Freya sulked while eating ice cream.

She’d never had anything like it before. The cold, sweet taste almost made her stop glaring at Nightscythe, but she wouldn’t be won over so easily.

Heilong and K13 had arrived not too long after Infamous Biscuit. Freya still had a few more things she wanted to yell at Nightscythe, but it felt embarrassing to lose her temper in front of all of them. Instead, she stomped off to inspect the damage. As she poked around the rubble, she overheard Heilong suggest to Nightscythe food as a peace offering.

Freya was a bit insulted. But a few minutes later, when the rogue offered her a rare food from his inventory, she accepted. He also extended a promise to help her rebuild her shop.

“I’m really sorry about your shop. I don’t have many coins on me now, but I promise I’ll pay for builders or whatever you need,” Nightscythe said.

And so now, they were on the way to the sawmill at the far end of town. Along the way, many Safka residents offered condolences and asked her what happened. Freya simply replied, “an accident,” which bewildered them more. She was used to the strangeness brought by the game, but the villagers had probably never seen such focused destruction. Whoever rebuilt her shop would probably ask even more questions. The thought gave her a headache.

She finished her ice cream as the last of Safka’s residential houses disappeared. Walking downhill, she finally heard the soft burbling of the sawmill creek. The trees cleared to reveal the small waterwheel and lots of stacked logs. Two men were pointing to different piles of wood and talking.

“Hello Ambros, Dominic,” Freya called out.

Crossing over the small bridge, she came up to the two nearly identical men. They had the same shoulder-length blonde hair with slightly darker scraggily beards. The two were father and son, but Freya struggled to tell the difference between them unless they were together.

“Ah, shaman Evenkey!” one of the men said. “Are you alright? I heard something happened to your shop yesterday!”

“I was out of town, luckily.”

Once she got close enough, Freya determined it was Dominic who spoke. He had an ever so slightly smoother face underneath his beard.

“That’s a relief,” the other man, who must be Ambros, said. “We heard some kind of loud noise even from all the way over here. Didn’t know what it was!”

“Sorry about that,” Freya said, glaring at Nightscythe.

Taking the hint, the rogue said, “Sorry for the scare. It was a misunderstanding that got out of hand.

The two men looked at the player curiously. Ambros asked, “Who is this?”

“Ah, an… associate of mine,” Freya said. “Anyway, I was wondering if I could get a quote on some wood to repair my shop. Also, if a builder passes by, could you direct him to me?”

“Of course, of course,” Ambros said. “You always supply us with lyfants to fireproof our lumber. We will give you our best wood in stock!”

The sawmill owner went over to a desk near the mill’s side and pulled out a piece of paper and charcoal sticks.

“I’m no builder, but I can give you an estimate on how much lumber you’ll need. Are you going to rebuild your entire shop or just a part of it?”

“The far back wall seems to be alright,” Freya said, “But I think everything else needs to be replaced. Including upstairs.”

Ambros nodded and began drawing, “If I remember your area’s lot size right, it’s thirteen by six. Let’s see with that much clearance, a second floor, stairs, minus the back wall…”

He began calculating the wood pieces needed while his son Dominic brought out a folder of records from other building project quotes. The two talked back and forth, pointing at parts of the rough sketch Ambros drew and comparing it to other illustrations he had made before for other buildings.

Finally, they reached an agreement and told Freya the price.

“Twenty gold coins, that’s not too bad,” Freya said.

“Well, the lumber is only a part of the cost. You’ll have to see what a builder wants to charge to rebuild everything. That’s the expensive part,” Dominic said.

“I see,” Freya said, sighing, “How long do you think it will take for a builder to show up here again?”

“Might be a while,” Ambros said. “Since winter is coming soon, they might have already settled into a town for the cold season.”

…

After more reassurances from Nightscythe that he really would pay for the construction, Freya shooed him and the others away so she could concentrate on planning her rebuild. She gathered up the surviving potions, herbs, tools, clothes, and other belongings that fell from the second floor and stored them in her game inventory. Then she rented a room at Safka’s best inn.

On a sheet of parchment, she wrote a list of all the things she needed to do. Rebuilding her stock of vital life-saving potions was her first priority. Next was unrelated to her restoration: writing letters to shaman she knew to encourage them to train game players.

The latter was far more difficult, so she quickly got to work on the first task. Luckily, a lot of her tools had survived the air-bomb destruction. The sturdy pots she always brewed potions in seemed no worse for wear, despite some being crushed by large chunks of debris.

Freya worked throughout the day, making different potions. By the end, a thick mix of smells clung to the room. She had the windows open, but the ventilation wasn’t the same as in her old shop. As she washed her tools and put away the leftover fragrant herbs, the smell dissipated a little. She wasn’t completely done remaking her stocks, but she was happy with the progress. It was a good thing she bought a lot of ingredients in Blue Cliff City since it turned out she needed them sooner than planned. She only needed a few more herbs to finish a few potions. After she made a list of them, she pulled out a fresh piece of parchment.

Tapping her pen on the table she wondered where to begin. I need to send out letters to get more shaman to teach players Meridian Manipulation, but how should I phrase it?

NPCs could not sense a player’s qi potential. Freya had told diviner Houkyu to teach people that did not appear to have talent, but that seemed inefficient. To Freya, players dressed oddly, but only a game player could perceive that.

Is there some other way non-players can identify players?

She looked across the table at the vials she still needed to label. Text boxes of all the potions she made popped up. An idea sprung to her mind.