Camp was abuzz with movement. Wherever I turned someone in our small cohort was busy at work. Sandbags were being redistributed, walls reinforced, gates locked shut. We didn’t need the entire compound for ourselves. It was way too big for our limited number. All we needed was the nucleus and one offshoot with a gate. Our leadership was strong enough to realize this and had ordered the people to make the necessary alterations.

  Those without the necessary physique to carry heavy sandbags were busy hauling up ropes into the watchtowers, should we be ever be cut off from our escape route to the gate. I liked that. Backup plans were something you should always have, Murphy’s law and all. If at all possible, having backup plans for your backup plans was also a good policy.

  I sauntered past it all with a wide smile on my face. My ribs still ached, but I healed quick. The dull weight of it would be gone in a day or two at most, still, I didn’t dare tempt fate by training. This time was for rest—although I very much wanted to challenge Nyla to a spar.

  Despite having fought more blessed than most, more practice would never hurt. Especially since I had a habit of running into human-like monsters. I wondered what other people usually fought if not humanoids. It was bound to be the most numerous type of creature in both worlds, though I distinctly remembered Sera telling me that dragons exist. Part of me wanted to see one, another much larger part, dreaded coming face to face with one. I’d probably meet one at one point or another.

  I had an angry deity coming after me. Circumstances demanded I grow quick—no matter the cost. And I couldn’t think of a single more legendary deed than slaying a dragon. There were more tales than I could ever imagine about feats like it spread across Earth. They were so intertwined with our world that they’d become part of our culture, our religion, or stories.

  I shook my head. Slaying dragons was for the future me. So was eluding the angry shoemaker. I had other more pressing matters.

  My number one priority at this point was to repair the sword. I needed options for close quarters combat, and with the scourge growing thicker I couldn’t always depend on Silent scream. Nor could I keep relying on my blessing to make needles. In the future it could become a reliable option, but as things stood it was far too costly. A backup plan for my backup plan at best. No, I needed the sword. Sturdy and reliable, a long reach and thick blade for nasty wounds.

  It was a shame it didn’t come with a stronger embroidery. Don’t get me wrong, Robust was handy, but it left a lot to be desired. More durable than regular swords. I hadn’t seen a less exciting description since becoming blessed. Granted, I did steal the sword from a second rate cultist.

  I looked around to confirm that I was alone. I could hear the others’ muffled shouts, but I couldn’t see any of them. I headed into the closest tent and zipped the tarp door shut behind me. It looked like most other tents. A few bunks here and there, upturned cupboards. It looked like someone had faked a burglary. Or they had just been that desperate to leave. Once more I felt the implication of their desperation tangle my guts into a knot. There’s no telling if they were even Blessed. Nyla didn’t tell me what type of force they were. Maybe they were just too weak to stay.

  I swallowed and forced myself to focus on the task at hand. It took me a few minutes to clear the center of the tent from scattered belongings. I sat down crosslegged and summoned the Old sword, laying the scabbard on my legs and lifting the blade to the light. The blade had dulled and bore cracks of strenuous use. If the weapon could repair itself like my coat then things would be so much easier. I placed the sword beside the scabbard on my legs and ran a finger along the steel, from the handguard to the tip.

  Ruin was out of the question, I didn’t have any accolades to spare. I clicked my tongue. If I could see the weave of threads inside the accolade, then the process would be a simple task.

  “Calm yourself,” I said aloud.

  I had done this before. I didn’t have the mask when I forged Jackpot. All I had then was desperation for fuel and a gambling mind. Since then I’d learned a lot. I had stood inside the constellation of knots riddling a divine beings masterpiece. I could do this. Piece of cake.

  The only risk was that I could make a tiny mistake and ruin the accolade forever. No biggie.

  I closed my eyes and let myself get lost in the sensation of touch. First I felt nothing but the cold of the steel. The cracked metal. The dented blade. The chipped edge. In old stories people often spoke of swords as they would a lover. I’d always thought it was stupid. Yet now that I sat in a dark room, caressing my weapon, I could see the reason for the saying.

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  A slight tingle tickled my fingertip, electric and familiar. Magic.

  I opened my eyes. The nucleus was right there, in the middle of the blade. Wisps of power emanated from it and throughout the accolade. I followed the trails and made mental note of each knot in my mind.

  It was by pure coincidence that I realized that the scabbard was part of the accolade, and shared its embroidery. I had been a fool not to notice. The scabbard came and went with the blade as I summoned and unsummoned it. Of course they were both just pieces of the same accolade.

  The scabbard didn’t have as many knots as the sword. Whoever had grown the weapons acclaim probably didn’t stop to consider the scabbard all that much. I couldn’t imagine a craftsman making such a simple mistake.

