True Smithing: A Crafting LitRPG Series

by Jared Mandani

  “What do I want? Why, I became aware that Hephaestus has received a report as a hacker,” as he finished talking, the crowd erupted, jeering his way, calling him foul names, naming him a liar, and other things. When people calmed down, Liberath continued, “Why, such unwarranted violence directed my way! You must know that as a lord in Alterwelt, I am privy to these matters, especially,” he said, turning Hephaestus’ way, “when it concerns friends of mine.”

  “Funny,” grunted the blacksmith, “didn’t know we were friends.”

  “No? Alas, why must you wound me so with your words, Hephaestus?” The blacksmith crossed his arms, saying nothing. “Anyhow, I have come to you, in good faith, to offer you an opportunity of redemption.”

  “Let me guess,” Hephaestus said, “an opportunity at redemption, masking a chance for you to backstab me,” his eyes narrowed, “is that it?”

  “Why, I never would do such a thing, Hephaestus! You see, my dear blacksmith, you are quite a... peculiar individual,” the lord began pacing, his overcoat rustling sonorously with every step he took. “You’re not the usual, common, uncouth rabble one encounters among the crafting crowd, no. I can see you for who you are, Hephaestus – no, mister Bjornson.”

  “Hephaestus will suffice, thank you.”

  “Right. I can see you for who you truly are, blacksmith. I can see your ambition, your potential, your desire to become something greater than life.”

  “Something greater than life?” Hephaestus chuckled, “Well, I can confidently say, without any intention of being boastful, that I already am.”

  “Are you, though?”

  “Well,” said the smith, “I did take that Bjornson forge away from you, didn’t I? What happened to it, by the way? Did you raze it to the ground, rather than letting me have it?”

  Liberath’s grin widened even more, “I have no idea, in truth, about what you are talking about, my dear blacksmith. Raze a forge to the ground? Why, that’d be an awful waste of time and resources!”

  “True,” said Hephaestus, “it would. But it would be worth it if you wanted to drive a point home.”

  Liberath shrugged, an innocent expression on his face, “Points can be driven through easier means, in truth. Just as I am trying to do right now.”

  “You are?” Hephaestus asked, “Then, what would your point be?”

  “My point, blacksmith dear, is that it’s in our best interest to cease this petty squabbling – you know we are both far above it, aren’t we?”

  “Hm, I find it odd.”

  Liberath blinked rapidly, “Beg your pardon?”

  “I find it odd,” Hephaestus said, “that you call it a squabble. As far as I understand, a squabble, by definition, needs two or more people. Tell me, Liberath: What makes you think that I am squabbling with you?”

  A muscle twitched on the lord’s face, “Well, the fact that you have refused every single one of my kind offers to join one of my guilds. Why would you do such a thing to a friend?” asked the lord, dramatically sighing as he finished.

  “I insist,” retorted Hephaestus, “when did we become friends?”

  “When? Why, the moment I magnanimously extended to you a friendly invitation to join in one of my guilds, of course!” His manservant scoffed, making Liberath’s eye twitch, “So I must ask again, blacksmith, why the hostility? Why the reticence to stay as a wildcard, rather than accepting honest, formal work?”

  “Hm, well, you are implying that working at my forge under my terms for some reason isn’t honest, or formal. I think these people,” he said, turning around to signal at the amassed crowd, “would beg to differ.”

  “People, and nothing more, my esteemed blacksmith – they are but a statistical anomaly within our market niche.”

  “And what niche would that be?”

  “Why, the niche of people who want quality crafted items, of course!”

  “Quality crafted items, hm?” It was Hephaestus’ turn to pace; he could feel anxiety welling up inside of him, and though he tried not to let it show, he was wary of any gesture, any comment that could betray his discomfort. “I’ve seen your... ‘quality’ items, as you would call them, Liberath. I have seen the handiwork of your guilds, their craftsmanship, their details.”

  “Ah, and were you not amazed at their quality, their finesse, their elegance, their—”

  Hephaestus interrupted the lord by lifting a large, calloused hand. “You know what, who I am, correct?”

  Liberath’s grin grew, “Angus Bjornson, true blacksmith,” the lord interlaced his fingers, “of course.”

