The Shitty Elf and the Shitty Dwarf (8)

I fed charcoal into the forge and gauged the fire spirit's mood.

After I said two or three words to it, sparks burst upward, and the fire spirit living in the forge showed off how raring to go it was today.

About half a year after I began learning smithing, my Shitty Dwarf master gave me a job I was free to take on as I pleased.

It was nailmaking.

Since I started working at the smithy, I had gradually become acquainted with more and more nearby residents.

I learned that they sometimes found daily life inconvenient because they were short of nails, kitchen knives, pots, and other metal goods.

Why did they live near a smithy, then?

I found that strange, but my Shitty Dwarf master was known as the best smith in town, and his work consisted of making weapons and armor for soldiers and adventurers.

Moreover, dwarves were known for being stubborn, and since they were muscular and intimidating in appearance, nearby residents had apparently found it hard—or felt they ought not—to ask them for everyday goods.

But after seeing an elf—supposedly incompatible with dwarves—begin working at the smithy, that impression had apparently softened.

Apparently, that was because, despite trading insults like Shitty Elf and Shitty Dwarf, we both looked like we were having a great time.

So, representing the nearby residents, a landowner who was also a local notable came to me in secret.

They asked whether I could somehow supply them with at least nails, without going so far as kitchen knives and pots.

When I brought this up with my Shitty Dwarf master, he thought about it for a moment and said,

"If you're the reason we've gained these customers, Shitty Elf, give it a try. I'll teach you how to make them."

That was what he told me.

And so, I made nails again today.

As it turned out, nails came in all sorts of different kinds.

Those needed in large quantities were made by casting—pouring molten metal into molds and letting it cool and harden—while special shapes needed in small numbers were made by forging, hammering heated metal into shape.

Moreover, the material varied depending on their intended use.

For example, besides iron nails, brass nails with a golden sheen would likely be in high demand among landowners and other wealthy people for their attractive appearance.

But not every nail I made could be sold as merchandise.

Before being handed to nearby residents as merchandise, each nail had to be inspected to see whether it met the standards for goods sold by this smithy.

That was only natural, of course, but his inspection was extremely strict.

Aside from cast nails, for a while not even one in ten forged nails passed.

But rather than having him go easy on me, I felt reassured by such a rigorous inspection when it came time to hand the goods over to customers.

I could proudly hand over goods that had passed my Shitty Dwarf master's inspection.

Besides, as the percentage passing inspection slowly rose, my progress became clearly visible, while my weaknesses and the areas I needed to improve were gradually revealed as well.

That was why, well, making nails was genuinely fun.

I was happy when people were pleased to receive them, and it was both surprising and amusing to spot nails that appeared to be my work being used while I walked around nearby.

If I kept making nails for a hundred years, the houses around here would be rebuilt, and I might end up replacing nearly all the nails used in the area with nails I had made. When I imagined that, I found myself thinking that a life like that might not be so bad.

Of course, whether I could keep making nails for a hundred years, even if I enjoyed it now, was another question.

I probably get bored easily, so I'd likely start tiring of it after ten or twenty years.

After about a month of hammering them out, the pass rate rose to thirty percent, and after three months it exceeded fifty percent.

The smithy grew busier and busier, and we finally had to take on more employees.

The two new employees were both nearby residents, mothers who had been housewives.

They each came to work three days a week on alternating days. The one who was off looked after the other's children as well, so between them they cared for both families.

On my one day off each week, I was sometimes invited to their homes to play with their children.

Human children grew so quickly that they were fascinating to watch.

Even after only a few weeks, they looked slightly but unmistakably bigger.

The children adored me, calling me Shitty Elf Big Bro.

Still, if they were already that foulmouthed as children, they wouldn't grow up to be decent adults, so I thought they ought to fix that.

Once someone grew into a twisted, stubborn person like me or my Shitty Dwarf master, there wasn't much to be done about them, though.

Lately, I'd also started trying to make nails beyond the types I'd been taught.

For example—yes, staples.

Apparently, this world—or at least Vistcoat—had no forked nails or staples, so when I made one and showed it to my Shitty Dwarf master, his eyes went wide.

I couldn't make them very small because of technical limitations, but even large ones could be used to join pieces of timber.

Taking on nailmaking had greatly increased my workload, but my pay had gone up considerably at the same time.

Even now, I still relied on Airena, the town's top adventurer, for much of my living expenses, but I really wanted to become self-sufficient soon.

She was an elf too, after all, and the “just a little longer” she promised to look after me was genuinely, absurdly long.

I'd been planning to rent a house all along, but I'd already saved enough to buy one, so I was now considering that instead.

If it was near the smithy, most of the people around me would be familiar faces, and the area wasn't especially unsafe, so I thought it would be fine to live there.

Airena had taken on a long-term job and was currently away on an expedition, but when she returned, I was determined to get her to discuss it with me this time.