Reincarnation of Nikola Tesla in another world-Chapter 16: to the city

I step into the back of the forge and start packing up Brom's tools and his worn work apron into my bag. The furnace is burning hot red, and I lean against a stack of crates as I listen to Aldric and Brom talk near the heat.

Aldric, with that mischievous glint in his eye, leans close and says, "Brom, you're wasting your talent in this old, sweaty shop. Imagine if you left back in the dwarven kingdom they'd crown you as a top engineer. They'd give you a fancy post, and the ladies would go wild. You'd have your portrait on every wall."

He looks at me and back at Brom, continuing "Stay here, and you're stuck doing the same dull work every day. Come with us, and we'll treat you to fresh food and real adventure."

Brom, now a proper apprentice with grease on his hands and a bit of worry in his voice, shakes his head. "But the forge is all I've known. It's safe here, even if it is boring."

Aldric rolls his eyes and grins slyly. "Safe? That's just comfort wrapped in chains, Brom. You have real talent why settle for a life of endless hammering? Join us, and who knows? You might even become 'Brom the master blacksmith!'"

He laughs and slaps Brom on the shoulder. "You'd be hailed as a legend imagine, if you went back to the dwarven kingdom, they'd make you a junior assistant engineer, and girls would lose their minds for you!"

I step out from behind a pile of crates, . "Aldric's right. We're on the verge of something big. This isn't just about leaving the forge; it's about rewriting our lives. Brom, you get to escape the same old grind—no more sweat, no more stale meals, no more being forgotten."

Brom hesitates, rubbing his rough hands, then gives a slow nod. ".......Okay, I'm in. .....I want a new start. And I wouldn't mind those promises of good food and a bit of glory. But...."

He continued with a stern expression, "I get to keep the blueprint and no matter how much profit you get or loss, i demand a salary equally"

Aldric smirks. "That's what I like to hear! And hey, you know what? You can have as much salary as you want. You owe it to yourself, Brom."

Brom frowns for a moment. "No bargainig, huh? That does sound tempting."

Aldric winks, adding, "And think about it—if you join us, you might be the father of inventions someday. You'll get out of this dump, and the whole world will know your name."

I watch the exchange with a mix of amusement. I know exactly how to play this game, get them dreaming of a better life, even if it means a little emotional blackmail. "So, are you in or not?" I ask quietly.

But Aldric seems to have gotten good at this too, blackmailing Mira to make her do his work paid of i guess.

Brom takes a deep breath and nods firmly. "I'm in. Let's do this."

Aldric laughs, clapping Brom on the back. "Welcome aboard, Brom. You're leaving the forge for good!"

I knew this would happen, but it happened a lot sooner.

I step forward, satchel in hand, and add in my usual deadpan tone, "Welcome aboard, Brom. We're off to the city."

With our things gathered we make our way toward the carriage waiting outside in the market. The scene is still the same—workers are hurrying about, putting up lanterns and cleaning the streets.

I catch a glimpse of a group of people huddled by the market square, whispering about the new chief and the grand plans of the town.

I can't help but let a small smile break through.

"You are truly the light in my darkest hour."...

---

Near the town hall, a small crowd gathers. Inside, behind closed doors, the new chief is being sworn in.

Muted cheers, muffled celebrations—no wild screaming, no rowdy excitement.

Not out of disrespect.

Out of fear.

The doors creak open.

Vaqihr steps out, garlands draped around his shoulders. The new chief walks beside him, beaming.

The chief turns to Vaqihr, voice carefully respectful. "Grand Wizard, it would be an honor to host you for lunch in my humble home."

Vaqihr raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I have little interest in pleasantries."

The chief's face falls slightly, but he nods.

Then, after a pause—Vaqihr exhales. "...Very well."

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

The relief in the chief's face is visible.

---

The forest road is quiet. Too quiet.

A faint rumbling echoes through the trees.

A cart barrels down the dirt road, wheels kicking up dust, the panicked faces of two men barely visible beneath the flickering lantern light.

The merchant grips the edge of his seat, knuckles white. His driver—a grizzled man with sun-worn skin—urges the horses forward, sweat beading on his brow.

"Faster!" the merchant hisses. "Don't stop for anything!"

"I'm already pushing them!" the driver snaps. "Unless you want us to crash, this is the best we can do!"

Then they see it.

A massive tree trunk lies across the road, thick roots still curled like claws reaching out from the earth. A fresh fall? Maybe. But the cuts on the bark look too clean.

The cart slows.

The driver curses under his breath and grabs the hilt of his sword. "We should've hired an escort."

"Shut up," the merchant mutters, eyes darting around the darkened woods. "It's an old tree. Coincidence. Just a coincidence."

Silence answers him.

Then—movement.

Dark figures drop down from the trees, landing in a loose circle around the cart. Their weapons glint in the lantern light.

The merchant freezes.

One of the barbarians lunges forward, letting out a guttural roar. It's not an attack—just a game. A cruel joke.

The merchant screams, throwing his sword to the ground as his bladder empties.

The driver reacts differently. He bolts.

Or at least, he tries to.

The moment his boots hit the ground, he draws his sword in a desperate last stand. "Stay back!" His voice is hoarse, but there's fight in him. "I swear to the gods, I'll—"

A bandit rushes him, and the driver slashes forward, catching the man's arm.

The bandit snarls but doesn't fall.

A second bandit slams into the driver's side, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Before he can scramble up, a heavy boot stomps down on his wrist, forcing his sword from his grip.

He lets out a choked grunt, spitting blood into the ground.

The merchant watches in horror, his hands trembling. "P-Please... just take the cargo!"

The bandit leader finally steps forward.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with a wolfish grin. He carries no shield, no armor—just a single, well-worn sword resting lazily against his shoulder.

"You don't get it, do you?" he says, voice low, amused. "We were going to take it anyway."