Jacob reached out to the man with his little hand as he spoke, "Deal. The favor sounds like a fair trade, but why the 100 gold as well?"
Carlos shook the young man's hand, then placed a hefty sack in it. It caused Jacob's arm to drop before he was able to get used to the weight.
"Because, Jacob, it is rare to meet a young enchanted such as yourself, and I want you to remember me when you . . . make it big."
The last bit of his sentence caused him to sweat a bit as his instincts warned him of danger, the second warning from the system, because he had almost talked about the awakening process again.
Jacob nodded once and adjusted his grip on his new sack of gold and hooked the drawstring over his wrist for safety.
He reached for his belt with his free hand and started to unbuckle it. "All right, then. I will get this off, and you can have the whole thing."
Carlos's fingers twitched before he caught himself. "Hold up," he said, stepping closer. "I only need the sword. Keep the belt. A man should not walk around without one."
Jacob paused, then gave a small shrug and worked the blade free from the scabbard. The metal slid out with a soft rasp. He held it out, flat across both palms, offering it like something ceremonial. Then, he worked on removing the scabbard from his belt.
Meanwhile, Carlos took the sword with both hands, more from habit than respect, then let his fingers settle naturally around the grip. The weapon seemed to meld with his hand as it felt like it became a part of his own body, and the enchantment seeped into his bones. It was a subtle resonance rather than a burn, making its presence undeniably known.
Combat Insight triggered.
Equipped item is enhancing bearer.
Effect summary:
Edge stability increased. Structural resilience increased. Impact distribution optimized.
Additional function detected: Minor trajectory correction toward locked target.
He closed his eyes and let the feel of it sink in. The sword had a reassuring heft, resting in his palm with a sturdy, unpretentious weight, exactly where it should be for a cut or a hook. When he focused, he could sense the self-mending thread floating just under the surface of the steel, ready to pull small damage flat before it ever turned into a true weakness.
Durability projection updated.
Estimated failure threshold: Significantly above standard for material class.
Recommended use: Primary weapon suitable for prolonged engagements.
Carlos opened his eyes again and fought the urge to test the edge on the nearest wall. The boy watched him with open curiosity, the sack of gold hanging from his wrist, completely unaware of how much trouble a weapon like this would cause in the right circles.
Carlos lowered the blade, gave it one last measuring look, and nodded.
"Thank you, Jacob," he said. "You have just made my week a great deal more interesting."
He slid the sword back into its scabbard in one smooth motion and fastened it at his hip. The fit felt almost unnaturally right, which only confirmed what Appraisal had already told him. He offered Jacob a short, genuine grin.
"If anyone asks, tell them Carlos Weaver keeps his word," he said. "I will be around for a while. You have that favor."
With that, he turned and headed back toward the square, pace already lengthening. His thoughts ran ahead of his boots. Supplies first. Rope, oil, fresh rations. Then gather the team and drag them away from the ale before they wasted the evening arguing about who got the first swing.
An F-ranked gate on the north side, a brand new dungeon, and a self-mending, self-seeking blade in his hand. That boss at the bottom would make a fine test. He had half a mind to leave the team and go at it alone.
'If only traps and poisons were not still a problem for even the low rank gates . . .'
Jacob watched him go until Carlos vanished back into the flow of people near the well.
The weight of the gold tugged at his wrist, solid and real. He shifted the sack into his palm and tied it off more securely before tucking it into his satchel. One hundred coins solved many of the smaller problems that had been chewing at him, but the favor sat larger in his mind.
A promise from a man like that could buy things no merchant would ever list on a stall. Protection. Monster parts. Dungeon stone. Maybe one day, even help move something that should not be seen.
He turned back toward Old Thom's lane, thoughts drifting between salted fields, strange grasses, and the distant shape of a dungeon where his sword would soon draw blood.
By the time he reached the warped fence that marked the sorcerer's crooked little yard, he already had three different ways he might spend that favor and no clear idea which one would hurt the least.
He drew a deep breath as he approached the door. It just swung open on its own, and he remembered last time that old Thom seemed to know when his father would show up. There were no telephones in this village, after all.
He felt the spatial disturbance more clearly than the last when he crossed the threshold, but he still could not pinpoint how it was warping space.
Old Thom stood there with his usual collection of layers and tatters, gray hair sticking out in several directions, eyes sharper than they had any right to be for a man that age.
"You are here for information," Thom said, as if Jacob had already given a long speech. "Come in, boy, no point freezing your nose off while you pretend you came to be polite."
Heat crawled up Jacob's neck. He stepped inside anyway. "I was going to say hello first," he muttered.
"You just did," Thom said, closing the door. "Now say the part you crossed town for."
Jacob drew himself up a little. "I want to know if there is a grass or bush or something similar that sheds salt," he said. "Something that can grow in bad soil, drink what it should not, and push the salt out onto its leaves or stems."
Thom's answer came almost at once. "There is," he said. "Nasty little bush grass that tastes worse than it looks. Only grows in swamp-type F rank gates."
He smiled then, wide and knowing. "Tell me, Jacob. Do you happen to know what type of F rank gate just opened up north of our little village?"