Over the next thirty, forty minutes, untamed wilderness gave way to crude roads and farmlands. Muddy paths turned to paved cobble, cozy hamlets, finally to the outskirts of Greenharbor. Hurtling through the air clinging to a Skyhook being transported by a Dragon didn’t allow for much in the way of small talk.
The small city was a mix of old and new. It enjoyed a position on the coast where the river spilled out to the sea, fed by Elemental Frost glaciers from mountains further inland and other tributaries. Water mills supplied some of the new industries, a rudimentary lightning station being fed by the mechanical output – as the MagiTek city planners tried explaining it – started to power other aspects of the new advancements being integrated. Furnaces and forges no longer competed for stockpiles of coal and wood when new ways of heating water and providing light appeared seemingly overnight.
My charge and I silently observed the daily lives going on below. Late afternoon, some shops and places of work were winding down. People were leaving home or work to go to the markets, perhaps food stalls or new restaurants that were taking advantage of the improvements to infrastructure.
One such thing was the idea of preserving foodstuffs. Traditional methods of using spices to make things keep longer had been competing with the use of ice and specialized containers. Artisans set their minds to crafting with new materials or coming up with new sources of ice, or even creating new types of magical ice. Then some Otherworlder gets an idea to make a Tek that achieves the same outcome. Then other Otherworlders collaborate or compete against each other, some enlisting people like me that have been living in this world all their lives, before generating something they refer to as a fridge.
The first fridges were difficult to maintain, as Tek is want to do. Dozens, hundreds of individual pieces of artifice working together. Expensive, needed literal bottled lightning to function, and sometimes had a tendency to violently turn into aptly named freezers by inflicting a cold snap on everything around it.
They worked, but then someone obtains a new idea: why not combine Magic and Tek? Ergo, MagiTek is dreamt up of a fridge utilizing the concept made by an Otherworlder with the comparatively more efficient ‘natural’ tools of our world.
One such alternative was a fridge using enchanted metals, ideally gold or silver or higher Rarity to effectively soak the magic necessary, inscribed with Runecraft to efficiently dispense a power source to provide the energy needed by the Tek pieces to work. Less moving parts, less chance of having a costly break, more space available.
Still quite expensive, but for those able to afford one vastly expanded the types of goods they could transport or store. Hence, an inn serving cuisine from a place a hundred miles away was not necessarily an oddity. If anything, it was a talking point to find out whether or not they had gotten one cheaply. There were rumors that the rich were able to obtain fridges for their personal households.
I spied what could have been one of the caravans with such artifice. Maybe it was headed for our favorite place to relax and-
No. No, it wasn’t. The emblem of a black sword with a crown slipped around the cross guard was plastered across the four or five wagons rolling into town.
[You see it too?] a voice whispered, distracting me from the discovery.
“Yes. That’s the largest group to date. Why in the hells are the Narcs moving around so much?” I said aloud, the Otherworlder clinging to me like a newborn babe blinking in confusion. “Nevermind that. We’re coming up on the Administratum.”
In the center of Greenharbor was a solitary tower. Tall, a hive of activity at its base and the smaller buildings around it, our target was an empty hexagon full of gravel. I watched as someone noticed us, shouted and pointed at another functionary, who in turn yelled at a third person taking a nap near the landing areas. Snapping to attention, they sprinted out to the middle of a hex, fumbling around for their signal flags.
Expertly coming about in a spiral, we swung from the Skyhook lazily as my Draco partner’s wings kicked up dust and buffeted the poor person beneath us. The ground slowly approached until I braced my feet for landing. Rocks clattered as she let go of the Skyhook, the last bit of resistance dragging us along. I quickly pulled a different strap, sending a stream of my Mana up through the cable to compress the gas once more. A Lightning rune then activated, encouraging the cable to contract back into the bag.
With practice, I undid my carabiners from the Otherworlder, who promptly collapsed onto his butt. He hadn’t passed out, which was good, but still had that look of shock. Hopefully I hadn’t shattered any grandiose visions of righting the world’s wrongs as some kind of chosen one given special godlike abilities no one else had. That was commonplace here, a World with no overarching problems to solve. Peace was a cherished commodity.
“Seeker Jericho! Welcome back!”
