“But Altara,” the Game Master continued, “what does that have to do with this?”
“Well David, Baratus was also a crafter, wanted to be like mister Bjornson one day, and he... he wanted to be independent, do things his way, without belonging to a guild, just like Hephaestus,” she looked away, “sorry. It’s difficult. See, he... the guilds, they’re not a tradition, they’re a monopoly owned by... by... I’m sorry, I can’t say it.”
“Why not?” Altara said nothing; David asked again, “Altara, why can’t you say nothing? What’s wrong? I’m here to help you.”
“Because,” she said, “I’m ‘fraid I’ll get unfairly banned, like Baratus was.”
“Why? By whom?”
“I... can’t say it. He’ll ban me!”
“There’s no one getting banned here!” called David. “Please, Altara, tell me, who are you afraid of?”
Altara sniffled once more, “You sure, David, sir, you’ll make certain I don’t get banned from Alterwelt?”
“I give you my word, unless you do something punishable.”
“Right,” she said, sniffling again, “I’ll trust you. That... man, he,” she added, pointing at Liberath, “He’s the owner of the guilds! He’s an admin, the one who flagged Baratus,” she paused, gathering herself, “And Hephaestus, too.”
“OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” cried Liberath, “David, sir, can’t you see what she’s doing? She’s trying to manipulate you, she—”
He was interrupted by David. “I read the report, lord... Liberath, is it? As I understand, you were tasked with overseeing this Baratus test, correct?”
“I... no, nonsense, I wasn’t—”
“Then,” David interrupted once again, “how do you explain this?” as he finished talking, he brought up the screenshots sent by Hephaestus, showing the forum logs where Liberath was written as the one in charge of Baratus testing, along with the report of the item, the ring, never being presented. Liberath’s face paled as he fished for words; since he found none, David continued, “I don’t understand, then, how come the ring came to be in Hephaestus’ possession?”
“A forgery,” said Liberath, “I’m sure.”
“Hm. Well, as that’s not the case in question here, I’m afraid there’s nothing much I can do to—”
“Baratus killed himself,” cried Altara.
“Excuse me?” asked David.
“I told you out in the real world he was... disabled. Alterwelt was his life, and he did everything to not get banned, but he was, unfairly. He... he couldn’t... it was... I... I...” Altara turned around, breaking into tears.
David stepped towards her, “Hey, hey, it’s okay, Altara, it’s okay.”
“I... I’ll be fine, thank you.”
David turned angrily towards Liberath. “The report didn’t mention anyone losing their lives due to a possible false banning,” he said calmly, “would you please explain?”
“I... I know nothing about this!”
“He does!” someone called from the crowd, “I heard him the other day, teasin’ the poor lass! He was asking ‘how did he do it, how did it happen!’”
“Yea,” someone else, a woman, yelled, “Asking all sorts of awful crap, provoking her!”
“Yes!”
“He did!”
“He was torturing her!”
More and more people voiced their discontent, until David put an order to things: “People, people, please! I get it, and I assure you – we’ll look into it!”
As David was bringing peace back, Hephaestus went to hold Altara. “You okay?” he asked.
“I’ll...” she sniffled, “I’ll be fine,” she finished her sentence by winking at Hephaestus.
The blacksmith nodded, understanding Altara’s act – setting aside his concern for the woman, he could see what she had done: She was having her own vendetta upon Liberath, setting the crowd against him and, most importantly, making him look bad, real bad in front of David. “Clever girl,” Hephaestus whispered.
Order returned to the small expanse outside of the forge. David shuddered, trying to control himself. “You know, I tried to become a Game Master for Imperium because...” he shrugged, “because I thought virtual spaces could bring out the best in people. Now, I’m not so certain. Tell me something,” he said, turning towards Liberath, “How come you were made an admin? No,” he shook his head, “you know what? I don’t want to know. I’ll make sure this case reaches the upper ranks of Imperium, Liberath. You’re liable with manslaughter, you know that? And you,” he turned towards Hephaestus, “I’ll see that the flagging on you is removed, as it seems you haven’t done anyth—”
“Without a proof?” Liberath asked.
