by Deck Davis
CHAPTER 63
Two thoughts held him back from abandoning Konrad and getting ready for the labyrinth. One was sentimental, the other practical.
In the time he’d spent with Konrad, he’d grown to like him. That was the problem of full immersion mixed with advanced artificial intelligence, in that it made you feel something for the NPCs. The ones who siphoned a significant amount of intelligence form Boxe weren’t just 2D cutouts; they gave such an impression of being real that it was hard to think about them as anything but.
Even if he tossed that to one side, Konrad had promised to teach him a new skill if Tripp exchanged his tokens, and right now he needed every edge he could get.
Then there was a third thing; Boxe. Was Konrad’s disappearance the emergence of a new story branch that would have occurred anyway, or was it Boxe screwing with him again? At this point, Tripp was inclined to blame everything that happened to him on the AI.
Even with that trident of doubtful thoughts, he wanted to win. He wanted to solve the labyrinth, and if he wasted all day looking for Konrad instead of using his skills, he’d almost face a sudden and painful death in room three. Boxe would win.
Damn it. He knew what he was going to do. When the time came to leave Soulboxe, he wasn’t going to depart knowing that he failed because of sentimentality toward a fake dwarf.
He took a last look at the smoke rising from Glora’s chimney and then walked away from the house and to Konrad’s work studio.
“You aren’t going to help this Konrad person?” said Clive.
“If I had the time, I would. But I don’t, and a choice is a choice. Ever heard the phrase damned if you do, damned if you don’t?”
“If you had asked me, I would say help him.”
“Really?”
Clive nodded. “I’m inclined to side with a fellow construct.”
“I never thought about that,” said Tripp. “You are Konrad are made of the same stuff?”
“With differences in form and function, not to mention how both of us have been changed to adapt to our purposes. Rather like evolution, I suppose, and how a chimpanzee and an orangutan can share similarities but be wildly different.”
“Sometimes you have to choose one thing or the other,” said Tripp. “This was my choice. I’ll live with how it makes me feel later.”
The studio was quiet, the forge cold. It had the feeling of a place that had been abandoned, even though Tripp had been in there just yesterday.
He set his inventory bag on the ground. “Clive, can you use your telekinesis to put all my stuff on the bench, please?”
“Certainly.”
As the orb moved item after item from his inventory bag, Tripp fired up the forge and was glad to feel the pulse of heat coming from it. The glow not only warmed up the room but cast welcome light into it, brightening up the walls and making it feel less desolate.
That done, he looked over every item he’d bought, collected, and crafted in Soulboxe. Weapons, crafting cards, essence, orb weaver limbs. Seeing it laid out like that was impressive. Impressive, but a reminder of the work he needed to do.
“Let’s get started,” he said.
With that, he took off his steel armor piece by piece and put it on the workbench opposite, until he was half-naked and felt the forge heat waft on his green skin.
Clive eyed him suspiciously.
“This is how artificers and armorers work,” said Tripp. “A master of the crafts taught me that.”
“How does this help? Is this a ritual, like how swordsmen make the sign of the Red Pentagon before a duel?”
“I need to artifice my steel armor, and I can’t do that while I’m wearing it. Can you keep track of time for me? I need to leave a few hours before the sun starts to set.”
“Of course,” said Clive.
He knew what he was doing. He understood artificery much better than he had before, and he worked with a plan in mind.
First, he focused on his steel armor. There were eight pieces in the complete set: his chest piece, two shoulder pads, two hand gauntlets, two boots, and two leg pieces.
“Have you ever seen an artificer work, Clive?” he said.
“Not according to my memory; though I may have guided a crafter player in the past and had my recollections wiped.”
“Come and watch.”
As Clive hovered over him, Tripp worked on his shoulder pad first. He strapped his artificer goggles on and focused until a circular hole appeared. This artificery hole was bigger than the ones he saw when he’d first learned the skill, which was a pleasing reminder of how much he’d improved.
“This is how we add effects to stuff,” he said, and tipped frorarg essence into the chest piece. A wave of orange light flashed over the steel, before dispersing like snuffed flames. The only reminder of it that lingered was a thin orange light traced around the edges of the shoulder pad. “See?”
Item created: Shoulder Pad of Fire Resistance
A piece of armor that grants damage resistance against fire.
“Impressive. That does what, exactly?”
“It gives me a resistance to frorarg fire.”
“Ah. So all the essence you bought from the plaza is because you want to…”
“Create armor that repels any damage the damn labyrinth wants to throw at me.”
As much as the shoulder pad would protect him from fire damage, Tripp felt a fire of his own burning inside him. He worked quickly, and he began to get the old feeling back, the one he used to experience when he was practicing his real-life carpentry skills. It was as if the outside world faded. There was no light around him, no sounds, just him and a deep focus on what he was making.
He used essence after essence, imbibing each of his steel armor items with fresh resistance. He artificed snow troll essence into his leg pieces, granting him resistance to the cold damage that would come from the eisschwarm. He imbued his gauntlets with essence from an earth golem, which would protect him from whatever the fourth stone-based creature was.
