Spade Town, in the central region of the Kingdom of Norman.
The blacksmith's sign creaked and swayed in the biting wind, while puffs of heat billowed through a half-open doorway, turning into plumes of white mist in the freezing air.
Rosie pushed open the door, greeted by a blast of hot air laden with coal smoke and heated iron.
The blacksmith shop wasn't large. Racks along the wall were hung with various iron tools—hoes, sickles, spades, fire tongs, and several swords of varying lengths...
The coals in the forge burned bright red. A bare-chested blacksmith was pounding away at a glowing piece of iron, the rhythmic clinking of his hammer filling the room.
Hearing someone enter, he looked up. His eyes swept over Rosie's attire, and he grinned, revealing a row of teeth yellowed by smoke.
“Looking for weapons, young lady?”
“Do you have any good quality swords?” Rosie asked.
The blacksmith put down his hammer, walked over to a rack, and took down a sword hanging in the most prominent spot, offering it with both hands.
“How about this steel sword? Excellent flexibility and toughness—much better than your average iron sword.”
Rosie took the sword and turned it over to inspect it carefully.
It was heavier than her old shortsword, its hilt tightly wrapped in cowhide strips. She casually spun a flourish, feeling the smooth slice of the blade as it cleanly cut through the air.
The sword was roughly a meter long overall, about a hand's length longer than the chipped shortsword at her waist, offering a clear advantage in open terrain.
“How much?” Rosie asked.
The blacksmith rubbed his hands together. “This sword is genuine quality work. I can't let it go for anything less than ninety silver coins.”
Rosie nodded and glanced around the shop again. Her eyes paused on the lower shelf, and she bent down to pick up a round shield.
The shield wasn't big, just over forty centimeters in diameter. It was iron-plated with riveted edges, designed to be either strapped to the arm or held by hand.
She rapped her knuckles against the face of the shield; the sound was solid enough. Tracing her fingers along the rim, she found the craftsmanship decently smooth as well.
“Give me a real price for both the sword and the shield,” Rosie said, looking up at the blacksmith.
After some haggling, they settled on a price: taking into account trade-in credit for Rosie's chipped shortsword and wooden shield, the total came out to one hundred and ten silver coins.
Just then, she noticed a bundle of daggers resting in a wooden barrel in the corner.
Rosie stepped forward, pulled one out, and weighed it in her hand. It was an ordinary iron dagger—sharpened decently enough, but roughly made.
“How much for these daggers?”
“Five silver each, or ten silver for two.”
“That's not a discount at all...” Rosie muttered under her breath.
“Five for twenty silver. I'm buying so many, you've got to give me a bit of a deal.”
“Fine... you've got a deal,” the blacksmith agreed readily.
Rosie picked out five. Along with the sword and shield, the grand total reached one hundred and thirty silver coins.
She pulled out her pouch, placed a glowing gold coin on the table, and counted out thirty silver coins to go with it.
The blacksmith picked up the gold coin glowing with a warm sheen, weighed it in his hand, and after confirming its authenticity, pulled open a drawer and tossed the coins inside with a loud clatter.
“Come again next time, pretty and brave miss!” The blacksmith grinned broadly after taking the money.
“Goodbye, generous Master Blacksmith.”
The wooden door of the smithy clicked shut behind Rosie, sealing the hot scent of metal shavings inside.
After picking up a few more supplies around town, Rosie returned to her rented room at the inn.
Her room was a small cabin tucked into a corner of the inn's backyard.
Pushing open the courtyard gate, a chilly gust blew dry leaves past her feet. A few pieces of laundry hung in the yard, frozen solid into stiff boards.
Rosie went inside and laid out her new purchases in a neat row on the bed.
The sword, the shield, the daggers, leather sheaths, and a small jar of anti-rust grease.
Outside the window, dusk was settling in. The landlady's voice echoed from the yard, urging a helper to hurry up and bring in the bedsheets.
Rosie strapped the leather sheaths to her waist, hung her new sword, and slotted each dagger into place.
Once everything was neatly put away, she stood up and walked toward the inn's main hall.
A piping-hot dinner was waiting for her.
...
The next day.
Beneath the crooked tree in the inn's backyard, Rosie was practicing her sword swings over and over again.
Thrust, chop, parry, deflect—her movements weren't fast, but she strived for perfect form with every single swing.
After practicing for a while, she sheathed her new sword and walked to the other end of the yard. Facing an old wooden board nailed to the tree trunk, she pulled out an iron dagger and weighed it in her palm.
Taking aim, she snapped her wrist, releasing the iron dagger. It tumbled through the air a few times before hitting the trunk with a flat thud and bouncing off into the snow.
Rosie walked over, retrieved it, stepped back into position, and threw it again.
The dagger's rotation in the air was still unstable, bouncing off the tree trunk again upon impact.
She bent down to retrieve it and threw it once more.
Throw, retrieve, throw again.
While taking down the laundry, the landlady glanced at her twice and commented, “Your throwing technique is off. Your wrist is way too stiff.”
The landlady gave Rosie a few casual tips.
Her subsequent throws proved much smoother.
The system notification “Throwing +1” appeared with increasing frequency and regularity.
It made Rosie deeply curious about the landlady's past.
Of course, she didn't slack off on her Swordsmanship practice either.
With no chores or trivial matters to distract her, and no longer having to worry about where her next meal was coming from like back in the royal city, Rosie devoted virtually all her waking hours to practice.
Finally, on a gloomy afternoon five days later, as her dagger planted cleanly into the tree trunk, a notification popped up before her eyes.
