Chapter 61: Little Idiosyncrasies

  “So I assume we’re going to explore the blacksmithing area first?” Sophie asked as she followed Mister Biggs out of the huge auditorium. “I know there’s no real hurry to do all these things now, since the ‘Complete a voyage’ thing can’t be done until the final day, but I still want to get as much done as we can as quickly as possible. That way we can forget about it until it auto-completes!”

  Tristan smiled and nodded at her, having had very similar thoughts. He pulled out his map. “So, according to the key here, the smithing stuff is in ‘The Foundry.’” He began unfolding and refolding parts of the map, trying to find where that might be. Once again, Tristan was struck by just how immense the ship truly was. Each deck was split into four unequal segments by what appeared to be sizable corridors, but that didn’t exactly make it easier to scan through quickly. “Now where is--?”

  “Twelfth floor, stern,” Sophie supplied, already shoving her map back into a pocket.

  “And we’re on..."

  “The Grand Theater is located on the Seventh floor, middeck.” She pointed at a big sign painted with gorgeous lettering on a nearby wall. “See?”

  Tristan sighed. And our quarters are down on the fourth floor. He’d just realized how many stairs he was likely going to be taking every single day, up and down, just to access the workspaces in the Foundry.

  Luckily, moving across the ship didn’t end up being all that hard, at least from where they currently were. Sophie directed them to a huge, open atrium in what seemed to be the center of the ship. The tall space went from the boarding deck all the way up sixteen stories to the top of the ship. Each of the decks had open railings that allowed clear visibility of the space, where plants and sculptures and other beautiful decorations were displayed. At the distant top, Tristan could actually see clouds drifting slowly above them. He hoped, and honestly assumed, there was some way to prevent rain or bad weather from ruining the serenity of the otherwise beautiful display.

  Right off that atrium was a staircase so wide it could easily accommodate ten people of Tristan’s size walking up or down at a time. Even with the hustle and bustle of newcomers clearly trying to find their way down the relatively narrower corridors, Tristan never felt crowded.

  When they got to the twelfth deck, he turned the wrong way, because apparently he was just supposed to know that “stern” meant “back of the ship.” At least Sophie did. Still, the moment he took the correct turn, he could already feel the temperature of their surroundings rising. With each step, he began to feel more and more at home as the familiar sounds of hammers striking anvils and fires roaring in forges found his ears.

  A tall decorative archway loomed ahead of him. It was an interesting style that only seemed sloppy at first glance. It was clearly constructed entirely of metal scraps that had been smelted and welded together. A gleaming, jagged label, “The Foundry,” dominated the arch’s center. Tristan smiled at the craftsmanship, but also because he knew he was going to be spending a lot of time here.

  Through the arch, there were stations upon stations with anvils, forges, benches, presses, drills, and much more besides. Several were already occupied, and Tristan recognized the concentration on the faces of those smiths that were clearly in their own cycles already. He longed to join them. He felt pulled to an anvil near one of the side walls on whatever the right side of the ship should be called. The space felt familiar, with most of the bigger tools in mostly the right places.

  Sophie cleared her throat behind him, and Tristan realized he’d actually been stepping toward that station. “Should I just come back later?” she asked with an amused grin.

  “Sorry,” Tristan began, “I just didn’t... I mean that--"

  Sophie laughed. “No, it’s just that I’ve never actually seen someone so profoundly drawn to anything before. To be fair, that’s what this whole place is about though, so I can’t even blame you!”

  “You’re not wrong,” Tristan said, turning away from the temptation, at least for a little while. “Hey, think we could go check out the Central Market that they mentioned, too? I’d love to see what kinds of materials they’ve got, and at how deep a discount.”

  Sophie pulled out her map and held it so he could see. “Yeah, that’s actually a great idea. Besides, all of this clanging and clashing is a bit hard on my ears!” It was only then that Tristan realized just how loud this place was, especially to someone who didn't live for the sounds of metal being worked like he did.

  It was with a certain small sadness that Tristan followed Sophie and Mister Biggs out of the Foundry, but he knew it wouldn't be for too long. He was going to have a full month with nothing to do but craft! The thought made his heart race.

  But that bliss ended all too quickly as someone walking way too close to him shoved an elbow into his side.

  As Tristan turned his head to look back, he could see a man near the arch glaring straight at him. Displayed prominently on the man's breast was a metallic teardrop--the sign of the Steelblood guild.

  Something tells me that problem isn't going away on its own. He sighed. I wonder how far the “Don’t be a dick” rule can go before it’s crossed. I’m not going to worry about it now though. I’ve got better things to do.

  Then despite trying his hardest not to stew on it all the way down to the Central Market... he mostly failed.

  Luckily, one step onto the 7th floor, and into the sprawling market, was enough to push his concerns to the back of his mind.

  “Wow, this goes on forever...” he said aloud without quite meaning to.

