2.17 Odysseus

Once we had drunk our nectar and finished our biscuits, Esther brought over a large metal box trimmed with fine gold. The box contained two pieces of equipment: the first, a pair of shiny black boots, the second, a pair of scaly grey gloves.

I immediately took off the miserable, inadequate, mud-stained boots Iris had given me at the start of the nightmare and tossed them aside. They clopped onto the ground, staining the cement floor with mud.

The entire forge went silent as Esther stopped moving.

The glare she gave me was cold enough to freeze hell over twice.

At once, I realized my mistake.

Before she could say a word, I ran over to my boots and plucked them off the ground. Mud caked the ground where they had landed.

"I'm so sorry!"

I knelt down to clean the mud with the edge of my coat, but Esther raised a hand for me to stop.

"You can clean the floor later," she said.

She pointed to the gold-trimmed box sitting on our table.

"Try your new boots first."

I immediately grabbed the new boots from the box and tried them on, hoping to turn her attention way from the mess i had made on her floor.

The boots fit perfectly.

"Hey," I said. "You guys know my shoe size!"

"We had all the time in the world to prepare for your arrival," Esther said as she retook her seat at the metal dining table. "Nine-and-a-half?"

"That's right."

I checked the heels of the right boot and noticed that there was a silver spider embossed on the heel.

"Spider Boots!" I said with a grin. "Oh, you guys are spoiling me!

Spider boots were a handy tool that allowed a mage to move around with the agility of a jumping spider without breaking their knees. It achieved this by minimizing the impact its wearers felt across their entire body when falling down from extreme heights or providing extra force when jumping up otherwise inaccessible cliffs. This was something I could already do without them. However, there was a noticeable manaburn cost for such maneuvers, enough to shut me down pretty quickly in my current state. I don't know how quickly Esther had made these particular spider boots, but they were a timely addition to my gear.

Esther handed me the pair of scaly grey gloves. When I took them, I noticed that they felt like they were made of nylon. The moment I pulled them on, my arms felt as if they were covered with steel gauntlets.

It took my brain a moment to realize what these were.

"Titan Vambraces," I said in awe.

I looked at the gloves. Sure enough, the trank of both were marked with a golden roman numeral XII, the highest rating for this class of vambraces.

"Iris told me you needed these until we found a way to restore your magic," Esther said. "Though I will say, I’ve never seen anyone need a rating above an eight."

I punched the gloves together. Solid, as any decent piece of enchanted armor ought to be.

“I only ever used a twelve when testing the upper limits of my magic," I laughed, "like seeing if I could punch through a mountainside. Still, seeing how I might actually need to punch through a mountainside, these are very helpful. Thank you."

Esther beamed. These were likely her handiwork, and as far as I could tell. Their craftsmanship was immaculate. She had every reason to be proud of them.

“I do have one more piece of gear for you,” she said, setting the now empty metal box down on the floor next to my old boots. It landed with a hollow thud. “But that piece remains with Yoo-jin, our resident doctor. Help me close up shop. Then we can go pick it up together.”

I looked at the intimidating array of tools and half-finished projects. I knew I was going to break something or knock something over while trying to help.

Esther caught my confused look and smiled apologetically.

“On second thought,” she said.

She grabbed a broom leaning against the stone wall and held it out to me. There was an aluminum dustpan clipped to its bottom.

“Yeah,” I said.

I grabbed the broom, jumped out of my chair, and immediately got to sweeping.

I watched Esther out of the corner of my eye as I worked. She bustled about with controlled hurry, replacing a myriad of tools to their proper places as she moved from placed to place. I recognized some of the tools: hammers, awls, chisels, and sets, but there were many tools, both modern and traditional, I did not recognize. Some of them looked eerily similar to the tools torturers used on me during my time in prison.

I turned my attention back to sweeping. Thankfully, the mud from my boots was dry and crumbly, so the cleanup wasn't bad at all. But once the mud was gone, I noted that there was hardly any dust to clean up, to begin with. Esther likely dusted the floor regularly. Still, I made an effort to make the floor extra clean so it looked like I was doing something.

After about five minutes, I had gathered every speck of dust I could see. It didn't amount to even a quarter of the dustpan. Feeling defeated, I walked over to the metal trash can near the door and dumped its contents, slamming the dustpan once to ensure the stubborn bits fell off as well, and a second time to make it seem like I had done some work. I clipped the dustpan back to the bottom of the broom before setting it back against the wall. I picked up my backpack from the ground only to have Gordon meekly waddling over to me from his empty bowl of food.

I crossed my arms and glared at him sternly.

“Ah, you back-stabbing feline," I said. "Any more shenanigans you plan to pull?"

“Plenty,” he replied, baring his teeth. “Now let me return to my fortress.”

