The border city of Steelhead was such a major departure from the typical Republic or Imperial settlement that any visitors hailing from such places were in for a major shock. It was densely packed, with tiny streets spacing out immense buildings that towered well above any structure built by man or elf. These high-rises went up to as much as thirty stories tall and stood as living proof of the stout-folk’s superiority when it came to advancements in science and engineering. Magic was involved, of course, as it was necessary to strengthen the wood, stone, and steel that went into the construction of these architectural wonders. However, the bulk of the credit belonged to the Kingdom’s Laborers and Architects, who pooled together many generations’ worth of knowledge and expertise to turn places like Steelhead into a reality.

It was worth noting that the towering city was actually a gnomish settlement. It somewhat made sense that Terrania’s tiniest people reached for the sky the hardest. This wasn’t to say that Steelhead was exclusive to their kind, but they were without a doubt the most prominent ones around. The architecture reflected this, as all the buildings looked to be made entirely out of squares and rectangles. This blocky aesthetic was deep-rooted in gnomish culture to a far greater extent than other civilizations, mainly due to their subterranean origins. Space was a precious resource in such a cramped environment, and the primitive gnomes needed to make the most out of what they had. So, they heavily employed the most efficient shapes for storing things - the cube. Naturally, there was far less of a need to optimize spatial distribution once the gnomes started populating the surface, but by then the right angles had become steeped in tradition and common sense.

Therefore, it was no surprise that Fizzy found her new surroundings quite appealing indeed. Though she barely remembered her life before moving to the Empire, there were still fragments of her gnomish self buried deep beneath that shiny shell. One of those pulsed with delight at the orderly and efficient infrastructure of the city outside the carriage window. Jess shared her enthusiasm, though she was up front with the driver as she had been for the past two days. Alexei seemed far less thrilled and positively bored with the scenery, whereas the hobgoblin prisoner wasn’t looking at all. The Scalper was instead sinking in his seat as far as he could, likely in an attempt to hide from any prying eyes that might peer into the ram-drawn vehicle as it entered the tower-filled city’s outskirts.

It was a waste of effort, seeing as how the stagecoach pulled over almost immediately for inspection by authorities. So did the rest of the convoy. The border agents checked documents and inspected cargo with the sort of zeal and determination one might expect from government employees. Which was to say they half-assed their way through the procedures in a zombie-like manner. They were still rather quick about it, only taking three to five minutes per carriage. That slacker attitude would certainly have to change when Fizzy’s turn finally came around. It was no accident her group was going last. The stagecoach drivers that ferried goods and people across the border had their own little community. It was a form of quiet courtesy between them for the carriage with the most troublesome passengers to queue up at the end of the line so that their inspection wouldn’t hold up the rest of the convoy.

Sure enough, while the others were waved through without any fuss, the customs officers took one look at the wary expressions on Jess and her driver and they knew they were in for a situation. Five gnomes stepped forward to deal with the potential trouble. The first was a pointy-bearded man wearing official-looking dark blue robes with shiny copper buttons and a matching badge on the left side of his chest. He was carrying a heavy ledger with a magic quill hovering near his head, suggesting he was a Scribe. The next two had similar attire, though the elegant metal staves in their left hands and the charged Spell Crystals in their rights made it clear they were Wizards expecting trouble. The fourth gnome was a Ranger, judging by how he stopped about twenty paces away and loaded his mechanized crossbow in full view of everyone.

The final guard stood out the most on account of her ‘pet.’ The pudgy-faced Warlock was riding atop her fiend familiar’s head, hands on the horns as if they were steering levers. The demon was a lumbering mass of muscle like all his kind, even had an extra pair of arms like Kora did. The major differences were that this one was a guy, with skin that was more orange than red, and his weapons of choice were four flails that rattled with every heavy step. Also, his face looked remarkably like a troll’s. Or, in other words, he was ugly enough to scare children and covered in pale green hair besides. Combined with his immense physique and perpetually pissed-off demeanor, he was more intimidating than the rest of the squad put together. Any idiots who saw him would no doubt think twice before they tried anything stupid.

