Once, I held a bow; It was a silly endeavour Rio put me through to teach me how to hunt, the man interpreted my doom-speak as some kind of coded message for adventure. I learned a lot from the experience, firstly that I sucked ass at archery. Hundreds of arrows I shot that month, and none were even close to the big ass deer my brother would find trotting through the woods. It was embarrassing, but my brother didn’t laugh nor mock, just gave his encouragement and promised to try again on his next visit.

  That was almost a year ago, so It was likely I’d see him again soon.

  The second thing I learned was that muscles weren’t all that capable of keeping a bowstring taut, you have maybe a few seconds to aim before the fibers in your arms and back have fucked off to nirvana, forcing the shot whether you like it or not. The further you pulled, the worse the tension, until eventually it was easier to let the arrow fly than it was to slacken the draw.

  The third thing I learned was that arrows were fucking deadly things. Even if I didn’t manage to hit the target, I did bury more than a few in the bark of grand oaks that even seasoned labourers struggle to chop through. Whether it hit the intended target or not, something was going to get fucked, and in a place where so many bodies stood, how could a volley do anything but slaughter?

  I grinded away at a soldier fool’s sword; bringing its edge to a point of perfection, or at least until it could cut down to bones. A pile of dulled blades sat next to me as my father worked away at making spears and arrowheads for the villagers. Most of the time that was my job, but I assumed my father wanted me to get some more experience with proper weapons since the creation of my own was so rudely interrupted. I was still a bit peeved by that.

  Fun thing about soldiers though, they have plenty of steel in need of servicing!

  Pretty obvious to point out, but it was an immensely relevant detail for a blacksmith’s apprentice/daughter. I may have never molded proper armour, but I’d beaten the kinks out of pauldrons and greaves, giving me a sense of how they should be treated. I may have only gotten half-way through making a blade, but I’d sharpened so many that when this extermination was finally over, there was no chance I would do something as banal as over-grinding.

  It had been…disturbingly long since the army travelled south and left their soldiers here. Almost a full month. Sure, goblin extermination wasn’t a thing of days but to have received no contact at all? And the goblin sightings just kept increasing. Something was strange, very strange indeed. It led to some tension in the village, the soldiers meandering about for much longer than they’d prefer and plenty of villagers having left for the city to wait out what was increasingly looking like a skirmish.

  A privilege a Smiths family didn’t have.

  But there was plenty of dulled steel in need of a metallurgy’s ministrations, so I got to keep myself distracted at the very least with something interesting alongside the magic. Or my soul.

  The imp rolled its eyes, tired of having me bring up the topic again. I gave it the equivalent of a bitch slap with a flex of will, which was something I can do now! If a bit limited. I can feel some kind of…authority over the imp, it wanes every time I used it but it’s been there ever since it took a bite out of my soul.

  So long as I don't abuse it too much, it came back just as strong as before.

  I wasn’t that angry at the bastard, I was noticeably stronger, though not enough to match Isidro like when it first infused me. Strength was what I wanted at the end of the day right? So long as I got some level of consent of course. The imp just decided to fuck around with my soul without permission, at a time when it didn’t even need to.

  What did I get out of beating Isidro once? A small boost in pride?

  But I was stronger, and I knew more about what the demon was capable of now. Most importantly, it couldn’t do it again, not without my explicit permission. That was interesting, how I was so certain of that I didn't know. Like a law that couldn’t be broken, not even bent, except metaphysical in nature.

  But what other things could it do that I wasn’t aware of?

  Who knows, who knows indeed.

  But I had authority over the demon, and I was stronger. All good things.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The imp pouted at me, and I chuckled, continuing to sharpen the blade and listening to the sound of humming steel. I wanted to learn how to make proper weapons for proper soldiers. Say what one will about being reincarnated as a peasant to in a videogame about the Armageddon, but smithing was fun. Which always managed to make me just a bit chipper despite all my knowledge.

  Knowledge that I’d shared freely, knowledge that nobody heeded.

