I felt like I was starting a Castle and Wyverns campaign in reverse.
More accurately, I felt like I was homebrewing a scenario to hell and back, and possibly giving every dungeon master a proverbial aneurysm in the process.
As a result of the antics I, and by extension humanity, had been pulling in this world of swords and sorcery: I think I could say for certain that I’d plonked myself in something that wasn’t your typical adventure.
I assumed this was the case, as I had a hunch that a typical adventure certainly didn’t have your budding adventurers starting off on day two in a room that was comparable to an endgame hoard or dungeon.
At least that’s what I was able to discern from the general vibes of the room, as Sorecar stood there in the middle of it, dramatically raising both of his arms high up above his head. This was soon followed up by the summoning of an uproarious display of fantastical flames and a mana-fueled light-show that put me in mind of some of the impressive stuff the megaparks down in Florida were still pulling off to this day. Megaparks whose name I dare not bring up even in the recesses of my mind for fear of legal retribution, especially from the big mouse himself, who more than likely would smite me down with a team of lawyers no matter what dimension I happened to be residing in.
“Impressed, Emma Booker?” The man asked earnestly, or as earnestly as he could given the sheer showiness of his actions thus far.
“Yes, I think-”
“Well then that’s your first mistake!” He interjected with a hollow snap of his fingers. “Because what you just witnessed was magic for magic’s sake. A show, a play, an act of theater, a hollow tune played without rhyme or reason, for no real purpose, and for no true ends, burning bright, captivating all, but leaving nothing behind after all is said and done. What you just witnessed, was something that those at the tippy top of their ivory towers may appreciate, but for those who actually know their way around the nitty gritty of the magic that underpins civilization, simply abhor. For all it is, is a superfluous waste of mana, and a complete waste of skill. As in spite of its impressiveness, it remains merely a hollow display of magical potential and prowess, designed to strike fear in the hearts of the enemy.” He began walking up to one of the swords still glowing red hot from the furnaces, as he held it firmly by the hilt, a sharp sizzle punctuating the awkward pause in conversation. “This?” He held up the blade, as he began swooshing it around, slicing through the air with sharp wooshes being generated with every swing. “This…” The rattling suit of armor paused, taking aim with the sword towards a dummy at a far corner of the room.
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There was no brilliant display of light that followed, no visible signs of a magical weapon being used, nothing to indicate that magic of any sort had been summoned.
Yet the effects of it were undeniable.
As the dummy fell apart in short order, like a scene out of a piece of animation, its body was cleaved into what could only be described as a series of finely diced croutons.
Whether or not croutons could be diced was a whole other topic that would be best answered by my insta-chef back home, it was just the first thing that came to mind.
Regardless, the whole thing was cleaved into neat little pieces, falling apart with a series of seamless cuts that would have only been possible with a high-tensile monofilament wire.
All of this… from a sword having been pointed in the general direction of a dummy.
Not even with any fancy swooshes at that.
“This… is a weapon designed to strike at the heart of your enemy. It is a weapon of war. It is designed to kill your enemy, not bedazzle them. It is a tool by every measure, and one that is capable of being wielded not just by your arch mages or planar mages, but by your outer guardsman and elite town guard. There are no fanciful sparkles here, no glitz or glamor, nothing but cold hard mana-steel, and a healthy dose of complex compound enchantments.” I could hear him grinning, as I captured every last detail in high definition with all of my monitoring equipment, saving all of it for later review. “Do you see what I’m getting at here, Emma Booker?”
“Yes. Yes, I think I am.” I spoke in no uncertain terms. Part of me knew the man was just excited to be showing off, especially after gaining a conversation partner who actually reciprocated his excitement in what was probably decades, or even centuries.
However, another part of me felt like this could be an indirect show of force, a roundabout way to intimidate and threaten any newcomers to the Nexus, especially if the typical newrelamer really was as early along on the tech tree as everyone was suggesting.
However, given the armorer’s personality and history, any threatening vibe given off was probably less intentional and more an unintended effect of the enthusiasm he had for his craft. Every dimension had to have their version of a weapons enthusiast after all.
“Hah! All shook up from that little display of weaponsmithing excellence, Emma Booker?” The man’s voice all but shook me out of my reverie, as he approached me, slapping me hard against the back of my armor with a force that would’ve more than likely been able to knock Ilunor down to the floor.
“I’ve never seen anything like that.” I muttered out with a degree of genuine shock and awe in my voice, because despite everything I couldn’t help but to deny that I was in fact, blown away.
