by Neven Iliev
“Enhanced Durability and Self Repair do exactly what they say. They’re a common combination for armour pieces since they improve their effectiveness, longevity, and reduce maintenance. Well Fitted allows it to adjust its size to fit the wearer – within reason, of course. Lesser Lightning Resistance is also self-explanatory, but this Curse of the Steelshaper… I’ve never seen anything like it before. Do you know anything about it?”
“Not really,” Chester shrugged. “Just that it’s what makes Fizzy so… lifelike.”
“Hmm, I see. You may want to have her control rod examined, just in case. Wouldn’t want a rogue golem stabbing you in the back.”
“Noted.”
“Will that be everything, then?” the elf asked with a coy smile.
“Actually, there is one more item I’d like you to take a look at. Two, actually.”
Boxxy pretended to reach under its cloak and stealthily retrieved its trusty mithril daggers from its Storage. Alea was both disappointed and relieved that her bizarre client had produced a reasonable item for once. The appraisal results showed no surprises, either.
Name: Mithril Dirk, SN 22-15
Maker: Hurak Halfbelt
Type: Dagger
Quality: Superior
Offense: B
Defense: D+
Durability: A
Magic Amplification: 3% All
Enchantments: None
Estimated Value: 550 GP
Notes:
A long thrusting dagger forged from pure mithril by the dwarven smiths of Einharvel. It boasts superior sharpness and durability.
“As you can see,” the elf stated, scooting closer to Chester, “it’s a very basic, but reliable weapon. The other one’s pretty much identical, so I didn’t bother writing both of them up.”
“What about these numbers up here?” Boxxy pointed to the page.
“Oh, that’s just a serial number. Mass-produced weapons don’t get fancy names like ‘Voidcaller’ or ‘Left Hand of the Forsaken Sentinel,’ just an identifier that can be tracked in case it was stolen or used to commit crimes.”
That would hardly be a concern for Boxxy, since the daggers’ previous owner wasn’t in any position to report them stolen. That said, there was no telling what might happen if their original wielder did come looking for them, so it was probably best that the former mimic not flaunt them overmuch in public.
“You know, I could enchant those for you,” Alea offered. “I’m quite good at it, if I do say so myself.”
That certainly sounded enticing, but there was one problem. An enchantment could not be removed once bound to an item, and the process carried the risk of breaking the item completely if too much mana were poured into it. That was why durable or magic-conductive materials like adamantite or mithril were necessary for top-tier enchanted equipment. Regardless, Boxxy was wary of letting this random stranger do unpredictable things to its shiny knives, so it politely declined.
“No.”
Or at least, as polite as a four-month-old monster could be under the circumstances.
“A pity,” the elf said lazily, brushing her hair back. “Then is there anything else I can do for you? Some… special service?”
“I already said I don’t want enchantments.”
“What about something more… physical?”
Boxxy was honestly baffled.
“What, like training?”
“Hmmm… you could call it that. I certainly have a lot to teach a young stud like you,” she cooed while stroking Chester’s inner thigh. “Things only an experienced woman would know.”
Did she mean Spells? Was she offering to teach it magic? Or maybe some kind of little-known trick?
“Could you be more specific?”
Alea smiled and leaned into the false elf’s ear, whispering a number of naughty things that finally helped the dense creature to realise what she was getting at. It naturally had no intention of taking part in any promiscuous activities, nor had it been consciously broadcasting any such inclinations, so it had no idea how things had come to this.
Now that the situation had arisen, however, its cunning wit spied an opportunity. If succubi like Snack could use lust as a tool, then what was stopping it from doing the same? ‘Chester’ had something Alea wanted, which meant that this was an opportunity to secure some profit.
“What’s in it for me?” it asked bluntly.
After all, give-and-take was one of the fundamental building blocks of society.
“Oh, a shrewd one, are you? Tell you what, you help me scratch my itch and take my mind off my troubles, and I’ll waive your Appraisal fees.”
Was that a good deal? Come to think of it, Boxxy had neglected to inquire as to price in the first place. If it was 25 GP as per the Order’s branch, then the total would come to an even hundred. However, it was likely that this establishment charged more, considering that everything in the place looked markedly expensive. Even then, this probably wouldn’t be worth its time unless it took Alea’s offer of ‘tutelage’ seriously instead of interpreting it as her being coy.
“Alright, let’s do it.”
Which was precisely the sort of misunderstanding had taken place.
Once the deed was done, ‘Chester Underwood’ returned to the lobby to find Fizzy waiting for it. The steel golem was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to a sealed wooden crate big enough to fit at least three of her. Her statuesque stillness ended abruptly when she noticed Boxxy’s approach, prompting her to stand and throw her arms into the air in exasperation.
“Finally!” she exclaimed. “What took you so long?”
The golem’s attitude was entirely justified, as she had been told that they were in a hurry and had rushed things as a result. If she had known that she’d have some extra time on her hands, she would have put it into making sure her work order was completed to a slightly higher standard.
“I was learning about stuff,” the ‘elf’ replied curtly.
“Oh. Well, at least it was productive.”
