Chapter 32: Hands of the Artisan XIII
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[THE SILVER SEAT - Lamplight Dormitories]
“Done your training, then?” asked Muse.
Cain looked back at her from the bench in the courtyard. He was holding the iron shortsword in his hands, the one that had been crafted by Nameen from Alonzo’s sword. He had been admiring the quality for a moment after doing some forms; it really was a thing of beauty. To be honest, he was really just holding onto it. The moment he could catch the wolf beastman, he was going to give it back to him.
A cold wind blew as Muse approached. It was dark out now, and the three moons were out. The stars in the sky shined incredibly brightly - Cain figured that was due to their location on one of the floating islands in the sky.
She sat down beside him, looking in the same direction at the stars. A nice little quiet moment to wind down after a day of battle that had come out of nowhere. In the end, though, they had saved a life and found another Player while putting a murderous fiend behind bars.
“You know, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” said Cain. Muse turned to him.
“What’s this world called?”
Muse blinked. Her face twisted into a smirk, before that smirk gave way to a whole giggling fit. Cain sent a look her way, bemused, and waited for her to calm down.
“Pfft. Right,” said Muse. “Really, every time I get comfortable, you remind me that you’re from somewhere else entirely.”
Muse once again looked at the sky, before turning her gaze lower. Cain followed it. They were looking down now, at the city below. The Silver Seat was an appropriate name indeed for a place that dazzled with lights even at night. Beautiful were the patterns they made in the darkness.
Cain could even see the Night Market from where they were, now that he was more familiar with the city. He remembered the little ragamuffin that had bumped into him when he was wandering about; only in hindsight did he realize that it had been Nameen.
Thirty-one Players in the world, they had told him. What were the chances?
“Esperanto. The name of this world is Esperanto.”
Esperanto.
“How ‘bout yours?” asked Muse.
Cain blinked.
“Huh?”
Muse grinned.
“Yours. The name of your world.”
Cain looked at her. Really looked at her for the first time in a bit. What confronted him was a vision of a green-skinned beauty. Long ears, large fangs, eyes like rubies. Ethereal and fantasy-like.
But that wasn’t who she was, was it? Or rather, it was only the surface. No, she was Muse. A wise-cracking and warm-hearted devoted guardian of the people. Somebody who teased people when she got bored. Somebody who couldn’t let people deprive themselves, even of things they didn’t need to survive.
That was who she was to him now. Everything that he had first found strange and fascinating about her had become... normal.
He wondered if she found him normal as well. He wondered if she would think his stories were just as strange as the world he found himself in now. If she went to Earth, would she adapt as quickly? She’d definitely stand out.
“It’s called Earth.”
Muse grinned.
“Earth, huh? That's like naming your world Dirt. Tell me about the place!”
Cain did just that, piecing things together from fragmented memories. He described the continents and countries. Fragments of technology, from cars to computers. Things he wasn’t certain of he made sure to let her know. She listened, sometimes in wonder and sometimes in shock.
“Only humans?” she asked, her mouth open. “No other races?”
“Only humans,” Cain confirmed. He didn’t go into how the people of his world used the word ‘race’, that was a conversation that he didn’t want to have if he didn’t need to. He doubted he himself could do it justice anyway.
“That’s... so out there,” said Muse. “No orcs, then?”
“No orcs,” said Cain.
He wondered if he should mention how orcs, dwarves, and elves were only elements of stories. It didn’t seem like the time. Maybe in the future, in another one of their talks.
“Wow...”
Muse quietly pondered this. Then, it was as if a lightbulb burst over her head.
“Hey, then,” she said, turning to Cain again. “I’m the first orc you ever saw?”
“That’s right.”
She stood up, before walking in front of Cain with a great big smile on her face. He noticed that she was still wearing that simple white dress and matching sandals from when they had visited the Lifeweaver’s Ward earlier in the day.
He still wasn’t used to it - he was used to her in her knight uniform with her hair up. It took all he had not to look away awkwardly.
She twirled on the spot. The three moons stood behind her back, illuminating her from behind. Yet, dark as it was, there was enough glow on the ground and around them for Cain to see her ruby eyes and cheeky grin clearly.
Cain suspected that she used her wind magic to add a little more spin to the fabric of her clothing. The effect was stunning.
“Well, how was it?” grinned Muse. “Did I make a good first impression?”
Cain refused to answer, looking away. He hoped that his blush wasn’t evident now that the sun wasn’t out, but the heat across his cheeks made him feel completely naked.
