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As he spoke, Clint pulled a small furnace from his backpack and set it down on the ground.
"If one furnace isn't enough later on," he said, "you can always build more yourself." He unfolded a crumpled blueprint. "Here's the furnace schematics. And—do you even have a tool kit yet?"
Ron shook his head.
Clint scratched his head, then reached into his bag again and pulled out a spare tool kit. "Here, take this one—it's extra. With it, you can follow the blueprints to craft things."
Ron quickly accepted it and thanked him.
"No need to thank ," Clint waved off the gratitude. "But if you ever slt tal ingots, sell them to —I'd rather not go mining myself."
Though he'd managed to catch a Slugma with help from the Adventurers' Guild, mining was still a hassle.
"Sure, thanks," Ron said.
Clint nodded, glancing at the makeshift campfire, then at the overgrown farm. For a mont, he felt genuine pity for Ron.
He'd often complained about inheriting his father's forge—but compared to this, his smithy was practically luxurious.
"It'll get better," Clint said awkwardly, offering what comfort he could. "When your grandfather ran this place, it was practically the pride of Pelican Town."
Back then, Clint had been just a boy. His father sotis ca to help the farr develop new tools—and would bring him along. So he rembered the farm well.
He recalled strange, naless Pokémon bustling across the fields, tilling, harvesting, and caring for livestock—everything vibrant and alive.
Thinking of that, Clint looked at the humble fire before him and sighed. "If you want, I can forge you a basic set of cookware. You probably don't know how to use the furnace yet—I can show you."
Ron sincerely thanked him again and handed Clint a skewer of freshly roasted fish.
"No, I—" Clint began to refuse, but the aroma was irresistible. He took it, tasted it, and blinked in surprise. "It's pretty good! How'd you make it?"
"Linus's recipe," Ron replied.
"Ah, that explains it," Clint said, pulling a lump of coal from his pocket and tossing it into the furnace.
WHOOSH!
Flas roared to life.
"You got ore?"
"Yeah." Ron handed him five iron ores.
Clint took them. "One tal ingot takes about five ores… Just toss 'em in. My dad perfected this design—you only need to rember: five ores plus one coal. Once it's done burning, you've got your ingot."
Ron nodded, watching as Clint fed the ores into the furnace.
"By the way," Clint suddenly asked, "how deep have you gone in that abandoned mine?"
"Floor 5," Ron said.
"Floor 5, huh?" Clint sat beside him, munching on fish. "Back then, you couldn't even find iron that high up. But ever since the farm shut down and Pokémon fled into the mines, everything changed."
"There used to be monsters in there too," he added. "Now you hardly see any."
"Used to be?"
"Yeah. Pesky bats, bugs… and deeper down, weird things that'd pop out of the rocks. I never went past that—probably got eaten by Pokémon."
Just then, the ingot finished slting.
Clint pulled out a Poké Ball.
"I choose you, Slugma!" he declared dramatically—tossing the ball with perfect form and releasing his Pokémon in textbook fashion.
"…" Ron raised an eyebrow. "Did my grandfather teach you that?"
Clint nodded proudly.
Ron opened his mouth—then decided not to ntion that you don't actually need to say a chant to release a Pokémon.
Clint and Slugma clearly had years of cooperation between them. Together, they hamred the molten ingot on the anvil, quickly shaping it into a frying pan, a pot, a ladle, and a proper kitchen knife.
"That should cover the basics," Clint said. "Not enough tal left for bowls, though. Try Gus's saloon—you can buy cheap ones there."
"Thanks."
Clint waved, recalled Slugma, and left.
With the new knife, Ron cleaned his remaining fish in no ti. While the fish roasted, he studied Clint's blueprints and tool kit.
The crafting process wasn't as physically demanding as he'd feared.
It wasn't like the ga—where you just dropped materials in and got instant items—but it wasn't full realism either. As long as he followed the blueprint's assembly instructions, the tool would form on its own.
Ron breathed a sigh of relief.
After all, Stardew Valley's biggest advantage over other farming sims was its industrial tools: sprinklers, kegs, seed makers, and more.
If he'd had to literally forge every single one by hand, farming would be unbearable.
The tool kit also ca with extra blueprints—for chests, torches, and campfires.
Ron imdiately tried making a chest from the wood he'd chopped that day.
It cost 50 wood. Once built, he opened it and tested storage—relieved to find it functioned like an extradinsional space, holding far more than its size suggested.
He dumped all his collected stones and iron ore inside.
By the ti he finished, the fish was ready.
After dinner, Ron made quick trips to Pierre's and the Saloon, buying basic seasonings—oil, salt—and a few ceramic bowls.
Then, with Geodude's help, he gathered enough wood for the night—and spent the evening fishing with Geodude and Froakie.
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The next day—Spring 5.
They'd fished until midnight.
Though there was no ga chanic forcing him to pass out at 2 AM, the fatigue was real—so Ron had returned to the farm early to rest.
Since Orthworm had no hands, only Geodude and Froakie ca along. Their haul earned 1,305G.
Ron tucked away the earnings, then checked his parsnips. The first fifteen—planted on Spring 1—were fully mature.
While Froakie watered the new crops, Ron harvested the batch, set up his campfire, peeled one parsnip, chopped it into chunks, and tossed it into the pot with water.
He watched the pale chunks bob in the boiling water… and felt certain this was the definition of culinary horror.
After a long pause, he cautiously added a pinch of salt—his only hope for flavor.
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