by John Gold
At fourteen, he hacked into his father’s video diary and, over the course of the following six months, discovered everything there was to know about his parents, their lives, and their abnormalities. Young Philip didn’t realize right away how strongly the truth affected him. But six months later, he lost all drive and will to life. Once in a while he would pick up something new, but complete apathy would set in soon after.
His parents sent him to a psychiatric clinic, doing everything they could to hide his malady from their friends and family. To the rest of the world, he had just headed off to work on some projects on one of Mars’ moons.
Apathy grew into depression, and he slept twenty hours a day. He stopped eating and responding to those around him. He thought back to his father’s unspoken fears, his mother’s grief, and the dress she was wearing when she left him alone with the nannies to go after his father. His father saw an irreversible mistake; his mother was afraid to admit it. But little Philip understood—it would have been better if he had never been born. That was the first time he felt pain in his heart, felt his own inadequacy. When his parents sent him to the psychiatric clinic, he was faced with the reality of how helpless he was in the face of a harsh world.
After Philip started refusing food, the clinic staff moved him to a med capsule with complete life support. First, there were simple virtual worlds that Philip just observed without ever taking more than a few steps away from where he appeared. The simplistic algorithms and primitive model made them cartoonish. But that’s when Project Chrysalis was released.
The game’s virtual world copied the properties things had in the real world, though it modified them based on where they came from as well as magic. Everything was built into a complex system built on the laws of magic and its properties. Armor, swords, artifacts, relics, and magic created a complete world young Philip knew nothing about. And that was how Isaac came to be.
Over the first month, he died fifteen times of hunger, as he spent whole days sitting at the gate and checking out the swords, armor, and amulets sold on every corner of Trebona, a city populated by craftsmen. By sheer chance, Isaac’s starting city was one where science and crafting were held in higher regard that combat abilities. Trebona, a human city, was right near dwarf-populated Varakh Tiral, so they were flooded with metal the workshops could use to work round the clock. They made the continent’s best weapons. In the first week, Thor, one of the young gods, erected his main temple there, and that served to attract even more people.
The idea captivated him the way ideas had when he was younger. Forgetting to sleep and eat, Isaac sat at the northern gate, where he studied the players’ weapons and armor. The feeling of hunger, the cold at night, and the cries of beggars didn’t bother him the least. All he cared about was metal and quality workmanship. Philip’s mind was given over completely to that new, unstudied area, and he listened greedily to the clanging, his eye measuring the weight, density, and quality of alloys. The smell of rust and weapon oil coming from sheaths filled his nose. He scoured trash heaps to find pieces of broken weapons and armor, especially excited when he found scrap metal left over from the smithies. He could tell how it was processed from just the soot on the metal. Broken blanks told him everything he needed to know about the blacksmith’s skill. Isaac carried his most valuable finds around in his inventory, considering them his treasures. Sometimes, he got so carried away in his search for new materials to study that he would steal pieces left unattended outside a smithy’s. He was never caught, though he constantly trod a very fine line.
A month later, he was able to tell the condition of a piece of armor as well as its quality and how rare the metal was just by glancing at the person wearing it. It was less an ability than experience and an inquisitive mind that understood metal and listened to its siren call. The sound of the blacksmith’s hammer was like a melody echoing across the city, and Isaac could tell how good that blacksmith was just by listening to him work.
After another month went by, Isaac started noticing that armor made out of the same metal could have different qualities. It wasn’t even that they were made with different levels of smithy skills; armor could match its owner’s shape, fighting style, temperament, class, and activity. Isaac identified hundreds of parameters for matching owners and armor. At night, when there weren’t many people around, he would head into the alleys and practice moving correctly. The idea of how armor should match its owner started to form in his mind. It was just a vague impression, however, so he spent hours practicing movements and trying to understand where armor was technically defective.
One traveler with a particularly memorable set of plate armor took Isaac to a training base for warriors. He had a Roman short sword, a round shield made partially out of wood, and combination armor. All his more vulnerable points were covered by metal; everything else just had thick leather. The traveler had long since noticed the street urchin who always stared at him from the gate, and he gave a shout once they’d gotten to the spot set aside for duels.
“Duel!”
“Duel?” Isaac was so shocked that all he could do was repeat after his opponent.
That was the first time he was killed by a player. Regardless of the fact that he wasn’t wearing any protection, he was able to stay alive for more than a minute and force the warrior to really exert himself. The battle ended in a single blow when Isaac got tangled up in his own rags.
The next day, Isaac headed over to the training hall himself to watch the player who had sent him back to the respawn point.
Three weeks of focused observation told him that the player didn’t switch out his armor once. He’d leveled-up thirty-six times, but he was still wearing the same basic equipment all newcomers got for completing the starter quest for warriors. Right then, he was practicing three combo moves on a dummy until he was blue in the face.
Mastery!
Suddenly, Isaac realized why the player didn’t change his armor.
The boy in the starter’s clothing, which had long-since turned to rags, watched as the warrior honed his abilities. The precision of his movements took into account the features peculiar to his armor, the spot he wanted to land his attack, and his method for counterattacking. The warrior demonstrated less the art of battle and more the art of using his weapon and armor.
