The weather was cloudy the next day.

That was the term locals used, at least, when the facets above calmed from a deadly scorch to a more regular hot. The sky was still brighter than midsummer in Fellwater, but the weather was surprisingly bearable. The upper levels of Shivenar’s noble streets had plenty of shade to hide underneath, and Vivi could always coat herself with a light layer of ether if the air got too hot.

As long as Lucius agreed to shape some ether for her, that was. He had been in a bad mood lately.

“Vivi, I can’t believe you’re thinking of skipping a goddamned runesmithing competition,” Lucius said. He floated beside her in the open street and spoke out loud, uncaring of the attention and glances his presence drew in. “We’ve worked so hard to sell runeswords, and now that there’s a chance to break into the actual big markets, you’re skipping it?”

“I’m still thinking about it…” Vivi said with a sigh.

The city grew richer as Vivi ascended up the streets. She wore her dress, and she’d visited a bathhouse in the morning. Wearing the dress felt like a chore, but a necessary one if she wanted to be let into the upper levels. She had yet to find a store that sold fancy raincoats.

“Why do you need to think about it?” Lucius asked. “You’ve been a runesmith for fifteen years! Your grandpa would have entered without hesitation! This isn’t just an opportunity, it’s—”

“This is where the competition is being held, right?” Vivi asked.

Ahead, the streets opened up, revealing a large box-like street. Glancing in, the sight reminded Vivi of a boss’s arena. Open spaces in the underground never meant good.

It’s just a market square… Vivi told herself. We’re in a city. Not a dungeon. There’s nothing to worry about.

Exquisite storefronts surrounded the square—jewelleries, clothing stores, and of course, runesmithing stores. The square itself was more rectangular, paved with patterned bricks. The ground was flattened, but the square was separated with stairs into three ascending levels.

Most of the space was empty, and stalls were being disassembled. Preparations for the runesmithing competition were already underway. To the left was a giant billboard depicting a great rune of the three power runes, inoperational of course, as well as a list of names. Lucius quickly started translating the contents when he saw Vivi looking at it.

It read, “Low split contestants:

Isaac Wheelbarrow – Wheelbarrow Family Smithy

Pent Whans – The Ten Runes Store

Hermin Hadjar – Sword Vineyard…”

More than fifty names continued below. Low split, whatever that meant, had a huge number of contestants from various smithies. Vivi didn’t recognize any of the names.

“There we are!” an excited passerby was saying a short distance from Vivi. The speaker was a girl, around ten years old, wearing a white floral dress, though the white was losing its color. Her hair was tied to a bun with a flower.

The girl stood with her parents. A mother in a similar dress. Neither dress looked expensive, but the two looked decent enough that they weren’t kicked out.

The dad, however, was dressed straight from the smithy. He wore a rough tunic and a black bandana over his forehead, and his fingers were stained dark. A cosmetic strength rune was embroidered into his bandana with white string. The family watched the billboard with grins.

The girl spotted Lucius fluttering besides Vivi, and suddenly, her attention shifted. “Mom, look!” she called. “A flying cat!”

“Geh,” Lucius said. He held his paws in a defensive stance.

The girl tried pulling her mom. When she didn’t move, she let go of the hand and ran to Vivi on her own. “Miss, is that your cat? It’s flying!”

“I’m not a cat,” Lucius said. “I am a spirit of the demigods, and an assistant runesmith, thank you very much.”

The girl’s mouth hung wide open. “The flying cat can speak!”

“Fenly!” the mother yelled, running to grab her hand. She bowed. “I’m so sorry. She’s not used to the upper levels yet.” She turned to the girl. “What did we agree about running off?”

“But, mom, it’s a flying cat!”

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Vivi laughed awkwardly. “It’s fine. Lucius, you don’t need to scowl at them.”

“May I ask…” the mother said. “Is that a skill?”

“I am a spirit of the demigods, you hag!” Lucius said. “I am not a skill, and I’m not a flying cat!”

“My apologies!” the woman said, bowing.

“You are technically a flying cat, Lucius,” Vivi said.

He crossed his paws, snorted, then looked away.

“Are you entering the runesmithing competition?” Vivi asked.

“I am,” the husband said. He walked to the conversation with a wide grin. “It’s my first year as an independent runesmith. It’s a shame to have to start in low-split, but I plan on scoring a top three to move up next year. Frewell Ainhard, family smithy. Remember the name.”

Vivi glanced at the billboards. “What exactly is low split?” And before the man would make fun of her cluelessness, she added, “I’m new as well. I came to the city a few weeks ago.”

“The competition is separated into three groups,” Frewell said. “Low split, middle split, and top split. The lowest ranking runesmiths start at the bottom. Those who succeed will move up to the higher splits. A top five finish in low split will bump you up to middle split next year, replacing the five worst finishes of middle split.”

“Oh,” Vivi said. “So even if you win the low split this year, you can’t actually win the competition?”