I set the backpack back down on the ground and opened its primary compartment. Gordon raced toward the pocket dimension and disappeared inside like a mouse fleeing into a hole. His face reappeared a moment later.

“Comfy?” I asked.

“Yes. Now forward!”

I rolled my eyes. I picked up the backpack, pulled my arms through the straps, and gave it a good shake. Gordon meowed in protest.

"That's what you get" I cried, chuckling to myself.

I walked over to the entrance of the forge.

A look back told me that Esther was done as well.

She grabbed a handful of the last remaining tools and placed them inside of a very worn leather backpack, not dissimilar to the one I carried. Among the tools were several crystals-magic crystals-and what I believed were several metal boxes of magick arrow ammunition. By the time she shoved the second box into the backpack, I was certain that her backpack was a pocket dimension as well since there was no way six boxes of heavy munitions could fit into it otherwise.

Explosive javelins, magick bow munitions, I thought. What else does she have in her arsenal?

Esther hoisted the backpack off the ground and walked over to the entrance where Gordon and I were waiting.

The blacksmith gave a last mournful look back at the forge. There were several unfinished projects sitting on various tables scattered across the building, among them a golden axe head with a broken handle, a silver war hammer wrenched in half, and an ornate suit of bright blue armor that looked like it had been rolled over by a steamroller. Each project seemed to contain a dormant power begging to be brought back to life.

“Remnants,” I said.

“Yes," she replied. "The more we gather, the better our chances of survival. If only I had time to restore all of them."

"Your bow and your javelins seem plenty dangerous already."

"Yes, but you know how the saying goes."

"'A Weapons Master can never have too many weapons,'" we said in unison.

We got a good laugh out of that.

"You really are a Weapons master!" I cried.

Weapons Masters, more commonly referred to as "tyrants" and "vultures" by the magical community at large, had a bad rep. "Tyrants" because nine out of the last ten tyrants to terrorize Nivandor all hailed from this niche branch of magic. "Vultures" because weapons masters were notorious for stealing Remnants from deceased mages and selling them to the highest bidder.

Weapons masters were blessed with the unique ability to bind multiple Remnants to themselves without the usual side-effect of dying from attempting to do so. Coupled with the fact that weapons masters could also take old, battered Remnants and transform them into far more powerful versions than even their original form, a weapons master who happened to acquire the right Remnants at the right time could very easily become nigh unstoppable. The only thing stopping every weapons master from becoming unstoppable was that strengthening a Remnant took that degree a lot of skill, knowledge, and time. It was not unusual for it to take decades to cultivate such weapons. Even then, the actual strength of a weapons master was still tied to the Remnants they managed to collect and cultivate. A well-cultivated collection of mediocre Remnants was, at the end of the day, just a collection of slightly less mediocre weapons.

Most weapons masters usually landed somewhere in the middle of the road in terms of raw power. As such, many weapons masters ended up using the talents to sell Remnants they've hoarded to the black market. It didn't help that the Gideonite Empire was the biggest customer of these Remnant dealers. The fire scythe Magistrate Jephthah used to kill Eleanor? Likely purchased from a vulture.

For everyone's sake, I prayed Esther had stayed away from such practices. I wasn't sure how I would respond it turned out she was a vulture.

Esther flicked off the lights. The once warm forge dropped into utter darkness. Even the once bright furnace melted into the shadows.

I stepped outside as she gently shut the door behind us. She pulled out a key from her apron pockets and locked it. She placed a hand on the door for just a moment. Then she turned around, stepped off her porch, and marched down the golden road without saying a word.

Her expression was somber as she walked past.

I thought about the task that lay ahead of us, how I knew next to nothing about what was going to be demanded of Esther and me. Esther had been working for Iris for years now and had likely seen the worst the nightmare had to throw at her. If she was nervous about what lay ahead, it must have been quite the difficult task indeed.

"Gordon," I said. "How bad is our next assignment going to be?"

Gordon didn't reply immediately.

"That bad, huh?"

"When crossing a broken bridge, it is better to focus on your next step instead what you're going to have for dinner that night once you've returned safely home."

I nodded.

"Thanks, Cat Commander. I'm just glad I don't have to do all of this alone."

Gordon placed a paw on my shoulder. I flinched, thinking he was trying to scratch me again, but he simply left his paw there, as if to reassure me.

"Believe me," he said. "We are the ones glad to have a Densus Knight on our side."

I took a deep breath and placed a hand over his paw.

"Hope I can deliver."

We marched briskly to catch up with Esther. She had nearly traveled down an entire level of the golden road in the short time I spoke with Gordon. When she noticed me hurrying to catch up with her, she smiled self-consciously before slowing down her pace just enough so I could catch up to her without breaking into a jog.

"I never got to ask," I said when I was beside her. “Why did you drop a building on me in the private dream?”

She chuckled.

"You'll hate the answer," she said.

"Tell me."