by Neven Iliev
Having witnessed the elves’ robust supply lines for himself, the old Architect was finally able to understand something. Prior to accepting this job, he always wondered how the stonework in Azurvale’s Stone District was of such high quality. Indeed, the dwarves living there erected many-a-structure that did their heritage proud. The secret lay in the source of their material. No stonemason worth their chisel would turn down the opportunity to work with blocks and bricks directly from the world’s tallest mountain. Furthermore, the aquatic and magical means of transportation from the quarry to the building site were both smooth and safe. The risk of goods suffering damage, chips, or cracks in transit was practically nonexistent.
The sheer efficiency of the whole affair nearly made Boneshudder jealous. Even though his homeland – the Horkensaft Kingdom – had developed a miracle of technology called a ‘mag-rail,’ it couldn’t compete with the Ishigar Republic’s Forest Gates. Then again, the same was true of the Lodrak Empire’s griffins and the merchant fleets of the Sovereign States Alliance. As far as major players on this continent, the Republic was at the top when it came to infrastructure and logistics. This advantage was one of the key factors behind the elven nation’s economic prosperity.
Of course, from the perspective of an honest craftsman like Boneshudder, such grand statements were difficult to trust or comprehend. However, not even the most cynical of skeptics could dispute the Republic’s monetary might when faced with 3,520 meters’ worth of evidence defending New Whitehall’s southern approach. The construction guild headed by the dwarven Architect had been offered a very lucrative contract for overseeing the project. The seasoned builder had some doubts when his elf apprentice first brought him the contract, but he was glad he took it. Not only was the work well-paid and challenging, but it was a learning experience as well.
Prior to coming here, Boneshudder had no idea that elves liked to layer processed Ironbark in between stone bricks. While the idea seemed mad at first glance, the technique greatly increased a structure’s resistance to physical impacts. The major downside was that it was impossible to use this method without easy access to hylt trees, but the old dwarf didn’t care. He was quietly thankful for the opportunity to expand on his own knowledge and expertise.
“Yeah, I’ve actually been wondering about that,” said Jessie, interrupting his introspective. “How come a city this big had absolutely no fortifications?”
The gnome had only arrived in New Whitehall a little over a week ago and had spent every waking moment fervently working in her workshop alongside her ten colleagues. Combined with her acute case of agoraphobia, she avoided going outside as much as possible. As such, her knowledge of the surrounding area was basically non-existent.
“Ah, I can answer that,” the apprentice chimed in. “It’s because there hasn’t been a need for such things.”
“Wait, seriously?” Jessie doubted those words. “How come?”
“Because we’re right in the middle of the Rainy Woodlands.”
“Well, duh.”
Indeed, it was difficult for anyone to step outside the city without being instantly made aware of the slightly intimidating pine forest a few hundred meters from the walls.
“What I’m asking is how come the locals didn’t set up defenses against monsters and such,” she elaborated. “Even a shut-in like me knows that’s the most basic of basics!”
“I don’t think that’s something to be proud of,” the dwarf mumbled.
“Ah, hah, ha-ha,” the elf forced an awkward laugh. “I guess you don’t know anything about the region after all.”
“The Rainy Woodlands is a land of dense woods that gets an above-average amount of rain. It’s all there on the label. Speaking of which, what’s up with that literal naming sense? Don’t get me wrong, I’m in favor of factual accuracy as much as the next Artificer, but could you people have at least tried to make it creative?”
“Heh, I’m in full agreement,” the apprentice chuckled, “but this place is more boring than its name. The forest is a white spot, you see.”
“… Wait, what? The entire forest?!” Jessie squealed wide-eyed.
“Yep.”
“That massive sea of trees?!”
“Indeed.”
“All of it?!”
“Oh for- Yes! All of it is a white spot!” the dwarf yelled, clearly annoyed. “Now shut your trap you bloody cow!”
“Unbelievable,” Jessie mumbled while ignoring those harsh words. “I had no idea white spots could get that huge…”
“Well, it’s not really an Artificer’s area of expertise, is it?” offered the elf.
“No… I suppose not.”
A ‘white spot’ referred to an area utterly devoid of ambient mana. Such places held no alchemical herbs, magical minerals, or other exotic materials. It was also the main reason why there wasn’t a single hylt tree in the entire forest. On the other hand, the unmagical nature of the land meant that there effectively wasn’t a monster population. A few magical beasts might wander into it in search of easy prey, but they never ventured deep enough to reach New Whitehall. Even the more mundane predators such as bears and wolves were a rarity. The most common danger in the Rainy Woodlands was running across a band of outlaws trying to eke out a meagre living in the wilderness. It was hardly a threat serious enough to warrant permanent fortifications.
Even so, this region was quite valuable in terms of basic natural resources. The land was fertile, filled with timber of good quality and overwhelming quantity, abundant in game and fish, and the hills were rich with iron, copper, and coal. Calling it a lucrative region was an understatement, though the Republic avoided aggressively exploiting it for fear of damaging the environment. Not only out of respect for nature, but also because the Rainy Woodlands was a national treasure – a vast area of peace and tranquility in an otherwise brutal world.
