I Am A Table [LitRPG Isekai Progression Fantasy]

I don't have enough PER? But I swear I had 35 PER.

Blorbo checked the interface, and then remembered the System had deducted 1 PER from him earlier for failing to catch the master archmage doing his signature stealth move. For not catching a hecking ARCHMAGE! The system loved being arbitrary, and it had to be at Blorbo's expense every single time.

Fine! I'll use 1 CP for this, happy?

Blorbo used a CP and was able to accept the quest.

What do I even have in my arsenal to influence this conversation?

There is literally NOTHING I can do.

Oh, wait…

His Perception skill picked up something extremely odd: a series of very fine lines, almost like hairline fractures in the wood grain, on one of Reginald's corners. They form a deliberate pattern, a series of interconnected curves and sharp angles. However, the symbol is partially obscured by years of accumulated grime and the natural variations in the Konjacwood's grain, making it blend in unless one is looking very closely or from a specific angle. It didnt resemble any of the common arcane symbols or maker's marks Blorbo had seen on any furniture.

Maybe that tells a story about the merchant…

He focused all his will on the subtle art of Adjustable Angle. He initiated a slow, deliberate tilt to the left. He fixed his vision on the corner of Reginald where the foreign symbol lay hidden. The light from the nearest lightbob, shifted its reflection across the wall behind the woman. Still too far away. The faint glint still danced tantalizingly on the dusty wall behind Reginald, illuminating nothing but peeling paint.

He tried again, tilting ever so slightly to the right this time. Perhaps a different angle would catch the light just so. The reflection moved once more, a fleeting spark tracing a path across Reginald's top, but still missing the crucial corner by a large margin.

Six degrees. It was like trying to paint with a brush tied to a string.

Why do I have to be sooooo inanimate!

He could almost feel the weight of the quest above the customer's head, the potential knowledge about Master Shifu slipping through his grasp because of his physical limitations.

Griesa paid no attention to the hidden symbol; instead, her gaze was fixed on the opposite corner of Reginald. She had found something else, something that Blorbo had completely missed.

"There are some signatures on this," she pointed at said signature. "Did you put it here?"

Blorbo squinted his vision to get a good look. The signatures were in a weird cursive, but he could make out the writing: MSs x SJU.

"No. It's from their last owner," said the woman.

As Griesa spoke of signatures, Kurix, perched atop her hat like a furry, bespectacled gargoyle, sprang into action. With surprising dexterity, he reached into the voluminous folds of Griesa's hat and wrestled out a peculiar device. It was a small object made of polished brass and lenses, with several tiny gears whirring softly within. To Blorbo, it looked like a miniaturized astrolabe crossed with a jeweler's loupe.

Griesa caught the contraption with ease. She held it close to her eye, peering through the lenses at the corner of Reginald where the "MSs x SJU" signatures were etched. The brass device glowed as she manipulated a small dial on its side. Light, seemingly drawn from the air itself, illuminated the inscription in a stark, unwavering beam. The lenses magnified the cursive, revealing the subtle variations in pressure and the tiny imperfections in the carving.

Blorbo's Appraisal didn't catch anything, because the 'skill' she used wasn't magic. It wasn't a skill at all. It was, as she said, technology.

It felt like Griesa was using captured starlight and focused intention to unravel the very essence of the signatures, revealing their truth with an almost mystical precision. The whirring gears sounded like tiny pronouncements of judgment, and the focused beam of light felt like a magical probe confirming the authenticity of the marks.

After a moment of intense scrutiny, Griesa lowered the device, a look of certainty on her face. "Yes," she declared. "These signatures are authentic. The style matches the known script of Master Sensei, a master of the Far East, and Singjun Uwu, the master woodworker from the famous Sofa Levelling."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Sofa Levelling?" The woman gasped. "Isn't that one of the most renowned woodworking shops in the realm?"

"The very one," Griesa nodded nodfully.

A notification came from the system.

[First Key Information Gathered—Excellent Job]

Excellent job? I wasn't able to do anything!

"But if this table is made by a master woodworker, why is it so mediocre?" The woman asked before patting her table. "Sorry Reginald. I love you but that's the truth."

"Because it's a side table. Singjun Uwu only makes good main tables. His main tables get all the auras, while his side tables barely got any furniture development."

That doesn't make any sense…

The workshop door creaked open again, this time revealing Lena. Her vibrant blond hair was slightly askew, and she had a smudge of what looked like shimmering aetheric residue on her cheek. Seemed like she'd been sneakily learning magic again.

"Griesa! Ducaz's boots are puffing up air again!" Lena began, her arms laden with a platter of the most gloriously messy pastries imaginable. Cream horns overflowing with custard, sticky jam tarts glistening under a sugary glaze, and delicate sponge cakes dusted with drifts of powdered sugar wobbled precariously with each step. If those pastries were to ACCIDENTALLY meet Reginald's surface in a less-than-graceful manner, the subsequent cleaning might just reveal more of that intriguing, foreign symbol.

Unless…

Sorry Lena, but you have to go. As Lena, humming a tuneless melody, ambled past Blorbo, he initiated Adjustable Angle.