The Least Common Denominator

I.II Summation

It's been five years. five years since I've been reborn into this backwater world. And while I didn't fault my parents, I was far from comfortable in living in a world without basic plumbing and electricity.

"C'mon, Cream~" Father beckoned towards the nearby stream, a ceramic jug under his arm as I blankly approached the heavily bearded man. "This is where we get our water."

I nodded in understanding as I watched my father scoop out another batch of water for our usage. With our house being situated a good hour from the nearest market, we lacked the convenience of having a well to draw water from. As such, we had to get it from a small stream a few minutes north of our house.

"Can't we have a well of our own, Father?" I questioned, knowing full well just how good of a craftsman my father was. "You can build one, right?"

"Indeed, little Cream," My dad answered having another jug filled with water loaded onto our wooden cart. "But we can't. We need permission to build one from Lord Steiner."

Huh? Why would the Lord of the land even need to give permission to people like us that lived far away from the central town?

"Why can't we just build it?" I asked, my childish voice a tad too squeaky for my liking. "It's not like they'll see it."

Father knelt down onto my level, his onyx eyes having a glint of resignation coloring them as he put a hand on top of my head. It was a soothing feeling; his calloused hands rubbing my hair in endearment. "Just because they can't see doesn't mean it's allowed. There are rules, Crimson. And we're supposed to follow them."

"Okay." I acknowledged, a pout forming on my face.

"Hahaha! It's not that bad, little Cream~" My father chuckled, flexing his muscular arm in front of me. "A little exercise won't hurt~"  

I can only watch as my father returned to the backbreaking work of filling up our jugs for the day. This wasn't fair. Why would we need permission for such a basic commodity?

I stewed in my own thoughts; my mind barely registering the passage of time before my father called for me once more.

"Time to go home, Crimson!" Father yelled out from behind me. "Your mother's waiting for us!"

"I'm coming!"

I put the thoughts of illogical and inefficient management behind me as I found myself skipping back towards the horse-driven cart. It didn't hurt to act like a child every now and then. My OCD will have their time to shine one day; when I'm old enough to do stuff on my own.

"There you are little Cream." My father greeted me as I gingerly climbed right next to him. I felt a hand pull me up; Father helping me get in the cart. "Careful there. Don't wanna get hurt now."

"Thank you, Dad~" I smiled, flashing my pearly whites towards the man.

I didn't see it, but I heard a sniffle coming from Father before he turned towards me. "No problem, little Cream."

With a slight tug, we were on our way back home. I sat in silence for the whole trip, simply taking in the environment of untouched forests and rocky mountains.

This was my life now. I no longer had the liberty of having modern conveniences aiding me for simple tasks like getting water or bathing. No more technology for entertainment or even basic comforts. It was man against the world. And I had to adapt no matter how hard I hated physical activity.

I can't let my new parents down.

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"Put your back into it little Cream!" My father encouraged as I struck the molten piece of what would become a sword on the anvil, my striking arm immediately feeling the burn of increased activity. "You need to make that thing bend to your will!"

Eight years old. I've grown fairly well despite the people of this time's lack of knowledge in basic food groups. It had taken me a bit of time to explain to my parents just how important it was to eat a balanced diet instead of relying on meat and potatoes all the time. It didn't help that I was five or six at the time, but I insisted on making us eat a healthy diet. I knew just how unforgiving the early middle ages were in terms of diseases, and I refuse to die a painful death from lack of Vitamin C.

"Strike harder!"

"Yes, Father!"

Currently, I was being taught a valuable trade in the small workshop just beside our house. I knew my father was a blacksmith from the constant ringing echoing throughout the house whenever he disappeared into this quaint little workshop. It also explained why we were fairly well off despite living far away from the town square. From what I've gathered, weapons were always a hot commodity. And such, I took the liberty of asking my father to teach me the craft, just to make sure that I won't starve when I inevitably had to find something to do for a living.

The heat of the furnace was scalding, like an oven set on overdrive as I put the piece of metal back in for the umpteenth time. From what little that I could recall from my past life, it was a process meant to reinforce the metal for added sturdiness. It was common science that heat rearranged molecular bonds, allowing it to reform into another shape.

What wasn't however, was the fact that magic existed here in some form.

"Good. Now, since this blade has been pre-etched, you can go straight to infusing your hammer with Runic Essence." My father explained as I put the molten slab of metal back onto the anvil. "It should feel like a stream of energy flowing from your chest towards your striking arm."

I nodded in apprehension as I tried my best to recall just how my father taught me to call forth this 'Runic Essence.' Something about a 'well of power' beating in my chest?

Was it my heart or something?

Focusing on the rapid thumping in my chest, I felt a slow build-up of something hot and foreign bubbling up inside me. 

Oookay? That's it, I guess. Kind of easy to be honest.

Willing the energy to flow towards my striking arm. I raised my right arm in reluctance as I felt my hand burn with the strange energy that I was now producing.

"Now strike!"

"AARRGH!"

*CLANG!*

I screamed as I forcefully struck down on the waiting anvil. The resounding clang of metal on metal reverberated throughout the room, my right arm numb from the impact of my hammer hitting the now glowing piece of metal. I stared in fascination as the bluish glow at the site of impact spread across the metal, following the etchings to form a circuit-like pattern on the sword.

It was a curious sight to behold. To think that I made this thing with magic? Granted I still didn't know what exactly it added onto the finished product, but it was still an exhilarating experience to know that I was capable of at least some form of magic bullshittery.

"Normally, you etch the runes before the final tempering process. But since it's just a trial run, I figured you can skip the boring parts."

Boring huh? If Father taught me correctly, every etch and rune had a purpose; a specific job to make the whole of the weapon work as intended.

"I expect you to learn to draw and etch all the runes throughout the years that I'll teach you." Father explained as I marveled at my own work. "We have plenty of time. So no worries, little Cream."

I smiled to myself as I thought of all the possibilities. I think I'll have fun with this.

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