Solo Strategy

As soon as I stepped away from the hang glider, Ger Karilian and Katashi rushed to it and began inspecting it closely. About five minutes later, questions started pouring in: how the apparatus behaved, how it handled the stresses, what I noticed during the flight, how the wing responded to different winds and changes in airflow direction. I tried to answer as thoroughly as possible, paying special attention to the controllability of the flying wing.

To my great relief, the hang glider endured the flight without any damage. Only one of the mountings did raise questions among the masters, but they quickly identified the issue and fixed it on the spot. They also had some concerns about the fabric, or rather about the impregnation, since Ger Karilian, after some observations, suggested an alternative that he claimed would provide greater reliability. However, this was considered an optional improvement.

Then followed another disassembly and reassembly of the apparatus, after which I glided down the hill twice more.

"If no one minds, I'd like to try it too," said the former captain of the Trade League after what must have been the tenth inspection of the hang glider by the masters, and his eyes were practically burning with anticipation.

This suggestion caught me off guard, and while I pondered how to decline the Air mage politely, the master-artifactor unexpectedly spoke up. Rising to his feet, he turned to Eddart and, gesturing towards the flying wing, said:

"Sir, I understand that you are a good Air mage and the element is close to you, but things can always go wrong." The former captain of the Trade League had no objections and nodded, and Ger Karilian continued in a slightly sly tone, "But do you know how much it cost to make this flying artifact? No? Let me give you a hint… more than five thousand gold, and that's not including the labor costs."

"Um-m-m..." Eddart's eyes dimmed.

He clearly didn't have that kind of money, and if the glider was damaged due to his fault, he definitely wouldn't be able to cover the financial losses.

"You are right, Ger Karilian, I hadn't considered the matter from that perspective," the Air mage admitted dejectedly.

The former captain of the Trade League was clearly upset but, weighing all the risks, realized that the master-artifactor was right. Meanwhile, I, trying not to show it, turned away and exhaled with relief. Katashi also noticeably relaxed after initially tensing up upon hearing the Air mage's wish.

However, our calm didn't last long. No sooner had Eddart given up on the idea of flying than Ger Karilian turned to us with a broad smile beneath his thick beard:

"But I wouldn't mind trying out the artifact to which I contributed, even if only as a simple assistant."

The Japanese and I exchanged helpless glances. Why helpless? Because while we could refuse the former captain of the Trade League, saying no to a mage of Valirium rank, who was also very famous and influential, was out of the question. More precisely, we could, but each of us had a rough idea of the consequences of such a refusal.

"You yourself said that something might go wrong..." I addressed the artifactor with a strained smile.

"Oh, don't worry!" Ger Karilian rubbed his hands together. "My skills are enough to avoid getting hurt or breaking anything if something does indeed happen."

"I..." I tried to offer another argument, but the mage of Valirium rank interrupted me.

"As for the unlikely event that my actions somehow damage the hang glider," he pronounced the term with evident pleasure, as if savoring it, "I have enough funds to cover not just the repair but also the creation of a new one."

"Operating this artifact is quite specific," I approached the topic from another angle.

"But you'll teach me," said Sir Karilian, stroking his beard and keeping a curious gaze on me. "Don't worry, I have a sufficient level of Wind Sense. And despite my age, I've lost none of my strength. Besides, I've always been a quick learner."

"I'll allow you to fly only if I'm completely sure you've understood everything correctly!" I made my final point.

"Of course, Sheriff, of course. Who better than me, a mage-artifactor, to understand the importance of such safety requirements?" he said, shedding his robe and remaining in just a shirt and sturdy trousers. "Let's begin."

Da'Nnan take him! I thought we would return to Deytran, where I'd train him for a couple of days and then, maybe, eventually, give him permission to fly. But no, Ger Karilian clearly decided that waiting was the lot of the weak. The Valirium mage, who usually calmly discussed rare ores and ancient formulas with the demeanor of an all-knowing sage, now looked like a boy who had just seen the toy of his dreams. And it was precisely this combination of his age, influence, and childish impatience that made the situation truly dangerous and, worst of all, unavoidable.