The orc stereotypes that he was used to did nothing to prepare him for an assault like this. Using charisma in place of strength was unfair.
Muse laughed.
They talked about various things for a while, whatever came to mind. Cain talked about any aspects of his life he could remember; Muse was particularly interested in the cuisine. Muse in turn chatted about what life was like growing up as a child in Greater Goethia. She had even mentioned her father, and how the Black Lamps had managed to convince her to join.
Soon, even the lights of the city were beginning to fade. It was getting far too dark out now. They would have to cut their chat short soon, no matter how enjoyable it was.
Cain finally found the courage to give voice to the doubt that had been plaguing him since the fight against the Manslayer earlier in the day.
“Hey,” he began softly. “I didn’t get any EXP today.”
Muse stopped and listened closely.
“During the Corbin Village attack, I gained a whole bunch of EXP.” said Cain. “During the sparring sessions with Ronove on our way here, I didn’t gain any. And today, against the Manslayer, I didn’t gain any again.”
Cain swallowed.
He thought of Jord, and the way the man had collapsed in the woods as Cain had run him through.
+50 EXP.
“EXP isn't experience points.”
He looked at Muse, his eyes almost pleading. He had slipped off the Corpse Candle again, and now his eyes were back to the black and gold that Muse had seen the night she met him.
“It measures death.”
Muse nodded. Her lack of surprise showed on her face.
A memory from earlier in the day.
“No, not a hobby,” said the Manslayer. “In exchange for its blessings, my patron demands blood and carnage. The more, the better. The higher the value of the offering, the more pleased it is.”
Silence.
Cain didn’t know what he wanted her to say.
“...Ah, nevermind,” said Cain, shaking his head. “Forget about it; it’s not that big of a deal--”
Flick.
The light tap of her finger on his forehead. Not enough to hurt, but enough to chastise. He rubbed his forehead before looking back up at her.
“You know, I never asked you," said Muse. "What is it that you want to do here? In this world?"
Cain blinked.
"I know you're a part of the Black Lamps right now," said Muse. "But you did it only because the Grandmaster offered, right?"
She was right. He was only here because the Grandmaster had offered. Because he said he could tell him more about what Players were. But all the answers that he had received, to be honest, hadn't entirely answered his questions. Not that they weren't informative, but rather because it felt like they were only answers along the surface level.
Stolen novel; please report.
He knew what a Player was now. He knew about System Mechanics.
But why?
Why were he and the other Players, like Nameen, here?
He didn't know, and Nameen didn't either. But the Player that Nameen had met, that Abel Thompson. From what Nameen had said, the man had talked with a purpose. He said things in a way that he had expected Nameen to understand. Perhaps not all Players lost their memories? Or maybe they lost them to different degrees.
Either way, he wanted to find out, and Cain suspected that the only way to do so was to find more Players and talk to them.
Oh, that made sense. That's why he was here.
"Looks like you found something," said Muse. "Keep it handy, and hold onto it. Knowing your own reasons is the best way to make sure that you're walking the right path, and that it won't lead you anywhere weird. It's what I did during my time at the Academy, whenever things got hard. Just focused on why I was there in the first place."
As he came to his realization, Muse got up from the bench they had been sitting on.
“Heading to bed now. Tired,” yawned Muse. “Unlike some of us, I’ve still got to get my eight hours in. Don’t stay out too late, okay? Even if you don’t feel like sleeping. I’ll lend you some books if you’re bored at night--
“Hey, Muse?”
“Yeah?"
"How about you?" he asked. "Why're you a knight? You mentioned your dad wanting to get you a better life than he had access to, but there are other careers out there. Why a knight specifically? It's such a dangerous job."
Muse smiled. For the first time, it was a mysterious one.
Cain, for the first time, found her unreadable.
"I'll tell you one of these days, when we get a little closer," she grinned. "For now, lemme have my secrets, okay?"
Cain nodded as he watched Muse return to the dormitories, before returning to stare at the sky.
Just a little bit longer, he wanted to enjoy the moment.
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[THE SILVER SEAT - Lifeweaver’s Ward]
Nameen had a lot to think about.
After he had told Cain and Muse about his encounter with Abel, they had explained everything they knew about Players to him in kind, and now Nameen’s head was swimming with information. He didn’t know how to parse it all, so he left it for later. Right now, there was only one thing he was focused on.
Vandamme had still yet to wake, and now it had been half a day. The streetlamps had come on, and the three moons were in the sky.
