, tone, timing—it all mattered. The skill would be useful when negotiating future sales of iron, snacks, or anything else they needed. He tucked the purchased sacks onto the cart and climbed back beside Horg.

"You’ve been learning," Horg said. "Good. You’ll need it."

"...I know," Dory replied, adjusting the straps on the cart. "It’s all part of the job."

By mid-afternoon, the village was finally in sight. The sun was lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the hills, and the road back to the forge was dustier than the path they had taken. Dory kept the cart steady while Horg gave directions to the horses, ensuring the load stayed balanced. The village was quiet, most people inside their homes or tending to evening chores. The familiar smoke from the forge drifted into the air as they approached, signaling home.

On the main road, a carriage passed them, slowing slightly as the driver saw the heavy load of materials. Horg raised a hand, signaling them to stop.

The carriage drew closer, the driver leaning out slightly. "You need a lift back?" he asked.

Horg nodded. "Yes. Keep the cart steady; we’ll put the sacks inside."

Dory jumped down to help load the ore, coal, and flux into the carriage while Horg kept the horses in place. The driver worked efficiently, securing the bags to prevent movement during the journey. Once everything was loaded, Horg stepped up beside Dory, and the driver nodded toward them.

"All set," he said. "Hop in. We’ll take you home."

Dory climbed into the carriage next to Horg, brushing dust off his hands. He felt the weight of the past week—work, learning, negotiation, and planning—settling in. They had achieved a lot, and now the next phase would begin. Snacks, iron, and all the little deals they would make depended on what they had learned, but for now, the moment was quiet, contained.

The carriage moved forward, slowly at first, then picking up speed as it followed the path back to the village. Dory looked at the bags of materials beside him and the sunlight falling over the foothills, reflecting off the polished surface of the cart. A small smile touched his lips.

’...We’re ready,’ he thought. ’...Now we just keep building.’

Horg glanced at him briefly and gave a small nod. "Good. You’re learning faster than I thought."

Dory returned the nod, then shifted slightly, checking the system in his mind. The service points, the monthly coins from the girls, the ongoing resources—they were all accounted for. There was a sense of order he hadn’t felt a week ago, and for once, things seemed manageable.

"...500 coins," Horg said suddenly, breaking the quiet. "You can multiply that when we get home if you want."

Dory nodded. "Already planned," he replied. The corners of his mouth curved up slightly. The knowledge of how to handle money, convert it, and multiply it safely in his system gave him a small but significant advantage. Every coin counted, and every decision he made now could grow into something bigger.

The carriage bounced along the road, taking them back to the village. The sun dipped lower behind the hills, painting the sky with streaks of orange and gold. Inside the cart, Dory leaned back, briefly closing his eyes, thinking about the forge, the girls, the deals, and the weeks ahead. The journey had been long, the work hard, but the outcome—steady income, trust, knowledge—was worth it.

When the carriage finally turned onto the familiar path leading to the village, Dory readied himself. Tomorrow, work would continue. Snacks, iron, and the planning that went with it would occupy every waking hour. But for now, they could rest. Horg and Dory exchanged a glance, quiet but full of understanding.

And as the village came into view, with the smoke rising into the evening sky, Dory felt a sense of calm. The week’s lessons had been hard-earned, but he was ready for the next step.

The carriage slowed as it reached the outskirts of the village, the familiar cobblestone road stretching before them. Dory and Horg climbed down, the weight of the sacks pressing against their shoulders as they prepared to walk the rest of the way to the forge.

The late afternoon sun was warm on their backs, but the heavy load reminded them that there was still work to do before they could rest. Each step pressed the materials closer to the edge of their endurance, but neither complained. The rhythm of walking, balancing the weight, and coordinating their movements with the cart made the journey steady, even if tiring.

As they approached the main road of the village, something unusual caught their eyes. A crowd had gathered near Maya’s shop, people standing shoulder to shoulder, murmuring and glancing toward the doorway. The murmur of voices grew louder as Dory and Horg drew closer, and Dory’s curiosity piqued immediately. Horg noticed it too, slowing his pace.

"What’s going on there?" Horg muttered under his breath, shifting a sack slightly.