Worse still, I failed to stretch out the master-artifactor's training. This stubborn bearded man apparently was indeed a good warrior once: his body obeyed him perfectly, his movements were precise, and his attentiveness was like that of a student eagerly absorbing everything new. He grasped my instructions literally on the fly. Rarely did I have to demonstrate anything twice, and definitely never did an explanation need repeating. Everything I had painfully learned through my own mistakes, he absorbed as if he had always known it. And I had to admit, it was slightly annoying.

In just an hour, he grasped all the basics. Then, I made him run with the glider for about thirty minutes without taking off so he could feel how hard it was to keep the flying wing balanced. But he managed that as if he'd been doing it since childhood.

His first flight—or rather, gliding from the hilltop into the valley—also went off without a hitch. He descended confidently, without even flinching, and only the broad smile under his beard and the hungry gleam in his eyes revealed it was his first experience.

All this time, I kept glancing at Eddart. The former captain of the Trade League was practically burning with envy, and I even expected a stubborn outburst or a reckless dash forward. Fortunately, it didn't come to that; his jealousy remained just that, not turning into foolishness.

"There is a simpler design," I approached my temporary trainer, "Not as expensive. It's dangerous to go very high with it, but a hundred or two steps is possible. I've tried it. Of course, it needs some refinement, but that's a matter of time. In about six months, I plan to launch this device on the Deytran market and will be glad if you accept the first such relatively mass-produced artifact as a gift." Advertising would never hurt, and if a locally famous person took the role of first pilot, everyone would win, and such a gift would pay for itself many times over.

As for mass production of hang gliders, I really was not joking. Yes, hundreds and thousands were a long way off, but there would certainly be several dozen enthusiasts eager to test their mettle in the open sky. Besides, flights were not just amusement; they were, above all, reconnaissance. And during the Invasion, reconnaissance would be worth more than gold.

After my words, the envy in the former captain's eyes noticeably dimmed. He clearly wanted to rush into the sky right now, but the prospect of a future flight became a kind of hook, an anchor for him: it smoothed the intensity of his emotions, though it did not remove it entirely.

And then, what was bound to happen by Murphy's law, happened. Ger Karilian, finding the hang glider too easy to handle, became overly confident in his abilities. No, he didn't try to replicate my ascent, but by his third flight, he started performing complex maneuvers. It seemed to me that he was captivated not so much by the sky but by the very possibility of testing the flying wing's durability.

After completing another loop and ascending two hundred meters, the master-artifactor glided down, gaining speed, and then began maneuvering between the hills. This spectacle resembled a skier descending a slalom course—only in a much slower version.

And so, during one of the turns, he either didn't notice the boulder sticking three meters out of the slope or miscalculated the trajectory, or perhaps he simply wasn't yet accustomed to the flying wing's size...

As a result, the hang glider's longitudinal mast caught on the rock. At over a hundred and fifty kilometers per hour, this led to the instant destruction of the entire structure. Or rather, not instant, but so fast the eye could not catch the details: broken masts, struts, torn sail, and the pilot himself all mixed into one chaotic bundle rolling down the rocky slope.

After such a fall, I would have had to be collected piece by piece, my bones knit—and that only if I had even survived at all, which was far from certain.

But the mage of Valirium rank survived the fall without particularly severe injuries: he broke his left collarbone and received several dozen noticeable bruises, which, however, he healed fairly quickly with alchemy.

Unlike Ger Karilian, the hang glider was beyond repair after such a "landing."

"No fool like an old fool!" I muttered rather quietly as I sprang into motion.

When we reached the crash site, the master-artifactor was already calmly sitting on one of the stones, placing into his belt pouch empty, used vials.

"Ha-ha-ha!" Ger Karilian greeted us with a booming laugh. "That was magnificent!"

Magnificent? He had almost been smeared across the rocky slope, yet he was pleased like a triumphant victor.

Glancing at Katashi, I noticed an unhealthy gleam in his eyes. It seemed that if not for the instilled respect for elders, the Japanese would have pounced on the laughing master-artifactor with his fists. And only with his fists because the Hammer of the future God of Labor was left at the top of the hill with our other belongings.

