Chapter 171 - 168 - The Battle of Cordova I
Tink tink tink.
Scritch scritch scritch.
Scrape scrape.
Tink tink.
The Smith was putting the final touches on a pair of greaves, the massive Greatshield sitting on his Enchanting Bench already ready to go.
His face was contorted into a frown, and sweat beaded his brow. Not from any heat. In the first place, his [Heat Resistance] was high enough that he hardly felt the heat of his forge anymore. But in truth, his workshop was perfectly climate controlled with an incredibly intricate enchantment carved into the stone, keeping the air temperature comfortable while not impeding his work. Even the sound of his forging was much reduced, to the great appreciation of his wife and children.
There was an intrusion in his double domains, [Domain of the Smith] and [Domain of the Enchanter].
Isabella opened the door and entered, carrying within her hands the last thing he needed before he could finish his work, and head out.
The Magic Bag.
Everyone else called it the Bag of Holding, but to him, it would always be the Magic Bag.
The beat up leather bag, with a fraying strap and nearly unlimited storage capacity, had been the single most important factor in his survival in the Dungeon.
It had taken months of research and experimentation, but he had managed to recreate the Magic Bag's utility using metal and magic, himself.
So he didn't need the Magic Bag per se.
What he needed was what he had left inside it, all those years ago.
He stepped close to his wife, pressing the bag between them as he swept her into a kiss.
"Thank you, love."
The Enchantress demurely lowered her eyes, tears forming but yet unshed. "The Princess authorized me to enter the Royal Vault, and bring you this Legendary Artifact, but… Is it truly necessary? Must it be you?"
The Smith smiled gently and cupped her cheek, his thumb wiping away the first tear as it fell.
"I wouldn't trust anyone else with this set. Not after…"
His jaw clenched, and then relaxed as he put the thought of that Knight out of his mind.
"Besides, I need you here, protecting our children."
Isabella choked back a sob, but nodded.
"I love you, Isabella."
"And I love you, James."
After embracing, possibly for the last time, James took the Magic Bag to his workbench, where the greaves were as ready as they'd ever be.
"Holy Magic Stone," he whispered.
And he withdrew from the bag not one, but two of the incredibly rare, golden-white magic stones.
Apparently he wasn't the first to hide a potentially blasphemous item in the bag and leave it off the inventory.
His eyebrows raised, and his heartbeat quickened.
Perhaps…
"Holy Tiger's Claws," he whispered.
But only the one appeared. As long as his forearm and brimming with Holy Essence, the razor-sharp claw was all that remained of the Holy Tiger he had slain in the Dungeon.
As soon as it entered his hands, he knew its weight, the amount of material he'd get from it for enchanting, and he knew that it would be enough.
For an hour he prepared his materials, one magic stone for each of the pair of greaves, and the claw for the shield.
Using all the most secret and most powerful Enchanting techniques, he completed his Legendary Mythril Armor Set.
There were myriad other enchantments woven into the greaves, to integrate them into the full set, but the final, main enchantment was [Divine Lightspeed Haste].
[Appraisal]: Lux-saturated Compressed Layered White Mythril Greaves, Quality: Secret Master, Durability: 560 (Oversmithed), Enchantment: Divine Lightspeed Haste—Secret Master (890)
It turned out, the formula for determining maximum enchantment capacity was wrong. This enchantment would have been one hundred and sixty percent theoretical maximum, and that was on top of other various linking and layered enchantments.
And why [Divine Lightspeed Haste]?
It turned out, there was a maximum speed in the universe.
An object moving through space could only go so fast.
And as it did, time would seem to slow down from that object's perspective.
That wasn't good enough.
Not for the Legendary Smith.
His fatal flaw in combat was, always had been, and always would be his speed.
He made up for this in various ways.
With armor.
With [Haste] and [Rapid Blow] and [Reflect] enchantments.
With his Brawler-parents-instilled mindset of striking first and ruthlessly.
But it wasn't enough.
Wouldn't be enough for the Demons.
They were fast, they were strong, and there were simply too many of them. Even if he did everything perfectly, eventually, one of them would get the drop on him, he wouldn't be able to avoid a blow, and he'd be done.
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So what was beyond the fastest possible speed?
It was the realm of the divine.
Precognition. Foresight. Prophecy.
With [Divine Lightspeed Haste], he could push his perception into the future.
Not by much, or so he calculated. But hopefully it would be enough to make up for his lacking speed.
The Smith turned then to his Greatshield. The hulking metal plate was an Empire's ransom in mythril, and as with the greaves it was already enchanted in various layers and ways to interface with his entire armor set, but the bulk of what remained was on the face of the shield. Again, using the techniques of the Secret Masters, and perhaps even a few of his own secret techniques, he Enchanted.
[Appraisal]: Lux-saturated Compressed Layered White Mythril Greatshield, Quality: Secret Master, Durability: 1342 (Oversmithed) (Reinforced), Enchantment: Perfect Enhanced Divine Retribution—Secret Master (1533)
The Claw, you see, has the arcane symbolism of weapon, attack, and slash. It is most fitting for curved swords.
But the Smith could not use curved swords.
Not well, anyway.
In the Dungeon, the Smith had noted that a lux-saturated shield enchanted with [Reflect] had the effect of returning a magical attack with even greater strength.
Testing in the years since had shown even stronger ways to reflect magic.
And the Demons did seem partial to strong magical attacks.
The nature of divine retribution can be decomposed into unblockable, undodgeable, and karmic debt.
