The Sojourner left the shore right before sunrise.

I ended up just taking walks around the meager vessel, but the novelty wore off real quick. Sailors worked tirelessly to keep the ship in good shape, but I really didn’t like how they were eyeing me. Inkunzi rarely left his quarters and generally had me take the bulk of the served provisions back to him.

“Aye, don’t forget the cheese!”

He’s a difficult, but smart individual. I had a lot of questions, and he had enough answers. He praised me for my inquisitiveness, noting how his students and colleagues back home were nowhere as curious. I faked it well enough that it came off natural.

“You really are a clever one, aren’t cha?” he said.

“And you really like maps. Don’t you ever feel they’re too big and clunky to use?” I pestered him some more.

“No choice, unless you wanna keep shrinking ‘em down and losing all those tasty details. Adventurers everywhere need all the help they can get when it comes to maps!”

“Have you ever run into a cut map before?”

“Only when a bastard’s trying to hide a spot!”

Perfect.

“Y’know, Inkunzi, I have a very special map I put together. I’ll show you, if you’ll be my friend and share your maps with me too.”

He immediately dropped whatever he was doing and turned to me, eyes sharp with intensity. It was clear he was trying to read me.

“Hm. Alright, lass. Heh, you have a deal.”

He thought I was bluffing.

I pulled out the compact yet detailed canvas map I made of Rokmuro. I gave him a quick map tour of it while simply flipping through the face-sized implement before unveiling the true scale of the sheet. His silence, and the awe in his face; priceless.

“So, Inkunzi? How is it? Do you like what I did?”

“I.. Kunz. Call me Kunz. Let me see that.”

He held his hand forward, and I folded it up to let him have a go at it. He understood exactly how it worked, and how convenient it was even if I’d used a flimsy canvas that wasn’t really even mapworthy.

“This, how did.. Impossible. No, incredible. This map-cutting technique'll allow our Gryphon Riders to navigate way more efficiently. They won’t have to land, or use shrunken maps. It’s such a simple idea but..”

His demeanor towards me changed after that. I could sense the newfound respect he had for me. He spent the next few hours practicing and optimizing a few maps he had to fold and cut.

“Listen, lass. You're free to see and copy any of the maps I have ‘ere. You need help with anything, ask. I’m gonna share this technique with the rest o’ the council when I can. Do you want your name on it, kid? It’s customary honor; credit given where credit’s due.”

I don’t need my name passed around, but I need his help.

“Honestly, man, I think it would be better if your name went into the method. You’re already a respected high-ranking individual there. But, I would like your help. I don’t even know what I’ll do when I get to the mainland.”

His expression changed to that of worry.

“Aye, if you’ll will it that way. I have work to do, but you can bet I’ll help’ya however I can, lass.”

…

Days passed in the sea, and whenever Inkunzi wanted to be alone I’d do a bit of woodworking out in the fresh ocean air with spare Rokmuran marine wood on board. Sometimes, I’d watch the men do their handiwork in maintaining the ship – and unfortunately they’d occasionally flirt with me. I politely turned them down. Mostly politely. What an exhausting bunch, and can’t they see I’m basically still a child? Some of them are outright disgusting.

Inkunzi gradually grew more fond of me, it seems. He even started leaving his room to advise me on my woodworking – such skills are in his blood as a well-studied dwarf.

Strange yet sound. That’s how he called my designs, but I was just drawing from what I vaguely remember to be the ancient “belly bow” Gastraphetes and the Roman manuballista. Viktor was ALWAYS into historical stuff like that, so I designed the base of my new weapon like them – powered by Arsalan’s hornbow.

Beastly, as Inkunzi put it, Ischyrosian crossbows instead utilize massive draw weights with short draw lengths. Slow and lumbering, yet strong and intimidating; inefficient.

Seven days in. I often watched the crew set up rainwater collectors. Inkunzi toured the ship with the officer about things that needed refurbishing, and if they weren’t repairable he’d ask why.

My side project was finally finished. Not a “belly bow” but you could cycle the next bolt or arrow fairly quickly just by pushing an extending rod into the floor, closer to the manuballista. Perhaps my best work yet. Inkunzi found it remarkable, after we did some test fires on the deck during a calm night.

“Well, Bestatzo be damned. This is just about as powerful as some of the best ones we can carry – but you can fire it at least 4 times faster. Makes the most of that long draw length to accelerate them bolts quickly. And that hornbow you mounted up ‘ere is no joke.”

