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"You’re a leader," John said. "And these n followed your lead for years. I can’t use my na. At least not now."
Fizz popped up between them. "Correction. They follow . This is now officially... Fizz Palace."
John gave him a flat look. "You want your na on the building?"
"Yes."
John paused and thought a bit, "Fine. Then the company na is... Fizz Holdings."
Fizz turned redder with pride. "I love that. I am starting to like you." He told this with puppy eyes.
"Stop that." John said.
"I will now give a gift," Fizz announced. He floated toward the bladesmiths and opened his tiny mouth wide.
John blinked. "Wait, what are you doing?"
Before he could stop him, Fizz zipped through the air and bit the first miner lightly on the arm.
"Ow! Please don’t kill ."
A red glow surged from the bite mark and wrapped around the man’s fingers.
Fizz chomped four more tis, each miner yelping as energy shot into their limbs. "My blessing is yours, my underling forgers. You have been... Fizz-tified."
The n backed away, eyes wide.
John facepald. "Fizz!!!"
"What? Emotional support and magical enhancent. I’m a multitasker."
Before John could scold Fizz a system notification ca into his mind.
[Ding! System Notification: Five individuals have been infused with Elental Spark. Future forging attempts may randomly gain elental attributes.
Chance level: low moderate.]
John turned to the n. "If you forge more blades and one glows or burns or crackles... tell imdiately. You might create sothing rare."
The miners nodded, still rubbing their bitten arms. They didn’t understand anything.
Fizz floated to a rock and laid on it like a cat. "I am exhausted from my elental generosity. Please send snacks."
John turned away before he smiled a bit.
The sun hung high in the sky now, golden and warm. Behind the forge, the sounds of hamrs striking tal filled the air. Smoke trailed gently upward.
Hos began to rise nearby, simple shacks at first, then stone walls and timber fras. The beginnings of a trade company.
The forge glowed steadily. Fizz snored faintly in the shade. And John watched his dream take its first real shape.
The air around the budding forge site simred gently with heat and ambition. tal clanged in rhythm, echoing through the surrounding trees like a slow heartbeat. Dust rose from freshly hamred foundations, and smoke drifted lazily from the forge chimney. John stood at the center of it all. His arms folded and sweat trailing down his temple. Around him, miners worked in pairs, so building the outer walls of hos, others returning to the forge with raw ore they had carried in sacks.
Fizz hovered in a lazy loop above a group of them, his tiny red fluff ball body leaving streaks of gold as sunlight filtered through his wings.
"Gentlen," Fizz said with a dramatic twirl, "let it be known that the age of shovel and dust has ended. The age of spark, steel, and Fizz has begun!"
The youngest miner looked up, eyebrows raised. "Lord Fizz, you nad this whole place after yourself?"
Fizz leaned in until they were nose to nose. "Would you not na heaven after the god who built it?"
Another miner nearby muttered, "I thought John built the forge."
Fizz gasped in mock outrage and dropped to the dirt like he had been shot. "Betrayed! Betrayed in my own palace!"
John wiped his face with a cloth and walked over. "Fizz, stop dramatizing and help them align the furnace stacks."
"I am the mascot, not the manual labor."
"You have wings."
"I am precious. My wings are decorative."
The n laughed. Even the older ones seed to be adjusting. The presence of Fizz, while outrageous, made the fatigue in the air lighter. Where once suspicion and fear clouded their hearts, now there was curiosity, excitent, and a steady stream of insults delivered by a creature who looked like a flying dust ball with fangs.
One young miner, the thinnest of the lot, approached John. "Sir, if we build a few more forges, can we make daggers faster?"
"Yes, but only my forging table gives the items mana," John explained. "So work on your own gear if you like, but anything we want to sell needs to co through this table. The final work must be done here."
"Got it."
Fizz hovered beside the young man. "If you can forge sothing good, I might consider not biting you next ti. I will give you power beyond your imagination."
The boy blinked. "What?"
"Motivation," Fizz said cheerfully. "Also a warning. Don’t betray John."
John let them get back to it and moved toward the house where Gael and a few others had set up a planning table using carved stone slabs and flattened ore crates. Gael stood hunched over a rough map drawn on parchnt, using charcoal to outline a grid.
"Supply routes," Gael said without looking up. "We need one from the village, another from the mountain, and a side path toward the river. If we’re going to trade these blades, we need access."
John leaned over the map. "Agreed. But we also need soone to manage it all."
Gael stiffened. "I already said I’m not a rchant."
"You’re not," John said. "You’re sothing better. You’re trusted. These people follow you. You understand the land. You know who works hard and who slacks off. You’re perfect."
Gael shook his head slowly. "I can’t even read."
"I’ll teach you. Or we’ll get soone who can handle the paperwork. You make the calls. Choose the traders. Just lead."
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