I quickly stepped between Katashi and Ger Karilian, but I was too late: the latter had clearly sensed the hidden fury of the young blacksmith. Standing up, the master-artifactor raised his healthy hand in a conciliatory gesture:

"Young master, I understand your anger. Who better than I to comprehend it? And I offer my sincerest apologies for the destruction of your creation. Allow me, in addition to these heartfelt apologies, to offer you something more tangible." Noticing how the Japanese crossed his arms over his chest, Ger Karilian continued, "I will take on the restoration of the artifact I broke, as well as all associated costs. Furthermore, I invite you, Master Kay, to join me in this endeavor. I'm confident I can make the same spider silk sail much stronger. And as additional compensation, during our joint work, I will not only allow you to observe every step but also reveal several secrets of my profession."

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Huh. Apparently, the catastrophe happened not only because the old master got carried away but also due to the Shard's luck kicking in. Just being allowed to observe the work of such a famous artifactor was already a huge deal. And revealing the master's personal secrets was beyond the pale; such things were usually not shared even with one's own apprentices.

Taking half a step back, I nudged the Japanese in the side with my elbow, hinting that he should agree immediately. But it seemed my prompt wasn't needed. Katashi was never a fool and could smell a benefit a mile away. His demeanor changed instantly: the anger left his eyes, his fists unclenched, and he bowed in a formal, polite manner.

"It's a great honor for me to witness your mastery," said the young blacksmith, stepping forward.

While the two masters delved into the remnants of the glider, my temporary trainer and I moved aside.

"I always considered Ger Karilian the epitome of calm," Eddart said once we were out of earshot, having climbed to the top of a hill. "Me, fine, a wine lover and risk-taker, but Ger Karilian..."

"We all have our soft spots," I shrugged, as if nothing unusual had happened.

"You're remarkably wise for your age," the former captain of the Trade League shook his head, then glanced at the crash site. "I think those two will take the flying wing apart down to the tiniest pieces and then inspect each one closely." Since I fully agreed with that, I nodded. "I suggest we don't waste time."

Having said this, the Air mage ran his hand over his chin, where stubbly whiskers had already sprouted. Then he pulled a sharp knife from his belt.

"I suggest you continue mastering Wind Blade in an unusual but very practical way."

The eyes of the former captain gleamed slyly. He brought the knife to his cheek, and a magical wave sprang from the sharp metal blade, shearing off the grown stubble better than any Gillette razor with three blades. In less than twenty seconds, Eddart was perfectly clean-shaven.

I involuntarily ran my hand over my chin. I could use a shave too. The only problem was that I always used Thunder Dagger as a razor, and it wasn't exactly convenient.

"This exercise will allow you to sense the Wind Blade spell much better, to balance right on the edge, just enough to shave the stubble without harming the skin," the Air mage said, very pleased with himself for coming up with a new exercise.

Sitting on a stone, Eddart began explaining in more detail, simultaneously showing how the flows of energy moved through his hand. Amazingly, in just an hour, I had sufficiently mastered this application of the spell and cleared my face of stubble, making only one cut, a shallow one at that.

By this time, the two masters—the young one and the far more experienced—had already dismantled the remains of the hang glider and were passionately arguing about something, passing the central spar fragment back and forth.

"The next task," Eddart said, rubbing his hands together after making sure we wouldn't head back for at least another hour. "Using Wind Sense, control all the air currents around you, and, with your palms extended forward, create small whirlwinds above them."

I had performed this exercise before, and although it seemed quite simple, it actually required utmost concentration. As soon as I started, the former captain of the Trade League added a significantly complicating element:

"Without stopping the exercise, tell me about your flight. In detail, without missing a single thing."

Damn! The moment I started thinking about what and how to narrate, my concentration on Wind Sense immediately dropped, and both whirlwinds above my palms dissipated. Fifteen minutes in, I began to think the task was impossible at my level of mastery. But then, my temporary trainer suggested:

"You said you'd gain Affinity with the Air Element if you achieved your goal and ascended high enough. Did you get it?"

"Yes," I answered curtly, and once again one of the whirlwinds above my palm dissipated.

"Don't delve so deep into meditation; it's not necessary with Affinity," the Air mage said with a smile. "Reach out to your Affinity, feel it, and everything will become easier."