Isaac spent another month at the training base watching the guy carefully. In the first week, the warrior switched out his pauldrons for something heavier and more durable. Then, it was his shield and sword, the upgrades made out of more balanced, high-quality steel. The leather elements became flexible metal equivalents.
After that, Isaac saw how the warrior traded in his armor as he leveled-up and improved his attributes. That put the idea of the perfect armor into his head, a suit that adjusts to meet the needs of its owner.
The boy was going to the training center every day to observe the players. He studied fighting styles, techniques, armor, classes, and tactics—the mastery the players displayed. The concept of the ideal suit of armor consumed him, and he barely moved a muscle when he was watching.
But the more he watched, the more he doubted that he would be able to make his dream become a reality. Warriors who preferred two-handed weapons needed armor that wouldn’t hinder their mobility. Shield-bearers needed strong armor, while the speediest of the attackers needed to maximize their maneuverability. You also had to take into account the person’s figure, not to mention their physical attributes, their abilities, their techniques, and, most importantly, their fighting mastery.
Isaac had neither practice creating armor nor a deep understanding of it.
He spent the next week going around the city, stopping at armor shops and smithies. His fingers felt their way around the armor there to understand its weight and durability. Then, he would think about comfort and the class it was best for.
The traders thought he was a thief at first. But when he didn’t react to their yells, they assumed he was a customer who’d lost his armor.
It was only when Isaac demonstrated how good his eye was that they recognized him as a master and let him go in peace.
Rumors of an itinerant master blacksmith made their way around the city. People claimed his approving nod meant that the item he was looking over was high-quality, while it was better to stay away from shops he walked out of without saying a word. Some even said he could tell the quality of a piece of armor without identifying it or trying it on—all he needed to do was hold it.
He would trail the tips of his fingers along pieces, feeling their defects, weaknesses, and hidden cracks. When he reached for leather straps, the salespeople couldn’t breathe. The straps were the first to break down, no matter the armor, as their durability dropped even when the armor wasn’t being used. And what if the itinerant master said it was poor-quality work? But Isaac was only ever checking to see how the straps were attached, so their worries were unfounded.
Isaac made the rounds of hundreds of workshops, spending hours watching the craftsmen at work. At one of them, the owner offered to teach him the blacksmith profession if he chipped in.
The shop was in an old crafting quarter that had been hit by a fire. The first floor was set up as a workshop; the second, for selling the goods made there. In the next building over, the blacksmith’s family lived. An elderly alchemist named Gvalt had his shop above them.
The old blacksmith was a gray-bearded, powerfully-built dwarf. His steel muscles were never quite concealed by his shirt, which was always too tight. It was worn carefully tucked into a black leather apron.
Masters always recognize each other. That’s how it was with Isaac, who needed no more than to glance at the pieces in the shop to be amazed at the mastery of their creator. They were all pieces of armor, varying in size and material, and nestled on the blacksmith’s shelves. The blacksmith himself noticed Isaac’s look.
“What do you think? I found them on an island in the Sea of Darkness.”
“Oh, you didn’t make them yourself? They’re perfect! It’s all kinds of different pieces of armor combined to create a single, comfortable set.”
The dwarf narrowed his eyes and scratched his gray beard.
“Tell me this, boy… What do you see in those pieces?”
“Yes-s-s…” Isaac gasped, unable to express his awe. The dwarf knew! “These are pieces of chainmail with a different ring type. See? Here, they’re smaller, offering better protection against arrows. But in this spot, the ring shape changes to attach to the light plate armor. This piece is for the sleeve—these moveable plates and the chainmail under them work to compensate for the movement. Hm, the chainmail rings may even change shape before returning to what they were before.” The old blacksmith raised an eyebrow, as that thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “I’m not sure what’s going on here. I’d have to guess that it’s part of the chestplate, protecting the collarbone.”
In Isaac’s head, all the different fragments melded into a three-dimensional picture. His inquisitive mind combined them in dozens of different ways, though each one felt incomplete. It wasn’t the metal or the pieces of armor. No, everything was much more complicated. The idea itself was so complicated it was of an order beyond anything he’d ever seen. In fact, it was a good ten times as technologically advanced. Still, the picture was incomplete.
“Sir, is something missing? I can’t figure it out…”
The dwarf gestured to a chair, himself sitting down across from Isaac.
“I found those fragments more than a hundred years ago when my clan and I were out traveling. Back then, I was a young warrior, but seeing them was enough for me to switch my class and become a blacksmith. Ever since, I’ve been trying to make something similar, though I can’t even come up with a model.”
“That’s no surprise. You need two precise models, and then a fitting. This is a completely different level of technology. It’s like the instructor of the world’s ten greatest grandmasters sat down to make something,” Isaac replied, pausing to think. A wrinkle appeared on his forehead to give him an angry expression. “Although, no, even that wouldn’t be good enough. This is something more than just armor.”