  It was impressive really, seers did exist in the world and yet…no one believed me. They thought my warnings were some vain attempt at being special. I couldn’t tell them I was a reincarnated bitch and that the world was a video game. Even explaining electricity and the technological advancements it could bring would label me as mad, and I held no interest in discovering how a cheap knock-off of the roman empire treated those it deemed as mentally deficient.

  I could legitimately put myself at risk of execution, so instead I left my warnings and moved on.

  I sighed as I looked over the blade, chipper attitude dimming somewhat at the sheer sensibility of village folks. Weren’t they supposed to be superstitious? A toddler screaming about the end should ring some bells at the very least!

  But no, sensible little fucks they chose to be.

  Maybe I should invest in street preaching in one of the cities, hell, if I didn’t know how large populations acted when confronted with the end then I just might. People were weird and cruel.

  It was suitably sharpened, so I put the weapon of murder to the completed side and grabbed another dulled gladius.

  “That’s impressive, for a child,” said a gruff voice behind me.

  I sighed and turned to see a soldier with his arms crossed standing behind me, a spear resting in the crook of his elbow and leaning off his shoulder. He had dull brown eyes and a roguish grin, wavy hair of black cut off at the shoulder, which was surprisingly long for a soldier. Otherwise he was lean and muscular, just like all the rest.

  Ah fuck, what did this idiot want?

  “Hello sir, can I do anything for you? It’s not advisable to be wandering into random smithies.”

  “So I’ve been told,” the man chuckled. “The name’s Yuur, was just curious on how a girl managed to nab herself an apprenticeship.”

  I flicked my eyes to my father, but he was just hovering, continuing to work on a spear and clearly not planning on saving me from the fate of social interaction.

  Godsdammit.

  “My father is the proprietor, sir Yuur. I am simply continuing the family's legacy.”

  He hummed at that. “Are elves more flexible with their women? That’s strange considering how traditional I’ve heard your kind tends to be.”

  My features darkened, not in the mood for that kind of conversation. “I am perfectly proficient at my craft, sir.”

  “Now, now, no need to get defensive,” Yuur chuckled. “Just making a casual observation.”

  I had the urge to tell him exactly how I felt about his observations, but pissing off a soldier wasn’t exactly a stellar life preserving proposition. So I just remained quiet as I pursed my lips.

  “Damn, I need to get my ears checked, from the rumours I’ve heard about you I assumed you’d be more fiery,” Yuur said.

  I sighed. “With all due respect, I am working, sir.”

  “That you are, that you are.” He nodded. “And doing a surprisingly good job! It’s soothing to know my men's blades aren’t being handled by an amateur.”

  That pissed me off. “I am a child, sir.” I grit out. “And there are women in your retinue.”

  He shrugged. “Most of them are archers.”

  “Still soldiers. Now while I’m sure continued conversation would be lovely, I do have plenty more weapons to deal with.”

  “That you do!” He chirped. “Have fun.”

  With that he turned his back to me and headed out on a jolly trot, I glared at his back until he was out of sight, then turned to glare at my father instead. “Why didn’t you help me?”

  He paused while fitting the spearhead, but didn't turn to me. “The world is filled with people like him, and you’re an elf. I can only protect you for perhaps another two decades, better to teach you how to deal with them in a safe environment then it is to coddle.”

  “He made very inappropriate comments, you’re okay with that?”

  “Of course not,” he huffed. “I wanted to strangle the man where he stood. And if he tried anything that’s exactly what I would’ve done.”

  I scrunched my brow. “You have a hammer and you’d choose to choke him of all things?”

  “What?” Yormir laughed as he finally turned to me with both mirth and confusion plastered over his face. “That’s what you care for? Do you have your priorities straight girl?”

  “They’re plenty straight,” I grumbled.

  “Doesn’t sound like it, what's your mother been filling in that head of yours?”

  Banter was such a fun thing, such an innocent delivery of ribbing and retaliation. I treasured the moments when I could do so with my father. So when the alarms interrupted our conversation, the first thing that came to mind was indignation at having been interrupted again.