【Throwing Level 1: 100/100 → Throwing Level 2, Strength +1】
Rosie looked at the pop-up notification and smirked softly. She had trained the right way.
A Strength boost benefited both melee combat and throwing.
Suddenly, a bright idea flashed in her head.
Did other weapon types work the same way?
If I train with hammers, axes, and staves across the board, just how high can I farm my stat points?
That very afternoon, Rosie hurried off to the blacksmith shop, paid a deposit to rent an iron hammer and a woodcutter's axe, and spent the entire rest of the afternoon swinging them wildly around.
By the time the sun began to set, her arms were so sore she could barely lift them, yet not a single notification for acquiring a skill had popped up.
Refusing to give up, she tried again for half the next day, but still came away empty-handed.
Her attempt to exploit a bug to farm stat points had failed completely.
Rosie had no choice but to give up. Returning the hammer and axe, she abandoned her opportunistic schemes and refocused on practicing Swordsmanship and Throwing.
With a sword for melee and daggers for ranged attacks, the two skills complemented each other nicely.
On occasion, Rosie also practiced boxing to raise her Unarmed skill.
Every now and then, some self-important locals in town wanted to spar with her.
Rosie would readily agree, only to unleash the wild brawl techniques she remembered watching in videos from her past life, knocking her opponent's teeth out within a few moves.
The town's young bachelors who had hoped to show off their fighting skills in front of her were all thrown unceremoniously into the snow.
After a few days, a rumor began circulating through Spade Town: the chestnut-haired female adventurer staying in the inn's backyard was not someone to be messed with.
Two days later, Rosie was practicing her throwing in the courtyard as usual.
A middle-aged man wearing a thick padded cotton coat arrived at the courtyard gate. His face was weathered and flushed red from the wind as he stood there sizing her up.
“I heard you've got some skill?”
Rosie walked over, drew a dagger, twirled it expertly in her hand, and slid it back into her waist sheath. “I get by.”
The middle-aged man nodded and introduced himself, “I am Sir Cooper Lawrence.”
He stepped closer and got straight to the point. “My mine ran into some trouble recently. A cave spider nest breached the shaft, and the workers are too terrified to go down. The mine has been shut down for several days now. I'd like to hire you to help clear out that nest of spiders.”
Rosie looked at him. “Hello, Sir. What kind of price are you offering for this job?”
“One hundred silver coins.”
Lawrence held up a single finger.
“Of course, I'm not asking you to go in alone. Mine guards will go in with you. They know the tunnels and forks, and they can lend a hand. Your job is simply to take the lead in clearing out the spiders.”
Just as Rosie was considering the offer, a translucent panel popped up in front of her.
【Optional Adventure Quest: Eliminate the Cave Spiders】
【Quest Reward: Combat Skill — Severing Strike】
A Combat Skill.
Her heart skipped a beat.
If I can get my hands on this skill, it'll be a massive profit even without any extra pay.
“Deal,” she said, then asked, “When do we leave?”
Seeing her agree so readily, Sir Lawrence's expression visibly relaxed.
“The supply wagon headed for the mine leaves this afternoon. You can travel with me.”
“Sounds good,” Rosie nodded.
After bidding Lawrence farewell, she went back to her room and reorganized her backpack.
The weather was growing colder by the day. Following light snowfall after snowfall, the temperature had dropped significantly compared to when she had first left the royal city.
Town buildings blocked the wind, but out on the road, the gale blowing across the open wilderness bit into exposed skin like a dull knife.
So, Rosie made a point to visit the town's clothing shop.
The shop didn't have much winter clothing, but a wool cloak caught her eye immediately.
The cloak had a generous hood trimmed with windproof fur around the edge, and the hem fell to mid-thigh—warm enough without hindering her mobility.
The shopkeeper asked for twenty silver coins. Rosie tried haggling a bit, but when the owner wouldn't budge, she paid the full price.
She also spotted a pair of sheepskin gloves lined with soft rabbit fur, settling on a price of eight silver coins.
Returning to the inn, she rested for a short while until it was nearly time to leave. She ordered a bowl of vegetable and meat stew with coarse wheat bread in the main hall.
Tender, slow-cooked carrots and onions mixed with thick chunks of cured meat in a rich, savory broth.
She used the bread to wipe the bowl clean, eating every last drop of stew until she felt thoroughly warmed from the inside out.
After finishing her meal, Rosie settled her room bill, shouldered her pack, wrapped herself in her new wool cloak, and headed toward the town entrance.
A heavily loaded horse-drawn wagon was parked at the town entrance. Stacked on the bed were several sacks of radishes, onions, and potatoes, as well as smoked meat wrapped in burlap, with bundles of dry firewood stuffed into the remaining gaps.
Lawrence was standing by the wagon chatting with the driver. Seeing Rosie approach, he waved her over and pointed to a cleared spot at the back of the wagon.
The spot had clearly been cleared out on short notice. Though open to the elements without a roof, it was cushioned with a layer of straw, making it reasonably comfortable to sit on.
“Sorry to make you sit back here.”
Rosie wasn't picky. She placed her backpack by her feet and sat down on the straw.
Lawrence and the driver climbed onto the driver's seat. The driver cracked his whip, and the draft horse let out a huff of white mist before stepping forward, pulling the heavy wagon slowly away from the town entrance.
Fine snowflakes began dusting down from the sky again, scattering lightly across Rosie's new wool cloak.
The wagon rolled slowly along the snow-covered dirt road.
Rosie pulled her hood down low, tucking her chin into the cloak's collar, swaying gently with the movement of the wagon.
The snow fell thicker and denser, until the outline of Spade Town gradually dissolved into a blurry shadow behind them.
Rate on N.U.