  Hephaestus nodded, “in that case, you understand that I possess a certain degree of expertise regarding matters of smithing, crafting, detailing,” he shrugged, “you name it.”

  “Of course,” assented the lord, “I am no one to question your acumen as a master blacksmith.”

  “In that case,” said the blacksmith, “I assume you’d accept my opinion as valid, correct?” Liberath nodded in agreement. “In that case, let me tell you, before this gathered crowd, that the items produced by your guilds,” he chuckled, “fucking suck.”

  “I... I beg your pardon!?”

  “You heard me, Liberath. The things offered by your crafting guilds, they are disproportionate – either too large, or too small, too ill-fitting or, quite simply, too ugly. I must ask, where the hell do your... what, associates? Thralls? Slaves? Get their design ideas? Do you design their items yourself, or did you get an elementary-school kid to doodle them for you?”

  Liberath’s grin had begun to darken – a sore spot, Hephaestus mused. “The items offered by the various shops affiliated with my guilds produce, quite simply, the items and designs on fashion, as—”

  “On fashion? Where? On little kids’ notebooks? I fail to see,” scoffed the blacksmith, “how those items would be fashionable. Now, let me give you a look at some of my repertoire, as I see some of my customers around,” he spread his arms, “any volunteers to show off your weapons or armor?”

  “Me!” a man said from the crowd, stepping forward to stand next to Hephaestus.

  The smith appraised his customer – he remembered the commission: A vermilium chainmail armor, crowned by a kabuto-styled helmet; an odd combination, he thought at first, though now he could appreciate the stylistic dissonance caused by mixing two wildly different armor styles – it looked grand, impressive but, above all, it looked good. “See,” he said to Liberath, “this armor suits my customer well, it embraces his figure, protects him, and the red hues of the metal make him look striking with every move he makes. Can you say the same of the items you provide?”

  “The items my guilds provide are of the topmost quality, they’re—”

  “BULLSHIT!”

  “Wha- WHO SAID THAT!?” cried the lord.

  A woman stepped out from the crowd, another of Hephaestus’ customers: She went after a pilum type spear, forged in orichalcum, giving it a dull green-grey color. Though she had Hephaestus’ spear equipped, she switched it for the weapon she had originally wielded – a monstrously massive axe head affixed to a comparatively reed-thin shaft, decorated with nearly enough ribbons to look ridiculous. “This weapon comes from one of the guilds! It cost me damned seven hundred k, and it’s just a rare item! Didn’t even get to choose the bonuses, while this,” she called, equipping the spear Hephaestus made for her, “I got to name myself, choose its bonuses, and holy crap it looks badass! Cost me a fraction of the other one, too!” Her words were echoed by cries of assent, jeers against Liberath, and support for Hephaestus.

  Lord Liberath spoke, “A magnificent weapon, to be sure. But, would you find it as magnificent if you knew that the man who made it is a presumed hacker?”

  The woman’s face paled; she took a step back, while Liberath stepped towards her. “I... I...”

  “NONSENSE!” Called a familiar voice; the crowd turned towards its origin, and Hephaestus was pleased to see that it had been
Gareth’s voice; he was accompanied by Eldin, both sporting their respective weapon, and full set of armor crafted by the blacksmith. “My friend Eldin and I witnessed Hephaestus’ crafting process with our own eyes, we did! And we can tell you – there was no hacking involved! He went so far as to make the metal himself, right in front of our eyes!”

  Liberath scoffed, rolling his eyes, “A simple thing, to be sure! What did he do? Smelt an ingot? Flatten a plate!”

  “No,” Eldin replied, “That’s not what he did. He measured the proportions to produce verdium, used a lot of maths and physics, used every single damn machine in his old forge – the forge which was mysteriously destroyed, no less, and made the metals on his own,” she paused, “right in front of us. And he did so!” she yelled, stopping Liberath from retorting, “because I, myself, thought him a hacker! I was told that his forge was Baratus’ old forge, and thought, stupidly enough, that Hephaestus had followed in the banned man’s steps – something I’m sorry for. And now,” she continued, turning back at Liberath, “I’m not certain Baratus was a hacker, either.” She paused, before adding “We know about the ring.”

