Though Yuto is skilled as a [Samurai] and is generally knowledgeable about the world - that worldly knowledge unfortunately isn’t based on experience. Most of his life has been on Kyoshi- where he trained under master Ning and studied the world through books. Through those books, he’d read about Nivis and its harsh weather.

  Now that he is here, he can’t help but absentmindedly stare at the beautiful storm overhead, the architecture of the buildings, and the smoke wafting from his snout.

  “Oy, what’s on your mind? Are you worried about the Inquisition?”

  Yuto shifts back his head to the short human smothered in the warmest clothing they’d had available.

  “No.” He answers. “I’m just enjoying the weather.”

  Cillian raises an eyebrow. “Really? I wouldn’t blame you if you did- what with that fleet heading to save Kyoshi.”

  “The headquarters should know that the fleet is destroyed. Another is probably already ordered to head to Kyoshi.”

  “Already?”

  Yuto nods slowly. “All Inquisition [Fleet Captains] carry a runic item that allows long-range communications.”

  Cillian perks up. “Like a telephone! What’s the range? Where can I buy them?”

  “Only the inquisition knows how to use and produce them.”

  “Damn. I guess that would be too easy. Anyway, let's head somewhere warmer.” Cillian starts walking down the pier.

  Yuto follows right behind. As he does, he continues looking around. As far as he can tell, the port isn’t too lively with people. Granted, it’s cold to be outside, but Yuto still would expect a bit more bodies. “Have you any idea where the store is?” He asks.

  Cillian snorts under his makeshift scarf. “That’s a horrible idea. I’d get fleeced for coin if I did that.”

  “How so?” Yuto asks, curious.

  “If I walk into a store and ask to buy warm clothing, they’ll immediately realize I’m not from here and will increase their prices considerably. I can try to haggle the price down, but that takes a lot of time. I’d spend a day or two just trying to figure out the actual prices.”

  “Those are dishonorable practices.” He says.

  Cillian snickers. “No, that's capitalism. They have something we need and they know it, so the prices go up.”

  “How will you deal with it then?”

  Cillian stops in front of a building. At the top of the entrance are the words alongside an actual horn.

  “With mead.” Cillian enters inside. Yuto follows into the tavern.

  The inside is considerably warmer with many tables already filled primarily by hardy natives. The natives are large and muscular like Boriss, with the shortest of them reaching six feet in height. They give looks of disdain at Cillian, but oddly enough, respect towards him.

  “The bar is open.” Cillian grins and stars heading to the back. It’s here when the first confrontation happens. One of the men extends his leg to trip Cillian.

  Yuto shifts to intervene, but Cillian seems to have expected it, stopping right in front. The Scot smiles and turns his head to the legs owner. In a practiced movement, he retrieves his revolver and aims down. “Let's play a game.” He says loudly. “I’m going to shoot and you’re going to try to move your leg out of the way of the bullet. We start in 1, 2, -”

  The man’s eyes widened. He retrieves his leg in panic.

  Cillian pouts, “Huh, I guess you didn’t want to play.”

  Cillian hoisters his revolver and continues walking as though nothing happened. Yuto follows right behind, impressed now at the shift in perception. The disdain is gone- replaced with what Yuto would argue is grudging respect.

  Cillian sits at the bard and Yuto takes the seat next to him.

  “Give me the strongest you got.” Cillians says to the [Barkeep].

  The man nods. “And your friend?”

  “Water,” Yuto answers.

  The [Barkeep] frowns. “We don’t serve that here.”

  “Double my order and get my guard some melted ice.” Cillian says cooly.

  The [Barkeep] stares at Cillian, then chuckles.

  In a matter of moments, two large horns are presented in front of the Scot and a mug of water for Yuto.

  Cillian grabs a horn, lifts, and tilts the entire content down his throat, causing the [Barkeep] to pause in astonishment.

  The Scot burps. “Not bad. A bit weaker than my usual, but I’m not going to complain.”

  “You’ve got balls,” the man says. He shakes his head, a grin on his lips. He takes the empty horn. “The names Ivar. Welcome to the .”