Which was the entire point of this show of force. While they were ready for it, the gnomish security force wasn’t expecting a fight. There very rarely was a reason for them to do anything but look mean since foreigners that had ill intentions or illicit goods just walked around Steelhead altogether when entering or leaving the country. The Republic-Kingdom border was simply far too vast and untamed to be policed in its entirety, so neither government even tried. Customs checkpoints at border towns were the only points of border control, and they mainly concerned themselves with tourists and immigration. This one at Steelhead was no different. The only times someone caused trouble was when they tried to enter the country with forged documents or got hung up on some technicality. The armed squad was mainly there as a deterrent to keep things from turning violent.

Still, they couldn’t help but be on edge when they noticed how the stagecoach was visibly tilted towards the back, suggesting an abnormally heavy set of passengers in the rear. They hastily processed the vehicle’s adventurer escorts and had them back away. The officers had a feeling something was about to happen, and they didn’t need those hirelings butting in. If nothing else, this was a rare chance to actually do their jobs.

“Hello, Mr. Parker,” the Scribe among them greeted the driver.

“How do you do, Mr. Wigglebrass,” the man returned it.

“I assume this young lady is your passenger?” he pointed at the blonde gnome.

“Uh, hi!” Jess squeaked out. “Remember me, sir? I’m Jessiwick Wobblebang.”

“Mhm. Rings a bell,” the Scribe paused while he sorted through his memory. “Weren’t you the girl that was scared of the outdoors?”

“Yes,” she sheepishly admitted. “Again, sorry about that…”

Back when Jess first passed through her on her way to New Whitehall, she had expressed a severe unwillingness to step out of her carriage when asked to. It took some yelling and threats to finally get her into the open, whereupon she finally confessed as to her agoraphobia. It was quite uncommon for someone to cause a scene when passing through here, so it stuck out in the man’s mind.

“You seem to have gotten over that, at least,” the Scribe remarked.

“Yes, yes,” she nodded, a smile surfacing on her lips. “Turns out that was because of a weird curse, but that’s been all taken care of!”

“Hm, I see. Now, care to explain what or who you have in the back there?”

“R-right. So, uh, I somehow picked up this… uh… Maybe it’s best if I just show you first.”

Jess hopped off of the driver’s bench with a small yelp. She had momentarily forgotten she was a bit high up for a gnome and face-planted onto the paved ground, but hopped back to her feet and dusted herself off in moments. She then reached under her coat and pulled out what appeared to be a mithril wand, but a second take revealed that wasn’t quite it. The metal rod had a somewhat strange shape to it even without the visible bend in the middle. The upper end of it was also covered in some strange gear assembly that Mr. Wigglebrass could not identify, but had no immediately visible magical significance. That too bore some dents and scratches. On the whole, though the precious metal shone like new, it had been through quite the ordeal.

The blonde gnome gripped this curious object in one hand and lifted it towards the stagecoach door. She hesitated for a few seconds, then cleared her throat and squeaked out her best attempt at a commanding tone.

“Bring the prisoner outside!”

The entire security force went on alert while the adventurer team quietly backed up a bit more. The wheels of the carriage creaked as its occupants made their way out. First was the somewhat familiar face of Alexei, a regular border-hopper. He looked grim and had his axe at the ready, confirming that he was escorting a dangerous individual. The captured threat revealed itself moments later as the hobgoblin stepped off the vehicle. Between his snarling grunts, the scrap-collar on his neck, the missing limb, and the way his hand was literally nailed to his torso, there was no doubt this was the one Jess was referring to as ‘the prisoner.’ The gnomish guards tensed up as they caught wind of who this might be. The spiky hair and purple scarf were unusual among greenskins, and often used to identify the Scalper on bounty boards. Not only that, but the sheer viciousness he exuded despite him being restrained and crippled made it clear this was no ordinary hobgoblin.

And then there was a meaty thunk as something large, red, and metal swept the greenskin’s legs, forcing him to fall face-first with a roar of pain. He was then pinned to the ground by the same comically oversized wrench pressing against the back of his neck. Fizzy wasn’t a fan of how this guy was stealing her show, so she applied some… discipline. It had the desired effect of drawing everyone’s attention to her instead, and she was rather pleased to see the meatbags’ jaws drop in shock and awe of her mithril form. Much as Jess had back when they first met, each and every last gnome within the golem’s line of sight was instantly captivated by her radiant frame.