David turned slowly, “Excuse me?”
“Without a proof of his innocence, would you acquit him of charges?”
“What do you mean?” spat the Game Master.
“I mean,” grinned Liberath, “that there is in fact a rule in Alterwelt – a testing is necessary, a display of the craftsman’s prowess at the crafting station. If he can make an item on his own, he proves his innocence, if not,” he shrugged, “well, proves he’s a hacker doesn’t it?”
David sighed, shaking his head, “Damn prick,” he whispered before turning towards Hephaestus, “Can you craft an item, please, just so that we can get this over with?”
The blacksmith sighed loudly, gritting his teeth. “I can’t.”
David’s eyes widened, “Why not?”
“Because of the banning report. My crafting abilities were suspended – I can’t touch a forge.”
The Game Master sighed, “I see. This complicates things, Hephaestus. Though I have authority to oversee compliance with Imperium’s guidelines, I can’t override a virtual space’s rules. I’m afraid this matter pertains Alterwelt’s administration.”
“No way,” gasped Falcata, stepping towards David.
“Sorry, lady, who are you?” the Game Master asked politely.
“Falcata – Amelia Bjornson, Hephaestus’ daughter, and this here, Talwar, is my brother.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” he said, shaking his head, “And I’m sorry it happens in these circumstances.”
“Look man,” said Talwar, “there must be something you can do!”
“Again I must say I’m sorry,” said David, “If Hephaestus can’t follow the rule of this virtual space, then there’s nothing I can actually do. Someone with administrative rights needs to lift the block on him.” David turned towards Liberath, “Would you, please, lift the block, so Hephaestus can show us his skills?”
Liberath’s smile was larger than anyone had ever seen. “No can do!” he chanted triumphantly. “He’s a known hacker, and a danger to our community and, as an administrator, it’s my duty to prevent his ill-made goods to contaminate our economy!”
David uttered an unheard expletive, before taking a deep breath, looking up, and saying “What about you? You’ve been awfully quiet all this time, will you lift Hephaestus’ block?”
Liberath’s face was taken by a confused expression. “Who are you talking to? I’m the only one who can lift the block, and I refuse to!”
“Liberath,” the Game Master said calmly, “kindly step aside. I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to him,” said David, pointing at Liberath’s manservant.
“Who, Ilmer? He’s nobody, just a manservant.”
“Truly?” David asked, “well, my console flags him as a moderator.”
“A moderator?” Liberath asked.
“As a matter of fact, Liberath,” Ilmer said, “Yes. To be specific – an administrative moderator, a... policeman, to police the police, if this makes sense. David, if I may?” the Game Master nodded, “Thank you. Alterwelt administration knew of Liberath’s rather unsavory activities, but we were unable to act directly, without damning, irrefutable evidence of his misdoings, and though you can find it if you look closely enough, technically he’
s still within the terms of use of the virtual space, and Imperium Games. Now, well,” Ilmer shrugged, “there’s a Game Master witnessing his actions. I assume you’ve seen enough to issue a ticket against him?”
“I have, yes.”
“Thank you,” nodded Ilmer. “Only, I advise caution, David.”
“Why so?”
“You asked how Liberath became an administrator, no?”
“Mhm.”
“Well, to understand that, you need to know his real name. You might have heard of him, one Lionel Vazquez?”
“Lionel Vazquez,” mused David, “Lionel... Vazquez...” his eyes widened, “You can’t be suggesting...?”
Ilmer nodded, “I am, David.”
“I see. Now I can see your situation, mister?”
“Ilmer.”
“Ilmer, yes – even as a moderator, you couldn’t precisely make a move against Lionel here, correct?”
Ilmer chuckled, “Would have cost me my job, yes.”
“I see. I understand – I’ll make sure we look into this matter. Nepotism, no matter at what level, goes absolutely against everything Imperium Games stands for.”
Liberath’s face was livid with rage, seething anger was visible in his eyes, saliva frothing in his mouth as he yelled “ILMER YOU FUCKING TRAITOR! YOU UNGRATEFUL SON OF A—”
David waved his hand, and every sound uttered by Liberath ceased. “God Almighty in Heaven,” gasped Ilmer, “Thank you, David! Been putting up with his crap for in-game months!”