  “Cillian. [Quartermaster] of the .”

  “So, you’re one of the recent arrivals.”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “There were others?”

  Ivar washes and wipes the empty horn. “Two others- their ships are moored at the port. One is a group of [Mercenaries] and the other is the Tower Ecclesiasticus.”

  “The tower people are here? Do they plan to go to the tower?” Cillian asks.

  “Both have already left.” Ivar says.

  “Sounds dangerous.” Cillian comments.

  “They paid for a guide- so they’ll be fine.” Ivar places down the empty horn.

  Cillian eyes the horn for a moment. Then grins. “Fill that up for me, yea.” The Scot takes his other horn and chugs the contents, an amount that’s now attracting the attention of onlookers. Even Ivar is impressed. The [Barkeep] moves to fill the horn.

  “Well, I need something of a guide.” Cillian starts.

  “I may have some recommendations.” Ivar pushes the horn to Cillian.

  “If you’re offering,” Cillian grabs the new horn and drums his fingers on the side.

  “I’m in need of reasonably priced warm clothing. A bulk order, if you will.”

  Ivar nods. “A simple request. I recommend the tre-”

  The door to the tavern is violently kicked open, followed by two nearly-naked men entering inside.

  ___________________________________________________________________________

  Even with all the preparations and levels, the cold seeps deeper and deeper into his fingers. He’d already lost the feeling to not only his fingers, but also his hand. The cold is now shifting to his shoulders, but Alvar does not care. Even without feeling and barely any mana, his work continues, his fingers move, and the runes form upon the axes.

  Memories surface of his last time he’d done such a thing. He’d been level forty-nine and was working on the [Dukes] hammer. His greatest work, one that cost him three fingers to create. But he’d leveled after, and now he works for the man's son. Twin axes of all things, sister weapons to one another.

  Just as the cold reaches his shoulder does he apply the final rune. The moment he does, he steps back and assesses his work. Two axes, connected and separate. A single weapon in two.

  He releases a breath and grabs the cold metal handles. His cold fingers slowly wrap around the metal before he lifts them up. Then he walks to his burning forge. Entering through the protective bubble of Anna’s magic, Alvar blinks at an odd sight. Gunnar and what looks like his twin are lifting themselves up and down on a bar. But what really has the old smith confused is that they’re both practically naked except for their shorts.

  “What the fuck are you idiots doing?” He asks, and then remembers his current situation. He rushes to the forge and lays down the axes.

  “Alvar,” Gunnar yells. “Are my axes done?” The [Frost Lord] asks while still lifting himself up and down.

  Alvar places his hands near the forge, close enough to warm but far enough not to burn his fingers. Hopefully, all his digits survive when they defrost.

  “The runes need to settle down for a day, you shit.” He yells.

  “[Frost Runesmith] Alvar,” Anna calls on approach. When Alvar turns his head, the woman is reaching into her robe. She produces a small vial. “I have a warming tonic for your hand.”

  Alvar stares at the oddly colored liquid. He’d heard of potions used to fight off frostbite, but he;d also heard everyone doesn't like to use them. “Does it work?” He asks warily.

  “It’s designed to treat frostbite.” She answers.

  “Then put it on.” He raises his numb blue hands warily.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” A voice calls from the bottom.

  Alvar watches as a cat hops up near the axes.

  The cat glances at the nearly complete weapons. “Rapidly warming after frostbite can result in more damage. Then again, your fingers look completely frozen.” The cat continues.

  “Damn,” Alvar says, “Am I going crazy or is that a talking cat?”

  “You’re absolutely going crazy,” The cat agrees with a grin. “But it’s ok. Being sane is boring and no fun.”

  “[Captain] Quasi, Alvar is exhausted, please don’t confuse him,” Anna chastises. She raises the vial towards Alvar. “I’m going to pour first on your palm and then your fingers..”

