The blacksmith was named Gorr. At least, that was the name written on the scorched wooden board hanging crookedly in front of his workshop: "Gorr's Smash & Fix". A brutally honest name for a workshop in Bakasa City, where most repairs were indeed done by hitting things until they surrendered and worked again.
Gorr was a half-Orc. His skin was dull moss-green, his arm muscles as thick as Dayat's thighs, and two lower tusks protruded from his lips, giving the impression that he was always angry even when silent.
Right now, he was angry.
"You..." Gorr growled, his eyes narrowing at Dayat and Dola. His right hand gripping the sledgehammer tightened. "You said you have a solution? Or are you just hobos trying to scam me with scrap?"
Dayat swallowed hard. His heart pounded, but he remembered Dola's instruction: Do not look weak.
Dayat stepped forward, entering the hot workshop area. He placed the manifested Adjustable Wrench on Gorr's oil-stained workbench.
CLANG.
The sound of metal hitting metal rang clear. Different from the dull thud of rusty scrap iron Gorr usually heard.
"Not scrap, Boss," Dayat said, keeping his voice as steady as possible. "This is Precision 'Tek'. Found in a vacuum-sealed coffin in Sector Delta. Still pristine. Still virgin."
Gorr put down his hammer. He picked up the Wrench with his giant hand. The object looked tiny in his palm, but its shine couldn't lie. The Chrome Vanadium coating reflected the furnace firelight, clean, without a speck of rust.
"The material..." Gorr mumbled, rubbing the tool's surface with his rough thumb. "Slick. Hard. Harder than wrought iron. What metal is this?"
"Ancient alloy. Rust-proof," Dayat answered quickly. "Try it first, Boss. That water pump is stuck because the bolt is stripped, right?"
Gorr grunted. He walked over to the water pump engine that had been frustrating him all day. There was a large hexagonal bolt whose head was almost round from being forced with dull pliers.
Gorr tried to fit the Wrench.
"Turn the thread, Boss. Adjust it to the bolt head size," Dayat instructed, pointing to the worm gear mechanism in the middle of the tool.
Gorr turned the adjusting thread. The wrench jaws closed in, gripping the damaged bolt head with perfect precision. No gap. No wobble.
"Ooh..." Gorr's eyes widened. "It bites."
"Now turn. No need for rhino strength. Use feeling."
Gorr pulled the wrench handle.
Screeeech...
A rusty sound was heard, but the bolt turned. It opened.
Gorr laughed. A laugh that boomed like a coughing bear.
"HAHA! It opened! Damn forest spirits, I spent all day hitting it, turns out it just needed a tight hug!" Gorr twirled the tool in admiration. "This tool is smart. Can get big, can get small. One tool replaces ten spanners."
"There's one more," Dayat took out the Reversible Screwdriver from his other pocket. "For small screws. Plus and minus tips. Rubber handle, anti-slip, anti-shock."
Gorr snatched the screwdriver. He tried stabbing it into a machine panel screw. Click. Perfect fit. He turned it easily.
Gorr stared at the two tools like a child looking at a new toy on Christmas. In a world where precision technology was extinct and replaced by crude magic, simple ergonomic tools were the ultimate luxury.
Gorr turned to look at Dayat. His gaze changed. From dismissive to business calculation.
"How much?" Gorr asked point-blank.
Behind Dayat, Dola (still in mute wife mode and bowing) squeezed Dayat's left arm gently.
One squeeze. Signal: Bid high.
"100 Silver," Dayat said firmly.
Gorr spat on the floor. "Peh! You're crazy! 100 Silver is the price of a mid-quality steel sword! These are just handyman tools!"
"Handyman tools that will make your work ten times faster, Boss," Dayat retorted, not backing down. "You can fix five machines a day with this. You'll break even in a week. Besides, where else can you find Sector Delta goods this pristine? Other shops only sell rusty iron."
Gorr fell silent. He knew Dayat was right. These tools were an investment.
"50 Silver," Gorr offered.
Dola squeezed Dayat's arm twice quickly. Signal: Still too low. Press again.
"80 Silver. And I'll throw in information on how to maintain it so it never jams for life," Dayat said.
"60 Silver. And I won't report you to the City Guards for carrying Delta contraband," Gorr threatened, his eyes narrowing slyly.
Dayat flinched slightly. The threat was valid. They had no goods permit.
Dola squeezed Dayat's arm three times, long. Signal: Deal. Do not risk legal conflict.
"65 Silver," Dayat decided finally. "To buy medicine for my sick wife."
Gorr grinned, showing his tusks. He reached into his dirty desk drawer, then threw a small leather pouch at Dayat.
Thud. The pouch was heavy. It sounded melodious.
"65 Silver Gears. Take it and leave before I change my mind," Gorr said, already busy again with his new toys, opening every bolt he found in his workshop.
Dayat caught the pouch. He opened it slightly. Inside glistened small gear-shaped silver metal coins. Money. Real money.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Boss," Dayat said, then immediately pulled Dola out of the workshop before Gorr realized how cheap Dayat's capital to make those tools was (just a bit of dizziness and hunger).
Exiting the workshop, Dayat's steps felt light. He felt filthy rich. 65 Silver! Earlier Dola said bread cost only 0.05 Silver. That meant he could buy a thousand loaves of bread!
"Dol, we're rich!" Dayat whispered enthusiastically as they walked away. "You're a genius! That Orc got totally scammed!"
"Correction: It was not a scam, it was a mutually beneficial transaction," Dola's voice sounded low from under her hood. "The utility value of those tools to him far exceeds 65 Silver. However, for us, the production cost was merely 150 calories of Master's energy."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever the economic term is, what matters now is..." Dayat clutched his stomach which growled loudly. "EATING."