The personnel at the Lifeweaver’s Ward had given him the go ahead to sleep in the room for the night, and had even brought in some sheets for him.
Not that he needed it, but that wasn’t information he was intent on sharing. He only let stuff like that slip in the presence of people who made him comfortable, like the old man and the knight couple.
Without company, all he could do was think. Think about where he had come from, and how he had gotten to where he was now. There was one more question, one that he didn’t want to confront yet had to.
Where to go from here?
He had his freedom.
Ronove had explained to him that no matter what happened going forth, slavery was not acceptable in Goethia and so Nameen was safe. Considering the proximity to Picatrix, there were already governmental policies for freeing escaped slaves.
All it took was some paperwork, and within a day he had received a little wooden card with his name on it. He had identification now - he was in the system and was now a probationary citizen of Goethia.
Of all his fellow slaves, he had turned out the luckiest. The thing that they had all dreamed of, yet dared not engage in thoughts of. The hope that that burned so bright, so hot that it had caused them nothing but pain.
Freedom.
“...I’ve seen that look before.”
Nameen heard the voice and jolted out of his reverie, only to meet Vandamme’s stare. The old dwarf was still lying back and still, but his eyes were open and they were lucid.
“You’re awake!”
“Yes,” said the dwarf wistfully. He took in his surroundings, before gingerly and carefully pushing himself to sit up. “It seems it’s not my time yet.”
Nameen could not tell whether it was relief or disappointment that he heard in the dwarf’s voice. He could only hope that it was the former.
“I-I’ll go call the nurse--”
“Lad, what is it that you live for?”
Nameen stopped in his tracks, turning back to look at the dwarf.
There was a weariness in those eyes as he looked out the window at the three moons in the distance. A weariness that he had managed to hide under the surface for a long time now, but had finally peeked out from the depths.
“I... I,” said Nameen.
What was it that he lived for?
For years now, Nameen had lived for the idea of freedom. The sun over the horizon, burning white and hot. He had reached out for it in his dreams, but the moment he woke up he shackled that feeling. Hope had been terrifying.
He had wanted nothing more. Just the right to do what he wanted, lived where he wanted. A path that he could choose for himself.
Now that he had it...
“I don’t know.”
He really didn’t.
Vandamme said nothing for a while.
“...I’ve asked myself that same question for a long time now,” he started, taking a deep breath. “I had lost... some very important things to me. Things, and people. Seeing them in my dreams reminded me. I’m only alive now, because a friend went to bat for me. I never asked for his help, but he gave it to me anyway. For that, he paid a heavy price.”
Nameen said nothing, simply mulling on his words.
Vandamme continued after a small pause. The next thing he said was something that he had never wanted to put in words. It was ungrateful, and filled him with deep shame, but it was the truth and he needed to get it out.
“I... resented him for saving my life.”
Vandamme hoped, from the bottom of his heart, that from wherever he was Alphonse Sierra could not hear him. Words that he never dared say out loud. Words that he once hoped he would be strong enough to take to his grave.
Nameen didn’t understand, but he tried to.
“Because of him, I could not go to my family’s side,” said Vandamme. “Because he gave his health and his life in pursuit of my freedom, I could not simply give my life away. I lived, for his sake, for his memory, in darkness. Never letting go of the past. Even though I was freed, I was still in chains.”
Nameen felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“What makes you happy?”
What made him happy?
...When was the last time he had been happy?
Nameen tried to remember. He tried to think of it. It was hard, like he was trying to use a muscle that had atrophied.
Only darkness awaited him.
Nameen was about to give up, when he saw the sparks and heard the sounds.
Clang.
The warmth of a plate of food. Warm soup. Clean clothes, and a bed. Slipping into a blissful sleep, no need to worry about when to wake up.
Clang. Clang.
A forge, in front of him. Warmth. The figure of a stout dwarf, watching over him and gently correcting his course when he deviated. A hammer in his hand, and a red-hot lump of iron on the anvil.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Nameen looked at Vandamme, tears in his eyes. The dwarf seemed to understand.
“Lad... Would you like to become my apprentice?” asked Vandamme.
An apprentice.
That meant Vandamme would be his master.
Master.
He still hated that word. Was still terrified of it.
But this word now had a new definition.
Nameen nodded.
Vandamme smiled as well. Nameen was struck by the image. It was the first time he had ever seen the stoic dwarf change his expression in such a manner.