  “No,” Sophie replied, reading her map, “it's just the middeck. Though it does seem to cover the majority of the level.”

  Tristan’s grin grew wider and wider. There were stalls filled with practically everything! Clustered into massive holding bins were metal ores, bars, and scraps of all colors, sizes, and finishes! Woods from every tree he'd ever seen, and then the actual trees beside them, filled another section, while threads, ropes, and fabrics of the most incredible patterns filled even more. Endless flowers and mosses and...

  It just kept going! There were multiple stalls for every type of crafter under the sun. Tristan had a feeling that absolutely anything that could be seen as a crafting material was here somewhere, and it could all be yours if you looked hard and had deep enough pockets.

  He stopped beside a stall with a sign that claimed to have: “Every metal tier 3 and under!”

  “Do you have black mithril?” he asked the pig-faced man sitting on the other side of the counter.

  With a grunt, his pink trotter pointed at the sign. “Obbb-viously.”

  Tristan tried to hide the hungry smile that wanted to break through. The only other time he’d seen tier 3 black mithril was on his father’s workbench, where he’d learned just how physically strong it was. “May I see it? And what's the price?”

  “You maaay see it, of course. With Jack’s subsidies, it's ooonly ten gold a bar.”

  Sophie stepped up to the counter beside him. “Is that a good price?”

  “That’s really low,” Tristan answered, before pointing at the sign. “And just this guy has basically everything I’ll need for my smithing. If all his prices are this good, they’re..." Tristan paused to do some math, but he was too slow.

  “About a thirrrd of market value,” the pig-man offered.

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  Tristan shook his head in both disbelief and consideration. “So what's to stop some opportunist from buying a ton of materials now and selling it at a massive profit later?”

  “The Ark itself,” Sophie said rather matter-of-factly. “Have you not read up on its little idiosyncrasies?”

  Tristan looked at her blankly. He had hardly a clue of what that word meant.

  She shook her head. “Anything bought here must be used here. You try to take it off, and it just..." She waved away her hand like it had been caught by an unfelt breeze.

  “Yuuup,” the pig-man grunt-oinked.

  “What about whatever I make then?” Tristan asked, suddenly a bit worried about his future output.

  “If the craft is totally finished before you step off the ship, it's all good,” Sophie answered.

  “Yuuup again,” the seller agreed, pointing a trotter at Sophie. “Are youuu a veteran?”

  “Just very well read,” Sophie replied with a slight nod.

  The pig-man laughed, or oinked. Regardless, Tristan wasn't sure of its intent.

  In a hushed tone, he turned to Sophie and asked, “How much gold do you have with you that you could spare?”

  The astralist’s face showed a hint of amusement. “Enough.”

  Tristan remembered the way she readily covered his healer's fee at The Agora.

  “Could I borrow a few, uh, platinum?”

  Sophie stared at him motionlessly for a few silent moments in which Tristan could count every single beat of his heart. Then she smiled. “Only if you promise not to pay it back in coin.”

  That sounded like a dangerous proposal, but Tristan glanced down at the counter where the pig-man was already placing several bars of the gorgeous black matte metal. He immediately looked back at Sophie.

  “Deal.”

  “Wonderful!” the girl said, producing a small purse from seemingly nowhere. “So what am I funding?”

  Tristan put four fingers up in a gesture for the seller to add more. “My next sword,” he said with a smile.

  - - - - -

  “So you're not even willing to repeat any part of your briefing because I’m mid-fight?” Aaric spat with more venom than he'd intended. He immediately formed another [Frost Bolt] as he verified that the cooldown remaining on his [Frost Nova] should be done before he'd really need it again.

  “That's correct,” the scout answered. “You have to learn to either listen better or retain more.” The man was just a few places behind him, but he'd maintained the hands-in-his-pockets attitude throughout the whole dungeon, seemingly content to let things run their course, regardless of consequences.

  I suppose there's no reason for him to start now, just because it's a midboss.

  Aaric kept his spell rotation tight, maintaining it perfectly even as he was forced to move once again due to another massive batch of acrid phlegm being flung his way. Ogres may actually be more disgusting than oozes, he thought as he prepared for the two-handed club bash the scout had informed him always followed the [Phlegm Fling].

  When it came, he activated his [Glacial Slide] skill to boost his speed just enough that he wasn't punished for finishing the cast of an extra [Frost Bolt].”

  “You cut that one close,” the scout said, standing less than a pace away from where the enormous gnarled tree limb the ogre used for a club was still wedged into the ground.

  “Close doesn't count in martial fighting,” Aaric fired back.

  “Unless the weapons...?”

  Aaric finished another [Frost Bolt] and assessed the frost gathering on the ogre before answering the question the scout had left dangling, “Are enchanted. But this club clearly isn't.”

  “That is true.” The man even had the audacity to wrap his knuckles upon the still-trapped club.