  I plucked a tiny blue thread from the veil and made it harden into a needle, then tied more threads to it. All blue. The red threads were violent, volatile, and powerful. But I didn’t need violence and power for this task. I needed stability. Something in line with the original accolade’s intent.

  I pierced my thread through the scabbard’s knot and sewed a criss cross pattern to emulate the wisps connecting the nucleus to the nodes. I made two knots of my own. One near the locket of the scabbard, one at the tip. Then came the hard part.

  I creased my brow and leaned in close, filling each move of the needle with my intent. Sewing was the practice of fusing two different things into one. Embroidery was to embellish. Yet I knew there was more to it than just making something look pretty. Embroideries were used to show fealty, culture, belief. Just like how embroideries of dragons symbolized power, embroideries flowers symbolized elegance.

  While sewing was used to fuse different fabrics together, embroideries fused accolades with meaning. They fused simple items to the legends of the world. The understanding came swiftly.

  I didn’t need to change the sword’s embroidery to solve the problem. It would just be a short term solution. I needed longevity. I needed stability. Without thinking further I let the needle flow freely just below the locket, painting the accolade with the symbol I most associated with stability and longevity. A mountain. Even though I lacked experience in the craft, my unsung hands moved with unearned dexterity, and the motif wasn’t a hard one to replicate. I was pretty happy with my handiwork.

  But I wasn’t done. The accolade needed more. It needed to be more than just a sturdy blade. I ran a finger through the new embroidery and felt the electric tingle of magic prickle my skin.

  It needed more, but what?

  My eyes shot open. Even something as sturdy and unyielding as the mountain would crack when faced with persistent pressure. I needed to add adaptability. I relaxed and let my hands move like water, stitching a crude representation of a river, running from the mountain, all the way past the nucleus and down to the tip of scabbard. It took time, I knew that. But I couldn’t feel it pass. All I could feel was the resistant leather of the scabbard and the needle as it pushed through. The tent filled with wisps of blue. Threads of the veil so intertwined they looked like mist. It swirled around me, egging me on to complete my work, eager to flood the accolade with newfound power. With my legend.

  I pierced the scabbard one final time and severed the thread. The veil burst into motion, making the tent strain against the pressure inside as it rushed at the tip of the scabbard. The embroidered river filled with a powerful blue hue and looked like it was alive, rushing at the mountain. When the flood of magic reached it, the mountain trembled, but stood resolute. As unyielding as I’d hoped.

  I smiled and sheathed the sword into the scabbard, making the accolade complete once more. The world flashed and the seething veil calmed. I smiled and read the updated description of my accolade.

  Stoneflow

  Rank: Unsung

  Type: Bound Armament

  Description: A sword, the king of weapons, all but forgotten in a world of arcane technology. A stark reminder Silver Legions’ blessed oppression. Once the weapon of a deserter, now claimed by the fledgling shaper and granted a second chance at life. Endowed with embroideries to symbolize longevity and adaptability, the accolade personifies the marriage of concepts making it a trustworthy companion in prolonged combat.

  Embroidery: Mountain, River

  Effects:

  Mountain: Extremely durable, self-repairs when sheathed.

  River: Repeated strikes on the same area increases the accolade’s effectiveness, allowing it to cut deeper and whittle away defences.

  Not much had changed except for the embroidery sticking to the scabbard. It hadn’t done so when I made Jackpot or the Shoes of Silent Passage, but those works had been more… in depth. All in all I’d say the visual change was a welcome one. For someone looking like I did in all my gear, my sword had been awfully plain. It still was, mostly, but it had a much more magical feel now that I appreciated.

  I unsheathed Stoneflow and inspected the metal. It was still cracked and dull. The scabbard hadn’t had time to do its thing yet. I had no exact numbers, but I could feel that the repair wouldn’t take too long. Stoneflow just needed some minor mending and sharpening. It wasn’t like it had snapped or something.

  I very much wanted to try out the new River effect, but that would have to wait until the accolade was in peak condition again.

  All in all I’d say that the experiment had been an all around success. I still had no idea how to create an accolade from scratch, or how to alter one that was of higher rank. Unsung accolades and above tended to have less room for available for creative work like this one had. Hell, not even many whispered accolades did. If the scabbard hadn’t been part of the set, then the touch-up would have been much harder to accomplish. It had been like completing a half finished painting. Still, it was a step in the right direction. And one that I had been in dire need of.

  I exited the tent. Despite the commotion I’d caused there were no onlookers waiting to gawk. The sun had begun to set again. Time really does fly when you’re having fun. I fastened the scabbard and sword to my belt with a smile and gave it a gentle pat.

  “Time for dinner, love.”