“You think so?” I asked, playfully.

“Listen here, lil’ Isolus. Y’know it takes a lot to get real praise from a dwarf, let alone me. You’re full of surprises, lass. I doubt little that you made that map cutting technique yourself now.”

This is all borrowed knowledge, so I’m a little ashamed. I grew up on the shoulders of giants. Now he gave me that nickname because of how often he’d find me alone. Isolus. It was a rare word to hear back home, but it’s fairly common in Ischyrosian dialects. I try not to think about it, but I really do prefer my own company – especially out here. Honestly, the average Mondonian can be tiring.

Sometimes I’d get sick of the junk they’d hand out, so I offered to cook for myself and Inkunzi late in the evenings. We were nearing our destination so they didn’t mind offering some of the nicer ingredients at a price. Inkunzi paid for all my meals since.

The clouds let up on the last few nights, so he brought me outside again to teach me about the constellations while I was outside stitching together a leather poncho. He brought up the 9 deities and how they related to the stars, and frankly I only cared about the most distinctive formations I could use to orient myself at night.

I was eventually able to ask Inkunzi about all sorts of dwarven ships. Apparently, he’d gotten off of the IRS Theseus. An 'Ischyrosian Republic Ship.' It’s one of their most advanced ships yet, and one of the few steaming with coal.

The moment I asked about the prisoners and the damage, he frowned in pause. After pondering on it, he told me the truth.

“That lot – they’re the resistance on the eastern coast of the mainland. Ruled by a ‘house of Jade.’ They’ve been at war with ‘em demon-kin for as long as I can remember, and at war with my kind ever since they started usin’ dark arts even before I popped up. The kind that blew those holes onto the all-mighty Theseus.”

Gunpowder, probably black powder.

“And no, I ain’t tellin ya what that stuff’s about, lest you bring the entire state of Ischyros crashing down on ye. It’s the stuff o’ nightmares – god killers. No mortal should have such, cursed powers. Yet they bestow it on anyone willin’ to aid their cause.”

I wanted to pester him a little more.

“But what about the ‘prodigal warcasters’ whose spells can destroy as much, if not more? Don’t those dark arts seem like they’re being used by the oppressed as great equalizers?”

He looked at me with concern, then acceptance.

“They’re the few blessed by the gods. Rest of us are just tryna get by. And they ain’t handing out destructive artifacts all willy-nilly. Yet the strong take what they can, and the weak suffer what they must. There’s a big gap between the best knights and the best mages.”

He turned away to the window, ending his words with a crack. There’s a vast unfairness in the system, but it was for the better – he might’ve thought.

“Lass, don’t ask me again about all that cursed black magic. Even if you think a bit of good can come from it, it ain’t a light thing. There’s a why, in why we started sinkin’ Jade ships for having ‘em. Finjugio. Mondo might not get a third chance.”

I offered some wine, but he doesn’t drink.

“Forgive me, Kunz. I can’t imagine a world filled with dark arts. It’d be horrible. People would stop at nothing to kill, even long after their reasons for defending themselves had been lost to time.”

That’s exactly what was on his mind, and it’s exactly the same kind of curse humanity on Earth never cured themselves of. I’ll never forget that. But maybe, Mondo could do better.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

…

The ship eventually landed, after half a month at sea. I was out of the fancier provisions I kept, but at least my pack’s a lot lighter than when I got on.

Inkunzi asked around regarding the settlements worth visiting nearby. He gave me a small itinerary that stopped by a few villages and towns he learned of. The list terminated at the large town of Floranta.

He told me about its fame for being a hub of craftsmanship, with regular trade routes to coastal towns and by extension Ischyros as well. One of his old friends, a dwarf by the name of Chryses, sent a letter a while back about opening a new smithy there.

“I’ll see you there?” I saluted, loosely.

“In due time,” he replied. “Good luck, lass.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

Before he embarked the Sojourner, he had gotten off the Theseus which needed to head back to Ischyros for repairs. It only stopped by Lumoriva to recuperate and resupply just enough to get home. Inkunzi switched vessels – and his journey to map this side of the continent continues.

The Sojourner had just unloaded its passengers and cargo, to make way for new merchandise that required transport to Rokmuro.

The colder air grazed me as I carried my luggage down the boat ramp. This port didn’t bustle as much, being generally quieter. I got any information I could across the commercial district, and heard about a caravan headed northeast leaving tomorrow.