Surprisingly, this simple advice really helped. By reducing the depth of my meditation and turning to the Affinity I hadn't yet accustomed myself to, I managed to speak coherently without losing control of the surrounding air currents.

"Excellent," Eddart praised me sparingly when I finished my story without extinguishing the whirlwinds above my palms.

"Thank you, trainer," I said, standing up and bowing sincerely.

Sure, I would have reached a similar result on my own, but how much time would it have taken me to achieve this through self-study? Days, weeks... or maybe even months.

"How about mastering Storm Sky Arrows?" my temporary trainer suggested.

I wondered if he wanted to earn extra money, since he got gold for each spell I learned, or if he was just curious to see whether I could handle such complex magic.

"Trainer..." I said, closely examining the Air mage sitting before me. "Storm Sky Arrows require great talent. I know you command both Air and Lightning, and this spell is based on that pair of Elements... But I was told that to use it, you need Four Stars—both in Air and in Lightning, at the same time. Trainer, are you really that talented?"

"Me?" The former captain of the Trade League smirked. "No. But you—yes. As for the spell requirements, such high Stars are only needed for full-fledged use. A weakened version is accessible even to me, with three Stars in both Elements."

Hmm. I had already been thinking that I would need to reconsider my spell arsenal, given that my most developed Element was now Air, not Lightning. After all, besides having four Stars in Air, I also had an Affinity with it.

Storm Sky Arrows wasn't the most powerful or destructive spell. But it had its unique advantages. First, the magic combined two Elements at once, and it was harder to defend against. Second, despite its moderate power and damage, it consumed very little energy. Third, it could be activated very quickly, practically "spammed," as avid gamers would say.

The only downside I saw was that it worked at the same range as the Mitrailleuse I knew. So, these two spells duplicated each other, serving a similar function in battle.

Although... no. They could complement each other! At the start of a fight, I could discharge Mitrailleuse, but instead of wasting precious seconds reloading a new "drum," I would immediately start throwing Storm Sky Arrows at the enemy. In theory, this would work well and create substantial "firepower" at medium range right at the beginning of the battle.

"I'm ready to try," I finally agreed to the former captain's suggestion.

"Then let's not waste time," Eddart clapped his hands, picked up a stick from the ground, and began drawing something on the earth.

He finished explaining the theory just as the two masters completed their inspection of the hang glider and, having gathered all the fragments, returned to the top of the hill.

Glancing at Katashi, I noticed he seemed pleased, though he tried to hide it under an indifferent expression.

"How's your health?" I asked Ger Karilian.

"I always carry good alchemy with me when I leave the city," the mage of Valirium rank smiled into his beard. "And I'm already feeling fine. No need to worry."

Commendable foresight—if only everyone had it. I remembered earthlings from the Last Cycle who neglected to prepare travel "first aid kits," and this carelessness cost many of them dearly in the end.

"If we set out for Deytran right now, I'll have everything ready by morning. Then the young master and I can work on restoring—or rather, creating an improved glider," Ger Karilian pronounced the last word as if savoring it. It clearly delighted him—perhaps due to its novelty and uniqueness.

"I don't mind," I agreed.

"And I wouldn't want to miss the nighttime wine tasting," Eddart shrugged.

The Japanese simply nodded.

We got ready for the return trip fairly quickly, since the fragments were already packed in a wooden box, which the master-artifactor again entrusted to no one else to carry.

As we ran back toward the Trade Capital, I pondered my further development. If not for the Five Stars of Talent in the spear, it would have been a good decision to "retrain" as a mage. After all, two Elements at Four Stars and one at Three was quite impressive, not only by local standards but also among earthlings, with very rare exceptions like Miranda. But Five Stars were Five Stars, so I wasn't planning to deviate from my main path. Though, by local tradition, I was no longer just a warrior but rather a full-fledged warrior-mage, someone capable of defending himself both with weapons and magic.

If only I could raise at least one more Star—even in the Earth Element—and bring it to Four...

In theory, it was possible. From the Last Cycle, I knew where I could get another Talent Star.