“No doubt, Ilmer. I’ll see that he gets proper punishment. For now,” he said, forcing Liberath off the game, “I can safely make use of my authority to ban him.” He sighed, “I’ve seen enough. Now,” he continued, turning towards Hephaestus, “If Ilmer here lifts the block, will you craft something for us to see, please?”
“Of course,” the blacksmith nodded, walking towards Ilmer. The manservant had a satisfied, calm smile on his face. “You could have told me – told us all, Ilmer.”
“And ruin the surprise?” He shook his head. “Never pounce on an advantage the moment it shows itself. Use it only when it stands to have maximum effect. I mean,” he laughed, “Did you see Liberath’s face when he found out?”
“I did. Not likely to forget it any time soon,” joked the blacksmith.
“Indeed,” Ilmer turned towards Altara, “And lady, I truly am sorry about your... fiancé. I wish we could have done something sooner. It was Baratus’ case what caused us to investigate Liberath.”
Altara shook her head, “It’s alright, Ilmer,” she sighed, “I’m just glad it’s all over with.”
“Well,” David said, “not entirely. Ilmer, lift Hephaestus’ restriction, please?”
“Gladly,” said he with a nod. In moments, a message appeared in Hephaestus’ sight: Congratulations! Your crafting restriction has been lifted!
Hephaestus felt like weeping in joy and relief. He walked towards the forge, picking up a hammer, feeling its weight in his hands, the mass of the iron clanging as he struck the anvil with it. It felt much more tangible, much more real than it had in a long time. He smiled, “Thank you, Ilmer.”
“You’re welcome, Mister Bjornson. Now,” said Ilmer, “I believe you need to make a forging, no?”
“I do. Anything in particular?”
“A ring would suffice. A ring,” added Ilmer, “I will take, and present to David here, as proof that what you are doing is absolutely legitimate.”
“How symbolic,” Hephaestus said.
Ilmer shrugged, “It’s not enough – could never be. But it’s a step towards righting old wrongs,” he nodded towards Altara; the woman nodded back, appreciative of the gesture.
“Well,” sighed the blacksmith, “gotta get to work.”
He donned his blacksmith’s apron and gloves. The build wouldn’t take long, could well be the smallest-scale project he had taken, in fact, yet he felt a new fire, a renewed passion burning within his spirit. For the second time in his life, he had been given another chance at living – another chance at pursuing the one thing that gave meaning to his existence. The one thing, he thought, which made him feel kindred in soul with Zinnia.
He sighed. The picture of the ring was clear as day in his mind’s eye – as clear as the glowing flames of the furnace, and the rusted head of the hammer; it was as sharp as the various ingots and materials strewn about the place – one of which was picked by Hephaestus. Using a pair of tongs, the blacksmith took an ingot of the metal he decided to work with: Azuraneum, its deep, rich blue hues evoking Zinnia’s favorite color.
Hephaestus decided then that this piece, though small, would be one of his greatest, most meaningful creations.
He took the metal ingot to the furnace, knowing that he would need only a fraction of it. It didn’t matter – a fraction or whole, it was never about the metal, but about the hand, and the passion that was placed upon it. When it was red-hot, Hephaestus took it to the anvil, and used a cutting tool to hammer off a piece large enough to be worked into a one centimeter thick, quadrangular rod of metal – the basis for the ring he would produce.
As he lacked the tools formerly available at the forge, he worked by hand. It didn’t matter – the purpose was to showcase his abilities, anyways. He heated up the rod once more, hammering at it until he began to slowly draw it out into the desired length and thickness; he didn’t want the ring to be pristine by any means; he wanted to give it a rugged, rustic appearance that would showcase the beautiful blue color of the metal. When the piece of azuraneum had been drawn enough, he folded it into itself once, twice, before bringing it back into the furnace, heating it up again, and hammering against it once more. Every clash of the hammer against the metal sent a shower of red and blue sparks flying to and fro, every impact folded the metal into itself, forming patterns the blacksmith could only imagine. The time would come when the patterns in the metal would be revealed; for now however, Hephaestus simply repeated the folding process five more time, making for a total of sixty-four layers of metal folded onto itself.