I spoke to one merchant after another, until I made the right connections that’d get me aboard the caravan. My baggage, attire, age, and ears tended to get me disregarded – but my skilled speech saved some of that. Being on a ship took a while to get used to, though I don’t miss the rocking. I paid for some hot bread and water, as well as a night’s stay at the inn.

The comfortable bed felt so much better than the bare minimum we had on the Sojourner. It reminded me of the house by the lake near Trezoro.

Such softness reminded me of home, and the fact that I’ve lost two of them in different worlds now. I’ve been through a long journey, but there’s more to do.

Nights are a bit colder here. Almost familiarly cold.

My cuts still itch, but they’ve healed well.

Damn. I’ve really been through a ton.

There’s still so much more ahead.

…

I joined the merchant caravan’s journey up northeast through the Brigantii region. We passed through countless forests. The plants here are adapted to the colder climate, with their slender leaves.

The villages seemed hardier, with sturdy workers operating under their lords. We had it good back home.

I helped out here and there. Sometimes with the hunts, and occasionally with the sales, but usually with the cooking. Several bands of hired mercs escort the caravan. I bit the bullet and buddied up with the most pleasant group there – and they seemed more than happy to have me cook for them and fix up some of their gear. There’s a few worth noting.

A young one-eyed huntress named Strelya. She’s quick with her shortbow and inordinately agile. Curious and polite too. She saw my crossbow and found it interesting, so I offered to make a magazine-stock for her to mount her bow on.

Her skill with shooting on the move and snapshotting had me make it so hers was just cyclable by hand, unlike mine which you had to push into the ground with your weight to cycle the next bolt. It’ll take a while for her to get used to it, but she loves it.

Lugosi, their resident alchemist, a tall hooded guy who smells awfully of mold. The others don’t seem to mind. He spends most of his time writing. He rarely eats, or sleeps. I’ve seen him without his hood on – and god damn does he look fucked up, almost rotting. Still, he’s kind to us and helps out. He taught me about the local flora and fauna, and some of the easier potions I asked about.

Then there’s the bard, Nightingale and her lightweight harp. I was taught both the piano and guitar growing up in the old world, so I asked her to teach me. I sucked.

But we still got to play music together, since I still recalled how to beatbox! My son, Anton, was a fan of it so I practiced in secret for months. He wondered why my voice was rougher, and found out. He never spoke about beatboxing again. But my friends in the frontlines enjoyed it, and so did Nightingale.

Lastly, there’s Anthrax. The tracker who leads them is a crafty man with half-plate armor and a warpick. He speaks for the group and calls the shots.

They called themselves the Heartbreakers. It had something to do with a tavern brawl, I didn’t pry.

…

A few months passed. I veered off from Inkunzi’s itinerary quite a bit, but the caravan eventually arrived at Floranta. The adventurers had taught me a lot during that trip, and even offered to help me to register with the adventurer’s guild representative there. I declined. I’ve seen too much violence in Mondo already, and adventurers tend to attract trouble.

I knocked on the smithy after spending an afternoon finding the run-down workshop. A famished young man greeted me, instead of an old dwarf.

“All apologies, but we’re closed for the day.”

“Does uh, Chryses work here? His friend sent me.”

“Well, yes. He- my boss, lives here too.”

He invited me in, and pointed at a bearded drunk dwarf seated and passed out cold, bottle in hand.

“If you can call ‘that’ living. I’m Tobias.”

“Isolus. Here to help, I think.” I shook his hand.

Tobias was a street urchin who’s lived here as Chryses’ assistant for the past several years. When the drunkard woke up, I explained my situation to him.

Apparently, the letter Inkunzi received was sent at least a dozen cycles ago. Business grew difficult, especially with Chryses’ declining health. Tobias recalls his master’s vigor when he was a child, from the day Chryses saved him with a warm meal in the winter.

They had a huge backlog of work to do, and in exchange for room and board I offered to do woodwork, designing, and later on even handling clients. They let me live in a small storage room at the corner of the lower floor, so I could easily keep watch for patrons.

Having long dealt with the shenanigans at Taido’s, I’d say I’ve gotten pretty good at putting on a sweet act when I had to. But neither Chryses or Tobias could fight so I carried a sword and dealt with rowdy customers, preferably with words and not my sword.

But as our fame grew, even locals helped deal with scum.

We got commissioned twice as much by the end of the second week I spent there. Tobias did most of the metalworking, under Chryses’ supervision. I made massive improvements to the inventory management, accounting of time and resources, measurement standards, and double-entry bookkeeping.