Not by the weapon’s capabilities mind you. Tactically speaking, it was impressive, but nothing a monofilament net flung at thousands of feet per second couldn’t do.
No.
What was blowing me away was the fact that I was witnessing an honest-to-god legendary weapon, a magic sword in action.
I could only imagine how many budding Nexian adventurers would’ve killed for this chance.
Literally, and figuratively.
“Oh.” The man paused, in a way that was clearly done for exaggerated theatrical effect than anything. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet!” He excitedly beamed back, his whole body clattering with each and every jump as he leaped over to the next forge, and brought out what could only be described as an overly ornate polearm.
Indeed, I knew it was a polearm by virtue of the EVI superimposing its scans, analytics, and subsequent conclusions about the weapons currently being brought to bear.
The weapon looked to be hand-crafted and probably had countless man hours poured into it, if the engravings that adorned practically every inch of its wooden hilt was anything to go by.
“That sword was a commission from one of the battle rangers. It’s a sidearm, as most swords generally are.” He began, reinforcing a weird argument that always seemed to crop up back at home regarding what swords actually were. Whilst a lot of fantasy material still depicted them as primary weapons, a lot of hardened historians seemed to be adamant that weapons with far more reach like the pike, spear, and polearm were in fact the more predominant choice for primary arms. Swords were instead treated almost like secondaries.
At least, that’s what I think I heard. Most of my historical fixations and interests were very much localized to the 25th through 27th centuries. That interim period between the end of the intrasolar and the birth of the intersolar era. It was the most interesting period in human history in my opinion. Unlike the pre-industrial slog prior to the 19th, the awkward chaos of the 21st through to the 22nd, or the absolute grindfest that was the 23rd through the 24th.
Beyond that, the only other place I was exposed to information about historical weapons was from Castles and Wyverns, and that certainly was anything but historically accurate.
“Mana-steel does not lend itself well to being blended with more… compound enchantments. For you see, the core of a sword lies only in its hilt.” The man leaped over to the sword from the first demonstration, and grabbed it, the thing still sizzling in his hands.
“See here?” The man pointed at the handle trailing his gloved finger right to the hilt of the blade, turning it around, and unscrewing the pommel. “That’s where the core of the weapon goes, inside its wooden handle. And in a sword, well, you can only put so much core into such a small space. In addition, cores don’t work well with manasteel. So most weaponsmiths simply choose one or the other. Either emphasizing mana-steel first, and core second. Or vice versa. Or simply giving up on one or the other, going exclusively with a core or mana-steel. Not me however! Oh, Old Sorecar here has tricks, and lots of them. For you see, Emma Booker, cores are generally made out of organic material, primarily wood. And elementally speaking, wood does not mesh well with steel. That’s why I mean it when I say most young inexperienced weaponsmiths simply screw it up. They fail to understand that it’s not about overcoming one trait with another, but instead, meshing them together. Because there are niche avenues where this is possible, where both wooden core and cold mana-steel are able to harmonize to a tune that complements rather than competes. That’s the secret to a good sword. However, there’s only so much you can do to a dead-end design.” It was with that long tirade that he placed the sword carefully back in its mold.
“So… it’s sort of like cooking?” I blurted out, landing on that analogy as anything else would’ve given more hints of humanity’s advancement. “There’s some flavors that work well with each other, and others that don’t. So with opposite flavors, like say… sweet and salty, it’s easy for an inexperienced cook to overpower and mask one over another? Whereas an experienced chef knows how to use them together, taking the dish further than the sum of their parts?”
“That’s exactly right! You’re a fast learner, Emma Booker, I’ll give you that! Much faster than most newrealmers!” The armorer responded giddily.
“And I’m assuming that the reason why longer shafted weapons are more powerful, is because you can fit more of this core inside of it?” I quickly surmised.
“Mmhmm! Correct yet again, Emma Booker. See here?” He lifted the polearm, showing me the very bottom of its hilt, and what seemed to be a cut-out that had been filled in with a dazzling display of colorful woods. “This core? It runs the entire length of this beauty.” The man practically beamed out in equal measures excitement and giddiness. “At least ten times more core than a sword. And when it comes to advanced weaponsmithing, cores unlock far more potential than mana-steel ever could, just by sheer virtue of compounding enchantments. It lends itself much better to bespoke custom-tailoring, rather than mana-steel which is more conducive to large-batch orders. Anyways! Here!” He began lifting the polearm up, holding it by his side like one of those ceremonial swiss guards. “Try punching me!” He ordered.
