Я вывалил на прилавок изрядную кучу громыхающего железа...

I threw a heap of rumbling iron on the counter and nodded respectfully to the blacksmith.
- Good afternoon. I am to you.
“I see,” the blacksmith grunted.
“This is what I would like to sell, but this is mending.” Well, to bribe something for which there is enough money.
The blacksmith pulled a jagged rusty scimitar from the heap and grimaced.
-Okay, it’s good for re-melting. Eighty-six coins for everything.
“It's coming,” I agreed quickly. - And how much for repairs?
“Four coins,” the blacksmith answered, looking around my equipment. - It will take a little time, you can choose what you need there for now.
I moved along the counter, looking at the goods.
- How much is this chain mail?
“Eight hundred,” the blacksmith answered, not looking back.
- What about the shield?
- One hundred and twenty.
- And the ax?
- Two hundred. Do not touch your hands, I see everything!
I hastily put my hands behind my back.
- And what's that? Horse harness?
- Where? - the blacksmith followed my gaze and snorted. - Of course not. We have armor, weapons, what does the horse have to do with it?
- And what is it? Armor or weapons?
“Armor,” the blacksmith answered without a shadow of doubt. “Well, weapons, too, in a way.”
He picked up the weave of leather straps decorated with silver skulls with his finger, shook it and smacked it.
“Dark Legion uniforms,” he told me. - The female version, of course. It looks amazing on demonesses! Look, take a look.
The dwarf pointed his finger at the large poster on the wall. I took a closer look. A blond elf in chain-neck thong and a short chain-mail with an open belly button smiled invitingly from the poster. A golden inscription “I am yours!” Shone above her head
“Uh ...” I said.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” the dwarf was embarrassed. - Wrong. Over on that wall.
The poster on the other wall depicted a demoness in black latex, with black flowing hair, black varnish on sharp nails, black leather boots with stiletto heels and a black lash-lama in her hands. Black inscription “You are mine!” Snaked above her head
The gnome smith again shook the leather harness, enjoying the sound of silver shards and fairly stroking his beard.
- Snapping up like hot cakes! he boasted. - Recently I received a large order from the Dark Chancellery, for two women's battalions. Very good money, by the way.
“Do you sell armor to the dark side?” - I was surprised.
- What is it? - shrugged the dwarf. - I also sell Svetly. Maintain balance, so to speak. Since law-abiding neutral, so-and-so.
He pulled a golden bikini from under the counter and defiantly laid it next to the black uniform.
- Nice, huh?
“Nice,” I admitted. “But hardly functional.”
“You understand a lot!” - the gnome was offended. “Do you think this armor is for protection?” Stop arrows and axes? No matter how!
“And for what?”
The dwarf angrily sniffed into his beard.
- Tell me, wise guy, what is the guarantee of victory?
“Nuuu, I don't know,” I said. - Firstly, of course, human resources. Then magic, technology ... equipment, again ...
“Nonsense,” the blacksmith dismissed. - The forces of the warring parties can be absolutely any. You can beat an entire empire with only a handful of poorly armed peasants and a couple of archers at the start. Science, technology, magic or religion - it's all empty, they solve almost nothing. Only one single factor determines who will ultimately win. And his name ...
“Chosen One,” I whispered.
“Right,” the dwarf nodded. - The Chosen One. A mysterious person of unknown origin, he can be anyone and anything, he is naked and barefoot into the world, penniless, knows nothing, knows nothing, often does not remember anything, even his own name. But this is not important. All the same, only the side to which he decides to join will win. Right?
“So,” I agreed.
- Well. All this entourage, ”the dwarf circled the counter with his hand,“ all the buns offered, exciting quests, all this light and dark magic, titles and ranks - all serve the one and only purpose, to attract the Chosen to one’s side. But money and ranks now, you know, can no longer seduce anyone. But this, ”the gnome again pointed with his finger at first to one, then to another poster,“ still works. ” Inconvenient, not functional, yes, shame, again, you won’t turn around, but the girls try. Everything for the front, everything for victory, and so on.
“That is, in the millennial confrontation of Light and Darkness ...” I began.
“Those with more boobs will win,” the dwarf finished.