Business boomed with orders returning from outside Floranta, and eventually the neighboring establishments adjacent to ours grew more active in trade.

…

Around half a dozen cycles passed – turning me 25 cycles old. Roughly a bit past 16 years in age.

All the hard work paid off, I was able to organize the smithy with new workers to handle the scaling up of the business – now aptly named Chryses’ Crucible. I learned new skills I had to learn, too.

Things were rough more often than not, but we pulled through each time. We were even robbed once, but Tobias fended the brigands off with one of my more recent crossbow designs as I tied them down in melee. He now supervises all of the metalworking, and often works with me on new projects. The workshop has since tripled in size.

I built a couple of machines too! The Crucible now has bronze steam-powered hammers and lathes. Expensive and difficult to build with lots of trial and error, but with some of the gold I had and the extra funds I saved up enough from my side gigs as a consultant and as a weekend adventurer, we managed.

The Heartbreakers stopped by every few months and eventually they tricked me into signing up as a real adventurer. And by “they” I meant Anthrax. Sly bastard.

Honestly? I’m a little proud of casting quality bronze into molds as parts that, with some polishing, could work as machine parts. These then make machine tools that create more accurately machined parts, to make even better machines! Useful stuff.

But Chryses’ vigor only improved for a short while, then his health gradually declined again. Even long after his last bottle of cheap wine. He’s been bedridden for a few months now.

Inkunzi, for some reason, decided now would be the best time to pay a visit. He says it’s because he saw a one-eyed huntress with a “strange bow” and other gear. Thanks, Strelya.

The two dwarves spent quite some time together over the past few days. My name was mentioned often, in a thankful sort of way. Chryses was roughly 90 cycles older than Inkunzi, but a clear joy and vibrance sprang from him as soon as his friend came by to visit. They bantered in Ischyrosian, loud and boisterous. Dwarves really do live a while, don’t they? A bit over 170 cycles, while it’d be lucky for a human to hit 120.

Fifty-fifty half-elves like me are known to go well over 300 cycles or 200 years. Add in my last life’s 42 years and.. damn.

...

Next morning, Chryses was gone – but his auburn beard still looked as majestic as ever, according to Tobias.

A happy passing, at least. Surrounded by some friends, new and old. His business runs ever stronger. We arranged a burial ceremony just behind the workshop. I cooked up a large batch of his favorite dish, bean soup with extra meat and dried spicemoons.

Later after dusk, Inkunzi stood by the grave. Alone. He muttered some words in their dialect to the tombstone. He pulled out a flat flask from his coat – a kind of dwarven liquor. It reeked even from a distance as soon as he popped it open. Inkunzi guzzled half the bottle down before smashing it over the tombstone. Broken glass glistened across the dirt.

He finished with something in Ischyrosian, something along the lines of ‘Guess this is goodbye’ from what I could make up.

Liquor splattered over the brass plaque bolted on to the headstone. Soon, thick drops of blood followed after. And then another moment of silence.

Inkunzi took a bandage from one of his pouches and dressed his hand for the cuts.

“Lass, I know you’ve been watchin’ for the past while. I don’t blame ya. I promised the old man I’d help however I could. Forgive me for takin’ so long to get here. Met some o’ yer friends along th’way.”

“It never gets easier, doesn’t it?” I asked.

“Truth. Just the truth.”

“Kunz, since when’d you start drinking?”

“Today. You saw, didn’t cha?”

He waved me off with his bloodied hand and led me back into the shop. His heavy leather pack was filled to the brim with documents, scrolls, and books. No shortage of maps.

Inkunzi took them out one at a time and let me know if there was anything I needed – and there was a lot I did. I eventually moved to a new room upstairs and most of it I fashioned into a chemistry lab.

First I asked about Strelya and the others, since they hadn’t been around in months. Apparently they’re busy hunting goblin raiding parties. No easy task, but I know most of the adventurers’ gear comes from here. Reliable equipment from Chryses’ Crucible.

I then carefully asked about where to find certain materials. I needed tons of sulfur, various ores, and even forests a little down south where massive fig trees grow. Their roots are often guided across chasms to make living bridges, but what interested me more was the properties of their sap. Latex.

Inkunzi had all of this information in spades. My inquiries got him to offer even more useful data on nearby resources that I didn’t even realize I needed. Smart man.

Let’s get serious.