The dwarf laughed into his beard. As he did, his shirt tore at the seams, baring his powerful shoulders.
“Son, do you think I’m some kind of beginner? Of course, I wasn’t able to come up with a model because I can’t understand what’s at the heart of this armor.”
And that was the first of hundreds of conversations between the blacksmith and his apprentice. The dwarf’s name was Habald, and the alchemist living above his house was called Gvalt. The latter turned out to be his brother.
Isaac picked up the blacksmith class and worked day after day, completing jobs for local clients. The shop wasn’t popular among the local players, although the locals all knew how good the owner was. Every evening, when the work was done, the blacksmith and his apprentice hammered away until midnight. Gvalt joined them on occasion, proposing alchemical recipes for new alloys. The metal used to make the mysterious armor could withstand any temperature, and it even regenerated in just a couple of hours after they poured acid on it.
The blacksmith’s only attempt to transmute the metal had ended in disaster when it disintegrated into dust and flew out of a crack in the closed window as a white cloud. The two dwarves were so shocked that they didn’t realize at first that it was trying to get away until there was an explosion on the street and a bunch of ghosts showed up—the armor had its own mental body.
That day, the old crafting quarter had gone up in flames as a result of the attacking evil spirits. Both dwarves concluded that the cloud had its own intelligence unrelated to the spirits, and it wanted to protect the dwarves from the wrath of the spirits it had been holding back.
Isaac only heard this story after a month of experimenting with different alloys. Habald insisted that they start by figuring out what the metal was, only moving on to the forging after that. He paid for the materials; Isaac drew the model.
It took them a year to figure out the side of the upper and lower layers in the armor. All that time, the dwarf brothers tried to find an alloy with analogous properties, though Isaac had his doubts. The problem wasn’t the alloy; it was the spirit. The armor had a soul that made it unique. But did that mean that it was the apex of the smithing art? Could they find a blacksmith prepared to sacrifice his life and soul for his final project?
That was when something dawned on him, and he shared his insight with Habald. The key was the metal, which restored itself and had a soul. No, it wasn’t just enchanted. It was capable of taking on a human’s mental body. In other words, the new material they made had to be capable of both storing spells and allowing mental energy to flow through it.
When Habald heard Isaac’s theory, his expression grew stern and inscrutable. He led his apprentice off to the store room.
“My boy, I’m about to tell you more than a simple blacksmith is supposed to know. What do you know about palirin?”
“It’s an accursed metal only found in the Inferno. Used to make mind weapons, capable of…”
Isaac’s eyes widened, and the dwarf continued.
“Exactly. It can both allow energy to pass through it and contain the soul of a creature. Only masters with enormous mental resistance can use it, as you need high-level blacksmith and crafting skills as well as the recipe for melting the ore down. There are only five blacksmiths in the world capable of working with it. One is in Kongul, another is in Radaam working for the emperor. The others wander the world, keeping their abilities under wraps.”
“Master… But I’ve never even heard of palirin being used to make armor.”
“You’re right—it’s expensive and doesn’t make sense. However, there’s also a secret prohibition from the Academy of Magic that was handed down to all qualified blacksmiths. For example, Archmage Tiberius Sen wears a set of three items made out of palirin. The souls of three giant brothers were used to make them. Confining the souls of relatives in a
rmor is one way to get the set effect, and the archmage had to get special permission from the emperor and the academy’s management board.”
“So, the armor we’re working on was made using an alloy based on palirin. It was enchanted with a bunch of related souls, too? That’s ridiculous! Habald, there are two layers of armor and more than a hundred pieces. The set effect would be lost entirely just due to the sheer number of souls.”
“And there you are, getting to the crux of the matter, my boy.” The old dwarf listened carefully, but he didn’t hear any out-of-place noises. “What do you know about the ultimate art of crafting?”
Isaac was stunned, unsure if he was supposed to conclude that the armor was something like that.
“The ultimate art of crafting is the ability to invest some of your own experience in your creation. The higher the level of the craftsman, the more he can invest.”
The dwarf smiled and scratched his beard.
“What if I were to tell you that isn’t even the top level? Blacksmiths can imbibe their creations with their own soul.”
“Impossible!”
The dwarf strained to hear a noise coming from the workshop.
“Isaac…nothing is impossible. When your blacksmith level hits 250, you can make unique things. At 500, they’re legendary, and at 750, they’re scalable. But when you hit 1000, nothing happens. That’s when it’s for real.”
Habald switched on the artifact he had to make sure nobody else could hear.
“My grandfather was a hermit blacksmith living so deep that his family only visited once every month or two. When he was found dead, there was a smile on his face, and a sword lying next to him…his last work. Next to his workshop, there was a pile of scalable items, but he obviously thought nothing of them. He was crazy, having devoted himself to the art of smithing. Anyway, the people who found his body were stunned to see that, for some reason, he was at Level 0. He’d sacrificed all his experience to create that pile of trinkets, and then he’d sacrificed his soul for his final creation. That sword is now a family heirloom in the royal dwarf family—only my family knows where it came from.”
