NOVEL NEXT Chapter 80: That was supposed to hiss, not detonate!
Rob awoke from his slumber, removing the leaf from his eyes. He stared at Griesa, then at Lena, making astute observation before rubbing his chin and nodded to himself. "What is technology?"
"Technology," Griesa began, her voice thick with pride as she puffed her chest, "is, in essence, the art of… artifice. Think of it as the crafting of things beyond the natural, things that… move, illuminate, and communicate without the direct touch of a hand or the whisper of a spell."
She pulled a small, metallic rectangle from a pouch at her belt. "Observe this 'communicator'," she said, holding it up with two fingers as if it were a particularly unclean toad. "It's a device that captures the very essence of a voice and sends it, like a swift messenger bird, across vast distances, all without wings." She tapped on the device, and a distorted bird chirped. "It's… a mechanical familiar, of sorts. It's to be used when—Hey!"
Rob put the leaf back on and went to sleep again.
"Oh, Griesa, I am so sorry about Rob," Lena began, wincing slightly. "He sometimes... well, you know, he's a farmer. What I'm trying to say is, he's a simple man, with simple, sun-addled resting periods. Please forgive him. He's very… earthy."
That's the worst excuse I've ever heard out of anyone.
"I will give each of you a custom-made item capable of holding its ground against the most formidable mage. In return, you will help me with a favor."
Why do I have a feeling I know what the favor is supposed to be…
"I make you gears first, then I request! So you won't back out!"
"I have always been a fervent believer in technology."
"We've learned about it five minutes ago," Lena arched a brow.
"Since the moment I learned about it, I have always been a fervent believer in technology," Ducaz promptly corrected himself.
Griesa dusted herself off even though she had no dust on her, turned on her heel, and scanned the party. Her eyes landed on Ducaz, and for a moment, she simply beamed.
"You," she said, pointing a finger straight at him. "You're first."
Ducaz raised an eyebrow. "Because I look like I need help the most?"
"No," Griesa said, already halfway circling him like a vulture with a clipboard. "Because you're quite handsome. Not Marin-kind of handsome, but you'll do."
Damn, this little chick is THIRSTY.
Ducaz sighed. "I just want to stay away from attention, but what can I do? I'm too handsome."
"You're reasonably handsome," she replied as she flipped down a monocle from her headgear and then raising a small magnifying lens in front of said monocle. She was now peering at him through the monocle, through the magnifier, eyes darting across his limbs like she was scanning blueprints only she could see. "Now. Tell me. What's your class?"
"Shadow," he said. "Mostly Exchange-based."
Griesa perked up. "Exchange-based, mm? What sort of exchange? What do you take from the environment to cast?"
Ducaz squinted. "Why do you need to know that? You're making gear to help me not use spells."
"Yes, yes," Griesa waved him off, already sketching something into a tiny notebook with a pencil that squeaked like a distressed rat. "But if I don't know the parameters of your arcane metabolism, I might accidentally make you boots that explode if you walk too fast." She waved her pencil around. "Now, hurry. Do you absorb ambient heat to cast? Drain light? Steal vibrations from the air? Come on, I need details, or you might end up discharging kinetic backlash through your—"
"On second thought, I'm not sure if I want to go ahead with this mission." Ducaz interrupted.
Whoosh. Anders was behind him.
No sound. No footstep.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
His hand rested gently on Ducaz's shoulder. "You must. I'll teach you," he said, voice low and deeply unearned in intimacy, "how to level up your basic stealth moves to Level 30."
Ducaz immediately changed his opinion about keeping secrets, "My most frequent stealth exchange involves converting residual body heat into shadow veil. It gives me mid-range dampening but doesn't work well in colder climates." Anders nodded along satisfactorily.
Griesa perked up and flipped a fresh page. "Excellent."
"I can also transfer sound from one object to another," Ducaz continued, now speaking quickly and clearly. "Usually from my steps to ambient surfaces."
"Oh! That's brilliant!" Griesa scribbled wildly. "I might have just the thing for ya." Griesa snapped her notebook shut with a fwip. "Right. Don't move. Or do move. Actually, stay still. I'll be back!"