  Alvar frowns at the cat, glances at the two nearly naked men doing pull-ups, then sighs at his exhaustion. “I think I need a drink.” He extends his hands to Anna. Anna opens the vial and pours the contents on his palm and then his fingers. Immediately, every part of his frozen skin starts smoking. The liquid seems to seep into his skin, warming g rapidly. Once the last drop hits his hand, Alvar can’t help but groan and kneel. “Fucking shit. I feel like my blood is on fire.”

  “Good.” Anna nods. “That means it’s working.”

  “How long is this going to last?” He growls.

  “About an hour.”

  “Fuck me, this pain is worse than the cold. I need a drink. A strong one.”

  “Agreed.” Quasi interupts. “Do you have any good locations- preferably somewhere they provide milk?” The cat asks.

  “Milk? Who the fuck drinks milk?” Alvar asks. “Ughhh.” He groans as the pain gets worse. “Fuck this. Anna, lead me to Ivar’s.”

  Anna nods. She turns to the naked men. “Gunnar, I’m going to escort Alvar to the . Are you coming?”

  Gunnar stops his pull-ups, sweat covering his brow. He glances to his left to find that Boriss has stopped as well. The man gives the [Frost Lord] his grin. “Vhe go drink now, yes?”

  Gunnar chuckles and releases his grip on the bar. “Yes. It will be my treat.”

  “What about the axes?” Quasi raises a paw at the cooling metal.

  Gunnar grabs a piece of nearby cloth and throws it over the axes. “Leave-em. The runes need to settle before I finish.”

  “They looked finished to me.” Quasi comments. He hops off the table and moves to the still nearly naked Boriss.

  “Are you going to put your clothes back on?” The cat asks.

  “No, is nice veather to cool Russian skin.”

  “You're naked, covered in sweat, and there is a raging hailstorm outside.” Quasi explains.

  The big man grins happily. “Da. It brings back good young memories.”

  “I could do with a stroll through a storm,” Gunnar says with his own clothing under his arm, all to the annoyance of a singular woman.

  “Gunnar, there is rivalry and there is stupidity. What will people think if they see the [Duke's] son running naked through the streets?”

  “Let the idiots freeze their balls off.” Alvar growls. “Let's just go. This pain is unbearable!”

  ________________________________________________________

  By the time he downs his third drink, color has quickly returned to Alvars fingers, all of which he can now move easily. Unfortunately, they are permanently numb. Going forward, he’s going to have to be extra careful not to destroy his hands when he [Smiths].

  “Seems like you’ve warmed up. You don’t even look that tired.”

  Alvar moves his gaze to a cat. Well, a [Shifter] of all things. An odd class, one he’d only ever heard about. “Warmed, yes, but I’m still tired.” He taps his horn, “I’d be passed out like those two if I wasn’t a bit drunk right now.”

  Quasi glances to the bar where nearly naked Boriss and Gunnar are passed out with a dozen empty horns around them. Next to them is a drunk Cillian, who’d been the one to challenge the idiots to a drinking contest- all while Anna,Yuto and everyone else in the building watched the one-sided slaughter.

  “So,” Quasi shifts the conversation. “I don’t suppose I can ask a favor from you?”

  “I ain’t smithing for a week once I’m done with the axes.” Alvar says immediately. “If you’ve got orders, they’re going to have to wait.”

  “That’s actually perfect!” The cat's tail swishes. “I have a [Runesmith] on my crew that needs a forge to work on. Can she use yours?”

  “Is she any good?” Alvar asks.

  “Probably. She can produce exceptional equipment.”

  “Most [Runesmiths] can with good materials.” Alvar says. “What’s her level?”

  “Thirty one.”

  Alvar pouts. “That’s a bit low.”

  “She’s not even twenty years old.” Quasi says.

  Alvar raises an eyebrow. “So she’s better than the shits I deal with. Fine, she can work at my forge once the storm clears.”

  “Perfect! I’ll send her to you.” The cat turns around to leave, but pauses. “Do you have any experience with runeing animal parts?”

  “Like hide and bone? A bit, why?”

  “A trade, then. Teach my [Runesmith] some of your skills and I’ll have my [Chief Physician] return some feeling to those fingers of yours.”

  The cat hops off the table and returns to the bar counter.