I turned to see an Elven woman approaching me. I was tall for a Human and easily stood head and shoulders above her. She had one of the newer tablets tucked under her arm, walking with a sword at her hip and armor in the same fashion as mine. Hers was more of an outfit reinforced with metal plates against dire conditions, mine was better for mobility at the cost of relying heavily on my ability to stay out of harm’s way. And, well, being light to not inconvenience my partner. Flying is a wonderful balancing act.
“Lyissa, afternoon. You here to take this one off my hands?” I said, taking off my helmet and goggles. Dark brown locks of hair were freed, some of them poking my eyes. Needed a haircut. I resisted the urge to fuss over the unruly locks. Looking up for my partner, she made another pass after seeing that we had safely disembarked. “There’s a lot of movement for a lazy New Year’s Eve.”
“Unfortunately no, you’ll have to admit him yourself. I hope that they used the Pearl?” she sighed, looking between myself and the Otherworlder. “Oh. Good, yes, that makes things easier. But, their name-?”
I grimaced. A shade of worry played across her perfect features. Ageless, smooth-skinned, eyes as vibrant as blue sky at sunrise. Pointed ears that extended well out from her head dipped ever so slightly with the news.
“We’re having issues communing with the other nearby Administrata. Prefect Avensson is attempting to contact the Primara Spire personally,” Lyissa informed me, tapping her tablet while manipulating certain keys. My breast pocket buzzed with a notification, vibration reminding me I had one of the blasted things too. “There hasn’t been any word back yet. I wouldn’t try making a report until later. However, registration should still be functioning, so-“
[Look out below!]
Dust and fresh cut grass was kicked up by a miniature typhoon, signaling the arrival of the huge black-scaled Dragoness. Her bulk shook the ground as she landed, knocking the Otherworlder off-balance while Lyissa and I rolled with the wave. Circling around herself, almost like a cat chasing its tail, the telltale shimmer of her transformation began.
Bones popped, scales rasped, flesh rearranged itself as her frame started to compress. White hot flame rimmed with red consumed her body, though it didn’t emanate any blistering heat as I approached her shrinking form. Snout and neck shortened, wings furled and slipped into her back, stature shifting from four legs to two. Her tail disappeared as the flames coalesced into a humanoid sized silhouette floating a meter aboveground.
“Observer Koliastrazana! You know better than to be so reckless!” Lyissa shouted, stamping her foot.
Eyes opened, citrine pools winked at us from within the living inferno. Strands emanated from her head, turning into that same oily rainbow sheen but now over dirty blonde locks that settled below her shoulders.
Reaching inside my magic pouch, I conjured up the thought of the equivalent of a bath robe as steam hissed from her person. Walking to my Draconic partner, I produced the heavy cloth and threw it over her just before the amorphous fiery embrace subsided and exposed her strawberry-hued skin to the world.
“Yeesh, careful there Jeri. I am a dainty lass who cannot bear such terrible weight thrown at her!” she protested in mock dismay. Shoving arms through sleeves, a person could never imagine the woman who barely came to my chin could actually turn into a majestic, albeit impulsive and stubborn, Dragoness. “Now, if you will excuse me, this lady is going to enjoy a long bath.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Observer Koliastrazana! Come back here!” Lyissa demanded, storming off after her hasty retreat from responsibility.
Which, coincidentally, left me with the Otherworlder.
“Did… did that Dragon turn into-,” he fish-lipped in disbelief.
“Did she become smaller? Yes, she did. Other races have similar shapeshifting available to them at certain Levels. Also, don’t try saying her whole name, and definitely not by a diminutive. The former is difficult enough, the latter will piss her off since she doesn’t know you. It’s a Draco thing,” I explained, waving for him to follow me toward the Administratum tower’s entrance. “My name’s Jericho, in case you didn’t catch it. Now, let’s get you registered in the System properly.”
“Right. Um, well, my name’s Carl Jenkins,” he replied, taking everything in stride with a daze. “So, Dragons? Elves? And-?”
“And Orcs, and Dark Elves and Dwarves, Lycans, certain kinds of Monsterfolk,” I happily shared. “Plus, with enough perseverance you could even shed your Human self for one of the other races-”
“Traitor.”
“Excuse me?” I stopped in my tracks, turning toward the speaker.
