Chapter 652 – Birthday Newman 8 – Forge and Rat and Chaos

Chapter 652 – Birthday Newman 8 – Forge and Rat and Chaos

John departed from the forge, leaving the raw materials behind, and hastily drove back to Liberty Island, only to change to a larger boat, make a few phone calls, and come back with Aclysia and Beatrice. The latter hadn’t been asked for, but if she was to get a spear, she should voice a few preferences about its layout.

“I have no preference,” Beatrice said.

“DEATH WILL HAVE THE SHAPE IT NEEDS!” screamed Marathyu.

Clearly John hadn’t completely thought through how that interaction would go. ‘I guess, she will get the spear she gets,’ John thought and placed Purgatory on a table that was now in the room. Aclysia placed Marath on the table as well. That it didn’t even bend under the weight of the weapon and all of the raw materials was impressive.

“...Another,” Marathyu said, knocking on the silver-white cleaver.

“Pardon?” John wasn’t quite sure if he got that right.

“Place – another – sword – on – the – TABLE!” Marathyu screamed. Aclysia looked to John, John raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and allowed her to. Better more improvements than fewer. The good thing about dealing with a clearly insane man with only one purpose in his life was that John could be absolutely certain he wasn’t getting scammed. Aclysia pulled Eclys out of her inventory as well. “Another. The small one you still have.”

Aclysia was more unwilling to oblige that request than the previous two. Although Marath and Eclys were both much stronger weapons, the unnamed salver/dagger she still had in her Adaptive Bladery was something with more emotional value. It was a Christmas gift from John, Lydia and everyone else and what she usually carried outside of combat.

“It’s going to be fine,” John assured her. “A sharper knife is better, right?”

“Yes, Master,” Aclysia conceded with a heavy sigh, logic and emotional attachments didn’t mix well in this case. Regardless, she obeyed, and soon the dagger was also on the table. Compared to everything else, it looked remarkably plain.

Marathyu looked at it. “Mithril alloys, BAH!” he spat out, but left it lying there as he mustered the contents of the table. “I will need a few more things,” he said.

“And what would that b-“ John started when he heard a deep, squeaky chuckle behind him. He knew who it was without turning around.

“Would you look at that, we meet again so quickly,” the Horned Rat stated as he got through the open door, shrinking down in the process. The god seemed to always be as tall as his surroundings allowed him to. From experience, John knew that he wasn’t opposed to looking ridiculous either, walking around as a miniature body attached to a large skull. It all seemed designed to get a hard grasp on his true personality.

‘What was that line out of that Vinland manga Rave showed me?’ John thought as he put on a half-smile. ‘Everything is a slave to something? What is your desire so strong it enslaves you, Rat?’ He kept that to himself, instead saying, “Has been way too short a time. What was that, an hour?”

“Just about,” the Horned Rat responded. “Some days are busier than others.”

“You can say that again,” John agreed. Once this was done, he would get back to the festival and only do idle things for the rest of the day. His birthday had been quite busy. Not that it bothered him too much. He wasn’t doing anything he didn’t want or felt forced to. Whether he did this or went home to play videogames the entire day was his choice and that was all he really wanted from a vacation day. He wasn’t even obligated to attend the Q&A panels. He would though. “What brings you here?”

John had already mentally resigned himself that the Horned Rat saw what was going on and didn’t even try to hide it. At least it wasn’t some super-secret project.

“I wanted to talk to him,” the Horned Rat gestured at Marathyu. “I require his skills for something that I cannot get elsewhere.”

“Whatever you want, venerated one,” Marathyu kneeled down before the god, leaving John to raise an eyebrow and look back and forth between them. This behaviour could either be immensely suspicious or Marathyu’s regular behaviour. There was no telling for certain. “You are exactly what I need to keep working.”

“Yes, rise,” Richard quickly relaxed the situation. “You aren’t of any use to me grovelling, as fun as it is to look at. Do fulfil his order first.” One of his horns pointed at John, as the monstrous humanoid nodded in the Gamer’s direction. “Would be rude of me to insert myself ahead of the queue.”