Time ticked away as he worked, and his buzz hadn’t even begun to fade by the time he loaded his last essence into his armor. This was a pinch of sleel essence to protect him from shock magic.
It was great adding resistances to his armor, but there was something else he was desperate to try. For this, he needed the Healing Warhammer that he’d earned after surviving the second wave.
He held his Deconstructor Mallet over it and before regret could creep in, he smashed the warhammer. Each thud chipped part of it away, separating it into its basic components.
Looking at a pile of wood, stone, and essence that lay where a beautiful warhammer had once been, made his stomach feel heavy. But if this worked…
He used his steel chest plate to try this. He sprinkled essence from the warhammer into the artifice slot, making sure it was in the circular resistance hole.
This was the experimental part, one that would mean he’d either done something cool or he’d wasted a weapon.
The thing about the warhammer was that hitting someone healed them rather than hurting them. By artificing the warhammer’s essence into the resistance slot of his armor, he hoped for a different effect.
Now it was done, and he felt his pulse tremor. It was time to try it out.
He pricked his thumb with the tip of his morning star and let blood trickle down onto his palm.
Next, he clasped the chest piece around his body. With that in place, he faced Clive.
“I need you to hit me with the morning star.”
“It would be a pleasure, but really?” said Clive.
“I don’t want you to re-sculpt my skull, but hard enough to cause damage.”
He gulped and took a deep breath. As Clive telekinetically raised the morning star, Tripp wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to flinch away, but he forced himself to be still.
The weapon flew at him and whacked his chest piece, and he felt the thud reverberate deep inside him.
No
w it was time to see if it had worked. His pulse began a hammering rhythm as he raised his hand.
No blood save for what had already dripped onto his palm. A rush of joy made him feel dizzy.
“The pain has gone! Look at my thumb; it’s healed,” he said, beaming. “No sign that I even pricked it.”
A rush of gladness filled him like helium pumped into a balloon. It had worked!
By putting the Healing Warhammer essence into the defensive slot of his armor, he’d changed the effect. Before, the warhammer healed the people it hit. Now, if someone hit Tripp, his chest piece would heal him a little. It wouldn’t make him invincible, but it was a hell of an improvement.
“Impressive,” said Clive. “A novel use of essence.”
“That’s not all,” said Tripp. He grabbed his flagellation flail from the bench. “See this? If I damage myself with it, the damage gets stored in the flail and I can use it for attacks. In other words, I can make this thing as powerful as I like, as long as I don’t mind losing HP.”
“A true double-edged sword. Or flail.”
“It’s a beauty of a weapon, but has the unfortunate side effect of killing me if I use it too much.”
“Who made it? Some kind of mad monk?”
Tripp shrugged. “No idea, but I’m glad I found it. Watch.”
He gripped the flail and took a deep breath to steady himself, and then he smacked his chest plate with it.
As Tripp had learned, armor in Soulboxe wasn’t completely realistic. Although the flail hit his steel, Tripp felt a sting of pain and then his hitpoints dropped.
Then, as he watched, the warhammer essence in his chest piece absorbed the damage, and converted it into health, topping his bar back up.
Not only that. The damage he’ originally done to himself was still stored in his flail, and now the weapon seemed to throb with power. It was a coiled spring, full of kinetic energy begging to be let loose.
“This is my equalizer,” said Tripp. “I can use the flail to deal damage beyond my level. Before, I only used it for emergencies because I had to weaken myself to power it up. Now I can hurt myself with the flail to store damage in it, and my chest piece will top up some of my hitpoints. Not all of them, but enough that I can use the flail.”
“Fascinating,” said Clive, and this time there was no sarcastic edge to his voice.
Awash with fresh motivation, he got to work on the rest of the armor. By the time he was finished, his steel armor was barely recognizable.
The outer edges of each part of it glowed different colors, with sparks of orange joining with blue zips, brown sparkles. Forget Joseph and the Technicolor Raincoat; this was Tripp and the Technicolor, Multi-Damage Resistant Suit of Armor.
That wasn’t all. When he finished artificing the last boot, a notification appeared. A grin spread on his face that was so wide he thought his jaw would crack.
Item created: Tripp’s Suit of Defenseweave
Category: Steel Armor.
Item upgraded from *Common* to ***Rare***.
Tripp’s Suit of Defenseweave legacy change
- Legacy increased from 16 to 40
- Weapon lore added: ‘Facing almost certain death, Tripp Keaton poured sweat and blood (not his own) into his armor to protect him from his upcoming nightmare.’
- Legacy benefit added: +2% overall damage resistance multiplied by wearer’s character level
Wow.
To anyone else, it would have looked like a decent piece of loot. Rare, but not mythical or legendary. A good suit of armor for an early to mid-level player, and maybe worth a chunk of gold, but nothing to start bragging about.
But seeing that he’d created an item with its own name, one that wasn’t as bland as a brooch of orb resistance, Tripp didn’t just want to brag. He wanted to climb onto the work studio window and hold his suit of Defenseweave up for everyone to see.