“Psst! Fizzy! Remember not to look too smug!”

Oh, right.

The construct followed her alter ego’s reminder and wiped that cocky grin off her face as quickly as she could while maintaining the pressure on the greenskin. She then noticed that Jess was staring agape just as much as the rest of them. One could hardly blame her since it had been a while since she’d seen Fizzy dazzle in the midday sun, but there was something more important she needed to be doing. Figuring the blondie required some encouragement, the golem decided to help her out.

“Task accomplished. Awaiting instruction.”

She spoke in as much of a deadpan monotone as she could muster. This did the job of snapping her travelling companion out of her reverie and reminding her of the plan.

“Ah! Yes! Uh, good work. Stand by!”

“Acknowledged.”

Fizzy lifted her hammer, sheathed it into the specially designed clip hanging from the back of her fire-retardant top, and assumed a neutral stance. All eyes then peeled away from her and towards Jess.

“So, uh… yeah…” her voice wavered. “Some things happened and we found this golem, including her control rod.”

She waved the mithril stick in her hand a bit as emphasis while the Scribe in charge processed this turn of events. It wasn’t unheard of for adventurers to find and claim orphaned golems during their travels. Not the wild kind that spontaneously appeared seemingly out of nowhere, but the manufactured constructs produced by the Kingdom’s golem foundries. The biggest difference between the two types was that the latter had no will of their own. They still possessed varying degrees of intelligence with some more advanced models capable of speech, but were otherwise slaves to the whims and wishes of whoever was in possession of their control rod. Gnomish and dwarvish society saw them as tools and equipment, and all of their laws echoed this sentiment.

That was why Fizzy was doing this. She was attempting to pass herself off as an object rather than a person so that she could gain entry into the Kingdom without needing a passport. Alternatively she could have traveled back to Azurvale, had a new document issued, and then returned to Steelhead, but she sorely didn’t want to. Even ignoring the multiple weeks that would waste, the golem believed herself to be a suspect in the disappearance of Keira Morgana, and was also running from whatever nightmare managed to snuff out Boxxy. In Fizzy’s mind, a return to the Republic capital carried too much risk to get a stupid piece of paper so she could cross an imaginary line in the dirt. This little master-servant play was the solution she came up with after leaning hard on Alexei and Jess for advice.

Incidentally, the dwarf had zero faith in this hare-brained plan succeeding, so he made sure to quickly and quietly distance himself from the spectacle. It had been the right call, judging by how Mr. Wigglebrass was squinting so hard that his eyes were basically shut.

“And this prisoner of yours?” the Scribe asked Jess.

“Of course. So, uh, our escorts mentioned this Scalper guy, right. Big and mean and evil and all that. There was some talking and it was decided that, hey, since we’re in the area, maybe it was worth trying to take him down for the safety of the region. And, I had, uh, acquired this illegally constructed golem during the war and was bringing it back home for… identification and… licensing and stuff. Anyway, we sent her to capture the Scalper, and she did, and took him prisoner, and… now we’re here!”

The pointy-bearded civil servant blinked rapidly as he listened to that story. Calling it suspicious would be a tremendous understatement. For one thing, that wasn’t what control rods looked like. Not even close. The genuine article would have had a proper handle like a sword’s, and its length would have been covered in pulsating magical circuits. Best as the Scribe could tell, the thing in Jess’s hand was a part of the shiny golem that had been broken off, probably from her missing arm. He had no way of knowing for sure, but his intuition was right on the money. However, he was absolutely certain that this thing was no control rod, which meant this mithril construct was moving around on its own volition. That alone put a massive hole in the jittery woman’s claims, at least when it came to the golem. However, he failed to see why such a deception was even necessary.

“Look, Miss. I know who this is,” he bluntly stated while pointing to Fizzy.

“Y-you do?” she squeaked.

“Of course I do. We’re everyone’s first stop when they leave the Republic, we get a lot of news and rumors from across the border. That includes the tales of the Rustblood Juggernaut.”

“Oh, so my reputation precedes me?” the golem spoke up in her natural tone.

“Absolutely,” he turned to her. “My cousin saw you fight in Azurvale’s arena, said it was like poetry in motion. And looking at you now, I imagine it’s true. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’ve never seen such an exquisite golem.”