"I don’t know," Dory replied, adjusting the straps of his own load. He carefully avoided bumping into anyone in the crowd as they drew nearer. The closer they got, the clearer the scene became. A young girl, roughly Dory’s age, stood at the center. She wore a small set of knight’s clothing—a chestplate, a short cape, and boots suited for movement. Her hair was tied back neatly, and her eyes burned with determination as she gestured toward a man standing in front of her.

The man was instantly recognizable. Elian. He looked slightly taken aback by the girl’s intensity, his usual calm demeanor strained as he tried to respond to her. Dory slowed, watching the exchange closely while still keeping a firm hold on the heavy sacks.

"They said he’s not around," Elian said carefully, his tone trying to keep the situation calm.

"I need him now! I need him!!" The knight yelled back, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the villagers. She stepped closer to Elian, her expression desperate, though controlled. Her small frame bristled with energy, and her knuckles were white as she gripped the hilt of her short sword, though she didn’t draw it.

Dory’s eyes narrowed slightly. The situation had escalated faster than he expected, and the presence of a knight in the village, standing toe-to-toe with Elian, was unusual. Horg grunted beside him, tightening his hold on his sack. The villagers had begun to shift back slightly, giving the two outsiders space, murmuring among themselves, their curiosity mingled with caution.

Dory kept walking carefully, his feet steady despite the weight, as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. His mind raced through possibilities—why would a knight need him? How did Elian even know about him being in the village again? Every step brought him closer to the forge, but the scene demanded his attention.

The knight’s voice rang out again, more desperate now. "I don’t care what they said! I need him! He is the only one who can help us!"

Elian lifted his hands slightly, placating, though there was a hint of frustration in his voice. "I understand, but you need to calm down. This isn’t the place to—"

"I don’t have time to calm down!" The knight’s shout echoed over the crowd, silencing a few villagers who had been whispering. Her determination was palpable, and the fear underlying it made her presence all the more commanding.

Dory finally stopped near the edge of the crowd, resting the last sack carefully on the ground. Horg leaned against the cart, eyes fixed on the girl, silently asking what had brought this storm to the village. Dory’s fingers brushed against his glasses, a subtle gesture as he tried to process everything in real time. The forge, the cart, the week of work—it all seemed to fade into the background for the moment, overtaken by this unexpected urgency.

"Who is she?" Horg muttered, his voice low.

"Not sure," Dory replied, still keeping his distance, eyes narrowed. "But if she’s that worked up, it must be serious. And why would she come here?"

The girl, chest heaving slightly from the exertion and shouting, fixed her gaze on Dory as if sensing something beyond the crowd. There was no hesitation in her stance, no doubt in her expression—she was focused entirely on him. Dory’s heart skipped slightly at the intensity, though he remained calm outwardly.

Elian raised his voice once more, attempting to reason with her. "Listen, this isn’t the place to cause a scene. You’ll have your answer soon, but—"

"I don’t care!" The knight cut him off again, her voice sharp and filled with urgency. "I need him now, or everything will be lost!"

The villagers around them murmured uneasily, some stepping back further, others craning their necks to get a better look. The chatter was a mix of curiosity and apprehension. A few merchants closed their stalls momentarily, watching the confrontation with quiet concern. Dory could feel the tension building, the air thick with anticipation and energy.

Horg tightened his hold on his sack again, shifting it slightly. "She’s serious," he said quietly. "I’ve seen enough troublemakers to know the difference. That’s not just a tantrum."

Dory’s eyes stayed locked on the knight. "No, this is... different. She’s trained, and she knows exactly what she wants. That isn’t common for someone her age, especially in a place like this."

The girl straightened, lifting her chin, the edge of determination never leaving her face. Elian’s hands remained up, trying to maintain control of the situation, but it was clear he was running out of options. His usual composure cracked slightly, replaced by the urgency of the moment.dn

"...I need him!" she shouted once again, louder than before. "Now!"

Dory’s mind raced. He adjusted his glasses, shifting his weight slightly on his feet, considering his next move. The forge and materials sat a short distance behind him, but all focus was now drawn to the scene unfolding in front of him.