The Wandsmith [LitRPG, Isekai, Harem]

"What happened to the plan to stay under notice?" Freya yawned.

It was the morning after they had left Kelwyn Ford. They had walked late into the night before camping just off the road. With Lysara's presence below, keeping silent watch, they had fallen asleep quickly, having skipped what should have been a proper rest stop. Rue had later explained to Freya this morning why they had left early, but the explanation had come with a cool, frosty cordiality that stood in stark contrast to their usual bickering. It left Ori uneasy.

He shrugged. "I already need to grow faster than the rumours and threats can spread. Besides, my White Mage class would have punished me for leaving those people like that, especially given how little trouble it cost me to free and heal them, at least in the short term." He paused, his eyes drifting briefly to Ruenne'del before returning to Freya. "What's going on between you two, anyway?"

"Oh, you may have forgiven the Seelie schemer," Freya said with a sharp flick of her wings, "but I haven't. Especially not after all her goading and nagging, which, in hindsight, were nothing more than the projections of a guilty conscience."

Ori felt Ruenne'del's emotions spike, anger and shame lashing through the bond, before being ruthlessly suppressed. Outwardly, her expression didn't change. She turned her head away silently.

Ori wanted to be angry at both of them, but he knew better than to try to put his foot down and impose a resolution as that would only make things worse. Instead, he shifted the topic slightly.

"You told her about our oaths?" he asked, glancing towards the Leanan Sídhe.

"What oaths?" Freya snapped, clearly agitated.

"To speak openly about important things, when appropriate. To never forsake one another. And to place our family, including you, and the rest of my bonds, above all others."

"Ori…" Freya blinked, then sighed. "...perhaps it's for the best. Were your souls not already bound then... maybe..."

"Maybe what?" he asked, though he no longer stressed over decisions long since made, especially those he still felt good about.

"Thrice-made oaths sworn to high fae," Freya sighed, her voice losing its edge midway. "They are known to echo through fate, but sometimes I forget who I'm bonded with. Your vows will be noticed by the Seelie Court, but given such news has already made its way to her… concubine, perhaps together the news will be taken in a different light."

"Oh yeah?" Ori asked, curious.

"That you informed her before making the oaths… to someone like her, it would suggest a level of respect, as well as a bold declaration, especially one made so soon after your notice. If your intention was to show that you weren't afraid of her, but were willing to offer her due respect, then it would have been commended. But you, of course, were never thinking that far ahead." Freya scoffed. "And I'm assuming you have no interest in rushing over to accept her request for an audience at the Summer Court?"

"Ha. No. I'm going to take my time with that one. If I can enrol at the magic school—"

"Arcanum Collegium," Freya groaned, with the tired patience of someone correcting a flippant child.

"...and get my enchanting credentials by the end of the year, then I'll travel to Seelie after we visit your glade."

"Yes, a year or so's delay to travel between demiplanes should be acceptable. A decade, however, would be pushing it."

Ori couldn't even imagine planning that far ahead, though the realisation that, thanks to his Aetheric Heart, he was already functionally immortal, meant such timescales would soon need to become part of his thinking, especially if he survived his current crises.

Long strides and a preoccupied mind carried them swiftly along the Great Southern Road. In the week since leaving Kelwyn Ford, they had covered nearly a thousand miles of forest with ease. Their Nascent, or in Ruenne'del's case, Greater-ranked physiology had turned walking into something more akin to a steady jog, if not in appearance, then certainly in pace.

The forest itself rarely changed, but subtle signs marked their progress: occasional clearings where ancient treefall had scarred the canopy, moss-covered stone pillars etched with faded glyphs, and the soft hush of strange creatures moving through the undergrowth just out of sight. Above, the twilight sky filtered down through the trees in shifting ribbons of pale gold and green aurora, casting the world in a glow that never quite resembled day or night.

The road was surprisingly well maintained, its gravel surface worn but easily passable allowed Ori and Ruenne'del to travel late into the evening, guided by the scattered glow of roadside campfires and the cautious wisdom of fellow travellers. Though the southern stretch was considered one of the safer routes, the advice they received often proved useful, offering warnings about recent rift or beast activity, unstable terrain, strange disappearances, and reports of roaming gangs.

Some of the groups they passed travelled with mundane-looking carts pulled by creatures that resembled oxen or ponies until closer inspection revealed features that gave Ori pause. Vestigial wings, segmented eyes, or multiple prehensile tails were not uncommon. Thanks to Freya's rote knowledge, Ori could often identify the species, or at least make an educated guess. Most of these beasts were not inherently magical, but the best-cared-for among them had Awakened, displaying the faint aura of special abilities. Many were strong enough to serve as a deterrent on remote stretches of road, far from any outpost or guard patrol.

