Prompt: An old man handed you a rusty cleaver, hoping it would aid you on your cooking journey. You never know when you might need it.

**

The bazaar has always been one of my favorite places. I often went there just to look around and admire the peculiar goods brought from distant lands. Today, I was browsing with a specific goal: ever since my knife was stolen in the land of the goblins, I hadn't replaced it, and I felt its absence, especially when I needed to cut something for dinner during my missions. I was looking for a knife suitable for such tasks, a small kitchen tool.

There was plenty of choice, but I found them a bit too expensive, especially since I was looking for a simple cutting knife without any inlays or colorful handles.

In a hidden corner, I found an old man with a stall mainly filled with warrior tools—daggers, axes, spears, and even crossbows—but there were a few simple knives.

When he saw that I was interested in his wares, he eagerly jumped up and watched with a smile as I looked around.

"Welcome, miss. What can I offer you? I see you're looking at the knives. What kind would you like?" Usually, I don't like it when people try to push something on me, but the old man addressed me so kindly, and I'm not often called 'miss' either. So I didn't move on but stopped.

"My knife was stolen, and I'd like a small, simple cutting knife," I said, reaching for a small knife with a wooden handle, which I found the simplest. But the old man stopped my hand with a throat-clearing sound.

"If I may suggest, forget that little knife. What you need is this." He picked up a cleaver from the corner of the table, which was quite battered and rusty.

He saw that the tool he offered didn't win my favor, so he swung it around a couple of times in the air, then placed the blade in his palm and leaned closer to me to show it off.

"Don't judge at first sight; this is the best cleaver I've ever sold. Its blade is made of a material that cuts through anything," the old man smiled.

I was still not convinced. "I'm looking for a knife, not a cleaver. I don't need such a big cutting tool; I just need something to chop ingredients for cooking."

"This is perfect for that too, believe me, miss!" The old man handed it to me so encouragingly that I took it. It fit quite pleasantly in my hand and was surprisingly light.

"But the blade is rusty. I'll have to clean it!" I objected, still inclined towards the smaller knife.

"Ahh, I'll give you a discount, but only for you, miss!"

I turned it in my hand and picked up the small knife, too, and the cleaver definitely felt better, as if it had always belonged to me. The old man rubbed his hands satisfactorily, pulled out a piece of paper, and started wrapping the cleaver. "I'm giving it to you, miss, because it suits you well. You'll see, you'll be able to cook dinner better with it, and who knows, you might use it for other things too!" He winked at me and handed it over. I thanked him for his kindness and put it in my backpack.

Yes, I had my backpack with me because I was just off on another mission. I was already pleased to have found this cleaver, especially since I had stopped carrying explosive devices after I met Desiré. Who knows, it might be handy, not just for cooking dinner.

I was on another mission Luther had declined, and I tried to recall these missions to see if there was any common thread. There was the boxing one, the message delivery to the brothel, and the last one, where I had that strange hallucination in the forest.

I couldn't find any similarities between them and was curious about Luther's criteria for not accepting them. The message didn't seem unusual, but I kept my eyes open.

I had to go to the southern border, where my target lived near a swamp. If anything, it was suspicious that someone lived next to a swamp.

Nonetheless, I continued my journey, and that evening, I tried out the cleaver. It seemed huge in my hand, but I couldn't help but admire how easily I could chop my cabbage.

I had started eating cabbage on long trips since it lasted longer than other vegetables. My favorite dish was fried cabbage with eggs and bacon. It required the fewest ingredients because I could gather eggs from bird nests and carry the rest. It became a routine: as dinner time approached and I looked for a place to stay for the night, I would start scanning the trees for nests. I always made sure to take only one egg from a nest. If there was only one, I would find another nest.

Fortunately, I found three nests with eggs, and I took one from each. I have settled my camp on a reasonably sheltered spot by a stream this time. I built a fire, and even then, the cleaver proved extremely useful for gathering firewood and effortlessly cutting small branches.

I cut the cabbage in half, put one half back in my backpack, and sliced the other half thinly. I fried six thin slices of bacon in hot fat until crispy, then set them aside. Then I tossed a whole onion, also finely chopped, and waited until they were translucent before adding the chopped cabbage. I sautéed everything well until it was soft and slightly browned, about 10-15 minutes. I seasoned with salt, pepper, and paprika, then cracked the three eggs and mixed everything thoroughly until the eggs were cooked.

I added the bacon back in, and my dinner was ready.

I was satisfied. I ate while listening to the flowing water and gazed at the cleaver beside me. The old man was right. I hadn't made such a good meal for myself in a long time. It does matter how finely you chop the ingredients. The blade was still rusty in places. I had tried to clean it, but a few spots remained.

After dinner, I washed everything in the river, including the cleaver blade. It seemed to undergo a transformation because underwater, the blade gleamed a bright blue, almost as if it were brand new. It was a strange illusion because the wear and tear were still visible when I lifted it from the water.

But I didn't have much time to ponder this, as suddenly, I heard a loud rumbling behind me. I didn't even have time to turn around before a considerable hand grabbed my shirt from behind and lifted me quickly, like a leaf picked up from the ground. The cleaver slipped from my hand, and what happened next was unexpected.

I found myself staring at six large orc faces.

"You're that little messenger, something like Peti, right?" asked the one holding me, looking expectantly.

"Of course, it's her; just look closer; she matches the description perfectly."

Another one brought me even closer to his face before dropping me, but I saw there was no chance of escape as they stood around me, eyeing me up.

"Even if you aren't the right one, I'll still beat the message out of you that you're carrying for Clifford, so you'll spill it even if you don't know it!" he threatened, and I looked around hopelessly, wondering how I could possibly escape. How did they know who I was carrying a message for? And how did they know about me?

Something was off about this situation, but there was no time to dwell on it as the orcs glared at me with blatant, threatening expressions.

"Does he even understand what we're saying?" I heard one orc behind me with a surprisingly thin voice, and I turned involuntarily to see who it was. Physically, he was the same as the others.

I was in the middle of my worst nightmare, with no way out, but I knew I could never pass on the message to anyone other than the intended recipient.

"I understand, yes," I replied, feeling that if I stalled, maybe something would happen to save me. "I just don't understand what message you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb with us, okay?" one of them grabbed my clothes again, and suddenly, I found myself upside down, as he was now holding me by one leg. "We've got all night to play with you!"

As I dangled in the air, I saw the cleaver's shiny blade in the firelight. If it were in my hand now, would it cut through the orc bone?

Don't ask me how it happened because I have no idea, but somehow, the cleaver ended up in my hand, much to my surprise. I saw the orcs were just as astonished.

"Didn't you take his weapon?" I heard one of them say, but I didn't wait long. With a sudden movement, I tested how sharp this cleaver, or rather my weapon, was.

With a few swift swings, I dealt with all of them, and they lay around the fire, bloodied.

I tried to recall what had happened, but it seemed to me that the cleaver had come to life in my hand. Nonetheless, it was still me who had killed them, as it was in my hand.

Still, it had some magic power, or I don't know what it was. I quickly packed up and left that cursed place. But I need to find out how unauthorized people knew about the message.