Chapter 15 – Life 5 – Year 150 – The Camp

The rules of the camp were simple, if somewhat cruel. Every single person, young and old alike, had to go out and kill monsters. If they didn’t, they would be tossed out to fend for themselves. If they were injured, they would be given 7 days to recover, with no extra provisions given beyond the standard rations. If they didn’t recover by then, they would be exiled from the camp. Anyone who caused trouble, would be, as usual, tossed out.

Some had questioned these methods, which fell under the mark of “causing trouble”. The tossing out was enforced by the Camp Master and his Disciples, the people he directly instructed in combat. They seemed to have extremely good memories about who had been exiled and who hadn’t, as shown when the exiled tried to sneak back in. Though, I suppose no-one would question the Disciples even if they pushed someone out on false accusations.

It wasn’t all bad at the camp, though. So long as you were capable of combat, you could earn a respectable amount of food and clean water, which was hardly true of the exiled. 3 of the 9 Disciples were Metal-Makers, and they supplied swords, spears, and daggers to the rest of us. The plains were home to a fast-growing yellow grass that burned easily, so the Fire-Maker Disciples kept us in a decent amount of warmth. The rule of the 3rd Emperor, carried out by his Masters and Grandmasters, was best described as ‘tough but fair’.

They say the previous Emperors were far crueler. They say the 3rd Emperor got his position by killing the 2nd, along with his brother, the expected taker of the throne. They say the Empire grew stronger with his leadership, though it’s not like I was alive during the previous Emperors to know the difference. There were whispers that the 3rd Emperor had a strange connection to the Green Moon, that he could keep himself young indefinitely. Most scoffed at these whispers, either out of true distrust or out of fear that this talk would be cracked down upon.

When I heard these stories, strange memories would come, unbidden. Memories from my nightmares. Of the child who also had a connection to the Green Moon. There was something called… oh-var-helth that let people stay young. This was the only indication I had that my nightmares had some connection to the real world.

Thankfully, I myself had no connection to the Green Moon, no special feelings beyond the normal when I looked at it. Instead, I felt a rather strong connection to the Brown Moon. That likely meant I had 2 paths ahead of me. The first was if I was a Metal-Molder. That would take me to the Old City, Bei Jing. There, the Emperor had all available Metal-Molders remaking the city, turning the scraps of the old into the fortress he commanded.

The other possible path was if I was a Metal-Maker. This was considered the second strongest path for combat, after Fire-Makers. And this, I was rather convinced, was my path. The ability to make any weapon my heart desired… it called to me. Not to mention, when killing monsters with the others, I felt what some Makers described as ‘Qi’ entering my body.

And sure enough, one day when a Rock Scorpion chipped my blade with its claws, I repaired it mid-battle. Energy surged through my body and left it as a quickly drying liquid metal that filled the cracks. When we got back to camp, I proved my ability by making a small block of metal from nothing. It drained me, but the Metal-Maker Disciple I showed it to said that was natural.

“Making solid metal is difficult for those with little Qi in their bodies. It’s not like making something insubstantial, like Fire or Air.”, she explained. “Even this amount, at your age, shows a decent degree of talent.” From then on, I found myself under her tutelage. Each Disciple of the Camp Master was allowed to take on 9 Initiates of their own, I found out. Typically, of their same element type, though not always. My new teacher, for example, had 5 Metal-Maker Initiates but also a Fire-Maker and Fire-Molder pair that helped her melt down old tools into new ones. “A Metal-Molder would have made things easier”, she said, “but they don’t stay in simple camps like these.”

As time went on, I got used to a new rhythm of working. In the mornings, I spent as much Qi as possible on making a new weapon. My teacher would decide who it went to but let me choose what kind of weapon I would make. I started with spears, supposedly one of the better weapons out there, but my heart kept calling me to make… swords. Eventually, every day I would make exclusively swords, much to the bemusement of my teacher.

Then, while we regenerated our Qi, we would march to our designated battle zone. It was mostly in Rock Scorpion territory, but every so often, large beetles who could take to the air emerged. My teacher always got a little angry when this happened, and I heard her mutter at times about one of the other Disciples “not pulling his weight enough”.

In combat, each of us, save the Fire-Molder, would take turns being the designated “final killer”. It had been shown, apparently, that while every Maker who was near a dying monster got some amount of Qi from it, those who did not attack it got very little, and those who struck the killing blow got quite a bit.

Closing the distance was complicated, a bit, by the Rock Scorpions’ tails, which were surprisingly flexible. Thankfully they were not poisonous, but they could shoot out a stream of dust that could irritate the eyes and mouth quite severely. We had taken to wearing scraps of cloth turned into masks to at least prevent us from inhaling the dust.

After killing all the scorpions we could find, we marched back to camp with a sack of rocky tail-tips. The scorpions weren’t edible like some monsters, but they would still overrun us if they weren’t kept in check. It was important for the Camp Master to know that we were doing our jobs.

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In the evenings, we were given free reign to do as we wished, unless one of the night watch guards spotted an incursion. Then we would have to take up arms as a group to fight them off. Sometimes the Camp Master would punish someone for not fighting enough monsters, but other times it was just agreed that the group had formed outside our scouts’ perimeters.