“Of course you haven’t. Because there’s only one of me, and this is the first time we’ve met.”

Fizzy raised her wrench onto her shoulder as her smugness returned in full force, her horrendously ill-thought-out ruse already forgotten about.

“So why the deception?”

At least until the official reminded her of it, eliciting a painful groan from the construct.

“Ugh… It’s because I lost my passport when I went to catch this meatbag.”

She kicked the hobgoblin on the ground in the ribs for emphasis, making him yelp like a wild animal in response.

“I see, that’s quite unfortunate,” the Scribe pinched his beard in thought. “Well, you’re in luck. If that is who I think it is-”

“That’s him alright.”

Alexei, who had been watching this exchange from the sidelines, finally decided to chime in. He honestly couldn’t care less what happened to that crazy golem, but the one thing he wanted to make certain of was that the green bastard got what was coming to him one way or the other.

“I swear on my grandfather’s bones, that’s the bloody Scalper.”

“A witness? Excellent,” the Scribe declared. “We’ll confirm it with you in a short while, but for now, Nexi?”

The miniature Warlock atop the demon’s head perked up at hearing her name called.

“Bring the prisoner in, will you. You can be a bit rough if you need to.”

“With pleasure. You heard the man, Boki,” she tugged on the fiend’s horns.

“Hmpf,” the demon scoffed. “Whatever.”

The walking pile of muscle and hate stepped forward and grabbed the crippled greenskin by the waist and shoulders. The fiend had barely lifted him off when he received a certain mental prompt from her summoner. A nasty grin spread on his furry face as she curled an arm on each side and delivered two hard punches to the prisoner’s ribs, right where his hand was nailed to his sides. This not only knocked the air right out of the greenskin, but made his belly bleed anew as the massive metal bolt was driven further in.

“Whoops, my fiend slipped. Sorry about that, boss.”

“No worries, it happens,” the Scribe shrugged.

“RAAARGH!” the greenskin roared the instant his breath returned. “Dewaniwanga! Kertel chugika kopa!”

To nobody’s surprise, the Scalper started thrashing and yelling in his native tongue in response. None of those present knew what he was saying, but it probably wasn’t very flattering judging by the tone.

“Boki, he’s resisting arrest,” the Warlock flatly stated.

“Can’t have that, can we!?”

The fiend then kneed his prisoner several times in the head. Judging by the other guards’ cold stares, the demon wasn’t the only one enjoying the abuse. The adventurers felt more strongly about it, wishing they could get a piece of him themselves. All of them had a bone to pick with that guy. He’d hurt too many people to be forgiven with just one round of police brutality. The only one that was having doubts about the necessity of this violence was Jess, though she wisely kept those to herself. For better or for worse, the hob passed out after the fifth blow, at which point he was dragged off into a nearby building for inspection, among other things.

“So, as I was saying,” the Scribe turned back to Fizzy, “in light of your service to our country and community, I’m willing to overlook your attempts at fraud. As for your missing passport, don’t worry about it. I’ll just issue you a traveller’s visa. It’s good for two months, plenty of time to contact the Republic embassy in Gun Tarum and get yourself a new passport if you still need it.”

Fizzy glared at Alexei for a moment.

“You could’ve said this traveller visa was a thing.”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” the dwarf said sarcastically.

“Anyway, that would be great, thanks,” she told the official.

“Excellent. I just need to do a Basic Appraisal,” he held out his hand as if to shake hers.

“… Could you not?” she suddenly got defensive.

“Miss, it’s common procedure.”

“But what if I said no?”

“Then… you get no visa? In which case you’d just be a golem, a piece of equipment without any rights or privileges in the eyes of the law.”

“That suits me just fine.”

“Except that your friend here needs a license for you or you’ll be confiscated, and that getting one of those needs her name and your designation, so there’d need to be an Appraisal either way.”

“You let us worry about that, right Jess?”

“Uh… Sure, I guess.”

“Alright. Suit yourselves,” the Scribe shrugged, then shifted the topic. “In the meantime, about this prisoner of yours. What do you intend to do with him?”

“Press him into service as a shield-serf.”

