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Chapter 213 - For the Record
🕑 Added 2025-03-06 13:31:52 +0000 UTC“I’ve got just the thing, just the thing!”
The indra woman – Larsa, apparently – hops up and down exuberantly, somehow managing to both halfheartedly wrestle with the larger man and pointing at the door they just came through.
What strange people. Strange, and interesting!
Without another word she disentangles herself with a glare and gestures behind her. “Come on, this way! I have just the thing, you need to see it!”
Mom and I follow behind her to find a dingy workshop. Or at least I assume there’s a workshop somewhere in here, under piles and piles of half-disassembled gadgetry ranging from small lighting devices to what are probably mana engines. Larsa starts digging in one of them, discarding random bits and pieces to the floor or other piles entirely until she pulls free a gauntlet that is definitely too big for me.
“Um,” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking. How could that possibly-”
“You’re doing it again? Would you please at least pretend be practical?”
“Oh shut up Terry, I know what I’m doing!” she snaps back at the man who led us here before holding it toward me. “Go on, try it on.”
I look at it dubiously and she gestures at it again, nodding while Terry massages his temples.
Well, I guess it’s worth a try. I slip the worn gauntlet over my left wrist, a grip settling into the palm of my hand. Much to my surprise, something inside it seems to tighten against my arm, locking it in place.
“And that’s the first feature,” Larsa says with a nod, “Self-fitting. Now obviously the rest needs work… it used to be a mana shield projector, the kind that the pacification officers use, but it’s broken, you see? Not all of it, though – just the projector. But that just means I need to modify it! And for that, I have…”
Fiddling with the gauntlet serves as a nice distraction as she starts digging in yet another pile of junk while mom continues looking around, half dubiously and half nervously with her hand subtly halfway to her wand. A moment later the artificer pulls a metal plate and a lateral bracket from the heap and holds them to the side of my wrist before nodding vigorously.
“Alright, I’ll need you to take that off for a few minutes,” she says and I comply, removing it and handing it back. It slides off deceptively easily, almost as if it senses my intention to remove it and responds accordingly.
“Huh. Is it supposed to do that?” I ask.
Larsa nods excitedly. “Yup! This is high grade gear, yes ma’am!”
“Probably the only thing on it that works,” Terry snarks, but the artificer ignores him.
…Other than thumping a fist into his side without looking, one of the few spots on him that isn’t covered with metal, eliciting an “Oof!”
“Okay, sure,” the artificer admits, “it’s not that special right now, other than that. But we can make it special! Or at least workable, especially for a newbie like you. Level 0 is it? Yeah, definitely. Well, let’s get to it then! I already know what I’m gonna do because I was already planning to do it.”
Without another word Larsa spins around and sweeps her arm, clearing a workbench of the bric-a-brac adorning it with a resounding crash before sticking the broken shield projector in a vice that had once been completely hidden. Mom winces at the sound, but she’s at least starting to get more comfortable here… I think. At least she doesn’t look like she’s expecting a fight, more likely that we’ll be injured by falling parts and pieces of discarded machinery.
A shower of sparks accompanies what I assume is the crafter’s trade as the enclosed space echoes painfully, causing everyone but her to wince and cover their ears.
[Available Skill Sonic Resistance used for the first time!]
[Sonic Resistance 0 added to Skills!]
Okay, so that was unexpected but not entirely unwanted. Especially considering how the racket seems to shrink to a dull roar, only mildly painful.
“Sorry!” the armored man shouts over the din, “she’s always like this!”
“How do you stand it?” Mom asks through gritted teeth, louder than I remember her speaking in my lifetime. It really must reflect her stats somehow because I feel my Sonic Resistance flare up sharper for a moment in response.
He shakes his head, fingers still firmly in his ears. “I mostly don’t! I just stay out of here, with my luck I’d lose a finger just being nearby!”
“I heard that!” Larsa snaps without missing a beat. “I made your dang gauntlets, I’ll take ‘em back if you don’t want ‘em!”
