Adding some charcoal to the forge, I checked on the fire spirits. With just a few words, sparks sprayed from inside, the spirits showing off their readiness to work hard for the day. After half a year working for Master Damned Dwarf, I had been given responsibility over one particular job: making nails.
Since I’d started working at the blacksmith, I had made a number of new friends among people living near the shop. In doing so, I learned that they had a need for things like nails, knives, pots, and various other articles made from metal. I thought it was odd they would be lacking those things when they lived so close to a blacksmith, but as the most skilled blacksmith in the city, my master only worked on weapons and armor for soldiers and adventurers. Combined with the famed stubbornness of dwarves and my master’s stern demeanor, the people living nearby found it difficult to ask him for such daily necessities.
But seeing an elf like me working under him without issue, impressions of him were starting to soften. Though we referred to each other by such aggressive names, others could see that we enjoyed working together. Eventually, a local landlord came by to secretly discuss the issue with me on behalf of the community. He didn’t go so far as to ask for knives or pots, but he did wonder if it would be possible for us to make nails.
When I asked Master Damned Dwarf, he took some time to think about it.
“They’re only new customers because of you, so give it a shot, you damned elf. I’ll show you how.”
So today I was making nails.
In truth, even something as simple as a nail came in a number of variations. If they were needed in large numbers, I could use a method called “casting,” pouring liquid metal into a mold which would form a solid nail when cooled. But if a small number of nails of a peculiar shape was needed, I would have to use the process of “forging” by taking a piece of heated metal and hammering it into the appropriate shape by hand.
On top of that, nails for different purposes were made of different materials. For example, beyond the ever-popular iron nails, the wealthy had a strong demand for brass nails for their rich, golden sheen.
Not every nail I made could be sold, however. Before I could hand them over to the locals, Master Damned Dwarf checked to make sure they were up to the standards of the rest of the shop. Naturally, his criteria were extremely strict. The casted nails were one thing, but when it came to the hand-forged nails, he threw out more than ninety percent of them.
Rather than being disheartened at his brutal standards, such high expectations made me feel a lot better about handing successful ones to the customers. If that damned dwarf approved of them, I could proudly sell them to anyone.
On top of that, I could use the number of nails he let pass as a concrete metric for how my skill was improving. It made obvious what my failings were as a blacksmith, and which areas needed improvement most.
I found producing nails like this to be extremely fun. I enjoyed seeing the smiling faces of happy customers, and it was a fun surprise to walk around town and find things built with nails I had made. If I kept working for a hundred years as the houses around us got replaced over time, eventually every nail in the neighborhood would be one of mine. I felt like that would be an interesting life goal.
That said, as fun as it was for now, I didn’t know if I could enjoy it for a hundred years. I grew tired of things easily, so I probably wouldn’t be able to keep going for more than a decade or two.
After a month of making nails, about a third of my nails were passing the dwarf’s inspection. By the third month, almost half were making it through.
As time went on, the shop steadily gained more business, so we finally hired some others to help. The new hires were two mothers with young children who lived in the area. Each of them worked three days a week, alternating days on and off. While one was working, the other would take care of both of their children. On my days off, I would occasionally be invited over to their homes and play with the kids.
Human children grew up extremely fast, so it was fun to watch them. Even after only a few weeks of not seeing them, they looked bigger than before. The kids playfully called me “the damned elf” as well, but I worried they’d have issues later in life if they adopted such dirty language. I felt it was better to correct that sooner rather than later. I didn’t want them growing up as stubborn and rebellious as me and that damned dwarf.
I eventually started making things other than nails, like staples. In this world, or at least in Vistcourt, there didn’t seem to be anything like construction staples or metal ties. When I showed them to the damned dwarf, he had been quite impressed. It was impossible to make smaller versions of them with the available technology, but these larger ones could be used to help bind wood together.
As I took over the work of producing nails, I ended up having a lot of extra work, but my pay increased to match it. Airena was still paying my living expenses, but I was getting more and more eager to become independent. As expected of an elf, her idea of looking after me for “a little while” was turning into a tremendously long period of time.
I had been thinking of renting a house for a long time, but at this point I had made enough money to consider actually buying one, so I began looking around. If I could find one close to the smithy, I’d be living in a relatively safe area around people I already knew. Airena had been away from the city for a while on a long expedition, but I would talk things through with her once she returned.