“Do you know how to enchant?” Effia asked, her eyes narrowing in curiosity as she studied Martin.

  Martin felt a wave of tension wash over him. He had just blurted out something he half-expected would never leave his lips. From his fragmented memories, he knew that enchantment was a skill often reserved for mages and dwarves. For dwarves, it was second nature, but for humans, it required years of dedication and innate talent.

  Moreover, there were very few people in Stan City who could enchant—perhaps only ten or so.

  As he met Effia’s gaze, Martin's heart raced. He felt a surge of panic mixed with a hint of hope. “This… it’s a bit complicated, but I have some understanding,” he replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

  “Oh, it should be straightforward to fix the magical array I inscribed on this sword. It’s just a [wind blade], after all,” Effia said, handing the sword to him.

  Martin’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “You trust me with your sword?”

  Effia smiled, a playful glint in her eye. “Are you afraid to touch my sword?”

  Martin swallowed hard, caught off guard by her teasing. He was beginning to understand that as the daughter of a city lord and a talented swordsman, she had a certain confidence that could be intimidating.

  The carriage jostled along the bumpy road, and Martin focused intently on the sword in his hands. He ran his fingers along the intricate patterns etched into the blade, trying to recall everything he knew about enchantment.

  “Enchanting,” he mused internally, “is the process of inscribing a magical array onto a weapon or armor. It’s not as simple as drawing a magic scroll, since those can only be used once. Enchantment requires a more permanent integration of magic into the item.”

  He thought about mithril, a rare metal known for its magical properties. “To enchant, you need to blend mithril into the weapon's structure, creating a magical matrix. But how do I form the matrix from the existing patterns?”

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  Martin felt a knot of uncertainty in his stomach. While he doubted his ability, he was determined to try. Even if he failed, he hoped Effia would understand.

  As the carriage came to a halt in front of Anthony’s Magic Store, Effia turned to him. “I hope you can have this sword fixed for me in two weeks,” she said, her tone shifting to something more serious. “As for your reward, we’ll discuss that later.”

  “Sure, I’ll do my best,” Martin replied, stepping down from the carriage. He glanced back, a thought occurring to him. “About that compensation we discussed earlier…”

  Effia rolled her eyes playfully. “You really don’t forget, do you? Don’t worry about it. With Busca dead and his assets likely confiscated, my father will make sure you get what you’re owed.”

  With that, she closed the carriage door, and Asor nodded respectfully. “Yes, Miss Effia.”

  Martin watched them leave, a mix of gratitude and apprehension swirling inside him. He turned toward Anthony’s shop, feeling a sense of familiarity wash over him.

  “Martin!” He heard a booming voice call out, and turned to see Debbie rushing toward him, her face a mixture of shock and joy. “You… you’re back! What happened?”

  “It’s a long story, Debbie,” he said, gesturing toward the store entrance. “Let’s talk inside.”

  “Then hurry! I’ve got some delicious food for you!” she exclaimed, her excitement palpable.

  As they walked, Martin reflected on how strange it was to feel a bond with this girl, a connection that felt both foreign and familiar. After spending three months being held captive, he couldn’t shake the feeling that their paths were intertwined.

  When they reached the store, Martin’s gaze fell on a small figure sitting quietly outside. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the scene, but there was a palpable sadness in the air.

  “Debbie…” he called softly, and as if his voice had broken a spell, the little girl looked up, her face streaked with tears.

  At first, she seemed confused, rubbing her eyes, but then recognition dawned. Her surprise quickly turned into a frown of discontent as she sprang to her feet. “Why did you leave without saying anything? I worried about you!”

  Before he could respond, she rushed forward, fists clenched, ready to unleash her frustration on him.

  Martin braced himself, remembering how her strength could rival that of a seasoned warrior. He could almost feel the adrenaline pumping through him, but as she reached him, her expression shifted from anger to despair. Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she lunged into his embrace.

  “Martin, where have you been? I missed you so much…” she sobbed, her small frame trembling against him.

  “I missed you too, Debbie,” he replied hoarsely, feeling overwhelmed. “But if you could ease up a little, I think my ribs might crack…”

  As she squeezed him tighter, Martin realized that no matter how tumultuous the world around them had become, moments like these reminded him of the connections that truly mattered.