I stared at the man blankly, then warily to the polearm that I knew was more than it seemed.
“Oh come on! It’ll be fine! This was ordered by one of the towns for their elite town guard, come on, it’s made primarily for defense! So come on! Hit me!” The man urged with increasing excitement.
With a single exasperated sigh, I complied, readying my fist as I made sure not to activate any of the suit’s exoskeleton augments so as to not punch straight through the hollow armor.
“EVI, temporarily disable exoskeleton augments for offensive melee engagements.”
“Acknowledged.”
I lifted my arm up, feeling the full weight of the armor weighing on it now, as I struck the armorer dead center on his chest…
Only for nothing to happen.
Just a dull gong, which resonated throughout the echoey room.
The results simply did not live up to the hype.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Wait, what?” Sorecar seemed genuinely shocked, as his helmet-head rattled about, turning this way and that, before coming to a sudden and screeching stop as if he’d figured out what had gone wrong. “Emma Booker, you really are something special.” He lowered his head to meet my gaze, as he began chuckling darkly. “Oh this changes a lot.” He continued.
“I’m sorry?”
“Wait, let me… ah yes, let’s have a golem hit me instead. Golem!” The man shouted, causing one of the many statues from the walls to come to life. It walked over with hefty steps, each one causing the ground underneath it, and the weapons stations around it, to shake and rattle in its presence.
“Golem, hit me.” The armorer ordered, to which the golem complied without question.
It raised its fist up high, winding it, before finally unleashing all hell as the force and momentum of a thousand pounds of pure stone came barreling towards the armorer’s chest-
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-only for it to stop just inches from the ornate piece of curved steel.
It looked around in confusion, only to be met with the sight of a polearm that had morphed and contorted around its wrist, keeping it locked in place.
“Restrain.” The armorer spoke calmly.
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To which the polearm seemed to oblige immediately as it left the armorer’s grasp, shooting out tendrils to grasp the golem’s other wrist and ankles, forcing it into an enfeebling hogtie in a matter of seconds.
The beast clearly tried to resist, twisting this way and that, straining the now putty-like-wood, but to no avail.
“Pacify.”
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The whole beast, the hulking mass of brick and stone… fell apart in an instant. What was formerly a giant that towered several feet above the armorer, just unceremoniously broke apart. All that was left in its place was a pile of brick and stone.
“What did I tell ya! Much more impressive than the sword! A weapon of many uses beyond just sheer force. Every weapon has its role in the context it is supposed to function, this polearm being a law enforcement weapon belonging to an elite town guard, serves this purpose rather well don’t you think?” The man’s excitability never once died down, only pausing for sheer intensity during those one-worded orders he’d shot towards the weapon.
Stunned was one word I’d describe myself right now.
Whilst the weapon had started out rather plainly with it just being an over-glorified pair of flexi-cuffs, the sudden escalation to outright disintegration was sudden, and honestly jarring.
“I… didn’t know what I was expecting. But I certainly didn’t expect that.” I managed out under a hushed breath. “So erm, is it dead?”
The man seemed to be taken aback by that question, jolting back with a rattling of his armor. “Dead?! You don’t think I’d just kill a living being for the purposes of demonstration would you?”
“I mean…” I pointed at the pile of rocks. “Just going off of your reactions here, I’m going to assume that thing wasn’t actually alive, but was just a magically animated creature?”
“Correct again, Emma Booker. I apologize, I should’ve made that clearer beforehand.” The man responded sheepishly.
I could’ve gone on another tangent at that point, but given that the air had been cleared up regarding the fate of that golem, there was an elephant in the room that needed to be addressed. “So, question, Sorecar.”
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t the weapon register my punch?”
“Ah. Yes, that. Hmm, it’s rather simple really. Though to say it out loud still seems a bit… sacrilegious.” The armorer began with a ponderous series of disjointed breaths, as if he was considering one thought, then jumping to the next, and the next, then onto the next. “Well, simply put, Emma Booker: the polearm did not react because it didn’t see you. It was blind to your presence.”
I blinked rapidly at that, cocking my head as Thalmin was so prone to do. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry, did I misphrase something?”
It was then that I started to notice a few notifications pinging me on my HUD, as I realized this was one of the rare few instances that a point of disambiguation was being raised.
Note: Blind in this High Nexian to English translation is in reference to an impairment or inability to detect another living being utilizing mana-sensory abilities. Not blind in the conventional sense of an impairment of visual-sensory organs.
