"Max level at last..."

Roland blew out a long breath and called up his attribute panel.

[Name: Roland]

[Race: Human]

[Age: 16]

[Occupation: Blacksmith Apprentice]

[Strength: 2.1]

[Agility: 1.4]

[Spirit: 1.2]

[Skills: Lv.MAX Ore Smelting, Lv.MAX Bellows Pulling, Lv.MAX Forging]

"Strength and Agility each up by 0.1? So daily activity raises attributes too—at a crawl."

He skimmed the numbers, then settled on the skill column.

"Forging hit max level, but no job change prompt?"

He thought back over his days at the anvil, frowning.

"Tempering and quenching are folded into Ore Smelting and Forging. Beyond that... I can't think of any skill I've missed."

"Maybe triggering a prompt takes some unknown step besides mastering skills? Forget it..."

No amount of thinking cracked it, so he shelved the question.

"The Heavenly Father's celebration is in half a month. The weapon comes first."

He picked out a somewhat heavier ingot and carried it to an anvil in a quiet corner.

A glance around confirmed no one was watching. He drew a breath, closed his eyes, and ran through the whole forging sequence in his head.

Satisfied nothing was missing, he began.

Bellows, smelting, forging, quenching, tempering, polishing...

Days of training had worn the techniques into instinct.

And with [Humble Apprentice] behind him, all his accumulated experience seemed to crystallize at once. The work flowed.

Five days later, Roland looked at the brand-new iron sword in his hand and managed a tired smile.

"For an ordinary person, going from apprentice drills to independently forging a finished weapon usually takes years."

"With the occupation panel, it took me months. Except..."

He gave the sword a few test swings, and his satisfaction leaked away as he felt it out.

"The quality is nowhere near excellent. By Mr. Hawk's standards, barely qualified..."

"Forging at this level probably can't guarantee I pass the examination."

"But beyond making more finished pieces and stacking experience, I don't see much room to improve..."

By now Roland had the measure of Hawk's character.

Stubborn. Obsessive.

On the surface the old blacksmith looked after him, and they got along well.

But Roland knew that if he fell short at the examination, Hawk would turn him out of the estate without a second thought.

The old master already had several skilled apprentices. One more, one less—it made no difference to him.

He was still mulling it over when golden text swept across his vision.

[Upon inspection, Host has successfully forged a qualified iron sword. You qualify for the upper occupation: Blacksmith]

[Requirements: Strength 4, Agility 2, three max-level forging-related skills, forge 1/10 qualified weapons]

[Host does not meet the requirements]

"It actually triggered!"

The thrill lasted until he read the requirements.

"Forging ten weapons is fine, but Strength 4 and Agility 2... that's a long way from where I am."

"On daily activity alone, that's months. If I want attributes fast, occupations are the only lever..."

"Still—whatever trait Blacksmith grants, it's bound to involve forging. If I can advance, the examination spot two months from now should be locked in."

His spirits recovered, and after a short rest he took up another ingot.

More than half a month remained before the Heavenly Father's birthday. He didn't intend to waste it.

Hawk had given him free run of the ingots, and he wasn't going to stand on ceremony.

Besides, Baron Forsling's people had paid for all this ore. Spending a noble's money cost Roland no sleep at all.

"And every piece counts toward the Blacksmith requirement anyway..."

The hammer came down again.

Time flew, and the celebration arrived.

Even before the day itself, the trainee boys were turned out of the estate.

"Stop. What's that in your arms?"

"Mr. Hawk's instructions..."

Roland watched the gate guard's face go from stern to respectful, and once again felt exactly what a blacksmith was worth in this era.

Sean, beside him, paid the exchange no mind. The moment the guard nodded them through, he seized Roland's arm and barreled out the gate.

"Did you hear what Mr. Hawk said?"

Sean flailed his arms.

"When we come back there's some damned literacy test! Anyone who fails starts over from scratch!"

He heaved a theatrical sigh.

"Good thing I've already decided to be a soldier, buddy. You know I've hated those squiggly letters since I was a kid!"

Roland stumbled along in his grip.

"But if you do become an apprentice—reading blueprints, signing contracts, keeping accounts—none of it works without letters..."

His voice trailed off.

As a child, the body's original owner had picked up only everyday listening, speaking, and a little reading and writing at a church-funded parish school.

That thin foundation clearly wouldn't meet the standard.

And Roland saw no way around it.

In the Golden Valley Kingdom, a commoner who wanted letters either paid dearly for a private tutor or joined the church and learned prayers at a priest's knee.

Neither was open to him right now.

"And another thing..."

Oblivious to his friend's worries, Sean took the heavy bundle from Roland's hands and kept rattling on.

"Past years, the baron's banquet ran at least seven days. Why only three this year? It even ate into our holiday..."

"Because he's out of money."

Roland answered flatly, mood heavy.

Baron Forsling's taste for luxury and loose spending was common knowledge across Blackwater Territory.

If anything could make that noble shorten his own banquet, it was an empty purse.

"Which means the monsters in the Black Fir Forest are worse trouble than I thought..."

He shook his head, set the thought aside, and followed the shaded path.

Where the last of the tree shadow broke, the view opened wide.

It was his first step beyond the estate since transmigrating.

Curious and a little on edge, Roland studied the village ahead.

With the celebration close, the whole place buzzed.

Villagers had tied strips of dyed linen beneath the eaves of their oak houses; when the wind swept through, they rippled like the enchanted waterfalls of folk tales.

Three bards in feathered hats crowded beneath a tavern sign, tuning their lutes, the strings tangling with the greasy smell of roast goose drifting down the street.

In the church square, a traveling troupe had raised a gaudy tent strung with bells. A performer in a raven-feather mask sent silver sparks bursting from his fingertips, drawing shrieks of delight from girls in flower crowns.

"Lively, all right..."

Roland's gaze drifted along the laughing street while he matched buildings to memory.

"That's the tavern. The inn beside it. Near the river... that should be the mill..."

Past the mill's turning windmill, his eyes came to rest on a large, busy shop sprawled over a wide lot.

"That'll be the blacksmith shop Marco's father runs. Business is booming..."

Familiar sights kept stirring the original owner's memories, and for a moment Roland felt as though a whole lifetime lay between him and them.

"Hey! Buddy!"

Sean's shout cut through the tangle.

Roland turned to find his burly friend hefting the hemp-wrapped bundle.

"What is this thing, anyway? It's heavy!"

"I'll tell you at your house."

Inside were the tools Roland had forged with his own hands.

To avoid attention, he had always worked alone in the smithy's most remote corner. Even Sean, closest of all, hadn't heard a word.

Hawk had hinted he could use the ingots, but Roland knew that with things like this, the fewer who knew, the better.

He had no wish to invite trouble through carelessness.

Sean took the secrecy in stride, grumbling a little and no more.

They squeezed through the crowded streets and arrived at a house.

They were reaching for the door when a furious argument spilled out from inside.

"Peyton, I swear this is the last time! Lend me a little more, and when the time comes..."

"Stop dreaming, Sam! Have you forgotten what happened to Ruben? That kind of thing isn't for people like you and me! Besides, what you've got is only an incomplete fragment!"

"Damn it, stop throwing Ruben in my face, Peyton! I'm not like that idiot!"

"What's different? You're both..."