True magical beasts, however, remained rare. Just as rare was any overt spellcasting. Ori quickly realised that, particularly among predominantly human groups, magic was treated with a mixture of reverence and unease. Even minor displays often prompted wary glances or quiet gestures of warding, as though spellcasters were best acknowledged cautiously, if at all.

Along the way, Rue and Ori talked, sharing stories from home, learning more about each other's preferences and goals, and clarifying the details of the conversation that had led to their exchange of oaths. During one such moment, Ori asked about formal marriage, and what her personal and cultural expectations might be, especially as a princess, but was met with little more than a shrug. While she was familiar with some traditions among the fae nobility, she had no interest in following them, and in turn, asked if his world had any customs worth adopting.

That led to a longer discussion about the mostly religious customs surrounding marriage in his culture, and how their existing bonds and oaths already superseded the typical vow exchanges found in most ceremonies. Still, Rue expressed verbal and emotional interest in the idea of eloping, especially as Ori described it: a private ceremony with one or two witnesses followed by the exchange of vows and rings, the option taken by many who sought to avoid the fuss and complications of difficult families. Ori filed away her preference with quiet relief.

On the few occasions Ori and Rue stopped to sleep, they did so under the stars or beneath a small lean-to to shelter from the occasional showers. The growing closeness of their relationship during the day was mirrored at night, with Ori often taking his place as the big spoon while Freya or Lysara kept watch.

They made an unusual discovery on the third day. After asking what it felt like to rest within Ori's soul space, Lysara attempted it and succeeded. Ori noticed almost no change, apart from a stronger telepathic connection between them. Lysara, however, reported mild discomfort, as her senses and perception were essentially replaced with Ori's. Experiencing the world through a bipedal physical form so unlike her own small ball of lightning proved unfamiliar and disorienting.

Still, it was good to know and a useful option to have, even if Lysara preferred to roam underground, building up charge and mana while connected to the earth below.

During their travels, they encountered all sorts. A dwarven couple towing barrels of lacquered root wine insisted on sharing a fire one evening, their mistrust of Ori softening when one of their mare's infected hooves was healed using Purifying Light and Channel Restoration. Elsewhere, an orcish cook offered salted river boar along with equal parts hospitality and superstition, claiming the trees near Redharrow had begun whispering in broken dialects. Redharrow was one of the final settlements they intended to visit along the long Southern Road, before branching off towards Dremsway, through the kingdom of Dremshire.

Despite the welcome company, not all encounters were so pleasant. It was always the groups of men, particularly those armed with crossbows and wearing mismatched gear, that gave Ori pause. Most were either militia from nearby villages or delvers searching for low-risk rifts. According to Lysara's advanced scouting, these rifts were little more than unstable hairline cracks of Aether, rarely worth investigating. In fact, the slow trickle of Aether likely benefited the local economies more than it harmed them. The subtle mutations in nearby wildlife became a source of trade with mildly Aether-warped plants and beasts providing unique alchemical and enchanting materials.

Ironically, it was often the weaker groups, those new to their trade, desperate, and poorly equipped, with barely a rank between them, who stared the longest. Sometimes it was lingering glances towards the striking, pink-haired woman, and sometimes it was the speculative looks cast at what appeared, on the surface, to be two young and vulnerable travellers.

Ruenne'del's clairvoyance was usually enough to prevent crossbow ambushes before they could begin. When it failed, the sudden flare of Prismatic Shields or a single cast of Prismatic Smite was often enough to end things before they escalated. With the more neutral groups, often comprised of would-be militia, Ori observed that their decision-making came down to a simple arithmetic, risk weighed against reward.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

In such moments, he would summon Seraphine's Beacon or Flenser from thin air with a calm smirk, allowing the appearance of power and confidence to change the equation more in Risk's favour. Even those who did not recognise the names quickly grasped the message.

Ori had begun to realise something else as well. Magic was rare. Most mortals treated it as something to be both respected and feared, a mark of talent, divine favour or dangerous ambition. After an offhand mention of being an enchanter looking to set up shop further north, one human trader had even offered to sell the contents of his wagon for a minor enchantment of strengthening to its wheels and axel, whispering his request as if afraid Ori might react poorly if addressed too directly.

After an hour of over-engineering enchantments that turned an ordinary, rickety cart into a battlewagon, at least in Ori's mind, impervious to mortal weapons, Ori finally took his pick of food, clothing, and materials that appealed to the inner wandsmith in him.

As they pressed on, the weight of Ori's thoughts returned. His conversation with Harriet lingered in the back of his mind: her encouragement, her request, and the fears she had chosen not to voice. Were events in the elven briars moving towards escalation? Ori had absolute faith in Harriet's ability to face any challenge, but knowing she had endured such schemes and pressures alone for centuries pained him as much as it reassured.