Terry wryly smiles at us as if asking for forgiveness, but I couldn’t care less… besides, they’re almost fun to watch.
…
I bet they have something unrequited going on. Or are they already…? My classmates always talk about romance and relationships and so on, but I haven’t had a boyfriend or anything yet. Mom says it’s just a matter of time, but I don’t really know. I’ve never really cared much, and they never really approach me or anything anyway.
I’m usually too busy with my reading.
My idle ruminating is interrupted by a sudden stop in the grinding and welding roar as Larsa shouts, “Done! It’s done! You’re gonna like this!”
“Give me some warning next time, alright? I think I actually took damage from that!”
“Oh shut up, Terry. You’re way too high leveled for that! Anyway, here here here! Try it on!”
The artificer turns to me and practically shoves her latest creation in my face…
Well.
It’s still the gauntlet, obviously, but now it has a hinged arm on it that can pivot forward to present a metal plate that looks like it was cut from a bulkhead of some kind, still with a strip of rivets down one side. It looks… slapped together.
Which I guess makes sense, considering it literally was, and right in front of me too.
Well, nothing for it I guess. I put on the gauntlet and it promptly grips my wrist as before.
“Now, this is the fun part,” Larsa chirps, clearly way too excited for the situation, “grip it harder, like really squeeze the grip. Oh, but hold it up first!”
I do what she suggests, and the so-called ‘shield’ surface rapidly swings forward, slightly loose where it hinges on the arm, narrowly missing Terry.
“Woah! Sorry,” I apologize, releasing the grip, the metal plate suddenly snapping back and sticking to what must be some kind of magnets on the back of the wrist.
“It’s fine. I almost get hurt every time I’m here, but that’s what healing magic is for, and why I bothered to learn any spells.”
Larsa gives him a shove. “The next part. See that handle, on the other edge?”
I nod. I noticed it before but wasn’t really sure what I was supposed to do with it. Was it from a hoverbike before? It kind of looks like it.
“You can grab that with your other hand for more support. If you’re a tank type you’ll be taking hits, and sometimes you’ll need it.”
“Okay… but I have-”
“Nope,” she cuts me off, “don’t pretend you can’t just drop that runepistol.”
…
“Oh. You… noticed then?”
“Yup!” she says with a big smile. “You can’t get rid of it, can you? I’ve seen stuff with that kind of enchantment before. I can’t make them though, they’re really high level stuff, and they literally bond to your soul so you can’t give it away or anything either. Come to think of it, where the heck did you get it anyway? Great heroes spend entire lifetimes hunting for unbound stuff like that!”
“I, um…”
Mom gives me a nudge and a look, probably suggesting I don’t answer, but I keep talking anyway.
“Some god gave it to me in a dream, I think. At least I think it was a dream?” I continue, as my mother sighs.
That gets Larsa looking even closer.
And then she practically starts panting. “That. Do you see that? Terry, do you see that!? That mark, the mark!”
“What mark? The mark you left on my eardrums?”
“No, idiot! The maker’s mark! Right there, it’s right there!”
He sighs and leans down to look at the pistol in my hand as I glance too. Huh. Yeah, there’s some kind of symbol there… but I’m not sure what it means.
Although it becomes abundantly clear when Larsa frantically takes a gadget from the chest pocket of her singed and worn overalls, hands shaking as she compares them.
…
The marks match.
“So what does that mean?” I ask the dumbfounded woman as the eyes of everyone else in the room widen to an unexpected degree – even mom’s.
“Your weapon…”
“Yes, my weapon, what about it?” I ask, still unsure.
“It… this device, my u-comm… the master crafter Nyx designed and made them years ago, centuries ago.”
I’ll admit I’m starting to get a little impatient, and it might show on my face, but she does continue despite her apparent awe.
“They made it. Your gun. They made your gun. It was made by Nyx, Nyx themself!”
I squint a little. What does that even mean?
Comments
Herohog
Thanks for the chap!