They walked through the slum market until they found a busy open-air food stall. A strong smell of grilled meat wafted from there. Not a burnt smell, but a sharp spicy aroma.
Dayat sat on a long wooden bench. Dola sat beside him, keeping her head down.
"Bro! Two portions of grilled meat! The biggest ones! And two drinks!" Dayat shouted with full confidence.
The seller, an old man with one eye covered by a cloth, looked at Dayat suspiciously. "Got money?"
Dayat placed one silver coin on the table. "Keep the change for tip."
The seller's eye shone. "Right away, Boss!"
Shortly after, two large plates of meat skewers the size of a baby's arm and a bowl of thick soup were served in front of them.
Dayat didn't wait. He immediately grabbed the meat skewer. First bite... heaven. The meat was tender, oily, and the seasoning was sweet and spicy.
"Crazy... so good," Dayat mumbled with a full mouth. "What meat is this, Bro?"
"Giant Swamp Rat meat, Boss. Fresh catch from the underground sewers!" the seller answered proudly.
Dayat stopped chewing. He looked at the meat in his hand. Rat? Sewers?
He swallowed hard, then continued eating. "Whatever. It's good." Hunger drastically changed one's hygiene standards.
Dayat pushed the other plate to Dola. "Eat, Dol. You need nutrients for... what's your term? Bio-Synthetic Maintenance?"
Dola opened the bottom of her hood slightly, revealing only her mouth. She took a small piece of meat, then put it in her mouth.
She didn't swallow immediately. She chewed slowly, her eyes blinking as she performed chemical analysis.
[Organic Composition Analysis]
[Protein: 25%. Saturated Fat: 40%. Contaminants: Lead and low-level E. Coli bacteria.]
[Status: Tolerable by synthetic digestive system.]
[Taste: Savory (High Glutamate).]
Dola swallowed. "Texture is acceptable," she commented flatly.
Dayat smiled seeing Dola eat. There was something soothing about seeing this "machine" doing human activities.
"After this, we find a place to sleep," Dayat said after cleaning his plate. "I don't want to sleep on the streets again."
However, finding an inn turned out to be harder than buying rat skewers.
They visited three decent-looking inns (clean and had doors). But all three rejected them.
The reason was the same: Identity.
"Where is your City Entry Permit? Where is your Citizen ID Card?" the first inn receptionist asked.
"Don't have one, Sir. We just arrived," Dayat answered.
"Then no can do. Guild regulations. If there's a raid, I get fined," the door slammed in Dayat's face.
The same thing happened at the second and third inns. Without ID, Dayat's silver money was useless in legal places.
"Dammit," Dayat cursed, kicking a used can on the street. "Got money but still treated like hobos."
"Regulation Analysis," Dola said. "Bakasa City enforces strict population control to prevent spies or intruders. Places that accept guests without ID exist only in one location."
"Where?"
"Black Zone. The Slums Deep Dive."
Dola pointed toward the darker part of the city, where the smoke was thicker and buildings were denser, almost sticking to one another.
"There is no official law there. Only the law of landlords and local gangs. Money is the only valid ID."
Dayat sighed. "Fine. Better than sleeping on a store porch."
They walked deeper into the slum area. The atmosphere changed drastically. If the market earlier was busy and lively, this area was grim and threatening. People here stared with empty eyes or predatory gazes.
They finally found a leaning building with a signboard "The Sleeping Rat".
Dayat entered. Behind a reception desk full of knife scratches sat a wrinkled old woman smoking a pipe.
"Room," Dayat said, placing two silver coins on the table. "No questions asked."
The old woman glanced at the silver coins, then at Dola covered in the cloak. She grinned, revealing gold teeth.
"Third floor. The very end. Don't be noisy. If anyone dies, dump the body in the back river, not in the hallway."
She threw a large rusty iron key to Dayat.
Dayat caught the key. "Thanks, Grandma."
They climbed the wooden stairs which creaked badly with every step. The third-floor hallway was dark, lit only by one dying mana lamp. The smell of mold and urine stung the nose.
Dayat opened their room door.
The room was cramped. There was only one thin straw mattress on the floor, one small three-legged table, and a window boarded up with wood. The walls were made of thin plywood full of holes.
Dayat could hear sounds from the next room. People arguing, bottles breaking, and sounds of... very loud marital activities.
"Zero percent privacy," Dayat commented, closing the door and locking it. He even slid the table to block the door.
Dola opened her tarp cloak. She shook out her silver hair that had been trapped all day. Her body light illuminated the gloomy room.
"Security Analysis," Dola reported. "Door fragile. Window easily breached. Area crime rate: Very High. I must remain in Standby Mode Level 2 all night."
Dayat dropped himself onto the straw mattress. Dust flew up.
"Whatever you say, Dol. I'm so tired. Stomach full, heart happy, even if sleeping in a rat hole."
Dayat patted the empty space on the mattress.
"Come here. Sit. We need to count money and plan for tomorrow."
Dola sat beside Dayat. In that cramped room, Dola's presence felt very prominent. She was too clean, too beautiful for this slum. The contrast made Dayat realize how dangerous their position was.
"Dol," Dayat said softly, holding his money pouch. "We have capital. Tomorrow, we can't just sell screwdrivers. We have to find a way to get Ids. And we have to find info about... that."
Dayat pointed to his own eyes, referring to Dola's identity as a machine.
"That poster said the Church hunts technology. We need to know who our enemy is."
"I agree," Dola replied. "Tomorrow, I will attempt to scan local information networks. But tonight..."
Dola looked at Dayat, then at the door blocked by the table.
"Tonight, Master sleep. I will watch the door."
Outside, shouts and breaking glass were heard again. Bakasa at night was a different monster. But at least tonight, Dayat and Dola had a roof, money, and full stomachs.
The first step of conquering this slum city had begun.