In contrast, his lessons with Poppy offered a welcome distraction. Her creativity and obsession with movement translated naturally into a desire to express enchantments through dance. She was already exploring ways to scale up the small runic patterns he had taught her, aiming to inscribe them onto the battlefield through fluid choreography. His own void dancing had steadily improved as well, to the point where Poppy now felt only mildly concerned, rather than terrified, at the idea of him needing to attempt it alone again.

Raven, meanwhile, had dropped out of Goldsmiths. She seemed at peace with the decision with her focus shifting to physiotherapy and exercise, spending time with her family and research. She was now determined to learn everything she could across a wide range of subjects, in preparation for the day when he would summon her to his side.

"This is more like it," Ori said as he stepped into a saloon-style inn, one with a bar, the smell of hot food, the promise of a bed, and perhaps even the whispers of a bath, or something close enough. They had just reached Redharrow, the halfway point between Kelwyn Ford and Dremsway, the city and next major stop which in turn marked the midpoint between the beginning of their journey and Cear'hallen, where Ori would face the Name Eater.

Here, they would leave the Great Southern Road and enter the largest human-governed lands on Twilight. At their current pace, it would take them another three to five weeks to reach Cear'hallen, depending on stops and detours, leaving fewer than forty days before the quest deadline. Forty days to figure out how to defeat a being at least ten thousand times more powerful than he had any right to challenge.

Ori had a plan, or at least a series of objectives he needed to complete before the attempt. But he had no desire to rush blindly towards his end. In many ways, dealing with the soul-shattering curse that would befall him if he failed the quest seemed, if not exactly easy, then more manageable than confronting the Name Eater in his current state.

The inn's lounge was warm and spacious, a single large room filled with the low hum of conversation and clinking crockery. Over a dozen mismatched tables filled the floor, most occupied by travellers, families, and merchants hunched over bowls of thick root and barley soup. The scent of roasted meat, stewed vegetables and fresh bread mingled with damp cloaks and old timber, forming an oddly comforting atmosphere.

Ori and Ruenne'del took their seats with little fanfare.

"Freya, what do you make of this inn." he asked inwardly, and the familiar's presence stirred within his soul space.

"Finally somewhere civilised," she replied, appearing from behind Ori's shoulder before flashing into her pixie form, to sit on the table, her dainty little legs tucked in within her arms. Their presence blending into the electric mix of races, garb, and weapon styles. In this place of transience and diversity, they drew little attention. Ori allowed himself to settle, breathing in the relaxed atmosphere, the gentle hum of Rue's quiet contentment vibrating faintly through their bond.

They shared bread and soup, both decent, if unremarkable, and paid with a handful of Ori's less conspicuous coins. Currency was tricky in Twilight, but enough people passed through Redharrow to make simple barter viable. The coin had been accepted without question, though Ori made a note of how little remained that would be taken without suspicion.

In exchange for a private room and a hot bath, he offered his enchanting services. The barkeep, an older woman with a keen eye and a sharp tongue, presented him with several chipped knives and short blades, clearly utility pieces from the kitchen or guard stock. Freya's voice cut in before he could get too absorbed.

"Do not overdo it. These are kitchen tools, not anti-demon artefacts."

Ori smirked and tried to keep the enchantments modest, sharpening runes, minor corrosion resistance, one with a reinforced edge for durability. 'Nothing too ridiculous' he believed.

As he worked, his gaze drifted. Across the room, a woman moved with easy confidence between tables, her golden hair catching the firelight in waves. She had a bright smile and a soft, musical voice that seemed to bring lightness to even the gruffest patrons. At first, Ori couldn't place why she stood out so much. The bar was lively, filled with characters, but somehow she anchored the space without ever trying to.

Then he saw it. Or rather, felt it.

Grace.

It shimmered faintly around her, not as a visible aura, but in its pull. Attention curved towards her like iron filings to a lodestone. She absorbed the atmosphere, softened it, returned it warmer. Even drunks gave her room, their eyes brightening under her passing glance.

Ori guessed she was Awakened at most, yet she radiated more Grace than anyone he'd seen since the Trials, more than most Demon Wardens, exceeded only by Melessandra the Wayward or the Overseer.

Was she a local celebrity? A unique class? Or something rarer, does she cultivate it directly?

Beside him, Ruenne'del sipped her soup with calm amusement.

"Recruiting for your battle harem?" she asked, her smirk curling faintly at the corner of her lips.

Ori shook his head. "No. Just... her Grace. They way she uses it, it's impressive."

"She is pretty," Rue said, glancing over. "But you're more interested in her magic than the person."

"Exactly. Where's yours, anyway? You're a princess. Surely you'd have plenty?"

Rue shook her head slowly. "Too many siblings and my ripples upon fate have been slight. I've more Grace than most, but my Presence conceals it."