Once done, he drew the metal again, this time with the intention of forming the ring proper. He took the resulting metal rod to the horn of the anvil, striking it until it was shaped as a horseshoe; he then took a thinner iron rot from a nearby barrel, affixed it to the end of the hammer, and hit the metal on it, giving it the desired toroid shape, and making it as wide as a finger. Hephaestus took a leftover piece of metal, heating it and ramming it with his hammer until he formed a flat disk of azuraneum; he proceeded to heat the ring and disk, welding them together.
From a nearby set of drawers, Hephaestus took out a file; slowly, carefully, he filed away every hard edge, every impurity of the ring’s inner surface until it was smooth and seamless; he did the same with the outside, stopping only when no jagged edge or welding point remained. When Hephaestus felt satisfied with the basic construction of the ring, he fetched a piece of red crystal from a container, heating up a cutting wire to cut a piece the size and shape of the upper disk of the ring.
Before joining the crystal piece and the ring, however, he took a tiny chisel and hammer, placed the ring on a vice, and began chiseling at it. Slowly, patiently, he carved out pieces of azuraneum in the shape of the Bjornson Celtic bear, making it perhaps one of the most detailed renditions of his insignia he had ever produced. The blue hue of the metal, coupled with the faint Damascus pattern made his insignia look alive, as light shifted on its surface.
“Not shiny enough,” Hephaestus whispered, as he took a piece of sandpaper, and began sanding the ring. He sanded it until it was gleaming – its smooth surface reflecting the light in beautiful blue hues; its Damascus pattern forming a latticework of veins running along the length of the metal, evocative of a river’s flow, or the ocean’s waves. Hephaestus smiled, he had accomplished his purpose: Zinnia had loved the ocean, and the flow of water.
Satisfied, he took the red piece of crystal, and a jar o
f glue, placing a very thin layer of the paste on the rim of the metal ring and fixing the crystal on it, careful not to spill any amount of glue, or stain the Bjornson bear. The glue dried almost immediately; Hephaestus was satisfied to see that the red crystal made a stark contrast with the blue metal, making his insignia look a rich, purple color when seen from a certain angle, a strong red when seen from a different one.
He declared his ring complete:
Baratus’ Justice (golden hue)
-unique-
Bonus: Health Points +3000
Bonus: All Attributes +20
Bonus: Damage +60
Bonus: Defense +100
Value: 160,000 GP
Description: Let this item showcase my own abilities, and my respect for the skills of my fellow blacksmith Baratus, may his memory live forever in his forge.
Crafted by Hephaestus
When he finished his creation, he offered it to Ilmer. The manservant nodded, saying “Masterfully done,” before turning towards the Game Master, “David?”
“I’ve seen enough,” David said, “proof, beyond a doubt, that Hephaestus is, as his class implies, a true smith.”
“Indeed he is,” Ilmer said.
“I have a question, though – why the bear?”
“David?”
“Yes, the insignia you engraved into the ring, why a bear?”
“Well,” the blacksmith started, “Bjornson means son of the bear – I took the insignia when I started my forge, and I’ve been using it ever since, both outside this virtual space, and in the real world. I engrave it on everything I produce, David and, you see,” he shrugged, “if things had gone differently, that would have been another of my pieces of evidence.”
“How so?” the Game Master asked.
“Well, as I’ve been led to understand, the use of hacking programs—trainers, or whatever—makes things which are too perfect: Too evenly spaced, too symmetrical, too plastic-looking to be true. If you were to look at every piece of mine, though you would see the Bjornson bear engraved on each weapon, armor, trinket made by me, upon closer examination you’d realize they are all different; subtly different, to be sure, but different one way or another. That’s something people such as Liberath don’t understand – perfection is not a desirable trait on any artistic piece, metal or otherwise, but something to be avoided like the plague.”
True Smithing: A Crafting LitRPG Series Page 29
