Hephaestus needed more protection than that, however. He placed his gambeson on a wooden mannequin before taking a piece of steel weighing ten kilograms, heating it until it could be worked; using the hammer and cutting tool, he cut sixteen pieces of metal—eight for the front, and eight for the back—each weighing half a kilogram. The blacksmith worked on each piece individually, hammering them into one-and-a-half centimeter thick plates, each one large enough to cover half the sideways length of his torso, and one fourth of its vertical length. He drilled holes on each of their corners, before using his metal studs to rivet them into the gambeson, fixing them in place.
Later, he would repeat the same process to make his gauntlets; for now, he focused on the chainmail pieces of his armor; he took a kilogram piece of steel, hammering it into a large, flat sheet, before using a metal shear to cut the sheet into metal strips. He hammered the metal strips into round tubules, before placing them into a wire drawer. The drawer pulled the rounded metal through a series of dies placed by Hephaestus, producing one-and-a-half millimeter thick wire which coiled around a reel, ready for him to use. Once he had enough steel wire, he took a two-and-a-half millimeter thick iron rod, drilled a hole through it, and threaded one end of the wire through it, bending it into itself so it would stay in place; he affixed the rod into the drill, rotating it so the wire coiled neatly around the rod. When all of the wire was twined over the rod’s length, he took the resulting spring-like length of wire, a pair of handheld metal shears, and cut pieces off the spring. Each piece fell shaped as a ring, clinging satisfyingly as it reached the bottom of a bucket.
When Hephaestus had enough rings, he began weaving them together by joining four rings into a central ring, threading another ring into two of the original four, before adding another two into the second central ring.
Bit by bit, he produced the pieces he needed to reinforce the joints of his brigandine. He decided against a full chainmail, as Rothmund’s combat style didn’t favor thrusting; instead, he made enough mail for two half-sleeves overlapping onto the sides of the armor’s body; the two pieces were shaped as the quilted gambeson, left unfinished so he could assemble them over the leather pieces. He placed the chainmail over the gambeson’s sleeves, closing them off, fixing them in place by riveting them into the gambeson, using three thin leather straps over each sleeve—one at the end below the elbow, one on the biceps, and one around the circumference of the shoulder. The overlapping sheets which fell over the sides of the torso were also fixed in place by using three slightly thicker leather strips over each side—one close to the front and back metal plates, and one in the middle. Finally, he used a thicker leather strap, winding it around the mannequin’s hip slightly below the metal plates, and riveting it in place on the armor, leaving its frontal ends loose so they could be knotted, tying the armor over Hephaestus’ hip in order to distribute its weight.
The smith removed the nearly-finished armor from the mannequin, pulling it over his head; the gambeson fell heavily on his shoulders—he judged it to weigh closely to twelve kilograms—before he tied the belt over his hips. Once tied, the weight no longer rested on his shoulders alone, taking the brunt of the load off of them. He moved in his armor, feeling flexible, and well protected; the thing was damned hot, however, as the elk leather, and the scraps in the gambeson, provided excellent insulation against cold.
Proudly, he declared his armor finished, prompting the naming, bonus, and lore menus to appear; he went through them all, satisfied at the final result:
Plated Brigandine (Armor – golden hue)
-unique-
AC: 30
Bonus: +20% Damage Reduction
Bonus: +20% Damage Reduction
Bonus: +20% Damage Reduction
Bonus: +20% Damage Reduction
Value: 7,500 GP
Lore: Ingenuity and craftsmanship, showing that armor can be both light and protective at the same time.
Crafted by Hephaestus
The finished piece gave him less experience than the sword had, however, not taking him above level four. He shrugged, after all, he wasn’t after gaining levels and experience. Instead, Hephaestus began working on the next piece of his set: the gloves.
He repeated the kilting process twice. Once for each back of the hand, and once for the sleeve, as the palms would remain as simple leather, making them supple and improving his grip on the sword. When he finished quilting and studding the gloves he produced eighteen small metal plates, two for each finger and one for each thumb, and a larger metal plate for the backs of his hands, riveting them in place. He added one last layer of leather below the quilt and plates, to protect the backs of his hands from the metal studs, before finishing the gloves by sewing them together with their remaining halves. He put them on, testing their flexibility: Having left the joints on his knuckles uncovered by metal let him flex his hand comfortably, while the long sleeves reached as far as his elbow, providing further protection for his forearms.
As a last step, he named his creation:
Plated Studded Quilt Gauntlets (golden hue)
-unique-
AC: 10
Bonus: +20% Damage Reduction
Bonus: +5 Cold Resistance
Bonus: +5 Cold Resistance
Bonus: +5 Cold Resistance
Value: 5,000 GP
Lore: Heavy gauntlets to protect against cold climates, and strong weapons.