The Empire was far less concerned with such things, however, and merely wanted a source of fuel for its war machine.
“Come on then,” the dwarf urged the other two. “We still have two kilometers of walls to survey, and I want to be done in time for my afternoon pint.”
“It is as you say, Master,” the apprentice instantly fell in line.
“Greeeeat. More walking and staring at rocks.”
The gnome’s sarcastic attitude made Boneshudder punch the wall so hard that his hand started bleeding.
“By my grandfather’s hairy knuckles, why are you even here, girl?!” his frustration exploded. “You’ve done nothing but complain since we started! You clearly don’t want to be here, so why don’t you kindly fuck right off!”
“Trust me, I would if I could,” she groaned. “Unfortunately, this is business.”
“What sort of business does a dainty-wristed little widget-spinner like you possibly have with my wall?!”
“I’m surveying the completed fortifications for a good place to lay down a minefield.”
This was the main reason she had to come out personally. It was a vital duty she couldn’t entrust to those bolts-for-brains she had brought with her. Or at least that’s what she told herself. Deep down, she would have gladly delegated this to someone else, but the Republic military – her current employer – demanded her personal oversight.
“… A what?” the dwarf asked, his confusion dousing his anger.
“A minefield,” Jessie repeated herself. “As in, a field full of landmines.”
“Do I really need to point out how stupid it is to dig a mine anywhere near here?”
The gnome rolled her eyes once more.
“Not that kind of mine, you old fart. I’m talking about the traps that me and my colleagues have been working on. Wonderful little things you know. You bury them just beneath the soil, wait for a human to step on it, and KABLOOEY! No more human!”
“Incredible!” the elf exclaimed. “And you say this mechanism targets humans specifically?!”
“Well, no. Not exactly,” her smile wavered. “Us gn
omes will be fine but, uh… Let’s just say you might want to lose a couple dozen kilograms before you go for any long walks around town.”
“Ah.”
That was the only noise the elf could muster before he started rapidly reconsidering his employment options.
“Bah, you gnomes are just as crazy as ever,” the dwarf grumbled. “Fine, do what you want, just keep your opinions to yourself and your faulty junk away from my wall. Come, apprentice. We have real work to do.”
“Hey!” Jessie shook her tiny fist. “I told you to stop calling it faulty junk!”
The three of them continued bickering as the lead Architect personally verified the structural integrity of the wall every fifty meters or so. Some parts were naturally weaker than others as inconsistency was a major pitfall of rushed construction jobs such as this. Boneshudder made sure to note those locations in the small brown notebook he always carried with him. He looked forward to showing them to that pompous Legate with an ‘I told you so!’ attitude, but it was also information that Jessie needed to take into consideration when doing her own job. After all, the last thing she wanted was to have her explosives collapse the very wall they were intended to defend.
The gnome was far less concerned with the ground’s soil composition. It didn’t matter if it was dirt, sand, or mud so long as it could be dug up. She was confident her ‘babies’ would function even after being submerged in a swamp for years on end. The location of the minefield was far more important than the terrain, thus her attention was directed at the deforested area between the ‘glorified fence’ and the surrounding tree line. It was a mostly bare stretch one-to-two hundred meters wide. She had to figure out how to place the hundreds of explosive traps at her disposal in a way that maximized casualties while minimizing collateral damage to allied forces.
That was easier said than done. Jessie’s knowledge of warfare and military tactics was purely theoretical. Then again, so was the idea of using minefields in armed conflict. After all, it had been barely more than a century since the Artificer Job came into existence. The craft was still undergoing fervent development and there were plenty of unexplored practical applications. The designs that Jessie worked with were only three years old and still considered experimental. Very few people were familiar with landmines, and practically nobody knew how to fully utilize them in a military engagement. The same could be said of all Artificer-made weaponry, but pressure-triggered anti-personnel explosives were especially obscure. Only an organization as rich and desperate as the Republic would consider employing such a thing.
However, if anyone could be considered the leading expert in the field of minefields, it was Jessiwick Wobblebang.
“… Huh? Did anyone else hear that?” she asked suddenly.
“Hear what?” the elf asked.
“… Never mind.”
For a moment there, Jessie forgot that her senses were quite a bit sharper than those of the two blockheads with her. That aside, the faint tune in the wind had momentarily derailed her thoughts. She strained her ears even more and stared out towards the edge of the Rainy Woodlands in an attempt to locate the source of that disturbance. Several seconds later, she spotted an armed group of a few dozen people emerge from the tree line. She barely made out their uniforms, which resembled her own. They were obviously a scouting party returning to base.
Less obvious, however, was the reason they sang in the first place. As they jogged closer to the city’s perimeter, her questions only increased. For one thing, why did they sound so damn cheery even though they had clearly seen combat? What was the deal with that purely white gnome-sized thing glistening in the afternoon sun with unparalleled radiance?
“Oh, do you know the muffin man,
The muffin man, the muffin man?”