Truth be told, Boxxy would probably still be going if Alea hadn’t passed out from exhaustion. She’d kept screaming ‘More! Do me more!’ so often that her voice had started to go hoarse. It was a miracle that nobody had come to check on her with all that yelling, but the elf had likely soundproofed her office.
Still, as promised, Boxxy had indeed learned something from the encounter. The elf had taught it a number of interesting techniques that would no doubt come in useful if something like this were to happen again. It would just need to keep in mind that, looking back, two hours of non-stop pounding was probably overdoing it.
“Whatever, can we please get a move on? It’s already evening.”
“Sure.”
“Can you help me carry this, though? It’s not all that heavy, but it’s awfully unwieldy.”
The golem grabbed the crate by one end and Boxxy took the other as the two of them proceeded to head out of the Union building and into the street.
“By the way, did you find out if you can get your Paladin Job advanced?” the shapeshifter asked matter-of-factly.
That was one of the things that the golem had been supposed to accomplish, along with procuring its Artificer supplies. She had been given a bag of gold to that end and told to not cause any trouble with the trainers, then to wait at the Bootsplit Craftsman’s Union until Boxxy returned.
“I did better than that!” Fizzy exclaimed. “I’m now a Level 28 Paladin!”
“Wait, you got past the Full Appraisal already?”
“Yep!”
“How?!”
There were more than a few out-of-place things on her Status, so Boxxy had been certain that she would be denied outright. It had at least been unlikely that anyone would have attacked her, since these people seemed far more accepting of a talking golem than it had honestly anticipated. Which was the only reason that it had allowed her to roam around by herself in the first place.
“I told the Paladin
trainer how my life was saved by the obscure God of Probability, which is why I champion his name in return,” she explained. “I also fed him and his mates a line about how ‘bearing this horrible curse is penance for my past sins’ or whatever.”
“And that worked?”
“Oh yeah, they ate that shit up! I just listened to Snack’s advice about how those righteous types were suckers for self-sacrifice and repaying debts, and it was spot-on. Oh, right! Here’s the leftover money you gave me! Thanks ever so much!”
Fizzy pulled a coin pouch from her trousers and handed it to Boxxy with a wide smile.
“… There’s more gold left over than I would have thought,” it noted.
“Yeah, I got a good price for the parts since I’m technically still a member of Erosa’s Craftsman’s Union. They even offered me a position as Artificer instructor, but I had to turn them down.”
“I see. What about the Paladin training fee?”
“Well, that did cost quite a bit, but the people over there were super-impressed by my sob story and glorious steel frame, so I got it discounted from 230 to 200 GP.”
“GEH!”
Boxxy nearly spat with rage. What was with this unfair treatment?! Why was Paladin training less than half the price of Warlock training? Such blatant favouritism and discrimination surely had to be against the rules!
But, on the other hand, that did mean that Boxxy hadn’t had to shell out a whole 1,000 GP for training. The cost reduction on both the Job advancement and the Artificer components was definitely a good thing, especially since it had accepted those only begrudgingly as necessary expenses for getting stronger. Honestly, if gold coins hadn’t been so wonderfully shiny it wouldn’t have batted an eye at spending so many, though most of the time it didn’t have much choice. One typically had to use the power of money if they wanted to obtain something in civilised society, and money just happened to be shiny.
And, speaking of society, the immediate populace was currently taking a healthy amount of interest in the newcomer and its pet golem. There was a plethora of people staring at the odd duo as they walked down the street, which was the exact opposite of the ‘blending in.’ The massive crate rattling with their every step wasn’t exactly helping matters, so they ducked inside a small, quiet alley, away from prying eyes.
After making sure that nobody was peeping or eavesdropping, Boxxy quickly stuffed the parts inside the crate into its Storage. It also took the opportunity to re-summon Xera, though the succubus seemed strangely displeased about something. Neither the golem nor the ‘ganger cared enough to ask her about it, however. She was told instead to suck it up and conceal her demonic identity, which she did by assuming the guise of a nondescript elven adventurer eerily similar to Alea. Boxxy wanted her available should a fight break out, and while Warlocks walking around with their familiars may not have been illegal, it was still heavily frowned upon. Not to mention that it wasn’t particularly subtle.
The ex-mimic had decided that it would leave town ahead of schedule. After all, it had already accomplished everything it had wanted to do here, and lingering was pointless. Dangerous, even. Fizzy’s Full Appraisal would have left a record of her name, serving as undeniable proof that she had passed through the town. Even if Appraisal results were supposed to be strictly confidential, someone with an important-sounding title like ‘Spymaster’ was sure to get ahold of them eventually.
But it appeared that plans to leave would have to be slightly delayed. First, it would have to deal with the strangers blocking the alley’s exit. There were five male dwarves, all clad in matching light armour with strange tattoos around their eyes and on their cheeks, not to mention that they were quite well-armed. The two identical fellows on the left held compact crossbows that were already loaded, and the one on the far right was unhooking a pair of axes from his hip. Meanwhile, his friend immediately next to him was licking the blade of his dagger, which he probably thought looked intimidating, but the only thing the gesture did was make Boxxy wonder if the steel knife was tasty.
