How will you upgrade your tools? You aren’t talking to Austin anymore, you said, the other day.
I huff. “And your crafting functions are stupid if you can pop out a whole chest but not an iron pick.”
I can make a pick. I can’t bless the pick, and if it’s not blessed, it will behave like tools from your old world. Do you want that?
A sinking sensation dips in my chest. Ya girlie was not built for the full-swing animations, to be sure. I mutter, “No…”
So…you need to reconcile with Austin?
I need a pink sparkly sword and for Austin to stop saying that I’m useless without Samson. I know he’s not completely wrong, since I literally can’t see in the mines without Samson, but it still makes me sick to feel like I’m using him. He’s beenusedhis entire life. I want to take care of him now. I just don’t know how to do that in this world yet. “There’s a quest I want to take on. But…I need help.”
What quest?
“The Gem Sword. The Mystic Forest.”
That’s dangerous with your current loadout.
“I know all the cheats. It’s tedious with my current loadout, but not dangerous.” I clear my throat, hesitating, before I confess, “Not dangerousapartfrom the throwing a bomb thing.”
Foiled by your astigmatism, yet again?
My eyes narrow on the page. “Ah, so I’ve mentioned it.”
Once or seven thousand times. I’m not counting.
“You’ve got a big attitude for something so flammable.”
Hahaha. You’re great, Citrus.
Unable to help myself, I smile. “Okay, yes. Depth perception. Bomb. Problem. I’m proud of your calculation skills.”
If the bomb is the only issue you perceive…
The page clears of conversation text, and a single, simple quest appears:
Talk to Slate. He loves bombs.
Bring the scrawny mad scientist with me to fight a queen slime?
I’m certainthatwon’t have any repercussions.
“Promise me he’ll be okay? He’s not combat trained like Samson, and I don’t know how well I’ll be able to protect him against seven slimes. Slow or not, that’s a lot to juggle with a training sword. There’s no knock-back on a training sword, so I won’t exactly be able to keep them at bay.”
Trust me. Slate is nowhere near helpless.
Blowing out a breath, I nod. “Okay. I trust you.” My devious thoughts drift, and I murmur, “I would, however, trust you evenmoreif you give me a Samson romance hint?”
Goodnight, Citrus.
I giggle. “Night, journal. Thank you.”
<3
Chapter 20
♥♥♥♥
I can bop if I want to.