You could do this in any of the Inverted Towers by reaching the seventy-fifth floor. In Elai's Tower, touching the altar at this level bestowed a Star in Life magic. In Antares' Tower, a Star in Light. In Dyled's and Aerad's Towers, you could choose the Star yourself, but you couldn't raise the Talent above Four. In Sino's Tower, touching the altar raised two Stars at once, but to a completely random Talent. I dismissed that option right away: I'd rather consciously choose the enhancement I needed than get twice as much in something completely useless.

The only downside was that after taking the gift from one of the altars on the seventy-fifth floor of any Tower, the rewards in the other Towers became unavailable.

My original plan was to eventually reach the coveted altar in Dyled's Tower and thereby raise my Talent in Runes to Four. But what if I chose Earth instead? Or strengthened Light or Shadow to Four Stars? As for Runes... I needed Four Stars in them not so much for combat enhancement but to be able to read ancient texts on the lower floors and thus better understand the cause of the First Invasion. However, in this Cycle, my relationship with Katashi was more than good, and the Japanese could read those records. Moreover, he would understand them far better, having Five Stars in Runes already.

It was tempting to strengthen Shadow or Light, very tempting. But no. Who knew how things would turn out with Katashi in the future, and I could not take that risk.

Allowing the seniors to go ahead and matching my pace, the future God of Labor joined me and gestured for me to set up a Sound Barrier. Curious, what secrets could he have now? I set up the barrier and, without slowing down, tilted my head, inviting the Japanese to speak.

"Listen..." It seemed the young blacksmith was unsure of what he wanted to say. "I was thinking... If we both got an Adamantium Achievement for reaching a thousand meters, and you also got an Affinity... then... What if I make a primitive but sturdy bathyscaphe, and you dive a thousand meters into the sea in it? Wouldn't that have a similar effect?"

What?! I almost lost my rhythm. It sounded too logical! But I didn't remember anyone suggesting such a thing in the Last Cycle. Then again, "I don't remember" didn't mean "it didn't happen." Still, why hadn't such an obvious option occurred to me?

"Alas, I've neither heard nor read about anything like that," I admitted.

"That's a shame. But it's logical. Why not try?" the Japanese insisted.

"But a bathyscaphe! It's more complex than a hang glider!" I was genuinely surprised by the future God of Labor's persistence.

"Why would it be?" Katashi shrugged. "We wouldn't be making a full-fledged bathyscaphe. Something primitive would do. We wouldn't need portholes or a propulsion system—that would immediately reduce the demands on strength and calculations. Magic and runes could greatly reinforce the hull. Just a simple sphere—that's all!" The Japanese seemed increasingly convinced of the feasibility of creating such a device. "We could even seal it shut after you get inside."

"Something about being in a sealed steel sphere at a kilometer depth doesn't inspire me," I admitted honestly.

"Don't worry, I'll leave a way to open it through Metal Affinity," the future God of Labor dismissed my objection. "That's just details..."

"That leaves the means of ascent and descent. Reliable means!" I added, not feeling particularly enthusiastic.

"Raven! Even in ancient times on Earth, they conducted underwater work using diving bells. Halley, back in the seventeenth century, described a descent to several dozen meters in a weighted barrel, with air supplied through hoses!"

Da'Nnan take him! He already seemed fired up by the idea and was going to charge ahead like an ox.

"Kay! A few dozen meters and a kilometer depth—don't you think that's quite a significant difference in both depth and risk?" I tried to bring back his sense of reason.

"Raven! Bathyspheres are primitive constructs! You don't need computers or even complex math to calculate them. Back in the thirties of the last century, they dived to a kilometer depth with such devices. And they did it without any magic or runes!" Clearly, Katashi was completely fixated on this idea.

"Kay! I'm, of course, a fan of Achievements, but I don't need Water Affinity. I only have two Talent Stars in that Element!" The prospect of descending to a kilometer depth in a tightly sealed sphere was frankly terrifying.

"But if we draw a parallel with what happened today, it would be an Adamantium Achievement!" the young blacksmith persisted.

"Kay, I'm willing to help, but I won't be the one to dive. If you want, take the 'pilot' seat yourself," I shrugged.

"I have mild claustrophobia," the future God of Labor admitted, lowering his gaze.

"My answer is 'no,'" I shook my head. "Find another volunteer for such madness."

"Eh..." the Japanese sighed heavily. It seemed he himself understood that few would agree to such a venture.