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

The Legendary Smith's armor was in pristine condition as he levitated into the air and flew back to the balcony at the top of the Royal Castle, from which he had departed two days prior.

When he had left, his magic power circuits had been full, and the Kingdom had been on the brink of falling.

Now that he returned, the Kingdom was saved, and his magic power circuits were nearly empty.

Although his power stores were depleted, that didn't mean his victory had been close.

If he had needed to, he could have swapped into lighter armor that required less magic power for its enchantments, and hunted down each fleeing demon one at a time.

It just would have taken longer.

So it was that the Smith and Enchanter, who had so many years ago disregarded his parents' wisdom and advice to take a combat Class, defied the world's meta and saved the Kingdom.

He landed as the sun's rise cleared the mountains in the east and proceeded higher into the sky.

The throne room looked much different from when he had left.

The King sat on his throne, wearing a crown, even though he was still slumped over to one side, discreetly supported by the Crown Prince, who stood next to him, scepter in one hand and noticeably larger crown on his head. They were clean and well groomed, their royal raiment resplendent and regal.

The Princess, meanwhile, was wearing the same dress she had been wearing when the Smith left. And it was clear that she hadn't slept even a moment in the intervening days. She stood off to the side.

The generals and aides and advisors that had crowded around a table at that time were gone. Instead, there was a squadron of the strongest surviving Knights of the Realm, including the Aspirant Knight, clad in Royal Guard armor and wearing mantles bearing the Crown Prince's emblem.

All eyes turned to the Smith as he entered.

And all the Knights put their hands on the hilts of their swords.

The King perked up, and his eyes brightened as he took in the Smith's appearance.

"Oh, oh ho! Y-you have returned, Knight James!"

"He's not a Knight, father, merely a Smith," the Crown Prince hissed.

The King looked up at his son with confusion on his face. "But then why does he wear such brilliant armor?"

"Be quiet. Let me handle this, father. You just relax."

"Hmm… yes… We'll let you handle this…"

The light left the King's eyes, and he slumped over even further, and his eyelids drooped.

This was no magic or bewitchment.

Just the result of a lifetime of luxury, ease, and complacency.

For the King knew that so long as he lived, he was the King, and final authority rested with him.

So long as he never voluntarily gave it up, others could handle the hard work.

He could simply watch everyone else scramble to do his bidding, and satisfy his every whim.

Standing next to the King, with a hand on the King's shoulder to keep him from tipping over entirely, the Crown Prince bit back his frustration with well-worn discipline.

It was galling, but the future was set in stone. His father would eventually pass away, and he would take the throne officially. In the meantime, he had all the authority of the King anyway. His fool of a father never even asked what the Crown Prince did or what he was plotting. So long as the old man was provided with luxury and given even the most insincere deference, it was enough for him.

Let the King command the maids and attendants; it was the Crown Prince who commanded the Knights and Generals.

Power comes from the tip of a sword, after all.

He maintained a regal expression as the Smith dipped into a genuflection, still wearing that armor.

"Yes, your graces, I have returned."

And the Smith gave his report, that all the demons had been slain, and that his Classes had returned to him upon slaying the last of the foul creatures.

And then the Smith stood, and had the gall to move without being dismissed, and he took several steps, removed his helmet, and genuflected before the Princess.

"Your grace, my task is done. I humbly request that the Enchantress and I be given leave, to move our family out of the castle and into quiet retirement."

A most reasonable request.

The Smith had just single-handedly saved the entire Kingdom, and fought and killed two hundred thousand demons, their monsters, and even Salamander fully descended into the corporeal realm.

The Princess said nothing, her face a mask of political neutrality.

After a moment, the Smith looked up at her questioningly.

"We think not, Smith!" the Crown Prince's voice echoed through the throne room.

A mask of rage covered the Smith's face, and the Princess' expression slipped.

The Smith stood, and turned to the Crown Prince, who had his chin raised in the air triumphantly and was looking down his nose at the Kingdom's savior.

"You shall leave the Princess' service, and enter into our own! You and your wife shall be my direct retainers! And you shall both craft for me armor and weapons like you used in this battle! So it shall be."

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The Smith glowered. No longer was he feigning politeness. His hand drifted down to his toolbelt.

"Crown Prince, I have served faithfully and true these last few years. I have just spent two full days and nights fighting for the Kingdom and slaying its mortal enemies, enemies who meant to slaughter every single human in the world. Before that I worked feverishly to prepare the tools with which I accomplished this task, and for the months before that my wife and I worked endlessly to provide the Royal Family and the nobility with protective accessories."

His hand settled on the handle of his Gale Hammer.

The Crown Prince sneered.

"Be silent, Smith." He spat the word like a curse. "You are committing lèse-majesté."

He leaned forward, and gripped the scepter tightly. "You will do as we say, and that is all there is to the matter. We are the Crown Prince, and you are merely a Smith and a commoner. Now fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness, before I punish you and your entire family for your insolence."

Snap.

Swish.

Before the Smith could move, there was a sound of fabric sliding against fabric, and there was the Princess, a bloody knife in each hand, and the heads of the King and the Crown Prince fell to the ground.

