The Kingdom of Velka — Capital Velnika.
Velka sat in the southwestern portion of the Northern Continent. A vast network of tunnels ran directly beneath its capital city.
The tunnels were filled with abundant amounts of green glowstone, which had earned them the name “The Greenway.”
Monsters and cutthroats prowled their depths, so it was by no means a safe way to travel. However, because of the rare ore that could be mined there, the tunnels were still popular.
Velka itself could trace its origins back to The Greenway. The kingdom had started out as a mining town that had sprouted up to harvest its ore. Merchants and craftsmen had then flocked to the town, which eventually grew into a flourishing city. That flourishing city then grew into a small country, until it eventually became the mighty kingdom it was now.
The country manufactured all of its own weapons, its tools, and even magical artifacts. Velka was known to the rest of the world as the kingdom of inventors and craftsmen. They were more than a little jealous of its wealth of natural resources and talented citizens.
The engineers and craftsmen of the kingdom were always competing with each other, and there were a few exceptionally talented guilds whose names had become famous.
One of those was the Orcus Workshop. It allowed only the most talented Synergists to join. Its fame was so great that even nobles considered it an honor to be accepted for an apprenticeship there. Their primary focus was on weaponsmithing. And thanks to the current political climate, they were in rather high demand.
The Orcus Workshop’s headquarters dwarfed the surrounding buildings. Today too, the workshop was filled with the sounds of Synergists chanting and master craftsmen chastising their apprentices.
Like with all Orcus Workshop buildings, the headquarters was partitioned into sections, with each section housing a different specialty. One could usually guess what each section’s specialty was by looking at the tools and materials used.
Most craftsmen were surrounded by weapons, armor, and the materials needed to make them. Others were buried in piles of everyday goods.
As the Orcus Workshop’s main business was weapons, it made sense for most sections to be dedicated to that. One’s standing in the workshop was determined by the quality of goods they could produce.
However, there was one craftsman who was surrounded by something else. His section was radically different from the rest of the workshop.
The young man working that station had gentle, feminine features and a long, slender build.
He wore black-rimmed spectacles and had his shoulder-length black hair tied up in a ponytail.
He wore an apron over his simple blue shirt and off-white trousers. Gadgets of dubious function stuck out of the numerous pockets his apron had.
His intelligent eyes were staring earnestly at a magic circle and the materials contained within it. Then, he clapped his hands together and the magic circle in front of him began to glow. His mana was a warm, yellowish-white. It was reminiscent of sunlight, the kind one might see on a warm spring day.
His materials coalesced within the circle. The young man’s creation had a perfect curve, impeccable balance, and a well-crafted handle that showed his consideration for its wielder.
He stared sharply at what he’d made, seemingly satisfied.
“Perfect. That’s a great pot.” He seemed proud of his work. Tenderly, he picked up the dull gray pot.
He then carefully placed it inside a box. Said box was already full of pots, frying pans, plates, and other cooking utensils.
Scattered around him were other mundane goods. Lanterns, fancy desks, building tools, scissors, stationery, and other everyday goods littered his workplace.
There was not a single weapon in sight, despite this being a workshop specializing in weapons.
There were technically some sharp implements, but none of them could be considered weapons.
They were all cooking knives. Knives for chopping vegetables, knives for cutting meat, even knives for cutting bread. And they were all of exceptional quality.
However, they were all still cooking utensils. While all the other craftsmen were trying their hardest to create exemplary weapons, this young man was just making mundane items. Naturally, this made him stand out. Not in a good way, either.
Everyone hated him, especially because the Orcus Workshop treated him favorably despite his obvious shortcomings.
“Tch...”
“Hmph.”
People scoffed.
The young man turned around to see two elderly masters staring down at his work. They wore disapproving glares.
He smiled awkwardly in response and returned to his own work, trying to ignore them.
While the craftsmen all hated him, most of them didn’t do much to get in his way. After all, they were too busy focusing on their own work.
But in every group, there was always a small minority that refused to conform. The same was true here. While most people were content to leave the young man alone, some felt compelled to make his life miserable.
The young man scattered wood chips around the pots, cushioning his creations. It was then that someone walked up, looking for trouble.
“Hey, loser. How long are you going to keep making junk like this? What happened to the stuff I asked you to make?” This new voice was derisive and unpleasant.
The newcomer was short and fat, and he was surrounded by two lackeys. One was tall and lanky, while the other had eyes that looked like they were bulging out of their sockets. All three of them were smiling wickedly.
“Hello there, Waress-san. I’ve already finished what you asked for.”
Ping Waress was the third son of the noble Waress family. The young man turned to the duke and bowed his head respectfully, despite Waress’ condescending attitude.
The “stuff Waress had asked him to make” had actually been Ping’s work quota for today. He’d just been too lazy to do it himself. The young man picked up a nearby box and held it out.
“What, already? Hey, you better not have half-assed this! Earl Holden requested me specifically for this job. I asked you to help to give you a chance to polish your skills, so you better not be repaying my good will by spitting in my face!”
The earl hadn’t actually made any such personal request. He’d brought some armor to be repaired, but he’d asked the workshop as a whole, not any individual craftsman.
In fact, most of the repairs had been handed off to more senior craftsmen. Ping had only been in charge of fixing the straps.
In other words, he’d just happened to have been assigned that task.
The young man knew that as well, but he disliked conflict, so instead of arguing, he just furrowed his brows. He’d had a lot of practice placating people.
Before he could even say “Take a look for yourself,” one of Ping’s lackeys spoke up.
“Come on, Ping-san. Don’t you think loser is a bit much, even for him? The least you could do is call him a former prodigy.”
Torpa Parson, the man who’d spoken, was the second son of Baron Parson.
The bug-eyed man was Raul Streya, fourth son of Baron Streya. He backed up Torpa, gesticulating like a buffoon.
“Now now, Torpa-kun. We should drop the ‘former’ bit, too. After all, he is an orphan the Master scouted out personally. Sure, he can’t make a weapon to save his life and spends all his time crafting junk, but he’s still a genius. After all, he gets paid for all that junk he makes! We should applaud him. Come on, don’t you think you should show us those skills that impressed the master so much? Don’t tell me age made you rusty, you’re still young. You’ve still got it, right Oscar-kun?”