Damn, the butcher will butcher me

Long story short, I died, and I reincarnated into a world of magic.
I was no God’s Chosen, nor some Hero, but I was a seemingly talented blacksmith.
So I honed my craft, and became the blacksmith for a new town built in a recently recovered region from the beasts. (Yes, the usual beasts vs humans conundrum)
It was a good life.
I married, and had kids, and worked my ass off daily.
Cooking utensils, pans, bowls, cauldrons, forks, spoons, knives, and horseshoes were the most common things I did, oh and nails, let’s not forget nails.
This reincarnation wasn’t like those in a novel.
Like hell just because I was good at what I was doing, I had junior blacksmiths at my beck and call.
Like there are that many brats who wish and are able to handle the heat, and sweat and long work hours.
So I worked and worked.
Obviously, since this was a world of magic, I had magic as well, mana as the energy was called, that I could imbue in my body, mind, soul and my craft.
Let’s just say that the pans I made here, could most like be considered unbreakable back on Earth.
And as I worked day and night, on a beautiful cleaver for the town’s new butcher (who I was sure was a big shot), something clicked within me.
I don’t know how much time passed, and what I did, but I knew that when I awoke, the furnace was almost going cold, and my hammer was…destroyed.
But there it was…
A cleaver of such magnificence it was glowing.
I took it and put the handle on, before trying to cut a piece of meat with it.
Well, it cut the meat, the bone, and a part of the table…a table that was made out of iron.
“Hehe, I can charge extra for this.”
I muttered.
And the, the cleaver’s glow, pulsated.
That surprised me.
Then it pulsated again, rapidly.
“You can understand me?”
I whispered.
Two pulses.
“Can you talk?”
I asked.
One pulse.
“Damn, the butcher will butcher me.
I made a cleaver with a spirit.”
I whistled, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
This was already an artefact level of object, one usually used by high-level knights, adventurers and usually strong individuals.
And now…I made a butcher cleaver into such an object.
I wonder if I can ask for a favour or two from the butcher in exchange…
Not dying because of my talent would also be a nice thing…

Published by omnithenerva

Wannabe fiction writer. In love with mythology, and fantasy themes.

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