“Hah. Haha! Oh, wow. Okay. No, but seriously, do you want us to handle the execution or- Oh.”

The deadpan look on Fizzy’s face made it clear that she was not, in fact, joking.

“Right. Well, then,” the man recomposed himself. “You’ll want to visit city hall to get that sorted. You can get your golem handler license there too. If you don’t know the way, just ask a copper on patrol, they’ll get you there.”

He had no qualms about passing this problem onto someone else. Fortis Wigglebrass was many things, but getting paid enough to deal with this crap was not one of them. His colleagues were of a similar mind. On one hand they wanted to poke and stare at the shiny golem some more, but on the other she positively reeked of trouble that none of them wanted. As such, the ‘problematic’ group was waived through and allowed to enter Steelhead within ten minutes. Alexei took his friends and immediately left after getting Jess to sign off on his Quest completion form. The Scalper was released into the golem’s custody without much incident. His improvised restraints had been removed and replaced with the usual array of magic-sealing shackles. He’d also been healed to full health, though the extra blood stains on his scarf and trousers made it clear he’d been treated to a lot of ‘hospitality’ during his brief stay. He was then put to work pulling along a small hand-cart loaded with his captor’s luggage, including the loot she took from his demolished lair, all while Fizzy yanked him along by the chain linking his shackled neck, hand, and ankles together. The golem also forced him to wear a heavy hooded cloak that obscured his monstrous nature. Such a sight was sure to attract attention, which meant there was less of it going towards the golem. The Scalper had no qualms about this arrangement and happily put on the baggy disguise.

In fact, he didn’t seem all that bothered despite his earlier outbursts and the rough and humiliating treatment he’d been put through ever since getting captured.

“Hm. Nice place, dis Steelhead. First time being dis far in. Smell like smoke and sweat. I looove it.”

Indeed, his tone alone made him seem more like a tourist than a condemned prisoner who was about to spend the rest of his days being forced to fight for his life.

“Whatever you say, Tony.”

“Huh? Whachucallme?!”

Those words must’ve struck a nerve considering he mangled his words together so badly that the golem barely understood what he was trying to say.

“Tony. It’s your name, isn’t it?” she glanced over her shoulder.

“Is not, but,” he calmed down with a shrug, “is close enough.”

“Wait, how’d you get his name?” Jess asked.

“It was on his Basic Appraisal report.”

“Oh, so that’s what that piece of paper was.”

“Mhm. I only skimmed it earlier, but I’ll need to study it more in depth.”

“See dat you do,” the hob piped up. “Maybe den you get my name right, no?”

“I already did, Tony.”

The Scalper clearly didn’t like that nickname, which was partly why Fizzy was going to keep using it. For the most part though, she just couldn’t be bothered to figure out how to correctly pronounce ‘Tohnee mon Tah.’ It was also far from the most interesting thing on the report she mentioned. According to that gnome’s Basic Appraisal, ‘Tony’ had nearly 200 Levels on him - 50 in Shaman, 50 in Ranger, and an estimated 80 to 90 between two unreadable Monster Jobs. He’d probably have more if he had access to a Mentor who could advance either of the first pair instead of being forced to seek a breakthrough by maxing out all their Skills. His Attributes were quite balanced and he had slightly more than Fizzy overall, but it was one aspect in particular that grabbed the golem’s attention.

It was the 29 points of Luck (LCK). That didn’t seem like much at first glance, but the Paladin understood it was a huge amount for someone who wasn’t a servant of the God of Misfires. Barring some goblin-only Skill that the Scribe wasn’t able to read, Tony had no way of raising that Attribute other than through the ‘special action’ of experiencing extremely unlikely events - at least one for every point of LCK. Given the violent environments that monsters typically inhabited, it was safe to assume that most if not all of those should have resulted in his death. It now made sense why the greenskin was so calm and cooperative. If one assumed he’d been through countless life-and-death scenarios, then it was easy to imagine that he didn’t think his circumstances were that dire. Sure, he’d lost an arm, his entire gang, his freedom, and any semblance of pride, but he still had his life and a chance to escape, however miniscule. That was maybe enough for him to keep his cool.

But if that was the case…

“Hey Tony, I have a question for you.”

“‘Sup, boss?”

