“How did you get so much money?”

“Oh, some people owed me.”

The sawmill owner Ambros raised his scraggly eyebrows. His son, Dominic, had a similar expression of surprise. Freya kept a poker expression. Despite her irritation for Nightscythe, she still felt a bit bad about taking his full share of the dungeon’s spoils. She also had a feeling that Heilong hadn’t split the money equally in the first place. The marksman had been put in charge of estimating the value of the extra items the King gave them as well as dropped items. Both she and Infamous Biscuit took many of the items in exchange for more money than Freya expected them to be worth.

“Well, we have the lumber you’ll need for your shaman shop. But unfortunately, a builder still hasn’t passed through here,” Ambros informed Freya.

Freya’s shoulders slumped. She expected as much, it had only been a few days since she was last here, but she wanted her shop back as soon as possible. Now that she had the money, she wished her new shop would just appear.

“We’ll let you know as soon as we hear of one,” Dominic reassured. He frowned at Freya’s downcast demeanor, “I’m sorry we can’t do much more.”

“No, no, it’s not your fault. Thank you.”

She tried to put on her best smile and straightened herself up. Thanking the sawmill workers again, she began to walk back to town. After the whirlwind of events the last few days, Freya was impatient to do something.

Many of Safka’s residents had offered her help in rebuilding, but Freya was wary of starting without the oversight of a professional builder. Unlike ordinary residential houses, a shaman’s workshop required better ventilation and more temperature control. This meant more vents and thicker walls, but Freya didn’t know the details. How many vents? How should they be laid out? How thick should the storeroom walls be to prevent damaging temperatures?

She also wanted to ask a builder if it was possible to create a greenhouse. It was the only regret she had for not taking a well-paying shaman position in a big city. She deeply envied the magnificent glass greenhouses of White City, Kursik, and her shaman master’s in Yinza. If she had a greenhouse she could grow whatever herbs she needed all year long.

“Freya, you’re back.”

The familiar feminine voice broke her out of her greenhouse daydream.

“Yina! It’s good to see you.”

The dressmaker smiled back. She held a straw basket in one arm and a sizeable cloth-wrapped package in the other. Despite the burdensome objects, she still maintained a perfect poise in her high heels.

“How was your latest adventure?”

Freya shrugged, “I got the money I needed to rebuild my shop.”

“But?”

“It’s a long story.”

Yina beckoned with a nod of her head, “Come have some tea at my place.”

~~~~

Click-clack. Click-clack.

As Freya retold the events of the story dungeon, Yina organized the items she had picked up with her high-heels still on. Her straw bag contained bread and fruit, while the wrapped parcel included several different rolls of fabric.

Yina ran her hands over her new textiles and changed the spot she wanted to store them several times until Freya finished her story.

“I wouldn’t mind adventuring with Hamra and Scrimmancer again, but I can’t help but think about other issues. I promised Aziza I wouldn’t let anyone else go through what she did, but I don’t know what I can do. I can try to tell other shamans about the game and how picking up a Player Card is not a curse, but then there’s the demoniclast problem, ” Freya said, slumping further into Yina’s cushy chair.

Suddenly Yina stood in front of her, “Let me see your hands.”

Freya held out her hands. Yina turned them over and examined them with the same critical eye as she had her new fabric.

“Your knuckles didn’t get ruined this time.”

“I didn’t have to punch metal armor.”

Yina frowned, “But you have scars on your palms from that demoniclast’s sword.”

“Infamous Biscuit said they’re completely healed health-wise; the white lines will go away on their own eventually.”

Rotating her hand and flexing her fingers, Yina said, “Hands are precious. You should protect them properly. I wish I could make gloves for you, but I’m not sure how best to do it. How do other people in your game profession protect their hands?”

Freya blinked, “I don’t know. I’ve never met another one.”

Yina clucked her tongue and let go of her hands.

“Maybe I should try to learn from one,” Freya said sheepishly. It would be interesting to see what a higher-level martial artist looked like. Could they fight against someone with a sword? What other skills were easy for martial artists to learn?

I wish there were native martial artists like there are native necromancers, Freya thought to herself. The closest thing would be a demoniclast. They usually fight with swords, but I heard there’s a hand-to-hand combat section in their apprentice trials.

Suddenly a bad idea came to her mind. Shifting in her seat, Freya immediately dismissed the thought. It would be impossible.

Beep!

She looked up at the private message.

[Nightscythe: Were you able to pay for your shop with that gold?]

Freya sighed. She hated typing responses, but she did appreciate the rogue’s concern. Although, it was his fault that she needed to rebuild her shaman shop in the first place. Then she remembered a small detail Infamous Biscuit mentioned when he recounted the events that led up to her shop’s destruction. He said rogue’s had the ability to change their stats they displayed. Could that skill allow them to change their identity entirely?

Rubbing her temples, she thought, Maybe my bad idea is possible?