The dwarf in the middle – the one carrying a large, two-handed axe on his shoulder, likely the leader of this little posse – took a few steps forward.
“Pardon me a moment, sir,” he called with mock politeness, “but would you be willing to donate to the Bootsplit Charity Drive for Starving Orphans?”
The false elf stared dumbly at the odd little man, unable to comprehend what he was talking about.
“… I don’t follow,” it eventually responded.
The thug-in-chief flashed an evil grin, showing a few gilded teeth.
“It’s no big deal. We’re just going relieve you of your excess baggage in order to help those in need. Namely, myself and my compatriots.”
The other four chuckled grimly, but their leader’s roundabout way of speaking had only served to confuse Boxxy further.
“Excuse me, Master,” Xera spoke through the telepathic link, “but I do believe that these people are trying to take your shinies.”
“You’re trying to rob me?” Boxxy asked the would-be-thieves incredulously.
“That’s such a nasty way of putting it,” the leader shook his head. “‘Mandatory donation’ sounds so much better, in my opinion.”
“Oh, how nice!” exclaimed Boxxy, to the surprise of everyone present.
“Really?” Fizzy couldn’t help but ask. “How is any of this ‘nice?’”
“I’ve never been mugged before,” was the cheerful reply. “I always wondered what it would be like.”
The thug’s attitude turned sour when he saw his mark’s carefree attitude. The information he had been given had said that the guy was a clueless Warlock with more money than brains, so he’d wanted to toy with the boy a little. However, he had underestimated just how idiotic the elf truly was. The whelp clearly had no idea how deep the shit he was currently in truly ran.
“You two,” he murmured to the dwarves on his right. “Fire a couple warning shots. Into his face.”
The crossbow-wielding twins didn’t hesitate, firing a bolt each at the smiling elf’s head. One of them hit the guy in the eye while the other pierced his forehead, striking with enough force to knock the young man over backwards. The thug-in-chief scoffed at how easy it had been. Now all they had to do was get rid of its incognito familiar and the metal golem, and they’d be practically rolling in it.
“Weak.”
What should have been a corpse suddenly spoke, putting the five criminals on high alert.
“Level 25. 30 at most. Way too weak. Only good as a light snack.”
The ginger elf stood slowly, his words ominously monotone. The wooden bolts fell from its skull one after the other as the should-have-been-fatal wounds closed in a matter of moments. The thugs felt chills down their spines when they recognised the clearly unnatural creature before them. Nothing in the briefing had said anything about this.
“That’s okay,” the not-an-elf reassured them, its face twisted into a sweet, terrifyingly calm smile. “You’re just in time for dinner.”
The thieves’ nervousness turned to fear and then panic as they watched what should have been an easy mark transform into a whirlwind of steel, teeth and flesh, which descended upon them like Death incarnate.
Suffice to say, the town of Bootsplit was about to experience a dramatic spike in murders, followed by a period of unnaturally low crime.
Part Six
A dwarf napped pleasantly in his simple wooden chair, his soft snores echoing slightly through the narrow stone hallway he was supposed to be keeping an eye on. Although this behaviour was certainly not befitting an official guard, none of his peers would be able to fault him for it. The actual ‘guarding’ consisted solely of waiting for someone on the other side of the circular steel door next to him to speak the password so that he could open it from the inside. He was more akin to a doorman than an actual guard.
After all, the door in question was not only cleverly concealed as one of the many wine cas
ks inside a large restaurant’s cellar, but it was also impossible to open from the outside. Granted, this wasn’t the only way in or out of the hidden complex, but it was the most commonly used passage of the grunts and enforcers of the Honeydew Cartel. They had a separate entrance at the opposite end that was mostly used for ferrying goods in and out of the hideout, but they only used that for huge shipments that wouldn’t have fit otherwise. Just because their organisation wasn’t particularly big didn’t mean that they shouldn’t take a few extra precautions, so as not to be discovered.
Especially considering that their main source of income wasn’t extortion or armed robbery. That was for brainless bandits who lived in the woods and slept in the dirt. Admittedly, the cartel would still do those things on the side when a good opportunity presented itself, but their specialty was smuggling. The town’s proximity to the northern border and the Imperial highway meant that all manner of cargo, illegal or otherwise, had to pass through Bootsplit in one way or another. As such, it was inevitable that smuggling rings would take root in the settlement.
The Honeydew Cartel in particular worked mainly with narcotic substances of a highly addictive nature, such as Fairy Dust or the Honeydew they had named themselves for. The drugs were produced en-masse in the Ishigar Republic to the north, where their use and sale wasn’t illegal like it was in the Empire, though it was still strictly regulated. They were smuggled across the border and resold to other organisations looking to peddle them to any commoners looking for a fix. Overall, the setup ensured a steady stream of profit for everyone involved. Except, of course, the users.
As a secondary source of income, the cartel also dabbled in arms trafficking, which involved selling Fine and Superior Empire-forged weapons and armour to the elves across the border. This wasn’t strictly illegal, but skirting the strict regulations and heavy taxation involved meant that the payoff was worth the minimal risk.