‘Plus, you would have to inform me what you order,’ John thought, but didn’t probe for answers he wouldn’t be given. “Well, what else do you need?” he asked the blacksmith instead, leaning on the table with one hand. “Because I can’t really take anything from Richard over here and I don’t want him to get his meddling magic in there.”

Tilgun glanced at John for a moment, the sheer size of his body making it hard to discern where exactly he was looking at, then lowered his snout in a submissive fashion. “No, no, I value my life, Rat. I will remain observant; you can have your schemes.” The two of them had nothing more to say to each other and the higher dragon moved onto the Gamer. In a much nicer tone, he spoke to John. It appeared TIlgun was the kind of person that punched up and ridiculed down. “Do tell me what my sister has been up to, if you would be so kind.”

“What’s in it for me?” John asked, remembering old interactions with the dragon.

“Mhm, you can receive a small answer on your own. This information isn’t too greatly sought after.”

Nodding, since there wasn’t a lot of bartering room here, John then quickly summarized. “She is still in her self-imposed exile and told me you are allowed to help me now.”

“Allowed... Allowed?!” Tilgun curled upwards and laughed loud enough that half of the city must have heard it. His hands slammed into the ground like a jolly drunk would hit a table, except the entire earth shook, rather than just a few glasses on the table. “Aaaaah, sister, that is so like you.” He slowly calmed, amusedly talking to himself. “I still haven’t seen her in 700 years and she just ‘allows’ me to help you. Priceless.”

“Will you?” John asked, happy that he had gone for accurate and not the diplomatic retelling. He had guessed that, if he changed the wording in any way, Tilgun would have called it a lie.

“For the amusement, not her will,” the maw of souls giggled. “Allowed... such a wonderful sibling.... What do you need?”

“I don’t know, to quote the blacksmith, ‘The burning must be tamed, ask for a counterweight’,” John reported. “Since it seems best to just go with the first thing that comes to mind when dealing with insane people, what do you think of that?”

“...You’re asking for something I am not that willing to part with... but this could be fun, so whatever.” A shiver went through the higher dragon’s body, and then he suddenly spat out a whole number of things. Gold coins, valuable looking bones, swords, shields, other pieces of weapons, protection and equipment. With a tip of a claw, he searched through.

“...Did you keep all of that in your stomach?” John couldn’t help but ask.

“Do you really want to know? That would be your small answer,” Tilgun returned, making John hesitate. He had a better question, even if he was pretty sure the calibre of answer would be disappointing if this was of the same level.

“No,” the Gamer therefore denied and was rewarded through the Horned Rat giggling and telling him the answer.

“Tilgun here is what we call a wandering dragon,” Richard explained. “Subspecies hurricane dragon, to be exact...”

“...I was actually born a storm drake,” Tilgun corrected, absent-mindedly. “Do not cut short the amount of souls I had to consume to grow to this level. There was less nutrition in those times.”

“...As you wish, a storm dragon then, a wandering dragon nonetheless. Those that fall under that category have an organ above the stomach that allows them to store their hoard on their travels.”

“Ah.” Now John at least knew what he was looking at and why. ‘Kind of like a social stomach for ants and bees... just for narcissistic lizards.’ He kept that comparison to himself.

“There it is...” Tilgun finally picked something out of the pile of things and flicked it in John’s direction. He caught it, despite the mucus covering it making it quite unappealing. It was some sort of metal, ocean blue, and radiated a natural calmness. The clump in John’s hand was barely as big as an orange and seemed to slowly melt at the touch of his hand.

“Wonder if he made Romuglehn with this stuff...” John mumbled, remembering the mana roads in Rome and the reportedly unobtainable material Romulus provided to make them. “Now, for my small question... What are the Lorylim?”

“Racist towards champignons,” the higher dragon joked.

That was about as helpful as John had expected.