With a deft hand, she tossed one knife into the air, snatched the King's royal crown from atop his head even as it fell, and then caught the knife with her other hand. And then she placed that crown atop her own head, and stood on the royal dais flanked by two corpses.

"I hereby declare myself Queen of Iberteria, Maria the First! All will now bow before me and swear fealty!"

For a moment, there was stillness.

Things had happened almost too fast to process.

The first to move was the Aspirant Knight.

He stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword, and drew it.

And as he did, he genuflected before the Queen, next to where the Smith yet stood, and presented his sword.

"I swear fealty to the Queen, long may she rein! Long live the Queen!"

The former Princess wasted not a moment. "Rise, Sir Suero, first of my Knights." As he did so, and turned to protect the Queen, the rest of the Knights hesitated. It was when the Smith turned, finally, to see what they were doing, that they also fell to their knees and pledged themselves to the Queen.

It was a fait accompli.

The Second Prince had been reduced to a Duke, and had died in the Demon Army's advance.

The King and Crown Prince were both dead, decapitated. No magic nor miracle could restore them to life now.

The Princess was the last remaining member of the Royal Family, for the Crown Prince had seen to the demotion or quiet death of all branch family members who might have been in the line of inheritance.

Despite women not being eligible for the throne at that time, there was quite literally no one left to contest her claim. It was either Queen Maria the First, or the Kingdom of Iberteria would cease to exist.

In addition, she had the Enchantress and the Smith as her retainers.

And now the Aspirant Knight.

The rest of the Knights swore fealty, and the new Queen's power was secured.

And so began the rein of Queen Maria the Wise.

"Smith," she said imperiously, and the Smith genuflected as well.

"Yes, your highness," he answered.

"I will grant your request, so long as you provide me your backing and assistance as necessary."

"Yes, your highness."

"Rise, Smith James."

He stood, and she smiled at him. "Well done. Go, and rest, and know that as you support me, I shall support you."

The Smith grinned. "Long live the Queen!"

"You are dismissed. Give the Enchantress my regards."

And so the Smith won for himself the greatest prize: self-sovereignty.

The Queen declared that the Smith and his family were to be recognized as sovereigns, equal in rank to herself, and that nobody could give them any order.

The nature of their relationship became similar to an alliance. When the Queen needed support, the Smith and the Enchantress were there to provide backing.

It was incredible how quickly nobles quailed when faced with the Enchantress and Smith fully armed and armored for battle standing behind the Queen.

But other than those appearances, the Smith departed from the stage of history as quickly as he had arrived.

He took his wife and children and left Iberteria altogether, though it is unknown where precisely he chose to live.

The bard's tales of adventures after saving the Kingdom are just that: bard's tales.

They lack historical veracity and evidence.

What little is known of the rest of his life comes from letters sent between the Enchantress and the Queen. It was the Queen herself who gave the order to purge all official records of James, out of respect for his privacy and to prevent anyone from attempting to bother him.

The Smith and the Enchantress had six children in total, three boys, and three girls.

All of them chose Enchanter for their first Class.

To James' dismay at the time, and bitter regret later, all of his sons chose to be Smiths, as well.

His daughters, taking after their mother the Enchantress and James' mother the Brawler, chose combat Classes. In fact, they all chose to be Brawlers, and their descendants were many.

The sons all came to tragic ends.

Perhaps they lacked their father's luck, or his fate.

One son was seduced and murdered in bed by an assassin.

Another was kidnapped and forced to work for some months before he attempted to escape, and was killed in the attempt.

The noble House involved was purged to the fullest extent possible, out as far as six relations.

The last son foolishly attempted to emulate his foolish father and entered a Dungeon, having heard a bard's tale of his father's life story, and perished to a trap.

The Kingdom of Iberteria, though blessed with a wise ruler for the first time in generations, was in tatters. And, sadly, the efforts of the Wise Queen Maria were not enough to restore the Kingdom. Her daughter, the Last Queen of Iberteria, oversaw the independence of multiple territories that quickly grew wealthy as the new continent was fully opened to colonization and settlement. Queen Maria's granddaughter married a duke from Asufal, and the Kingdom was formally dismantled, and what remained of the Kingdom was reformed as the Duchy of Cordova.

Thus ends the Legend of the Meta-Defying Smith who Saved the Kingdom, and indeed, all of humanity.

Author's Note: Although the Smith's story is inspiring, there is a tragedy built into the story itself. Though certainly humanity would have perished without the Smith and his fantastic creations, the history of his triumph has led to countless impressionable young boys and girls failing to choose Combat Classes of their own. Thus was it my intention to tell the truth of the story of the Smith's life, verifiable by historical record as much as possible. Many bards skip over the hardships of the slave camp and the Dungeon, and reduce the Enchantress to merely the Smith's supportive and loving wife. It is my second deepest wish that this version of the Legend becomes the most widespread. It is my most deepest wish that nobody ever again makes the mistake of failing to take a Combat Class.

Editor's note: Although Andrew the Chronicler's version of the Legend did become the most widespread, lauded for its comprehensiveness and dedication to accurate portrayal of verifiable historical documentation, it never achieved the popularity of other versions of the tale that strayed from historical truth and glorified the Smith's achievements without dwelling on his struggles. The latter is simply more entertaining.