Ring mail, earthen tones for the gambeson. Sigil of a sword with a crown around the crossguard proudly emblazoned down his chest. Of course there was one here loitering for a chance such as this.
“You heard me. Traitor to your race, to Humanity,” the speaker repeated with feigned indignance, a man who I had more than a few pounds as well as Levels on should we come to blows. “After all we have done for this world, you would cast away all of your proud heritage? And lead someone else astray with empty promises of changing the form they were born into naturally?”
“Alright Terran, you can keep your religious rhetoric to the city corner, preferably at night next to the other hawkers in the Red Light district,” I waved dismissively, grasping Carl’s arm firmly with the other hand. Quickening our walk to the safety of the Administratum, a magical field apparated as I stepped through. Hazy air resisted when Carl passed through, relenting because he was with me.
“Reckoning is coming, traitor. A reset of the world, change the System to reflect the coming golden age!” the Terran railed on. Two more of his comrades stood next to him in solidarity before we rounded a corner. “Make sure you watch your back.”
I remained quiet while navigating the main corridors until we came to the atrium at the center of the tower, bootsteps echoing as we passed others that worked in the Administratum.
“The fuck was all that about? He from Earth?” Carl asked as I released him, looking around the lobby we found ourselves in. The only clerk was engaged with someone else that Koliastrazana and I rescued earlier today, an average looking Orc ripped from his reality. Looked like some kind of language lesson.
“Earth, Earth, uhm, which one is Earth?” I tapped my chin, closing my eyes and thinking hard. “I mean, it’s called Terra. I think sometimes it’s called Earth? Some thirty or forty years back someone took over a guild, then a city, then a country on the other side of the World. They call themselves the Terran Arcanocracy.”
“Affectionately referred to as Narcs,” a diminutive figure with a familiar voice tacked on, toweling off her hair as she arrived from the barracks. Still wearing the uniform humanoid-form flight robe, though now she was wearing a shirt and shorts underneath. “I have been informed this is a form of insulting term from Earth-Terra. Humans of Earth-Terra are responsible for things like the tablets, but some have held – what would the word be – disdain, for other races? They outdo even the most senile High Elves but thankfully keep to their ‘Narc-iness.’”
“Liastra, I thought you were getting a bath?” I asked, crossing my arms. It looked like the Orc Otherworlder was finishing up with what they were doing. Carl was between me and a pub crawl – which I invariably lost against my partner after about the fifth bar. My alcohol resistance was slowly but surely increasing. Maybe one day I’ll get to seven before keeling over.
“I did too, but Sub-Prefect Rachel called for all hands to make ready. Something is happening, it seems,” she shrugged, straining fingers through her hair before beginning to braid a pony tail. Her orange eyes sparkled faintly with that piercing gaze as she looked between the both of us. “The attendant is ready for you, Human.”
Carl cleared his throat and made his way to the desk, immediately sitting down and being ordered to take out the tablet I’d given him when we met. Intake was routine. He was being given a verbal summary of how our world worked, the way that the System was established by a joint venture by our ancestors and how world conflicts like those of Demon Lords ravaging the countryside or global wars or some contrived cataclysmic narrative did not happen. At least, it was more like most nations had come together to nominally face them together in temporary alliances. Since then, Otherworlders still found themselves ‘transmigrated’ and ‘reincarnated’ here but it was more a second lease on life than pitched conflict to survive.
I mouthed along with the speech being given, thankful I no longer had to ride a desk. My hand went down to my six-iron’s holster, making sure its strap was securely affixed. The curious weapon was a massive improvement over flintlocks, removing the need for the lengthy process of tamping sparkpowder and a metal ball into a crude barrel which had a tendency towards wild inaccuracy despite high damage. Even with a high Marksman skill and helpful Features, the System still got its pound of flesh for balancing purposes.
This MagiTek improvement, what the quartermaster told me was a ‘revolver,’ instead had six individual chambers for magnum cartridges. ‘Six-iron’ was how the System had labeled it once the definitions had caught up with its development.
A miniature hammer crowned with a combination of runes built around Fire slammed into the butt of the curiously shaped bullet. The sparkpowder was built into the round, ignited with a pull of the trigger, then sent the bullet flying where it interacted with other enchantments along the inside of the firearm’s barrel to deadly effect. The explosion propelled the metal at speeds well above and beyond previous types of Firearms and able to puncture through most normal armor. The fact that there were six chambers meant I could easily fire in quick succession as much as I could change them out for different cartridges – for instance, dumping iron-tipped bullets and replace with mithril- or silver-tipped ones for certain situations, or a Fire Element cartridge that caused an explosive fireball in a small area. The latter drained my mana depending on how much I imbued the shot with.