She whirled around and darted toward the back of her workshop hut, and vanished behind a curtain of hanging copper wires and what appeared to be six different kinds of windchimes. At least three of them growled when she brushed past.
There was clanking. Thumping. One small explosion. A muffled, "That was supposed to hiss, not detonate!" And then, silence.
Lena and Ducaz stared in each other. Rarely had Blorbo seen these two people looking at each other in such mutual understanding before.
Exactly one minute later, Griesa emerged again, triumphant, with something clutched in both hands like a sacred relic.
It was… sort of a boot. Kind of.
It was more of a half-boot, half-exoskeleton arrangement, covered in tiny gears, feather-light filaments, and a single toggle switch labeled Pfft.
"Here; stealth boots!" she beamed, practically vibrating with excitement. "Try this on your left foot. Just the left. The right one is still eating lizards."
Ducaz blinked. "Is that a… prototype?"
"It's a pre-type," she said, with some degree of pride. "Now go on, go on, I want to see how your steps sound!"
Ducaz gingerly strapped the contraption to his foot. The moment the final strap clicked into place, the humming settled into a low purr, and a thin shimmer traveled up his leg.
You really are making a stealth pair of boot that SHIMMERS? What the hell is wrong with you?
"Okay," he said slowly. "Now what?"
"Walk."
Ducaz took a single step.
There was no sound.
Not even a crunch of leaves, not a whisper of friction. It was like his foot passed through space and forgot to tell physics.
He took another step. Again, nothing.
"…Huh," he muttered, testing it again. "That's… that's actually really—"
He lifted his leg higher. The device let out a faint kzzzzrrp and whirred back to life. He stumbled slightly, and the heel coughed out a puff of steam and a high-pitched bing!
"…Okay, mostly really good," he said, adjusting his balance. "But is there no magic in this?"
"I can't sense any magic," Anders confirmed.
Griesa was already scribbling again, muttering, "It needs recalibration on hip alignment, dampeners too sensitive to vertical momentum, and maybe less steam. Steam is optional. Bing! noise is not."
What kind of jargon is she even using? I'm not sure we're speaking the same language.
"Why do I need a noise for my stealth boot?" Ducaz asked.
"Great question," Griesa nodded before turning to Lena and Rob. "Now, who's next?"
Lena clapped as she made a small jump. "That's kind of impressive. Really! Can you do me next? Please, please? I promise I'll be very still and won't flinch even if it bites!"
"Yes! One for the pretty lady, coming up!" Griesa grinned. "What's your mage affinity?"
"I, uh—" Lena replied.
But Anders immediately interrupted, "She's not a mage. Give her something that lets her sleep at night without snoring."
"Dad!" Lena turned to him so quick she might break her neck. Ducaz took three steps back.
They were probably about to argue, but Blorbo couldn't pay attention to the conversation anymore. The sounds of Lena and Anders bickering faded around him, drowned out by the soaring orchestra of his thoughts.
Soon, it would be his turn. Soon, the goddess of gear would turn her brilliant gaze upon him, and she would ask: "What is your class?" And he would answer, in a voice both humble and thunderous: "Table."
She would gasp in wonder, as she realized that she was standing in the presence of a man so rooted, so sturdy, so emotionally and physically flat, that no magic or machine had dared try to optimize him before.
But she would. She would see the potential. She would fit him with reinforced stabilizers. With deployable legs. With adjustable cup holders!
He would become the Ultimate Table. The one upon which kings would eat, warriors would arm wrestle, and small children would put their juice boxes without asking.
He could already feel the sound of his upgrade booting up in his soul. In mere moments, he would step forward and—
"Griesa!" a voice bellowed from beyond the canvas wall. "Bedtime!"
Blorbo's symphony screeched to a halt.
Griesa stiffened mid-scribble, eyes wide. "No—wait—I just need to finish calibrating the—"
"Now!"
She slumped like a kicked chair. "Yes, Dad…"
And just like that, she was gone.
Great. The greatest inventor of all the lands cannot defeat a CURFEW.