This was what crafting was about; this rush of adrenaline, this suit that had once been plain silver and only good for deflecting anything weaker than a pebble and was now buzzing with light and imbued with all kinds of defenses. Honestly, with the amount of different resistance he’d built into it, he felt like he’d created the steel armor version of Batman’s utility belt.
Rather than climb onto the roof and crow about his armor like some kind of rooster, instead he put the armor on, strapping it in place and enjoying the multi-colored glow it gave off.
He had protection against fire, ice, lightning, and rock. Not only that but every time someone hit his chest plate, he’d gain health.
The more he thought about it, the better it seemed. Sure, it wasn’t rare of mythical rated, but it was certainly unique. Nobody in Soulboxe would have a set of steel armor like it. And that gave him an idea.
He took out his blank crafting cards. He had a dozen, which was all that he’d found stocked among the traders and shops in Mountmend.
Would you like to create a crafting card for [Tripp’s Suit of Defenseweave]?
Y/N
He said yes a dozen times and put the completed crafting cards in his bag.
“Four hours until evening,” said Clive.
That broke the spell like a sledgehammer cracking an egg. He still had so much to do.
With defense taken care of, it was time to think of its more exciting brother; offense. Making weapons that could dish out some pain. Not just for Tripp, either. He needed to take care of his buddies. He couldn’t build similar sets of armor for Jon and Warren because he didn’t have enough steel, but he could tool them up.
He took the two iron swords that Jon had given him and used his armorer hammer to sharpen them. His leveled armorer skills meant he improved the sword a hell of a lot more than when he’d first sharpened his bone dagger, in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Now, he managed to add an extra five points of damage to the sword. But that wasn’t enough.
Using artificery and this time focusing on the octagonal holes, he used up more of the essence he’d bought.
Up to now, he’d artificed two or three items at one time. Today had been a different story, and the level of concentration needed began to wear him out. His eyes felt like they had ants crawling in them, and his head throbbed.
When he was done with them, he studied the results.
You have created a sharpened iron sword [fire damage]
You have created a sharpened iron sword [ice damage]
Phew, this was heavy going. He wanted to rest, but there was no time. He wiped the sweat from his brow and approached the forge, then used its roaring heat to mix some of his iron and carbon pieces together.
You have created 1 [good] steel piece
You have created 1 [excellent] steel piece
You have created 1 [good] steel piece
You have created 1 [master] steel piece
A master steel piece! Reading the notification was one thing, but holding the steel in his hand, he could see how much better formed it was, how perfect and better forged.
He used the one good, one excellent, and one master steel pieces first, turning them into shields. Unlike the one he’d made for room one, these shields were from his crafter codes, and they were designed to be carried rather than set in front of you.
You have created 1 [good] steel hand shield
You have created 1 [good] steel hand shield
You have created 1 [great] steel hand shield
You have created 1 [master] steel hand shield
“Almost done,” he said.
Clive, who had settled onto a workbench and shut his eyes, stirred. “Huh?”
“Sorry, I thought you had been watching me. I’m nearly finished.”
“Good, because there are three hours until the sun starts to set.”
This sparked new urgency in Tripp. Just a couple more things to do and that was it. As time ticked away, Tripp artificed frorarg, sleel, eisschwarm, and rock essence into the shields, granting them resistant against each kind of attack.
“No
time to make a separate shield for everyone,” he said. “We’ll just have to share.”
Finally, he used the remaining grains of essence on the arrows he’d bought from the hunting shop, so that Jon would have something to use.
Artificer-inventor skill leveled up to Tin 3
- Concentration improved by 25% when wearing artificer’s goggles
With his work done, he felt like he could just collapse. Sweat covered his forehead, his hair, and his undershirt felt like he’d worn it for a week straight, which wasn’t far from the truth.
He wanted nothing more than to go rent a bed at the Slaughterman’s Inn tavern and sleep for a week.
Unfortunately, he had a labyrinth to complete, and after that came the final night of the Blood Wave.
CHAPTER 64
After leaving the forge-warm studio and stepping out into the chill, Tripp felt a blade press against his throat. He froze, wondering if Boxe had changed the rules in Mountmend so that players could kill each other. Could he get to his flail before the blade bit into his neck?
A voice growled at him. “I want everything you have, orc. Even your sweaty undershirt.”
Wait, he knew that voice! Relief smoothed away his tension, and he turned to see his attacker. “Warren?”
Warren laughed and lowered his sword. “You can come out now, Jon.”
Jon emerged, shaking his head. “It was his idea. He thought it’d be funny.”
Warren held his hands up. “If you can’t laugh when you’re about to die, when can you? We’ll bite it inside the mountain or we’ll get torn into strips of flesh by the weavers. Either way, if Boxe is watching, he’ll see that it doesn’t bother me. His tricks are useless.”
The brothers looked different. Warren wore his white robe with added rusted iron shoulder pads and steel boots that reached up to his knees. He had strapped cleric healing book around his knee, and his sword was in a sheath by his right hip. On his left hip was a new sheath with a new blade in it, a bone-handled dagger with a blade that looked like a shard of ice, with its blue hue and jagged edges.