The Convergent Path (Reincarnation/LitRPG)

"Easy there, elf boy," the blacksmith said, her copper eyes gleaming with predatory amusement as she leaned casually against her anvil, the massive block of steel-reinforced stone dwarfing her impressive frame. The heat from the forge behind her made her jade-green skin shimmer like polished scales. "Those beauties will run you about a hundred Tier Three cores. Fair price for quality work like that, every rune hand-carved, every edge balanced to perfection."

Fin didn't even pause to consider the price, his dimensional storage flaring to life. He dumped what felt like half his newfound wealth onto the workbench in a cascading avalanche of glowing orbs. The cores clinked against each other like wind chimes.

Her jaw dropped so fast her tusks nearly scraped the anvil, her eyes going wide with a mixture of shock and something that might have been secondhand embarrassment. "Whoa, whoa, slow down there!" She threw up her hands in theatrical alarm, her voice carrying the rough edge of someone who had learned hard lessons about the value of every piece of copper. "Don't you know the first thing about haggling? Are you trying to make me feel like I'm robbing a child?"

Fin blinked, his expression as blank as fresh parchment. "I'm afraid I don't follow. You named a fair price for excellent work, I have the means to pay it. What's the problem?"

She stared at him for a long moment, her copper eyes searching his face as if looking for some sign that he was playing an elaborate joke. When she found none, she launched into what could only be described as a one-woman theatrical performance worthy of the finest stages.

"Right, listen up, elf boy, because you're about to get a crash course in basic economics!" She straightened to her full impressive height, gesturing grandly with hands still stained from her metalwork. "First off, my name's Nevoria, nice to meet you, mysterious rich boy! Now, these magnificent swords? I'm asking a hundred Tier Three cores for the pair. That's when you're supposed to look horrified and clutch your purse!"

She shifted her stance, suddenly playing the role of the customer with exaggerated dismay. "Oh no, Nevoria, a hundred cores? That's a robbery! I couldn't possibly afford such an outrageous price! How about seventy-five?"

Back to her normal voice, now filled with mock outrage: "Seventy-five?! Are you trying to insult my craftsmanship, boy? These blades took me three days to forge! Ninety cores, final offer!"

Another character shift, this time to a wheedling tone: "Come now, surely we can find some middle ground? The metal has a few tiny imperfections, eighty cores?"

"Imperfections?!" she roared, genuinely seeming offended by her own hypothetical slight. "There's not a flaw to be found in those beauties! But... fine. Meet me in the middle at eighty-five and we have ourselves a deal."

She extended her hand toward her imaginary customer, then shook it with her other hand. "Deal? Deal!"

Throughout this entire performance, Fin watched with an expression that could charitably be called patient tolerance, his arms crossed over his chest while the puppy at his feet tilted its head in apparent confusion, yipping softly as if it too was wondering about the sanity of this particular human.

Nevoria's copper eyes dimmed as her theatrical energy deflated like a punctured bellows, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "You know what? You're absolutely no fun at all."

"So I've been told," Fin said, allowing the faintest hint of a smirk to tug at the corners of his mouth. "More than once, actually. But I do appreciate the discount, even if it was entirely unsolicited." He swept fifteen cores back into his dimensional storage, their glow vanishing into the spatial fold like stars being snuffed out.

Nevoria leaned forward across her workbench, propping her chin on one callused hand while studying him. "You really, truly need to learn the art of negotiation, elf boy. Walking around with that kind of casual wealth and that kind of naive honesty? Someone's going to fleece you."

"I'll manage well enough for the time being," Fin said with a casual shrug. "Haven't exactly had much need to purchase anything these past few months. Been a bit preoccupied with not dying horribly in various creative ways. But I'll take your professional assessment under advisement."

Nevoria's grin was filled with undisguised triumph. "Ha! I knew it, you're spoiled rotten, aren't you? Silver spoon, golden cradle, servants to tie your boots and cut your meat."

"It's not quite like that," Fin said, genuine irritation finally creeping into his voice. The casual assumption about his privileged upbringing struck uncomfortably close to home, even if the reality was far more complicated.

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She laughed, a rich, booming sound that seemed to emanate from somewhere deep in her barrel chest and reached over to punch his shoulder with casual camaraderie. Her knuckles met unexpected resistance, striking what felt more like an iron statue than human flesh. She immediately winced, flexing her fingers and rubbing her hand with a pained expression.

"Damn, you're built like a fortress wall under all that pretty-boy exterior," she muttered, shaking out her stinging knuckles. "I was just messing with you anyway, whatever-your-name-happens-to-be. Which you still haven't shared, by the way. Bit rude, don't you think?"