I was a Level 43 Artificer, a relatively new class that had appeared two, three generations ago. The System had started to assign it as a trainable Class, Observers of the Administrata theorizing it was a response to the sudden influx of Tek and MagiTek hot on its heels. Some Otherworlders called it an Industrial Revolution, some an Information Age after tablets started becoming more widespread.
A magical scroll with interactive functions which held sums of knowledge or pictures was not something new. They were simply rare or artifact quality items, with extremely low chances of encountering them as rewards for clearing out monster infestations or strongholds during System-sanctioned wargames of a regional scale.
Tablets, tabula rasa, slates, or other oddly translated terms for the MagiTek equivalents had been crafted through the ingenuity of knowledge from other worlds capitalizing on the structure of our world’s System. Otherworlders were the guinea pigs, borrowing a phrase from one of our older MagiTek researchers, to see how well they fared with the curious contraptions.
I looked over to my partner of three years. Today, actually. Hence the desire to finish our duties and see how many drinks we could match each other before I invariably failed to keep up against Liastra’s inhuman constitution. Status bar with Health and Mana and an empty Fury gauge displaying normally above her, she was a Level 51 Fighter with a subclass of Dragonknight, though for her being a Draco meant something completely different than if, say, I had that same Class. My Skills would relate to riding a Dragonkin or Wyvern creature in combat, whereas hers were directly related to fighting in the form of a Dragon.
For one, shapeshifting came as a natural Feature to her since birth. The deceptively small bundle of dubiously restrained violence was only this short because she was a meager 27 years of age, barely older than me at 26. Her Draconic true form however was reaching early maturity, the huge apex predator of the skies whose wings rivaled small warships. Her race grew up differently, especially Koliastrazana since her mother carried her as a Human would be. Raised her like a Human, among other Humanoid children. A subrace called Draco had been born from the practice some time ago.
I couldn’t imagine having a child that – in her case – could breathe corrosive acid that ate through plate mail, use powerful Arcane magics on a whim as a Feature, or transform into her scaly self to throw a natural disaster-sized tantrum. The novelty of a schoolmate like that had to wear off quickly, I imagine.
+Status warning! Recursion debuff applied.+
A wave of nausea overcame me. The letters over Koliastra’s info badge fizzled and popped, swimming in my vision. I thought her Level 51 dropped to 1 for a moment. My own 43 went fuzzy as well.
No, that can’t be.
+Status update, Recursion debuff expired.+
Shuddering, my gaze met Liastra’s. Faint obsidian scales formed briefly across her features though the transformation receded. It was a kind of precursor to a hybrid form, when going full Dragon was not the best idea. Passive racial Feature, activated in the presence of danger.
Just like that, the alien sensation passed.
“Did you-?” I began, patting myself down to make sure my person was intact, my items still equipped.
“Yes. I felt… less. What was that?” she replied. She was hiding what effect it actually had on her. Eyes too wide, couldn’t disguise the uncharacteristic worry playing across her quivering lip. “I’ve never heard of Recursion before.”
“Recursion? Was it a debuff?” I interjected, looking around the lobby. Other Observers and Seekers in the Administratum had stopped what they were doing as well, trying to understand. More than a few were exiting offices or rushing down flights of stairs. “Looks like everyone else was hit with something too.”
“Perhaps we should investigate outside,” she suggested, turning on heel toward the outside.
“Stars below, wait for me!” I called, having to sprint after what constituted a fast walk for her. Damned Dragons and their overpowered Attributes, even in their manageable form. What I would give for just a day of competing on equal ground…
+Status warning! Recursion buff applied.+
I saw Koliastra flinch, skipping a step. Surprised, I didn’t realize she had halted. Same with a few of the other non-Humans. I thought I saw Lyissa bracing herself against a wall further behind us.
“Again?!” I called out, returning to her with a concerned glance. She shrugged off my hand as I reached out, gave me a withering glare before resuming the trek outside. Dragonkin and their damned pride.