The Legend of the Meta-Defying Smith Who Saved the Kingdom

Some two hundred years before the Smith's birth, one of the finest Sailors ever to take up the Class sailed far, far beyond sight of shore, navigating by clever use of star and clock, just to see what was out there.

James had a hard time imagining such a large body of water, but Ivan insisted it was real, so he let it go without further comment.

The Sailor mainly found more water out there, but at least there was lots of fish, so it wasn't a total waste of time.

Then, he found land.

New land.

Already inhabited land.

It was a journey of a month to reach the new land, which wasn't merely an island, and so they had to make a new word for such large lands separated by oceans: continents.

At first, they couldn't communicate with the land's inhabitants because they spoke a different language. But they managed to engage in some small amount of trade, and they left peacefully. Over time, more missions were sent to the new land, and diplomats and scholars were sent, and eventually an agreement was made for a colony to be established.

But then every other country had wanted their own colony for conducting trade.

The newlanders agreed, and so a number of colonies were established along the shoreline. The newlanders mainly lived deep in the forests, where colonists were forbidden to go, and recognizing that they were guests—and profiting massively enough from maintaining the status quo—the colonists kept to the agreements they had made.

Then the newlanders grew angry, and the colonists couldn't understand why.

They all assumed it was some other colony that had done something.

The newlanders demanded tribute: hostages.

At first, the colonies submitted. They had their share of criminals as well, what did it matter so much if a criminal was in a prison in the colony, or the newlanders kept them in their own prisons?

But the newlanders demanded more, and they ran out of prisoners.

When the colonists refused to provide more hostages, the newlanders cut off trade and started raiding the colonies.

But only a handful of the colonies. The others were left alone, and they even continued trade.

Thus began the months of flight. There were only so many ships going back and forth across the ocean, and after several generations, more people than could fit, even crammed in as tight as possible.

Towards the end, the newlanders realized the colonists were fleeing, and they attacked the remaining colonies, demonstrating magical prowess unlike anything previously seen.

This had happened some decades before the Smith was born.

The colonists, having been born on the new land, had been affected by it: they bore odd hair and eye colors. Unlike the browns and blacks and reds—and apparently, blondes—of their original homeland, the colonists now bore unusual hair and eye colors. Oranges, yellows, greens, blues, purples, and so on.

It was enough to mark them as others.

And the large number of them arriving all at once caused problems.

There wasn't enough work to go around, nor was there enough food or housing.

The sea-faring kingdoms, Iberteria among them, encouraged the refugees to move along to other kingdoms, elsewhere on the continent, but many of the refugees, after their harrowing escape, had no interest in going elsewhere.

So they lived and worked on the edge of society, in worse conditions than the natives, and in their desperation some of their children turned to crime. Perhaps no more than children of natives turned to crime, but the children of the refugees were instantly identifiable by their hair color.

"And it's not fair!" Ivan continued where Nikolai had left off, "We work out in the fields, we work in the sewers, we work in the mines, and yet we're still not considered Iberterians! Even though Iberteria had its own colony, too."

"The King of Iberteria granted us refuge, Ivan. But even the King cannot just order his people to like us, be nice to us, and find a place for us in society. We should be thankful for what we were given, and repay the kindness shown to us."

"Nikolai, they owe us that much! It's the bare minimum!"

The strange men—the colonists—continued arguing as the night stretched on. James contented himself to lean against the wall, listen to their argument go nowhere, and reflect on what they had told him.

It was nearly dawn when the Steward finally arrived. When he saw who was in the cell with James, he scolded the guard who had put them there.

"Should the Knight's Order take it as an intentional insult that a Knight's retainer was placed in a cell with refugees?"

The guard had paled and apologized profusely, and James was released.

Outside the guard station was a full squadron of Knights, armed and armored for battle. The Steward handed James the hammers that had been confiscated, and directed him to put his hood up.

"James, our lord has been called away. More Irregulars have gone missing, and his squadron is fully engaged in tracking them down."

"Irregulars?"

"It's not just the Itinerant Baker, it seems…"

"No, I mean, what do you mean by 'irregulars?'"

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The Steward gave him a look. "Those who have strange powers beyond what Classes can provide; in fact, they may not even have Classes at all."

"Huh?"

"It's not important right now. There are more pressing matters. House Sanchez."

James refocused.

"They are the House behind the attack on you tonight. Well done surviving."

They walked up the street, up the slope to the Knight's Order Headquarters. But then Sebastian turned, and led them towards a shop with the lights on oddly early. Dawn was still an hour or two off.

"I've arranged for a shipment of… materials to be delivered to Headquarters, but until our Lord returns and can call in favors, we will need to defend ourselves."

It was an armor and weapons shop.

"I know you would prefer to smith your own pieces, but there's no time. Pick out whatever armor and weapons you want. I will as well. And, if you would…" he trailed off, and gave James a look. He didn't want to mention enchanting directly, not where it could be overheard. "Our lord would pay double for enhancements, given the nature of the emergency.

James nodded. "Of course."

He was definitely getting a helmet.