What in the world could produce an odd voice like that?
“Do you know the muffin man,
That lives inside my head?”
Which looney bin thought up those lyrics?
“Oh yes we know the muffin man,
The muffin man, the muffin man!
Now we know the muffin man,
That lives inside your head!”
Last but not least, why in Goroth’s rocky gonads were the rest of those guys singing along in a chorus?
The stupefied gnome turned her head to the side only to realize that both the elf and the dwarf were completely ignoring the spectacle. Were their heads so filled with rocks that they still didn’t hear the procession? No, the way the dwarf shook his head and muttered something about ‘bloody gnomes’ indicated that he was already remarkably familiar with this sight and was ignoring it on purpose. The elf seemed to share this point of view, though he was a bit more polite about it.
“Uh, excuse me,” she squeaked out, “but what is that?”
“Hmm?”
Though the Architect stubbornly ignored her, his far more agreeable apprentice looked down at the little woman, then turned his gaze towards the direction she was pointing.
“Oh, that’s just the Juggernaut’s squad. They keep singing that song every time they enter or leave the city.”
The blonde, blue-eyed gnome scanned the merry men and women as they steadily approached the gatehouse further ahead of her.
“… What Juggernaut? I don’t see any-”
“It’s the short white one,” the elf anticipated her confusion.
“No way. Surely someone with a name like that should be like, three meters tall and half as wide and have arms the size of tree trunks. What kind of false advertising is this? If this was Horkensaft, you’d get sued right into poverty.”
“Well, I know it’s hard to believe but the Rustblood Juggernaut is none other than her. Or… I think it’s a ‘her.’ Might be an ‘it.’ Not too sure how that works with golems.”
“A golem?! In the Republic military?!”
“Oh yeah, a mithril one. She’s also an Artificer like you, and a Paladin to boot. Way I heard it, she used to be a- Hey! Where are you going?!”
The hyperactive gnome sprinted off in the direction of that squad before the elf finished his explanation.
“You can’t just run up to a military unit like that!” he shouted after her.
“Leave her be lad,” the old stonemason shook his head. “We have a job to do, and it doesn’t involve dealing with gnomish shenanigans.”
“Understood, Master.”
Fizzy’s squad piped down as they approached one of the three large gatehouses in the newly-established perimeter. Although their uniforms were similar to those of other legionaries, the three vertical lines on their shoulders marked them as officially belonging to the 3rd Legion. Their Legate sent four thousand of his own forces to shore up the ten-thousand-strong 2nd Legion, drastically increasing their odds at repelling the inbound Imperial troops.
The group’s commanding officer – a hardened elf bearing the title of Optio – stepped forward and identified himself to the gatekeepers. The steel portcullis slowly raised to allow the returning soldiers entry. The troops lined up and waited patiently for the Scribe on duty to confirm their identities using Basic Appraisal. It was a standard security measure to weed out any spies and infiltrators, which took a few minutes. Afterwards, the squad would be allowed inside the city proper in order to rest, resupply, rearm, and reinforce while they awaited new orders.
This particular unit had already earned a fearsome reputation among local forces even though they had only seen combat three times since their transfer from the west. They stood out because they completed their assignments with only minor casualties, none of which were fatalities. This stellar track record could be attributed to the fact that they were all veteran combatants, but a huge part of their ongoing success was the terrifying strength and potent healing magic of a certain Paladin. Idle onlookers might consider the mithril golem some kind of ornament or mascot, but to the men and women in her unit she was their guardian angel.
Admittedly, Fizzy only fulfilled that role as
part of her ‘social obligations,’ but she knew better than to tell anyone that.
“Waaaaaaait!”
The sudden, high-pitched scream caused the entire half-platoon to raise their guard and turn their attention to the right. They relaxed somewhat when they recognized the approaching stranger’s uniform and identified her as one of countless independent contractors assisting with the defensive fortifications. The blonde-haired gnome ran as if the God of Death and Taxes himself chased her. She kept up her mad dash right until she skidded to a halt in front of Fizzy. The tiny blonde grasped both of the Paladin’s shoulders while she caught her breath.
This provoked a tiny twitch out of the corner of the golem’s shimmering eyes. Who did this pathetic meatbag think she was to so brazenly sully Fizzy’s glorious frame with those greasy hands? It took a monumental amount of effort, but the shiny construct kept herself from ripping those blasphemous digits off and shoving them up their owner’s exhaust port. While it would have been immensely gratifying, Fizzy didn’t want to disappoint Boxxy by failing to play nice with the Republic meatbags.
“Haaah! Haaaah! Haaaah!”
Jessie, on the other hand, stared at her own feet and panted heavily from what she’d just put herself through. She had gotten a bit over-excited and sprinted all the way here. It was a terrible idea in retrospect. Sweat dripped from her forehead, her legs trembled, her head felt dizzy, and her breakfast wanted to come up for an encore. Her body was complaining as vehemently as it could that it wasn’t used to such bursts of physical exertion. She probably would’ve already collapsed if she wasn’t leaning heavily against Fizzy.