While Molders gained proficiency through absorbing and redirecting their element, Makers needed to engage in combat. Therefore, most of our free time was spent sparring with each other, along with occasional contests with the Initiates of other Disciples. I was a fairly respected combatant, as I could create metal both more quickly and for longer periods than most others. This was mostly attributed to talent, but I also quite enjoyed sparring, and threw myself into it a bit more as a result.

Every night, unknown to everyone else, I tried an experiment. I had one particular sword that I found to be my finest creation, which I secreted away one day. I kept it under my straw bed, disguised as a simple lump. Every night, in the dark, I would infuse it with as much Metal as possible. Not with the intent of making it larger, but with the intent of strengthening it. I got the idea from the ‘oh-var-helth’ of my nightmares, I figured that if people and monsters could be infused with life, then weapons could be infused with metal.

What was interesting was that, while sometimes my power would fail to do anything, other times… I would feel energy leaving me, and the sword would get shinier and heavier. Not by an incredible amount, but incrementally. I wondered if the other elements could do this. Could a Fire-Maker push enough fire into one place to make an ever-burning flame? What would it even look like if a Wind-Maker concentrated wind into a single point?

But I kept these ideas to myself. For one, I didn’t want to have to explain my nightmares to others. Not only to avoid others thinking I had gone mad… but keeping them to myself seemed to make them less… real.

Besides, the 3rd Emperor and his men had the attitude that one should only give out something if they had earned it. I killed monsters and earned a place in the camp. I was talented with Metal-Making and so I had earned a teacher. But had my teacher done anything beyond what I had earned, so that she could earn something from me? Had the Camp Master? Had the 3rd Emperor?

These thoughts were dangerous at best and worthy of my death at worst, so these, too, were kept to myself. As for my sword, I practiced with it only when I was sure no-one else was around. It was difficult, for it was quite heavy, but the makeshift targets of rock that the Earth-Makers made showed that the blade was beautifully sharp. Were I to use this on a monster, the results would be devastating. And if I were to use it on a person… well, I doubt they could survive.

One day, a new report came in. The other Disciple in charge of keeping back the Rock Scorpions told of a new, much larger scorpion, with armor that was almost impossible to break. This kind of thing happened from time to time, elite monsters with powers beyond their normal kin. This was the kind of event Camp Masters were there for. They were the one part of the camp that didn’t have to fight normal monsters unless they wished to, but when it came to elite monsters, they were required to attack as soon as possible.

Rumor had it, if one elite monster was allowed to live for too long, other elites would start to pop up as well. Some of the warriors had stories of a group of 4 islands that were once home to some of the greatest cities in the world but were now completely abandoned. Supposedly, a species of large lizards had all gained the ability to make a fog that enshrouded the land day and night. The fog induced madness, or made people disappear, or turned them into more lizards. I think some of those stories were made up to make people feel more indebted to the Camp Master, but then again…

The figure in my nightmares, the terrifying woman who could choke people to death with darkness in broad daylight… well, it made some of the stories seem more likely.

All three of the Metal-Maker Disciples, along with an Earth-Maker and a Fire-Maker, ventured out to the elite scorpion alongside the Camp Master. As one of my teacher’s top three Initiates, I was allowed to come as well. I brought my special sword, kept in a crude monster-leather sheath.

The scorpion was strange. Larger than its brethren, that was to be expected. But it was covered in bluish-gray metal armor. It was quite different than the metal that I and all other Metal-Makers produced. For one thing, no-one with the Metal element could even sense it. Elements controlled by monsters couldn’t be wielded against them, but those with the same element (particularly Molders) should at least be able to detect it. Earth wielders, for example, could easily predict the location of Rock Scorpions normally, even if they hid below ground.

The metal was also tough. Attacks from the Fire-Makers could partially melt it in places, but the effects were too small to weaken the scorpion much. Earth-Molders attempted to trap the thing by digging holes in the ground or creating spears of rock, but it shrugged off those attempts easily. And Metal-Makers such as I… saw their weapons chip and shatter against the more powerful metal armor.

Eventually, the Camp Master decided he had seen enough. He warned us all to go away from the scorpion as far as possible. He then did something I had not thought possible. A wave of sand appeared from seemingly nowhere and battered the elite monster. I had heard tales that the Master was once a talented Earth-Maker, but I hadn’t heard of any amount of talent in Earth that could do this!

The wave went on for a solid minute before the Master gave up and told us to attack once more. When we arrived back at the scorpion, its armor was chipped and worn away in many places. Truly, the Master was powerful! By focusing our efforts on the gaps in the metal, we eventually hurt it enough that it tried to escape underground. Elite monsters tended to be smarter as well as stronger. If they could live to fight another day, they would occasionally attempt to flee, unlike their base equivalent.

Thankfully, the Earth-Molders had expected this, and had subtly hardened the rock in the area. A normal Rock Scorpion would probably be able to get through it quickly, but this metal-focused one had more difficulty. I hadn’t realized that elite monsters had some weaknesses that the normal ones didn’t.

Suddenly, a memory flashed through my mind. One of my nightmares. A man covered in self-inflicted wounds, who once commanded an army of solid blood.

“The trick lies in gaining as much power over your element as possible… and then rejecting it, all at once! A very enlightening act, let me assure you.”

I blinked. Was that nightmare… true? Was that how these elite monsters gained their power? Was that how the Camp Master gained his?

…could I do the same?