“Ah, no, I understand now. You’re implying that it didn’t detect me because it didn’t detect a mana-field?” I shot back, breathing a sigh of relief and mentally thanking the dictionary and wiki nerds who were responsible for the EVI’s translation suite.
“Yes. What’s more, one of the fibers in the core of this polearm has an enchantment equivalent to a Class 10 spell of mana-detection. It’s sensitive enough to detect threats from individuals even if they’ve taken a potion of invisibility and cloaking of 10th percentile purity, as it responds explicitly to the presence of a soul, or in the golem’s case, the presence of a spell-casted creature. In effect, the weapon works by latching onto a person not just physically, but magically too. For it binds to a person’s mana-field, breaking it, and thus leading to acute mana sickness. Though I admit, the golem was a bad demonstration of this. It was a simple spell-casted creature, a statue brought to life with a bit of simple magic. The principles are similar, however. The polearm detected a creature animated via magic, latched on to its magical potential, before breaking the aforementioned spell. Hence the pile of rocks you see on the floor.” The man explained thoroughly, though his general posture seemed to change as he moved on to this next point. “All of this is to say that this evidence reinforces the claims of your existence being something other than mana-derived, Emma Booker. Which, granted, I already cognitively understood to be the case. Though it’s one thing to simply understand something, and another thing entirely to see irrefutable proof and evidence of it being the case.” He paused, as he somehow yet again met my gaze. “You really are a mana-less creature, Emma Booker.” He stopped himself before he could continue, placing a single hand on his helmet where his mouth should’ve been. “Ahh! Apologies! I didn't mean to imply you were a creature, Emma Booker, it was just the first word that came to mind, I do apologize!”
I raised a single hand up in response. “It’s fine, Sorecar, really. No offense was taken.” I spoke calmly.
I’d expected an awkward silence to soon follow at that whole exchange, but it was clear Sorecar was no Thacea or Thalmin, or even Ilunor or Apprentice for that matter.
The man was committed to getting what he wanted, which at this point, was clearly a desire to continue showing off some more of his latest toys.
He gestured for me to follow, as we approached yet another weapons station, with what seemed to be a decidedly simple weapon. A spear, yet decorated in a manner that I could only describe as overly ornate.
“This is one of my latest designs. It’s not a commission, mind you. However, it will soon be showcased at the next region-wide Grand Fair, as well as the subsequent Weapons Festival. It isn’t flashy, which is part of the charm of my weapons. However… I’d like you to just observe-” The man trailed off, as he led me towards one of the grand gothic windows that lined the walls of this cathedral-like hall. With a flick of his wrist, the seemingly fixed windows disappeared, revealing a small grove outside. One that was populated by what I could only describe as a large platoon’s worth of mannequins, complete with watermelon heads, each dressed in heavy plate armor not too dissimilar to the armorer’s own.
The torches outside quickly lit up in rapid succession, lighting up the grove outside, meaning night vision wasn’t necessary.
“There’s just about fifty mannequins out there. Heavily armored too, with standard grade armor you’d find amongst your lesser ranked outer guardsman.” The armorer began, setting up some context as he lifted the lone spear, pointing it in the general direction of the platoon of dummies.
“Observe.”
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Once again, nothing seemed to happen. No flashy lights, no giant explosion, not even a loud noise or a bang.
Which was probably fair given how pulling that sort of stunt at this hour wouldn’t probably bring the ire of many a noble and professor. I shudder to think what the consequences of waking up a hundred Ilunor-types from their beauty sleeps would be…
What I did notice however, was the tip of the spear suddenly disappearing, before just as quickly reappearing after about three or so seconds.
“Notice anything?” He asked in a sing-song voice.
“Not really, just that the tip of the spear seemed to have momentarily vanished.”
“Yes, I expected as much. Let me bring the mannequins closer for your inspection.” The man raised his hand out just beyond the periphery of the windowsill-
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-causing one of the mannequins to become unrooted, as it was telekinetically brought over here in a matter of seconds.
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Strangely enough, the mannequin seemed to be emitting some level of mana-radiation.
I didn’t think too much of it as Sorecar removed the dummy’s helmet, revealing what seemed to be a large melon underneath it.
A melon with-
“Go ahead Emma Booker.” Sorecar lobbed the melon in my direction. “Tell me what you see.”
I caught it without issue, as I stared at its haphazardly drawn-on face, then turned to face the armorer. “A face drawn in ink?”
“Not that! Check the inside-”
“Sorecar, why did you go through the effort of drawing a face on-”
“Just turn the damn thing around and crack it open already!” The man hastily shot back with a clear hint of embarrassment in his voice.
I dropped the subject, at least for now, as I turned the melon around as instructed. It was there that I noticed a hole, barely a quarter of an inch in diameter, clearly out of place.
The armorer noticed this, throwing a knife in my direction as I caught it and began slowly, but carefully slicing the thing open.
The moment I did, a sudden hissing sound emerged, followed by steam, and a mix of juices and mashed up fruit pulp.
The insides of the melon were… a mess, there was barely any trace of whatever meat was in here before, not to mention how the insides of it clocked in at just above boiling point.
“It’s… completely obliterated. The inside of the melon is just… mush.” I exclaimed under a hushed breath.
“That is correct, Emma Booker. To spare you the technical details, the tip of the spear, this pound of mana-steel, took flight, before breaking apart into fifty individual pieces, piercing straight through the gaps in the mannequin’s armor, before entering its head, wherein it vibrated, causing physical damage and residual heat. The result is, well, what you see before you.” The man explained carefully, methodically, with the same excitability of a weapons enthusiast back at home.
I didn’t know how to feel about it.
On one hand, a certain level of fear and concern struck me.
The fact that these weapons didn’t explicitly need a mage to wield them, meant that its mass proliferation was a major point of concern.
On the other hand, its existence wasn’t too surprising, since the concept was anything but novel. The weapon was simply a magical version of a hunter-killer back at home. A weapon that was initially so devastating that it was actually addressed and now-heavily regulated under the thousandth-or-so iteration of the Geneva Conventions.
Though to be fair, hunter-killers weren’t even that useful nowadays, given the fact that the common grunt had long since been replaced by your rank and file S-AMCP (Semi-Autonomous Modular Combat Platform).
These little flying darts would be hard pressed to find any organic matter inside most if any UN frontline ‘soldiers’. Save for, of course, their meat-headed enlisted-handlers who commanded them at the front. And whatever idiot decided to apply for a frontline power-armored specialist role.
Like me.
Beyond that however, this threat assessment really did hedge on how common these weapons actually were.
It was one thing to have impressive, deadly weapons. It was another matter entirely to field an army with them.
“So Sorecar, I must ask.”
“Yes, Emma Booker?”
“You’ve mentioned how both the sword and polearm are custom orders. I was wondering if that’s what the academy workshop is renowned for? Making legendary weapons for high profile adventurers, battle-mages and the like?”
The man’s body rattled once more, as it seemed this line of question was one he was seemingly waiting for. “Oh custom orders are most certainly our bread and butter, Emma Booker. The Academy’s name certainly carries a great deal of prestige with it. However, I would be remiss if I were to leave it at that. The Academy workshop is likewise responsible for the Transgracian Smithy, a name renowned throughout the Nexus for much more than just your rare legendary weapon, but likewise for the more widespread enchanted weapons necessary to field entire legions, namely those of the inner, middle, and outer guard.”
I looked around, seeing barely a dozen or so forges in active use.
The numbers just didn’t add up.
“And you make all of those weapons here?” I turned around as if to reiterate my point.
“Oh by the great smithy, of course not!” The man responded, his voice clearly feigning offense with a subtly coy undertone.
“So there’s more to the workshop?”
“Oh, no, this is the full extent of the workshop.” He once more responded with that same coyness. “However, I did say that the workshop is also responsible for the Transgracian Smithy did I not?”
I nodded curiously at that. “Yes, yes you did. So I’m assuming you’re in charge of an even larger smithy with even more forges somewhere on the campus, or perhaps in town? With apprentices and-”
“Oh no no, Emma Booker.” Sorecar interjected. “From what I’m hearing, it’s very much clear to me that you may lack a fundamental understanding in how things are done here in the Nexus. It’s understandable, given even the most exceptional of new realms haven’t yet reached what the Nexus has been able to accomplish.” The man paused, then poked at my armor’s chestplate with his finger for added effect. “This is no slight against your realm, of course. It’s clear your people are very gifted and talented smiths in their own right. However, there’s a limit to where talent alone can get you.” The man paused, as if to think about his next point carefully. “I think it will be easier to show you what I mean, rather than yammering on about it.” He craned his head to the side. “That is, if you’re willing to humor me, of course.”
“By all means, Sorecar, I am here to learn after all.” I responded as soberly as I could. However, despite trying to remain professional, I couldn’t help but to let a little bit of my own excitement bleed over into my voice. Sorecar’s overall excitability was just that infectious.
“In that case I have one final question for you, Emma Booker.”
“Alright?”
“How well does your suit tolerate heat?”