“Why did you act up at the checkpoint?”

“Oh, that? I just like getting kicked in the gut. It makes me balls tingle.”

The golem abruptly yanked on his chain, forcing the hobgoblin to stumble forward and slam his face into the back of her solidified hair.

“Argh! Jupaka zul tote!” he cursed, probably.

“I have no patience for your crap,” she coldly stated.

“Hrm. I be seein’ dat, ya.”

“So?”

“So… I figured dey wanna work me over no matter what. I just gave dem a reason so dey don’t have to go lookin’ for one, seen?”

“Hm. I see.”

In other words, he played the part of a dumb and violent savage so that the officials don’t scrutinize him too closely. Now that Fizzy thought about it, she realized he never once revealed he could speak their language, probably so he wouldn’t be interrogated for hours on end. It would appear Tony was a crafty and cunning hob, though that was only natural. Lightning-quick wits were necessary to survive the immense amount of bullshit he’d supposedly been through, and he was no doubt plotting something to escape his current predicament. Fizzy assumed as much since he first brought up this shield-serf thing, but it was nice to have her suspicions confirmed.

In any event, it didn’t take long to reach city hall. Though there were over twenty thousand people living in Steelhead, they were all packed in so tightly that almost everything was within an hour’s walking distance. Foot traffic also wasn’t nearly as bad as Fizzy assumed since there were multiple street levels suspended between the huge buildings. It was basically like having three towns stacked on top of each other, with plenty of lifts and cranes to facilitate vertical transport. It was also frighteningly easy to get lost in this three dimensional maze, but those ‘coppers’ the customs official mentioned were more than happy to help out with directions. Visitors getting lost seemed to be a common issue, so the Steelhead city council had instructed local law enforcement to assist when asked.

The seat of said government was yet another massive collection of rectangles, just like all the residential and commercial complexes Fizzy had passed by. It was impossible to tell it apart if not for the massive glowing vertical letters that read ‘ADMINISTRATION’ on the side of the building. This place also seemed to double as police headquarters, given all the blue-uniformed copper-badge-touting gnomes and dwarves shuffling around the place. Naturally all of them were a bit suspicious of Fizzy’s group. Between the exotic golem and the chained man-mule in the cloak, it was no surprise a lot of them had some questions about them. Thankfully Jess was on hand to pretend to be in charge and pacify the coppers until she and Fizzy finally made it inside city hall.

The interior was incredibly cramped for someone of Tony’s size. Even dwarves would struggle to make it down those narrow and low corridors without bumping into something. This place clearly wasn’t built with any non-gnomes in mind. In any event, a bit of searching and a lot of explaining later saw Fizzy accomplish the three things she needed to do. First, she dropped Tony off with the short arm of the law for yet more processing. While that was going on, the construct and her ‘handler’ went to see about that golem operating license. Much as Mr. Wigglebrass explained, they weren’t going to get through it without an Appraisal, but Fizzy already had a plan for that. The name on her Status was going to be an issue going forward no matter what, so the best long-term solution was to get it changed to something that better reflected her current self.

Usually that was no simple task. Changing a name through a Scribe’s services required a whole lot of background checks and an extensive amount of red tape, especially with foreigners from abroad. However, that only applied to people, and at that point in time Fizzy was legally considered to be a piece of equipment. Therefore, there was nothing really stopping the Scribe inspecting her for licensing purposes from just renaming her on the spot. Yes, that still required an Appraisal, which in turn made the official raise something of a fuss upon seeing the Fizzlesprocket name on the golem’s Status. Usually that implied that the golem was the rightful property of the influential bloodline, but the man could plainly hear and see that this mithril construct was far too self aware to be manufactured. That and she had an actual first name rather than a serial number. Ultimately he agreed to the persistent golem’s requests as, much like his colleague at the customs checkpoint, he wasn’t getting paid enough to care about loopholes.

On a completely unrelated topic, the government employee happened to get severely distracted by a heavy coin pouch that just randomly appeared in his hand, causing him to coincidentally log the golem’s original designation as ‘C-01-E Frumpbottom.’

And so it was that the last traces of Cornie Fizzlesprocket were unceremoniously wiped from the golem’s Status, leaving only the newly christened Fizzy Rustblood behind.