Crafted by Hephaestus
Three permits had been expended, leaving the blacksmith with two more pieces to produce: His helmet, and pauldrons. He began with the later, taking two half-kilogram pieces of steel, and hammering each into an even metal plate; he used a hemispherical mold to manually hammer each piece into shape, making sure it fit his shoulders comfortably; once they fit, he curled the edges inwards, forming thin, rounded rims. He affixed thin leather straps to the ends closest to his forearm, riveting them in two places, before doing the same in the opposite ends; he hammered two sets of both large and small buckles, placing them at the ends of the leather straps, affixing them so he could set the pauldrons in place.
Hephaestus finished by riveting a lower layer of boiled leather, to pad the metal plates. He put both pauldrons on, feeling their fit; they allowed him to move his shoulders easily, what little discomfort they could cause was taken away by the quilted armor underneath. A message informed that another permit had been used, before he was prompted to name and describe his handiwork:
Hammered Spaulders (pauldrons – golden hue)
-unique-
AC: 10
Bonus: +50 HP
Bonus: +50 HP
Bonus: +50 HP
Bonus: +50 HP
Value: 5,000 GP
Lore: A healthy shoulder guard leads to a longer life.
Crafted by Hephaestus
Once he finished his pauldrons, another prompt appeared, informing him that he had leveled up once more:
LEVEL UP!
HP +30
MP +30
When he confirmed level up, seeing that he was now level five, he was pleased to see that his total effective health, counting his bonuses, had escalated to six hundred and twenty—just a little below half of what Rothmund had. Seeing that, his hopes went up, as he felt he could actually win. His elation came to an abrupt end when he tried to start crafting his next piece of armor; a message appeared in his view, reading:
You have crafted FIVE (5) Unique items today, take a break!
“What the hell!?” he cursed. He had no need to take a break; he felt as he hadn’t felt in a long time, alive and well, robust even, as he had been able to work at the forge, doing as he loved throughout the day. Besides, had they truly been five? He had only crafted his sword, armor, gloves, pauldrons... “Crap,” he said, recalling the first dagger he had made. His plan had been thrown off-balance, as he expected to have at least four pieces of armor, and their bonuses, to use against Rothmund.
Behi
nd him, a woman’s voice said “Trouble in paradise?”
Hephaestus turned around to see Altara leaning against the entrance to the forge. “It won’t let me use another permit!”
“Truly? What did it say?”
“It said I’ve already crafted five items today, what gives?”
“Is it counting the dagger you made?”
“Mhm.”
“Ah, damn.”
“What?”
“Well,” said Altara, “thing is, there’s a limit on the number of forging permits you can use per day. Of course, if you had your own forge, that wouldn’t be a problem, but for now, well,” she finished her sentence by shrugging.
Hephaestus disliked it when things didn’t go as he expected, or understood. Just as blacksmithing was a mostly exact science, his mindset was usually straightforward, no-nonsense: He was given something to expect, and he expected it to happen. Still, his years working at a forge had taught him the value of patience and level-headedness. Calmly, he asked: “Is that not changed by being... what you called it, a ‘manual?’”
“Hm,” she paused, considering his question. “Not necessarily, no. Thing is, Hephy, keep in mind that, at its core, this simulation is still a game. People have to have a good time, and it just wouldn’t work to have someone, no matter how skilled, simply do anything they want without having to work for it.”
“Yet I have worked for my skill, haven’t I?”
“Perhaps,” she said, a slight edge in her voice, “but not everyone has that privilege, and the people who do, well, they still need a fighting chance, don’t they?”
Hephaestus grunted, conceding her point. Rules were like laws in the real world, they existed to prevent anarchy, and the dominance of those in positions of privilege. He was, he admitted to himself, privileged as it came to metal working, as it had been his life’s calling, that didn’t mean that others had the same amount of experience he had, nor that they would develop it.
Still, he had managed to forge an excellent set of armor, and an excellent weapon. He had chosen the bonuses he wanted, as he thought they were what would help him the most; regardless, he decided he needed a second opinion: “Altara, tell me what you think of these items?”
“Sure.” Hephaestus showed her his gear; her reaction wasn’t what he expected. “They are fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes,” she said curtly, “they are fine, and beautifully crafted.” She sighed, “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“Positive.”
Another sigh. “Fine. Let’s take you to the arena, then, so you can challenge Rothmund. Keep in mind that Rothmund may reject your challenge, however. How high are your Rhetorics?”
“Five.”
Altara grunted, shutting her eyes. “Okay, we’ve got to be creative, and pose up a really scathin’ challenge, the kind he won’t refuse just to show you one thing or two.”
“Can you do that?” the blacksmith asked, receiving a nod in reply. “Well then, let’s do it.”
They left the smithy together. Though Altara’s lack of confidence was palpable, Hephaestus was certain enough in his own abilities. He had prepared for the worst he had seen, now, he could only hope for the best, and overcome the champion of the Arkean Arena.
