My Starter Sword Is a Weather Forecast

How it begins

Celia Dorr's starter sword predicted drizzle. It did so with a small picture of a cloud and the apologetic chime usually reserved for broken inventory slots.

The quartermaster checked the item twice. 'Decorative effect.'

'It's a pressure reading,' Celia said.

'Can it cut?'

The sword displayed a tiny umbrella.

Behind her, the other new players collected blades that burned, froze or whispered tactical advice. Celia received a weapon that appeared concerned about laundry. She had mapped storms for fourteen years before registering for dungeon work. She had expected the system to notice.

Malik Moss waited at the party gate, holding a shield broad enough to shelter three people. He glanced at the sword and then at Celia's class badge.

'We needed damage.'

'You hired a mapper.'

'The recruitment board said versatile support.'

'It says that when people want two jobs for one fee.'

He considered this, then moved aside. The party entered a corridor lit by blue crystal. No sky. No clouds. No obvious reason for the sword's drizzle icon to become a thunderhead.

Celia touched the wall. It was warm, then cold, then warm again. Air moved beneath the door ahead. She held up a hand.

'Wait.'

The party's archer opened the door. Rain struck from inside the room, hard enough to drive him backward. A lightning flash revealed stairs rising through a cloud bank where the ceiling should have been.

Malik raised his shield. Celia's sword produced a second icon: three small figures beneath a roof.

'Left alcove,' she said.

This time Malik listened. He pulled the archer behind the stonework as a bolt split the place they had been standing.

A notification appeared above Celia's useless blade.

FORECAST ACCURACY: CONFIRMED.

The sword's edge remained as blunt as a spoon. For the first time since entering, Celia smiled.