"Good." They entered the store, where a sleepy-looking shopkeeper yawned and gestured at the displayed armor and racks of weapons. "I'll be getting some new brass knuckles, I think."

They were in and out quickly, knowing that the longer they lingered, the less time there would be for James to enchant.

At the barracks a large box of materials was waiting for James as the front desk, and he quickly enchanted a set of brass knuckles with [Heavy Blow] and a thick undershirt lined with metal plates enchanted with [Solidity]. As soon as he was finished, the Steward armed himself and set off again.

James worked, and dawn's light crept in through his window.

And he kept working.

Even with his levels, a full set of plate armor required time to etch and enchant.

[Haste] and [Feather], to make up for his lack of Speed. [Dampening], an Intermediate level Enchantment tiled onto several pieces to reduce magical attacks. [Solidity] on a heater shield. And finally, on his Bastard War Hammer, he wove dual enchantments of [Rapid Blow] and [Heavy Blow] such that he could activate one or both as he pleased.

All of his enchantments were, of course, greater than fifty percent of the theoretical maximum. Even those on his Bastard War Hammer.

Informants and gossips noted that, at approximately nine o'clock in the morning on the day after the solstice, a man wearing heavily enchanted armor departed from the Knight's Order Headquarters with an armband on his arm indicating he was on official business. Unusually for a Knight, he was armed with a shield and a large war hammer, rather than a sword. He moved unusually quickly, given his armor, and to the magically sensitive on the streets his presence pressed on reality, outlining him with a faint haze.

He strode through the streets, drawing attention and causing apprehension, and eventually reached the Enchanter's Guild, where a city guard and the old doorman from two weeks ago were waiting. The doorman, with his thinning silver hair and gold-rimmed glasses, gestured inside.

"This way, Sebastian already sent us word of what happened."

"Right." James' voice echoed strangely from within the helmet.

He was led to a private room, where he removed the armor leaving him with his usual chain mail and cloak.

"I'll accompany you inside the Guild, James," the guard said, the doorman having left already. He was from the precinct near the Knight's Order, where they owed the Aspirant Knight a debt of gratitude.

"Thanks," James nodded and, an hour and a half late, arrived to the classroom. "You can wait out here."

"As you like," the guard nodded grimly, focused on carrying out his duty, and James stepped inside.

His classmates were spread throughout the room. Raven was preparing magic stone dust for enchanting her knife. Ricardo was drawing out various designs, planning his talisman. Ewan had several books open on a desk, consulting references.

Isabella was focused on embroidering a shirt, her hands moving swiftly. The pattern for [Fire Resistance] was nearly complete.

He squinted, trying to discern if she had Chosen already, and what she had Chosen…

Enchanter Melinda stepped up to him, a finger on her lips, and pushed him back out of the classroom. She closed the door and whispered, looking with concern at the fresh cut still on James' face.

"James, what happened? I was told that you were dropping out of the course, and to act as though you had never been enrolled in the first place."

James nodded. "That's right. There can't be a record that I studied here… And I won't be able to finish my assignment, unfortunately."

He had been assigned to enchant a painting with [Calm] hidden within a landscape, to promote rest and relaxation in the room in which it was hung.

"But why not?" she asked. "Who did this to you? The Guild—"

"I'm not a member, and I won't be," James interrupted.

"Then…"

"That's right, it's my lord's business."

Melinda sighed.

"What a shame. You were such a talented student…"

"Though, if it's alright, I would like to stay for today, and possibly tomorrow, and get just a little more instruction. Off the record."

Melinda's eyes flickered to the cut under his eye, and then she nodded.

"Alright. But, at least tell me, the one who did that to you…"

James' expression tightened. "He won't be a problem ever again." He tilted his head at the guard, who Melinda noticed for the first time. "It's his boss that's the problem, and it'll take time to deal with. In the meantime, I've got some much appreciated protection."

Melinda looked him up and down, and then her eyes widened as she looked at his midsection. "What on earth…" She held out a hand. "Let me see it." Her tone brooked no argument, and so James pulled out one of his small war hammers. Surprisingly, the older woman held the heavy hammer as though it were no heavier than any tome of enchantment lore.

"This is… astounding. No, the precision… with a basic level enchantment? This is impossible."

James held out his hand, and she gave it back, and he put it back on his belt and fastened his cloak closed again.

Melinda glared at him with narrowed eyes. "I've half a mind to give you a course completion certificate on the spot, and have the Guild name you Friend."

James panicked. "No—"

Melinda raised her hand, cutting him off. "I know, it was made very clear that there are to be no records. But yes, you can stay through the rest of the course, and even after, if you have any questions, I would be happy to discuss enchantments with you, James."

And so they re-entered the room and took up seats near the book cabinet, where James quietly asked the senior Enchanter questions. Shortly before lunchtime, a slightly worn-looking Isabella approached, chest puffed out with pride.

"Enchanter Melinda, I've done it! The shirt is enchanted with [Fire Resistance]—ah."

She spotted James for the first time that day, and for once, it was her face that flushed red when their eyes met.