Warhamer40k & MonsterGirlQuest: A Double Traitor

In the morning, Amon picked up his clothes from the tailor. He was pleased with the quality of the travel suit, which allowed freedom of movement and fit him perfectly. After paying Benjamin and talking briefly about mercenaries, he set off to choose a weapon.

However, he was met with disappointment. Amon visited a dozen shops but found nothing suitable. The local shopkeepers often didn't even understand what they were selling, reselling equipment of questionable origin. They tried to sell the wizard iron strips, which they stubbornly called swords. They offered chainmail with signs of violent blows and dented helmets.

Amon was unpleasantly surprised. In a city where piracy thrived, there was no quality weaponry!

After wandering narrow streets for a couple of hours, Amon had completely despaired of finding anything worthwhile. He decided to return to the inn. Reaching an intersection filled with pirates and vagabonds, Amon turned left, and after walking a dozen meters, he discovered an unremarkable alley. Hoping to shorten his route, the wizard stepped into the narrow space between two buildings. And there, finally, luck smiled upon him.

***

The midday sun hung directly overhead, relentlessly pouring its rays onto the dry earth. There was no shade in the alley. The heated air trembled.

Amon walked steadily through the deserted alley, lost in thought, when he heard the rhythmic clang of a hammer. After a hundred steps, the alley widened, transforming into a small open square in the center of which stood a blacksmith's forge.

"Maybe I'll find something worthwhile here," Amon thought, stepping closer.

***

A burly man with a bald head and a curly beard pulled himself away from the anvil. He lifted a workpiece, crimson from the heat, inspected it carefully from all sides, and submerged it into a barrel. The water hissed angrily.

Hot steam filled the forge. After holding the workpiece in the barrel for a few seconds, the man took it out and, ignoring Amon, walked over to a rack. He carefully hung the workpiece, as if it were the greatest sword he had ever forged. Only then did the blacksmith notice the visitor.

"Just looking or on business?" the blacksmith asked gruffly, glancing at the wizard from under thick eyebrows.

"On business," Amon answered briefly.

"Pick what you need," the blacksmith waved his hand toward the racks, where various weapons and armor hung.

The wizard smiled slightly. He liked this man, whose words matched his profession—heavy and weighty, like the blows of a hammer.

Amon slowly walked along the racks, passing by chainmail, breastplates, shields, and short one-handed weapons. He stopped in front of a two-handed and a longsword. Amon took the sword from the top shelf and tapped the blade with his fingernail, searching for flaws. The steel rang evenly across the entire blade and left a good impression on Amon.

"Not bad, for such a backward world," the wizard muttered quietly. He made a quick lunge and swung the sword a couple of times, narrowly missing the low ceiling beams. The blade sliced through the air with a whistle, but Amon simply shook his head and placed the sword back.

"Not good?" The blacksmith approached from behind.

"The blade is fine," Amon replied without turning, eyeing the next weapon. "But the balance is a bit off at the tip. I need a sword for foot combat."

"You know your stuff," the blacksmith said with respect, wiping his sweaty, hairy hands on his apron. "Not many around here do. It cuts, it chops—that's all. You work hard, but there's no one to appreciate it. They grab the first thing they can hold."

"I know my stuff," Amon confirmed indifferently. He pulled out the second sword, a longsword, and carefully ran his finger along the edge, testing its sharpness.

"This one won't suit you," the blacksmith pointed to the hilt.

"Yes," Amon agreed, spinning the sword. "Not for me."

"Don't bother with the longswords," the blacksmith said. "I know my goods. None will do. Choose a two-handed sword. With your height, a longsword might work."

Amon took the third sword, a true two-handed weapon. The hilt, covered in rough leather, fit comfortably in his hand. The wizard raised the blade to eye level and admired the straight edges and unusual wavy patterns in the steel.

"I've re-forged it ten times," the blacksmith said with a hint of pride. "Folded it in half, then re-forged it again."

Amon made a lightning-fast lunge forward. Then another, and another. The sword's balance was perfect. The wizard withdrew his arm with the sword behind his body and struck with the hilt. Had he been facing a real opponent, Amon would have crushed their skull.

"Good!" the wizard pronounced.

"The only one I forged this way," the blacksmith looked at the blade with affection. "I didn't make any more. It's too expensive, and no one appreciates it. Though I did see something similar on a monster-slayer, I did the sharpening for her. Looks like I wasn't the first to think of forging like this."

"Monster-slayer," Amon said, intrigued. "Who is that?"

"The one who hunts monsters," the blacksmith replied. "Don't you have any of them?"

"No."

"I was right," the blacksmith frowned slightly. "I knew you were a foreigner. The Empire, perhaps?"

"No, much farther," Amon didn't take his eyes off the sword. He was determined to buy this weapon.

"Do monsters not harm people there?"

"Depends," the wizard answered evasively.

"And people with monsters?"

"It happens."

"Same here," the blacksmith spat on the ground. "It's the same everywhere—damn it! As for the monster-slayer, it's simple. If you're a warrior, you'll understand what I'm talking about. A person is a person. Two hands. Two legs. A head. You cut off the head, and there's no person. You lose a hand, and there's no person. If you know how to fight one person, you can fight them all."

"And monsters?"

"Monsters are different. Some are small, quick. Some are big and strong. Some have tails, tentacles. You have to fight them differently, with skill. It doesn't matter if you've cut down ten people or a hundred, you might not handle a monster. But a monster-slayer will."

"Why?" Amon disagreed. "People are different too. A fight against a spearman is different from fighting someone with a sword and shield, and a fight in formation is different from a one-on-one duel."

"True," the blacksmith scratched his beard thoughtfully. "But not quite. People don't jump out from underground. They don't dive down from the sky. Monsters, though, can attack from any crack—don't blink! A monster-slayer knows all the tricks. Which woman is poisonous, which one uses magic. And she has an answer for everything."

"So there are no mages among your people? And no poisoned blades?"

"It's all the same," the blacksmith stubbornly said. "It's just not the same."

"Well, you're the expert," Amon shrugged. He didn't want to continue a useless argument. "Turns out I really need someone like a monster-slayer. Where can I find one?"

"Her," the blacksmith corrected Amon. "It was a woman... Monster-slayers are expensive mercenaries. And expensive mercenaries gather in Al-Gorde with Howard. That's in the upper city. If you find them, everyone will point the way."

"Thanks for the advice, blacksmith. How much do you want for the sword?" Amon asked, taking the blade with both hands and lowering the tip to the ground.

"You're a decent man, with principles," the blacksmith said seriously, his voice warming with friendliness. "I won't sell this sword to anyone else, but I'll sell it to you. At cost. I spent a hundred gold on making it. Steel, coal, failed attempts. That's a fair price for good weaponry. And I'll throw in the scabbard, here you go."

Amon took a pouch from his belt, and without opening it, placed it on the counter.

"This is one and a half times more. Good work deserves good pay."

For some reason, it didn't surprise him that he had overpaid for the blade. There were no witnesses around, so the wizard could have simply taken the weapon by force, disposing of the blacksmith first. But this decision, which would have been completely ordinary for a Chaos Space Marine, didn't even cross his mind.

"Take care, blacksmith," Amon said, leaving.

The blacksmith didn't count the money. He nodded with dignity and said:

"Take care, warrior, take care. May this sword serve you well."