  The crowd began clamoring at Eldin’s words, jeering towards Liberath. Hephaestus lifted his hands, calming people down – he didn’t intend to instigate a riot, after all. “See, Liberath? Look, live firsthand what people truly think of your crafting operations. They all deserve quality items,” he paused, “don’t you think?”

  The lord spat, “They deserve what I give them, what they can pay. Nothing more!” The lord’s eyes narrowed, “Why the hell do you even care, Hephaestus? You are going after what? Fame? Profit? I can give you both!”

  “Neither,” Hephaestus replied honestly, “I go after my life’s passion – making what I want to make, fulfilling people’s requests, stretching the limits of my imagination. Nothing more,” he scoffed, “nothing less.”

  “And is that what you are doing right now? Pursuing your life’s passion?”

  “I am. I’ve dealt with people like you, Liberath, people who would abuse their power for no other reason than they can.”

  “Such is real life, Hephaestus, spare me the sermon.”

  “Why?” grunted the blacksmith, “it’s a nice, long one.”

  Liberath’s face contorted into a pout, “What are you doing, blacksmith? What game are you playing?”

  “Truly?” Hephaestus asked with a shrug, “I’m stalling.”

  “Stalling? Whatever the hell for?”

  As an answer to Liberath’s question, an enormous, golden banner appeared in Hephaestus’ sight and, he assumed, everyone else’s. It was grand, grander even than the level-up fanfare, quite unlike anything else the smith had seen within Alterwelt. Written in gilded letters, erupting in a shower of sparks, and erupting in pomp and fanfare, the banner unfurled, revealing its message: A Game Master has joined the server.

  Liberath’s eyes widened, his nostrils flared as his breathing became accelerated. He gazed towards Hephaestus, back at the banner, then back at the blacksmith; his face curled into a snarl as he spat “You fucking did not!”

  Hephaestus smiled, “I so fucking did.”

  “You bastard,” wheezed Liberath, “you... backstabbing, conniving, son of a—”

  “Hey guys, what’s up?” said a person who came into the plaza. He was dressed in tonally clashing casual clothes – a shirt, jeans, and sneakers, an utterly out-of-place look for anyone on Alterwelt and, to Hephaestus, a properly unassuming look. This was a person, he mused, who had nothing to prove, nothing to show to anyone else; this was a simple man and, as such, the perfect ideal for what Hephaestus would have thought to be a Game Master.

  “Lord Game Master,” wheezed Liberath, dropping to one knee, “we are honored by your presence, your grandeur, your—”

  “Holy shit dude, cut it out! You’re acting like I’m the messiah or something, just... please, stand up, you’re creeping me out.”

  “I... ah... at once, lor... Game Master.”

  The Game Master shrugged, “Just call me David – I’m an Imperium Games certified Game Master, responding to a report forwarded by one of the players here. Now,” he said, turning around, “Who among you is, ah, let me see...” his expression grew blank as checked the information he had been given, “Right, Hephaestus, please?”

  The blacksmith closed his eyes, sighing in relief. It went through, he thought, god damn it, it went through. He took a step forward, “Hello, David, I’m Angus Bjornson,” he said, stretching his hand, “Hephaestus.”

  “Mister Bjornson!” replied David, squeezing the blacksmith’s hand. “First of all, I want to thank you for using the Imperium Games mailbox – please know that our mission at Imperium Games is that every supported virtual space—and their personnel—complies with our terms of use. Now,” he added, clapping his hands, “Could you please describe your problem in more detail?”

  Liberath stepped between Hephaestus and David, a sly grin splitting his lips in twain, “Lord David, I assure you! There’s no need to talk to such a crude—”

  “Dude,” said David, lifting his hand, “Seriously, Jesus Christ, chill out! Why the hell are you acting like you’re high nobility?”

  “Be...” Liberath gulped, “because I’m one of the lords in Alterwelt, an administrator.”