Chapter VI: Lesson Learned
“The prime directive, so to speak, that we impose on developers to make a piece of Imperium Games certified software, is enjoyment. Balanced enjoyment, I must add. Can’t have gods walking among men, after all – unless they’ve earned or paid for it, of course!”
-Jolier Vazquez, in “Virtual Business Practices – Player Engagement.”
Falcata crossed her heels over the wooden table in front of her, tilting her chair backwards, and taking a deep swing from her beer. Though she enjoyed fast-traveling from city to city as much as the next gal, after in-game hours of doing the same, boredom had set in—and still, there were no damn signs of her father.
Talwar came back with another two tankards of frothy stout, one for himself, and one for his sister. When he sat down, he said “Giving up already, Amy?”
She scoffed. “Don’t devs tell you not to use your real world names in-game, Jony-boy?”
“Devs also say to take pissing breaks, and you know what happened with that. Adult diaper sales spiked up,” he jested, failing to get even a smile. “Right. So, er... any more ideas where dad might be?” She shrugged. He reclined backwards just as his sister, closing his eyes and drinking deeply. “Well, we’ve been at it all day, and there are no signs of him.”
“No shit.”
“Come on Am... er, Falcata, it’s not my fault! Look, why don’t we go do something fun?”
“Such as?” she asked, curiosity plain in her voice.
Her question defeated Talwar. “Now there’s a question. We can go hunting drachens, faeries, maybe do a quest?”
“Pass,” she said. “Anything interesting going on around?”
“Let me see.” Talwar brought up the noticeboard interface, searching for any unusual events going on. He saw a number of events, fetes, reunions, party quests and other communal activities; none caught his fancy, as they were all generic, game-generated affairs. He checked through most main cities’ noticeboards, before checking Arken. More of the same, he was disappointed to see, until he found something which caught his eye. “Huh,” he said as he read through the posting.
“Found something?” his sister asked, still leaning on her chair.
“There’s something odd, yea. Seems like some freakin’ noob has a death wish in Arken.”
“Doesn’t every noob have a death wish at some point?”
“No, no, this is different. It seems like some level five guy challenged the champion, the damned champion, at the arena.”
“Who is the champion?” asked Falcata, her curiosity slightly piqued.
“Some rando called ‘Rothmund,’ level twenty two, nothing special really, except he’s been using his time to grind on arena matches, rather than going out of his way to get some actual experience. No big deal.”
“Then why should we care?”
“Well, here’s the thing… the noob?”
“Yea?”
“His gear is all unique.”
The table rattled as Falcata slammed her chair down, her eyes wide when she exclaimed “You kidding!?”
Talwar shook his head. “Not one bit, look for yourself.”
She did so, scrolling through the details in the noticeboard. “Hephaestus?” she asked when she saw the challenger’s name.
“There’s more,” her brother replied, “look at his gear.”
Talwar had been correct. His gear consisted of four unique pieces, crafted by himself. Their descriptions and names were nothing special, “Not much of a writer, is he?” she mused loudly, before reaching the bottom of the item list. She gasped, checking, and double-checking what she read. “You’re shittin’ me! That sword—”
“Mhm,” Talwar interrupted. “That sword,” he confirmed.
Falcata shook her head intently. “Just a coincidence, I’m sure. Must be a pretty common name.”
“Yea,” her brother scoffed, “and with a heartfelt description to match. Besides,” he added, crossing his arms over his chest, “You saw the class?”
“Murderfist? Yea, clever.”
Talwar rolled his eyes. “Sis...”
“FINE!” She yelled exasperated. “True Smith.” She couldn’t lend credence to her eyes—he wouldn’t be that stupid! Would he? “So, let’s assume it is in fact him, so what?”
“So,” said her brother sardonically, “he’s about to get owned.”
“Shit,” that’s what I feared. It wouldn’t do good for him to have his hopes razed down the first time he did anything. “So,” she asked, “what do we do?”
“Well, we go to the arena in Arken.” Hearing his sister’s sigh, he jokingly said “Hey, come on, chee
r up!” she eyed him curiously, before he added “We achieved what we wanted!
We found dad!”
***
The underworks of the arena were awfully large, and awfully empty. Hephaestus expected to see a number of people honing their skills, sharpening their weapons, mending their armors—anything. Instead, there was only a gruff, tired-looking old man sitting by a portcullis at the end of the underworks. When he approached the old man, he lifted a bushy eyebrow, opening an eye, and saying “You the one with a death wish?”
Hephaestus shrugged. “The same.”
The old man scoffed. “Damn rookies. Fine, do you, at least, know the rules of the arena?”
“Assume me ignorant,” the blacksmith replied.
The old man mumbled something, scathing no doubt under his breath, before he said “Right, fights are ‘til either of you hit zero health. Winner gets experience, and gets to keep everything the loser has equipped.”
True Smithing: A Crafting LitRPG Series Page 8