  Before the perfectly predictable ogre could give the second pull (of three, Aaric knew) at its stuck club, it stomped its feet at what was now a glacial speed, trying to dislodge the frost that had nearly coated its lower half. Just one or two more hits then.

  If he could push a freeze before the midboss successfully dislodged its club from the ground, Aaric would further extend the vulnerable period where the ogre took extra damage. He and the scout had talked about that, about how to maximize damage and push kill speed, while prioritizing safety.

  All of those conversations only happened outside of combat though, as the whole point of this so-called “solo” dungeon run was to make Aaric plan and then work off of provided intel.

  As the next [Frost Bolt] left his fingertips, Aaric saw the ogre pulling the third and final time. In this particular fight, his timing hadn’t been perfect enough.

  Damnit! I needed it to fully freeze! I'll have to last another whole attack cycle... unless...

  Before launching his next spell, Aaric activated [Incarnation of Ice], his newest ability and a massive daily cooldown. It was a skill definitively above what a normal tier 2 should possess, but he'd managed to copy it after the scout had pulled him to a duel between two peak-tier 3s where one had used the skill.

  Aaric's Core had copied it perfectly. Now it was his turn to show just how thorough his mastery of his chosen element could be.

  He felt the temporary transformation sweep through his body, changing his skin and hair to ice, as he essentially embraced the form and increased powers of a lesser ice elemental. He hoped this form looked as good on him as it had on the duelist. He had even gone to meet the Steelblood crafter in person, making sure his new outfit would coordinate with the expected colors of his elemental form.

  Appearances mattered.

  But so did results, and the moment he activated his skill, he began exploiting the perks of his new form: increased casting speed, frost application, and damage to frozen targets.

  His spells chained together faster than ever and flew at his target in record time, allowing him to finally push the midboss into a full freeze. Unfortunately it still wasn't before the boss pulled his club free, and Aaric lost access to the bonus damage.

  Behind him, the scout tsked. Aaric could practically feel the man shaking his head, but he wouldn't let that bother him. He still had to finish the fight. He wouldn't let one minor imperfection throw off his whole combat plan, like he had with the furbolgs in the third room. He'd already learned that lesson.

  He mentally lined up his max-damage spell combination and did some quick calculations comparing the cast times to the duration of his [Incarnation of Ice] buff. Thankfully, he found that it wouldn't wear off until after his [Ice Shards] would hit.

  The boss really didn't stand a chance after that. Aaric had already drained three quarters of its health by then, which sent the ogre into his final phase: a berserking rage. It became immune to frost and freezing debuffs as a result, but the scout had prepared him for this. At Aaric’s insistence, the man had told him exactly what to do to avoid the ogre's charges, including where to stand.

  Aaric, for this part, didn't deviate even half a pace from the plan. The whole purpose of this dungeon was to learn from the scout, and he would prove that he could.

  Between each sidestep, turn, and roll, Aaric stacked damage on the raging ogre, and soon enough it was over.

  You have slain [The Hard Clubber, level 17]

  “Not bad,” the scout chimed in immediately, “but you burned your daily. I hope you won't miss it against the final boss.”

  Aaric clicked his teeth, trying not to push back against what he knew was a fair assessment, though a sizable part of him still hated receiving criticism at all. He had to get that in check.

  “I still didn’t get the freeze in time. Your strategies worked really well otherwise.”

  “You could have frozen it during the vulnerable cycle if you'd followed my positioning guidelines in phase 1.”

  Aaric bit back a smart reply again, because again the scout was probably right. He forced himself to smile. “I'll do better next time.”

  “You probably will,” the scout said with a shrug. “I can tell you're trying, but you're still having trouble balancing those ‘prodigy instincts’ with the information you’ve been given. You don’t know all that went into getting that intel, Aaric. Sometimes it’s okay to trust what your counselors tell you.” He paused then, making sure to catch Aaric's eye. “But if you choose to ignore the information, it needs to be for a really good reason. Especially if that intel comes from me.”

  Aaric nodded silently. The scout had brought up his ‘prodigy instincts’ after nearly every encounter. That they were getting less sarcastic and at least slightly complimentary meant that he was improving. He was even quiet this time as Aaric checked the dead boss for loot.

  Mana potions, an absolutely hideous cloak that he'd be selling as soon as possible, and some bolts of cloth that he wasn't sure were worth the time to pick up. He glanced at the scout and immediately thought better of asking. He left the cloth on the body.

  Aaric took a moment to gauge his Status, before sitting down with some mana water to top off his mana pool.

  “Tell me about the next room again,” he said between sips. “Please,” he added at the end.

  And though he saw the subtle smirk twist the edge of the scout's lips, he didn't care. This honestly had been the smoothest dungeon run Aaric had ever been on, and he was doing everything himself. So maybe there was something to all the scout’s nagging after all.