An enchantment of divine retribution with the Holy Tiger Claw, then…
Well, James was, in the very depths of his soul, excited to see what would happen.
Such a shield wasn't exactly something he could test against friendly forces, after all.
If he survived it.
His work finished, he geared up with assistance from his wife.
"Wait."
He turned, and his wife pressed a handkerchief to her lips, then handed it to him.
"Think of me, and come back as soon as you can."
James smiled tenderly as he took it, and nodded.
"I will. Take care of the kids."
Isabella sniffed, just the once, and put on a strong front and smiled and nodded.
And then James left his workshop, and headed up to the highest tower of the Royal Castle.
There was a large balcony up there, with the best view of the Plains from inside the City Walls.
The upper-most floor was one large throne room, designed to impress upon visitors the majesty of the king, with a view of some small part of what he ruled.
The throne was empty in the pre-dawn hour.
The King instead sat on a small lounge chair, crown-less, off to the side of the commotion.
He had nothing to add.
The Princess sat in her own chair, next to the empty throne, observing the assembled men and women.
It was the Crown Prince, carrying the scepter and wearing his largest crown, who was the one demanding answers from his generals and aides and advisors.
And there was among them a man in surprisingly good health, given his tattered clothes and smashed up armor.
The Aspirant Knight.
The sole survivor of the doomed attack on the Demon Army.
"As we came into fighting range, our Classes suddenly failed us. The more one relied on their Classes to fight, the worse off they were. It was terrifying. I, myself, only survived thanks to diligent personal training and my armor."
"Yes, yes, we know about your armor," the Crown Prince sneered. The Aspirant Knight had been immensely powerful, but everyone knew that was only because of his enchanted armor and weapons. "Not such good armor anymore, is it?"
"No, your grace," the Knight admitted humbly. "I also had the good fortune to be carrying an Elixir, which saved my life from grievous wounds, and managed to make it back to the city."
The Tower Wizard, in attendance at the war council, spoke next. "So you lost access to your Classes, but your armor and enchantments and Elixir all still worked?"
"Yes," the Knight answered, "and perhaps some of my Class boosts were still working, though it is hard to say."
"Hmmm…" That was all the Tower Wizard said as he fell into thought, furrowing his bushy eyebrows.
A humming sound filled the air.
The scent of heated iron filled the room.
Color faded and the world went monochrome.
Not a vibration, but rather, an enforced stillness took hold.
The door opened, and the Legendary Smith entered the throne room, fully equipped with his Legendary Armor and Hammers.
All but the Tower Wizard froze in place, like intruders caught in the act. The Tower Wizard, though, he looked up with mild surprise and nodded in greeting.
"Oh, Smith, you've decided to act."
The Smith's helmet had no eyes. It was a perfectly smooth, rounded shape that gave no indication of where he was looking. And yet, all present knew that he turned his attention to the Tower Wizard.
"I just finished preparing. There was never any doubt that I would act, was there?"
"None of the others did."
James frowned, and the air around him somehow grew even more still. "And you know I'm no Irregular."
The Tower Wizard, unbothered, flexed his wizardry and color returned to his appearance.
But only to his own appearance.
"Perhaps our definition of Irregular is too strict."
The Smith ignored the Wizard's invitation to debate.
There wasn't time for this.
He moved, impossibly smoothly, in his armor and genuflected before the Princess who sat above him.
"Your grace, I beg your leave to set off to battle."
The Princess, seated with regal bearing several steps above the kneeling Smith, narrowed her eyes.
"You would go to battle, Smith? You won't stay and protect your family? You won't attempt to flee?" Her eyes flicked for just a moment to the Crown Prince, who was attempting to plan an escape for the Royal Family with full intention to abandon the City of Cordova and all its inhabitants.
The Smith stood.
"No, your grace, I will not flee. The Kingdom of Iberteria is my home now. You have prepared a place for me here, provided me refuge and safety and a place to work my craft. I have married, and made a family here. Iberteria is my home. And I will defend my home and my family and my patron the same as I would defend my smithy."
The Princess nodded. "Good. Go forth in the name of Princess Maria Iberteria and slay the enemies of the Kingdom."
James bowed. "As you will, your grace."
They all ignored the weak King, who could only passively observe as he clung to the last fading breath of his power, too cowardly even to abdicate.
The Crown Prince, however, sneered as the Smith approached the table around which advisors and generals stood, to look at the map showing the positions of the enemy forces. It only took a second for him to memorize, but that was enough time for the Crown Prince to speak.
"We had thought perhaps our sister had a knight hidden away somewhere, but no, you're the smith? And you think you're going out to fight, against all those Demons, where the Army and the Knights failed?"
Suero, the Aspirant Knight, swallowed thickly.
But the Crown Prince didn't wait for a response, not that the Smith intended to give him one.
"We think not: forge for us armor that will aid in our escape from this doomed city."
At this, the Smith paused, and his gaze fell upon the Crown Prince like a hammer upon anvil. "I am the Princess' retainer, your grace. With all due respect," he said as though there were none due, "I will consider your request upon my return, if her grace approves."
He turned on his heel away from the table, and away from the door, and walked to the balcony. Dawn was close to breaking, and there was just enough light to make out the dark mass of the Demon Army and their cookfires, spread across the plains. The Crown Prince shouted at him, but he ignored it. He oriented himself, compared the army's disposition to the map he had just memorized, and nodded.
Dawn broke, and the Smith took flight.