They then talked for the very first time. Random topics. Bits and pieces of their pasts. Nameen explained how he had come to be under the bridge that Vandamme had found him under. Vandamme told him about his family. Nameen tried to explain what he knew of his own oddities; what a Player was.
Nothing concrete. Just bits and pieces. Neither of them were very good at conversing, but they were trying. But it was okay, both of them felt. There would be more talks in the future, and more opportunities.
Nameen leaned back in his chair after they ran out of topics, and before he knew it he was asleep.
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[THE SILVER SEAT - Lifeweaver’s Ward]
Light snoring told Vandamme that the only other occupant in the room had drifted into dreamland, but the dwarf himself had too much on his mind to rest just yet. There were a lot of things he needed to think about, now that the day’s hustle and bustle were over.
An apprentice. He had a new one. No more, then, could he live as he had before. Aimlessly, that was. Now he had to make plans, to think ahead. To make sure that he could pass down the best he could.
The lad had told him about his skills as a Player, and even about the wooden swords that he had made. A Divinity-given talent, but one that he had no control over. There was still value in teaching the child, even if he could make things far beyond him.
He had even confided in him about his confusion upon noticing the Lv.2 after his Synthesis. It had only appeared after Vandamme had taught him how to properly hammer. The old dwarf had his own suspicions about it.
“They told me Players don’t need sleep,” said a voice from the entrance. “But looks like emotions tucker ‘em out jus’ like any one else.”
Vandamme breathed in sharply.
“Alonzo.”
The wolf beastman stood in the doorway, smiling. He looked rather haggard. Things had clearly been busy with the clean-up.
“How long were you there for?”
“Since right after you woke up. Couldn’t find a good time to hop in,” he said, easily. “You guys just went on and on, y’know? I’m not the socially smartest guy, but I know when to intrude n’ when not to.”
The beastman sauntered into the room, past Nameen who was sleeping peacefully in the chair. He lowered a hand and ruffled the boy’s hair, before pulling up another chair and sitting down.
His eyes didn’t quite meet Vandamme’s, instead peering past him to the three moons in the sky.
“...Did you hear?”
Alonzo snorted, but there was a smile on his face.
“‘Bout what you said about my old man? Yeah.”
Silence.
“...Alonzo, I--”
“Boss,” said Alonzo. “I know. I know it hasn’t been easy for you. I know how important family is to you. I can’t say I’m exactly surprised by it.”
Silence.
“...I never intended for you to hear those words.”
Visions of a little wolf child holding his father’s hand as they visited his workshop. A shy, curious child. The man in front of him was nothing like the memory. No, he resembled his father more now.
“S’all good, boss,” said Alonzo with a smile. “If it helps, I think my old man knew. That’s why he never sought you out, even after everything was settled. He didn’t want to cause you any more pain.”
Vandamme closed his eyes.
“Still, to be so petty and ungrateful... To a man who literally gave his life so I could live--”
Alonzo sighed.
“My dad, more than anything, couldn’t stand injustice. Especially not something that big in front of him. He didn’t do it just for you, boss, he also did it for himself. The more I do this business, the more I think I get it.”
The pup in front of him. When had he grown into a man?
“Sometimes, tragedy just hits. The rest of us’re left to pick up the pieces. Those pieces don’t fit together right anymore, but we do our best to make a picture then go on anyways.”
He took a cigar from his pocket, and lit it with a match.
“Tell me, boss. Right now, are you still upset?” asked Alonzo. “Upset that my old man saved your life?”
The old dwarf looked at the child who was sitting in the chair. Nameen slept serenely, as if nothing in the world could possibly bother him at that momnet.
“...No,” answered Vandamme. Truly. Honestly. “No, I’m not.”
Alonzo grinned.
“Hell, that’s good enough for me. Oh yeah, regardin’ the kid.”
“Yes?”
“You think he’s got talent? For weapons. I mean besides the Player nonsense, of course.”
Vandamme looked at Nameen. He remembered his form at the forge, and his concentration. A fist gripped around the handle of a hammer. A steady stream of blows that did not waver.
“Whether or not he does, it doesn’t matter,” said Vandamme, closing his eyes.
He remembered the process, the way that he used his hammers in the past when his body was still whole. The things he needed to pass on.
“Talent? A craftsman's talent... Perhaps other blacksmiths would disagree, but I don't think there is such a thing. Just like the things we create, we are forged through repetition, learning, and constant failure. Failure after failure. Weathering the heat of the forge, the constant abuse that hammering puts them through...”
He opened them again.
“The hands of an artisan are not born. Through hardship, they are made.”