  David’s face wrinkled, “You?” He turned towards Hephaestus, “He?” The blacksmith shrugged his shoulders. “Right,” the Game Master continued, “Look, dude, I appreciate the... well, fanfare, I guess? But really, chill out. I’m here to address an appeal by Hephaestus. If you’re an admin in this virtual space, and need to speak your piece, I’ll hear you in time, but for now, please let me talk to Hephaestus, okay?”

  Liberath bowed, “As you command.”

  David shuddered, returning his attention to the blacksmith. “Right, er... Hephaestus, I read your report – it has some rather bold claims, saying you were falsely accused of being a hacker, correct?”

  “That’s correct, David. I’ve been accused of being a hacker.”

  “I see. Do you know why?”

  “I have a theory,” replied Hephaestus.

  “Okay, care to share it, please?”

  “Of course,” said Hephaestus with a nod, “before that, wanna sit?” “Thank you,” the Game Master replied, before being offered a chair by Hephaestus. They sat facing each other, a fact not ignored by Liberath who shifted awkwardly on his feet; his manservant, Ilmer, as noticed by Hephaestus, had the faintest hint of a grin on his face. Hephaestus began talking, “Right, David, are you aware of the crafting guild mechanics of Alterwelt?”

  “Superficially – we’re required to have inkling on how things work, but we don’t see the full picture unless we play the game.”

  “Well, Alterwelt’s systems allow one to craft for a living – gain experience, make gold, anything. In fact, one can level up a lot by just crafting items.”

  “I see. Hm, I can see in your character sheet you class yourself as a ‘True Smith;’ I assume this is your case?”

  Hephaestus nodded, “I’ve dedicated my gameplay to crafting items – for profit and experience. In fact, this,” he pointed towards the forge, “Is my forge. Used to be larger, but it was destroyed – razed to the ground, in fact.”

  “Why so?” asked David.

  “Well, that leads me to the reason why I believe I was flagged as a hacker. I refused to join one of the guilds, because—”

  “Because!” interrupted Liberath, “he is an undesirable who doesn’t want to play by the rules, our rules!”

  David turned towards the lord, and back at Hephaestus, “Is this true, Hephaestus?”

  “Not at all,” replied the blacksmith, crossing his arms over his chest, “I went through the terms of service, use, punishable offenses... everything. There’s not a single rule saying one can’t be a freelance crafter.”

  “Ah-ha,” cried Liberath, “there’s where he’s mistaken, Game Mas
ter! Alterwelt is a world of custom, a world of ingrained values and traditions. Traditions this man,” spat the lord, “aims to disrupt!”

  “Hephaestus?” asked David.

  “False.”

  “Hmm, well, Hephaestus, I must say, it’s your word against an administrator’s. As I understand, he’s regarded as an exemplary player with a relative amount of power within the community,” David sighed, shaking his head. “I assume you have evidence to back your claim?”

  “I do,” the smith replied, turning around to point at the crowd, “This is my evidence.”

  “How so?” David asked.

  “All of these are people who have requested my services. I’ve forged pieces for one and all of them; everything from weapons to armor, trinkets, capes, gloves, everything you can imagine, in every material available in the game.”

  “Well Hephaestus, while impressive, I don’t see how this supports your claim.”

  “I can answer that,” interrupted Altara.

  “Good evening, miss. You are?”

  “Hello David, a pleasure. Name’s Altara, and I can elaborate on Hephaestus’ case. As I understand, ‘e mentioned a ring in his report, didn’t he?”

  David nodded, “Yes, he did, what’s that about?”

  “Right; Hephy, give ‘im the ring, please?”

  Hephaestus nodded, giving David Baratus’ Last Plea. The Game Master took the ring, read its description, and returned from his contemplation with a deep frown on his face. “Dude, that’s low, alright, but how does it relate to anything?”

  “The crafter o’ that ring, Baratus, he also refused to join a guild. Thing is, Game Master, sir—”

  “David is okay, Altara.”

  “Right, David, Baratus was an old friend o’ mine. Close friend o’ mine, and ‘e...” she sniffled, “I’m sorry.”

  “Wait, Altara,” David said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Sorry, David. You see, Baratus was my betrothed, ‘e suffered an accident, you see? And Alterwelt became ‘is life – he could live here, move, walk, while on the outside,” she sniffled, “he couldn’t.”