Fin's face flushed a deep crimson that was visible even in the forge's chaotic lighting. "I'm sorry. That was really inconsiderate of me. I'm Fin Aodh."

"Aodh..." Nevoria's eyes narrowed to copper slits, her expression shifting to one of intense concentration as she rolled the name around in her mind like a jeweler examining a suspicious gemstone. "Now that's interesting. Any relation to that fellow whose face is plastered all over the wanted posters in the town center? Therok? Therot? Something with a 'Th' sound, anyway."

Fin shifted uncomfortably, immediately dropping his gaze to focus on scratching behind the puppy's ears with perhaps more attention than the gesture strictly required. "Uh, probably not."

"Oh, sure," Nevoria said, her smirk taking on a knowing edge that suggested she wasn't buying his deflection for even a moment. "Completely unremarkable coincidence, I'm sure. So tell me, mysterious not-related-to-anyone-important Fin Aodh, what grand plans do you have for the rest of your day?"

"I'm planning to head over to the dungeon," Fin said. "See if any of the parties need a porter with spatial storage capabilities. Might as well put my skills to some practical use while I'm here."

Nevoria snorted, a sound of pure skepticism that somehow managed to convey volumes about her opinion of his chances. "Good luck with that particular endeavor, pretty boy. Most of the serious groups around here won't take someone like you into a proper dungeon. Too much flash, not enough substance, they'll assume. All shiny exterior and no grit underneath." Her grin turned decidedly mischievous, taking on a predatory quality that made Fin's survival instincts twitch uncomfortably. "But hey, if you strike out completely and find yourself with nowhere to spend the night, you're more than welcome to keep me warm. I've got strong arms and a soft heart, among other appealing qualities."

Fin choked on his own saliva, coughing so violently that the puppy began yipping in alarm, circling his legs as if trying to provide emotional support through proximity. "I, uh, that's a very generous offer," he managed between coughs, "but I should probably mention that I'm only thirteen years old."

The effect was immediate and dramatic. Nevoria's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and she immediately started coughing herself, nearly knocking over a carefully arranged rack of specialized tongs in her surprise. "Thirteen?! You look like you're pushing twenty-one! What have you been eating?"

Fin shrugged, suppressing what threatened to become a genuine grin. "Massive growth spurt, I suppose. Good genetics."

Nevoria immediately began waving him toward the door with both hands, as if trying to physically push him out of her forge through sheer force of will. "Shoo! Get out of here, little one! Don't you dare come back until you've got at least eighteen years under your belt and know what to do with them. I coax stubborn metal into useful shapes for a living, not naive children into compromising situations that'll get me exiled from the ass end of our planet."

"Little one?" Fin muttered with theatrical indignation as he stepped outside, the puppy scampering after him with obvious relief at escaping the superheated interior. The forge's oppressive heat immediately faded, replaced by the village's cool, sap-scented air. "Well, that was certainly an experience."

Paynic's Hidden Village hummed with vibrant life as Fin made his way through the serpentine walkways toward the dungeon entrance. The living architecture pulsed gently around him. Cultivators of various tiers haggled enthusiastically over exotic wares.

A child darted past on one of the swaying root bridges, laughing with pure joy as a vendor below shouted up at the passing crowd: "Miracle nectar, half a core for a single vial! Guaranteed to boost your mana regeneration by twenty percent!"

The dungeon entrance dominated the town center like a wound in the fabric of reality itself, a ripple in the air that hurt to look at directly, as if space itself had been torn open and left to flutter in an unfelt wind. Over a hundred cultivators had gathered in the area.

Some stood in tight-knit groups, clearly established parties with matching equipment. Others wandered the crowd like predators seeking prey, shouting their requirements over the general din: "Need a healer, Tier Three minimum!" "Tank wanted for deep delving!" "Seeking damage dealers with area-effect specialization!"

The air crackled with anticipation, mana signatures predominantly hovering around Tier Three with the occasional Tier Four.

Fin paused at the edge of the crowd. A grizzled cultivator with a face that looked like it had been carved from old leather eyed him with obvious skepticism, muttering to his companion in a voice just loud enough to carry: "Another brat looking for glory."

Fin's enhanced hearing picked up every word, but he forced himself to ignore the casual dismissal. He had more important things to focus on than the assumptions of strangers.

A young woman in well-maintained leather armor caught his attention, her hair intricately braided with beads. She was barking orders at a somewhat disorganized group of five other cultivators. "Listen up, people! We need a porter with spatial storage capabilities, and we need them now! No dead weight, no tourists, no one who can't pull their own weight when things get messy!"

Fin hesitated for just a moment. Then he straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath and stepped forward with the puppy yipping encouragingly at his heels.

"Well," he murmured to himself, "I suppose I should get this over with."