Ori nodded, his attention drifting back to the room. His people-watching resumed unabashed, as the bar buzzed on and the soup warmed his hands.

"You should talk to her when she comes back over," Freya suggested.

"Why?" Ori asked.

"Practise. One of these days you might need to seduce someone to your side instead of waiting for them to throw themselves at you."

A familiar spike of anxiety and incredulity almost made Ori reject the suggestion outright. It was a reaction born of outdated insecurities, and automatic behaviours that no longer suited who he was. Habits he needed to outgrow, especially if he wanted to rely on confidence rather than his rage in higher-stakes situations. He was on the verge of excusing himself with lines like, 'she's probably busy,' or 'Why waste either of our time', when Freya cut in again.

"Ori, savour this time. This time before your appearance and deeds are well known. Before simple, easy conversations with strangers become impossible. Before you start second-guessing every woman who smiles at you. Before who you are places an unbridgeable gulf between you and the regular people of Fate."

It was a conversation they'd had at least once before, and already, that future exhausted him just thinking about it. Remembering the last time he had gone out of his way to pursue someone of the fairer sex and how it had ended with him being abducted by Mel, Ori shook his head.

"All right. But I'm not going to try and rizz her. Just... a casual chat, yeah?" Ori conceded to his familiar's wisdom. He was, after all, effectively married four times over, had massacred hundreds of slavers and demons, and even killed a god. Yet, for some reason, going out of his way to speak to a pretty waitress still triggered his fight-or-flight response.

It wasn't long before she approached once more.

"Finished with those, are you?" she asked, gesturing to the knives.

Ori nodded. "Yep. Be—" He didn't get the chance to warn her about the sharpness provided by the twice-reinforced enchantments. She reached out and swept one of the blades into her grip, and Vision of the Progenitor caught the swirl of Grace that acted like an invisible extension of her hand.

She paused when she caught the light in his gaze, then inspected the knife, testing it by carving a nick into the edge of the table. The blade sliced through the aged hardwood with ease.

"This..." she began, then stopped herself, her expression of surprise quickly smoothed over by a calm, professional demeanour. "...is great work. Is it some kind of glamour, or—?"

"Glamour?" Ori repeated.

"Oh, I just assumed, with the eyes, and the fairies... that you were fae-touched?" she asked, a little sheepishly.

"Ah. Yes, well…" Ori considered correcting her but decided against it. The misunderstanding made for a convenient cover. "You're right. Lucky me, I suppose." He offered her a genuine smile. "I'm Ori. This is Freya and Rue."

"Oh, hello," she replied warmly ending with a polite bow. "I'm Ophilia, local tavern bell, at your service."

The conversation continued, a little awkward at first. Ori wasn't quite sure how to navigate her energy, bright, convivial, and slightly overwhelming, but he relaxed when he realised he didn't need to impress her or try too hard to carry the conversation. Once he shifted focus and began asking genuine questions about the region, Ophelia lit up with enthusiasm.

She spoke freely about Redharrow's history as a trading post, its growing dependence on enchanted goods despite the rarity of Awakened, and the careful balance it maintained with the Aether-touched beasts that roamed the outskirts. She described the ebb and flow of travellers from all walks of life, and the subtle tension that arose between such diversity and the more rigid, insular attitudes of those from Dremshire, or "the Shire," as most locals called it. She took particular pride in explaining how her father's inn had become a friendly, neutral space, and how, despite the growing rumours of rift beasts, and unrest drifting northwards from the south, Redharrow was thriving. There was a subtle suggestion that the inn's success, and perhaps her own efforts, had played no small part in that.

Ori listened, occasionally offering a question or observation. Freya, though mostly quiet, was swept along by the relaxed tone and contributed the occasional convenient half-truth about their journey and future plans. Ruenne'del said little, but her bond presence remained amused and gently supportive.

What struck Ori most was how effortlessly Ophelia moved between insight, curiosity and casual charm. Her presence anchored the room. She didn't just serve food and drink, she shaped the mood. Her Grace wasn't simply aesthetic; it was a professional tool, one she wielded with quiet mastery to keep the space harmonious. It was her craft, the same way Ori shaped wood or stone or etched runes with intention and care.

By the time the conversation wound down, it was Ori who reminded her she had a job to return to. Ophelia laughed, offered a playful curtsy, and excused herself with a bright farewell and a promise to check in again before the evening rush.

As she walked away, Ori found himself smiling. His thoughts, for a while at least, felt lighter. It had been a good exchange with an experienced conversational partner. Easy, unforced, and free from any need to impress or gain something in return. And, as Freya had reminded him, he savoured this small step forward in his confidence, aware that what might be a common interaction for others could be, for him, one of only a few such moments to come.