“It’s technically possible,” Frewell said. “The winning sword of low split will be moved up to middle split to compete against higher swords. Only the winner. The same goes for the winner of middle split, moving up to top split. A low split sword can technically move all the way up to top split if it wins both the low split and the middle split rankings. But that hasn’t happened in decades.”

I’d be starting from low split as well, Vivi thought. That means, if I fail to craft a sword, I won’t stand out.

“We really should enter,” Lucius said. “Even a two-runed sword of our making is easily competitive against the best swords from these idiots.”

Vivi took a deep breath, thinking. Then she asked, “Are registrations still open?”

Frewell raised his eyebrows. “The office is open for two hours, I believe. Are you trying to convince someone to show up as well?”

“I started a smithy around a week ago,” Vivi said. “The Lost Raindrop. I’d be starting from low split with you.”

Suddenly, the man’s eager smile turned confused. He observed Vivi with sharp eyes. Then he laughed. “A girl in a dress, strolling around with a flying cat. You, a runesmith?”

“Yes,” Vivi said. “I’m quite decent at making swords.”

Frewell snorted. The joke wasn’t as funny the second time. “Do you even know what runes look like?”

Vivi thought of some quippy joke, but she couldn’t bother saying anything. She just sighed. These prejudices against her smithy were growing tiring. Just because she wasn’t a strong dwarf with a big lineage, and just because her smithy was in the Lowmoor district, her years of practice were somehow worth less than her peers’.

“Lucius, where’s this office?” she asked. “Let’s sign up to this thing.”

Frewell was scowling at her. His daughter looked confused, and the mother gave Vivi an apologetic look.

“The office is right there,” Frewell said, pointing at a small hut in the corner of the square. “Just remember, low split’s three worst smithies tend to get egged.”

“Frewell, please,” his wife said. “She’s trying her best.”

Vivi wanted to roll her eyes. She turned toward the office. On her way out, Lucius said, “We’ll meet in the fields, you rat face.”

Vivi was shaking her head, but she had a funny smile on her face. Even though I’m not cursed anymore, people still find a way to dislike me.

“Is that a problem?” Lucius asked. “As long as we stand at the top, does it matter that people don’t like us?”

I suppose not, Vivi thought.

She stepped into the registration office in the corner of the square. The building reminded her of Zand’s box-like stalls, though this one was nicer and not protected with steel bars.

She stepped into a comfy waiting room. Unlike in Zand, this place actually had cushioned chairs and a coffee table. Each chair was empty, and the coffee wasn’t filled.

At the end of the room were three receptionist’s desk. Two were closed. The one in the middle was occupied by a spectacled woman. She was distracted by paperwork. Dark freckles covered her whole face.

Vivi stepped closer, and the woman flinched and hastily pushed aside her paperwork. “Oh, sit down.”

“I’m here to register for the competition,” Vivi said. “Am I in the right place?”

“Yes, and just in time,” the woman said with a smile. “We were just about to close the entries. What would your name be, Miss, and who is the smith that will be competing for you?”

“Vivian Runeblessed. From the Lost Raindrop smithy. I’m the runesmith.”

The woman paused, surprised. Vivi had the urge to sigh. This really is getting tiring…

This time, the receptionist didn’t insult Vivi. “The Lost Raindrop,” she said. “I haven’t heard of that one. I don’t believe that smithy is listed…” She picked up some sort of paper and checked through it.

“I opened my smithy a week ago,” Vivi said. “In the Lowmoor district. The business should be officially registered.”

“I see,” the woman said. “Our lists may be outdated, then. Wait one moment, please.”

She left her desk and headed to the back. Vivi waited idly for a few minutes. The few became ten, then fifteen with no sign of the woman, until twenty minutes later, she came back.

“Ahm, apologies for the wait,” she said with a bow. “We have confirmed the legitimacy of your business. Vivian Runeblessed of The Lost Raindrop is eligible to join the competition. Let’s get you registered quickly; we’re about to close. Are you familiar with the rules?”

“Somewhat,” Vivi lied.

The woman nodded. “It’s nothing complex. As long as you don’t try to cheat, or gain outside assistance, a good working spirit will take you far. Have you brought your base sword to us? It will need to be verified.”

“I won’t need a base sword,” Vivi said.

“You… won’t need a base sword?” the woman asked, confused.

“I’ll be making my own,” Vivi said. “I’m allowed to bring my own smithing equipment to the competition, right?”

“You may bring any facilities you can fit in your allocated space, Miss,” the woman said. “Although, I cannot imagine how you intend to compete without a base sword. Even if you are making your own, you are allowed to make a base sword before the competition.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Vivi said. “I have my methods.”

“You will start without a base sword, then.”

“Yes.”

The woman gave her a look. “Very well. Please fill this quick form, and we will meet you in the square tomorrow morning.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep