by John Gold
“What’s so special about it?”
“It’s non-level, and its attributes are derived directly from the strength of its owner. My grandfather was able to unlock the secret of the ultimate blacksmith art.”
Habald took a glove off and wiped away a manly tear.
“It was only today that I realized how truly great my grandfather was, rest his soul. If your theory is right, he gave his life for his last creation, one he thought was his best.”
So, you think the ultimate art is creating non-level items? But you have to drop back down to Level 0 with no experience to be able to do it, and the material would have to let mental energy through it. You’d have to have your main skill and crafting up to 1000.”
“Exactly. You understand what I’m trying to tell you.”
“Okay, so we know what we need.”
The master and his apprentice looked each other in the eye. Isaac didn’t care what he sacrificed to reach his goal. His life? What was so special about it? There was nothing more valuable than knowledge and experience.
Isaac was his father’s son even if he didn’t recognize it. No normal person would have been able to keep up with his crazy routine for a whole year. He spent days after that conversation just collecting information about metals and the art of smithing. Just like he always did, he scoured the trash heaps and stole what he had to in order to find resources and metals to study. Habald caught him, though, and told him that he was too engrossed in the idea of the armor. But all Isaac had to say was that he didn’t understand why normal people could be so cavalier with their goals and desires. How could one not be willing to throw one’s self completely into the idea of achieving one’s goals? The hunt and the experience were there to be enjoyed. After this conversation, the old master stopped raising that issue.
Isaac spent another year maxing out his smithing.
And in those couple of years, only once did he have a visitor at the clinic—his mother came by a month after Isaac had been sent there. She looked better, less tense.
Young Philip Polanki remembered that day very well. The one and only conclusion he could draw was that his family was better off without him. After Project Chrysalis was released, he didn’t think about them once. Perhaps, that was because he was wrapped up in his new idea. Perhaps, it was because he’d never known parental love.
Everything was going well, with Isaac able to do more than just boost his smithing skill. Habald paid him a share of each order they completed, and Isaac was able to just pull some out of his inventory when they began discussing buying palirin. He lost his 70 levels to create a scalable dagger, though the money from that sale went toward buying more palirin.
After the conversation they had, Habald started helping his apprentice boost his resistance to mental damage. The accursed metal was practically useless for ordinary blacksmiths due to the fact that it didn’t really have any outstanding qualities. Its capacity to let mental energy pass through it was exploited in alloys used to make conductors for a variety of devices. The demand was highest among artifactor mages. If palirin had been as expensive as mithril, it would’ve taken Isaac ten years to earn the amount they needed.
But none of the blacksmiths out there even suspected that the secret of their ultimate art was using palirin and alloys containing it.
When they finished preparation, Isaac left for a tunnel deep underground in one of the forgotten dwarf cities. He found an abandoned smithy there that Gvalt told him about, and the old alchemist had already given him all the ingredients he needed to create an alloy with the accursed metal. Habald delivered everything he required and placed prepared ingots in the furnace.
When the palirin melted, everything that was living in the vicinity died. Isaac himself had shown up with only his mallet.
First, he prepared the alloy, the recipe for which it had taken them two long years to find. Then he got to smithing.
All his clothes were burned away by the fire and mental damage, but soon enough, he was finally ready.
Note! You have gained access to aerveg, smithing’s ultimate technique.
Using it to make an item will cost your soul, and your new class will be living (activated) armor or a living (activated) weapon. Its effect will depend on the person who uses it.
Would you like to use this technique? Yes/No
The world sank into darkness, his consciousness followed suit, and Isaac saw thousands of ghosts flying around him. He couldn’t feel his own body, though he could tell he was being carried toward a light. The closer he flew, the clearer the armor he’d forged looked.
When Isaac found himself in his new body, he realized that part of his senses had been dulled. He saw everything through the slit in the visor even without eyes. The only things he could smell were what was inside the helmet. He’d lost his sense of touch most of all, though he still felt heat and the blows he took. And even if he’d never paid much attention to taste before, it was also gone now.
Isaac sat there for days as he awaited the master. To pass the time, he studied the changes that had taken place in him.
First of all, the armor was rough, almost as if a beginner had forged it instead of a master who had donated his own soul. There were defects, cracks, and even sharp corners that could easily injure the wearer. Second, his attribute panel had been reset. Third, Isaac could run, jump, and walk, though he couldn’t talk. His strength was on par with anyone else just beginning the game.
Human, Isaac, living armor, non-level
That evening, Habald showed up and helped him home. When the mental damage from the palirin disappeared, the monsters flooded back into the abandoned city, so the old master and his brother had to fight their way back.
The first trials were set for the next day, when everyone involved in the experiment had gotten a good night’s sleep. But that night, Isaac found out something new: he could just go to sleep until any moment or date he set.
Isaac needed to be put on like any other suit of armor. But the process for that was a bit different, as the owner just needed his permission to be enclosed in him.
A week later, they noticed that the armor expanded or shrank depending on who was wearing it. The higher the mastery of the wearer, the more complex the details became and the more comfortable it was. When he switched to a new wearer, Isaac change to fit that person. He slowly morphed into his original form when he went for a while without anyone wearing him.
Only people who could be trusted not to divulge Habald’s secret were permitted to take part in the trials. His closest friends and family were asked to try their hand at using the world’s best armor, though they were all poor warriors. The problem wasn’t their level or how advanced their skills were; the armor only responded to warrior mastery.
A month later, Isaac fell into apathy again, spending days sleeping in the blacksmith’s basement. Habald couldn’t wear him, afraid of his own creation, and he couldn’t tell anyone else. Isaac finally decided he didn’t really care what the old master thought, figuring there were no two ways around it.
I’m looking for a master warrior, I want a master fighter, I pray for a master warrior, I want my own master. Isaac started to realize that he was looking for a worthy master, someone who could unlock his full potential. He traveled the city, watching battles, duels, and training, in his search.
His legs carried him to the warriors’ training center on their own, and he sat there for two days in a quiet corner on a roof of the stable. From that vantage point, he could see the whole base. Then, the crazy girl showed up to sit next to him, almost as though she’d been there all along.
“I heard there is a weapon here who is looking for a worthy owner.”
Isaac couldn’t say anything.
“Battle mastery.”
The armor turned its helmet and looked the girl over from head to toe. She had strange red hair, a longsword on her back, and was wearing the same plain clothing everyone else in the city wore. The only thing that stood out
about her was her sword. It was incredible, the work of a true master. But the girl didn’t look like a warrior, a barbarian, or a paladin. Her musculature was developed evenly, she moved lightly, and she looked to be high-level.
Isaac pointed at the training grounds, and the girl understood exactly what he was trying to tell her.
By the end of the day, not a single unbeaten warrior remained. The lonely, non-level armor had found itself a worthy owner, and it didn’t even return to say goodbye to the old master at the smithy.
Femida was a wizard with a sword, capable of beating anyone even without a class. Day after day, she honed her skill without relying on Isaac. Tens, hundreds, thousands of hours of training went by. Isaac loved the process even more than Femida did.
Get faster, stronger, tougher, better, my dear. Isaac started to notice that he was enjoying discoveries he only participated in tangentially more and more. His normal senses were much weaker, so he lived vicariously through Femida as she pushed toward her goal.
All Isaac cared about was that it be fun. And Femida turned out to be the most interesting person he’d ever met—she was incredibly intelligent, her experience in battle was unparalleled, her life was lived at a maniacal pace, and she had fantastic analytical abilities to boot.
Femida got settled in prison, hiding behind Isaac’s name. She was considered an accomplice in some crime and hunted around the world, though that was just the icing on the cake for Isaac. He was watching the world’s most interesting movie. The whole thing tickled him pink—he may have been crazy, but he was reveling in it.
For five long years, Femida worked guarding the idiotic doll who ran the meetings. How Isaac wore on the nerves of his mistress as he told her exactly what he thought of the bait. Sometimes, it would get so bad that she’d turn off the chat and ban him for days at a time. But Isaac never argued with her, figuring he wouldn’t be able to find anyone better.
He saw thousands of players over the years who would never dream of touching Femida’s mastery. For the first couple of years, he thwarted eighty attempts on the bait doll’s life. He saw Femida building her fighting style and mastery still further, saw his own body change as he picked up new details and became more complex. He could see how patiently she was awaiting the end of her sentence. But she was waiting for something else, too, and that something happened right in the middle of one of the meetings.
The nondescript young man walked into the room, though just a glance at him was enough to fill Isaac with worry. If his body had been living, his hair would’ve stood on end, his teeth would have chattered, and his legs would’ve shaken.
He’s like me!
That thought was like a bucket of cold water being dumped on his head.
Isaac looked at the kid almost like he was seeing his own reflection for the first time, while the kid looked at…Femida. Isaac could see his glance flitting back and forth between the fake Femida and the suit of armor. Surprise, confusion, amusement, and curiosity chased each other around on the boy’s face. It was like he was kneading Isaac’s soul, and that only intensified the excitement.
His name was LJ, and when he told his story, Isaac heard Femida’s thought. Killing that idiot wouldn’t be enough. When LJ mentioned the “fat idiot,” Femida reached for her sword, though Isaac blocked her and asked her to calm down. They started chatting back and forth.
He’s fascinating! I want him!
Pervert!!
He makes my heart skip a beat. Is this love? Will we have kids?
Why, god? Why do I have to be stuck with such an idiot? And why do I get all the crazies?
Now, I get it—he’s the love of my life!
Stop it. He doesn’t know anything about sex, and he’s my chosen one!
We can fix that. Anyway, shall we go pull each other’s hair, sweetie?
Isaac tormented the poor girl throughout the rest of the meeting. For some reason, just having the guy there was enough to drive Isaac up the wall.
He’s just like me!
More, give me more of the crazy! Come on, show me what you can do…Sagie!
It was definitely Sagie, the criminal who was the reason Femida had been hiding all those five years. When Isaac found himself in the astral, jumping in after Sagie, he once again found himself in the darkness and surrounded by the spirits he’d seen when he was being reborn. The madness left him a little, and he returned control to Femida. It had actually been Isaac who jumped into the portal after Sagie, and not Femida. The closer he was, the more excited he got, though all of his feelings lost their urgency in the astral. That was when he threw all his questions at Femida and heard Sagie’s story.
The talented young man had created a weapon similar to Isaac, though he’d been so young that it seemed impossible. Sacrifices? Rituals? Screw it—the whole thing was fascinating.
After the clinic and back in Radaam, a PK clan ambushed them on a snowbound road leading to Kurg. Two groups attacked them at the same time from different sides. Sagie was able to notice them when they were still a hundred meters away, despite the thick snowfall and their high speed, and the battle started a minute later. A pair of mages had the poor judgement to summon a demon that tore off their heads and headed back with its trophies.
The most surprising part was that a squad of scouts stayed away from the battle but still died fifty meters away from the road. Sensing blood, Sagie said there was something over there. The three of them swept over to see four scouts skewered on tree branches along with their mounts. Femida said the battle had lasted just a couple of seconds, and their opponent left just one track. It was almost like he hadn’t actually done any moving around.
Then, a small black tree standing behind Femida quietly changed its look and gently scratched at Isaac’s helmet. The two-meter man wearing a funeral suit had neither a face nor ears, and he looked straight into the slit in the helmet. Feelers pinned the swordswoman as the man enjoyed looking over the armor. He found it incredible.
Sagie hurled something lethal, and the black man disappeared. He didn’t die; he just slipped into one of the shadows, looking pleased with himself. Femida cursed, though Isaac was close to euphoria.
And that was how they got to Kurg, where Sagie’s friend lived and there grew a tree he wanted to see.
Isaac had gotten to see yet another person just like him: Slender.
***
The sun is just going down over the horizon, and the snowstorm is getting so strong that visibility is falling toward zero. Strong winds sweep the plain, in which Kurg was at the centre, all year round. There aren’t any rocks, no trees grow, and only flying bots are there to bother players. Even they disappear when winter rolls around.
We can see the enormous tree from a dozen kilometers away. It’s grown so much that the tip is engulfed in the clouds, making it easy to find the city.
No sooner do the gates open than two unprepossessing figures run across the empty square near the northern gate. It’s early morning, the city is just waking up, and the guards are dragging themselves out of their rooms to start the morning rounds. We slip through under their noses and dash through the empty streets, arriving at Arkham’s tavern.
The entire city is covered in a white blanket of snow, with just the dismal gray of the city towers and walls poking above it. As we run through the streets, we notice groups of players in the empty houses. Artisans are opening their shops in preparation for the workday. Old ladies with baskets and cans of milk are scurrying around everywhere. The city is waking up.
We find Arkham in his tavern’s back yard, where he’s dickering with a traveling salesman for a lot of wine. The dwarf refuses to back down—the wine has been in his family for more than a hundred years, he insists. Laughing, the innkeeper points at the seal with the mark of last year’s harvest. Just then, however, his eyes meet mine, and the bargaining stops. Arkham comes over when the dwarf leaves.
“I see you found your girl! That’s good—you won’t be whining up in the tree anymore.�
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“I’m glad you’re looking good. You even picked up some weight in the last month.” The innkeeper had a small belly poking out. “Nobody to train with?”
He laughed as he buttoned up his coat.
“I’m glad you’re back. It’s been uneasy lately, with lots of strange people and none of the regulars. We have various kinds of shady characters sitting in there all day long.”
“It’s winter. The marauders are all weathering it in the taverns and villages, anywhere they can find a fire.” A waitress walks by and casts a glance over our unusual group before heading in through the back door. “Arkham, this girl is a hunter, and she needs a swordsman class with a longsword specialty. Can you help her with that?”
Femida looks the tubby guy over before turning her surprised gaze to me. Oh, right, she doesn’t know he’s also a Hunter.
“This is Arkham the Dancing Sword. And I imagine he’s the only person who will give you a class without asking questions. His swordsman skills are better than yours…at least, better than what yours were five years ago. I’m not sure how good you are now. You two can handle that though, and I’ll go take care of some things I have on my plate. If anything comes up, send me a message in the group chat.”
Leaving the swordsmen in the tavern’s back yard, I head over to see my tree. I have a theory about where its divine strength could have come from, and this is my chance to see if I’m right.
It’s just as summery as ever under the crown of the tree. Two shamans are lecturing on work with spirits to a whole group of students, and two druids are growing flowers right at the edge of the field. There are children everywhere once again, all of them enjoying the warmth and the many playthings. The harsh cold has ushered all the city’s stray animals here.