Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (28/?) (Patreon)

The question stumped me for a good few moments.

The fact that it had been delivered with little in the way of threatening undertones, and instead, spoken with an excitable straight face made the whole thing that much more bizarre.

“Well enough.” I responded bluntly. “I can handle an open flame at the very least.” I quickly added.

“Good, good!” The armorer spoke with an excitable clatter, as he now turned his attention to a particularly uncluttered part of the workshop in front of us, a part of this grand space that I knew was a bit off from the very beginning.

It was just too unlike the surroundings, like one of those weirdly bright, luminous, clearly out-of-place objects in an ancient hand-drawn cartoon, or in one of those retro-classic video games; the really obvious parts of the background that you knew the character had to interact with.

“Right! Ten steps back and stand clear of the center of the room!” The man shouted, refusing to comply himself, as it was clear his presence was needed to proceed with what I assumed was going to be a tour of the real guts of the workshop.

He held both of his permanently gloved hands in front of him, above the lip of the circular area that had been marked out in the middle of the room.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 450% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

Then, just like that, the ground beneath us began quaking.

What was formerly a single solid piece of granite, was now coming apart at the seams, revealing itself to be a series of carefully chiseled bricks whose edges were so seamless that they just blended into a solid mass when pressed against each other.

Parts of the granite began levitating upwards, whilst others began descending downwards into the Earth.

This was followed by a sharp, shrill, angry hissing as the room was suddenly bathed in clouds of superheated steam, spreading out in every possible direction.

ALERT: EXTERNAL TEMPERATURES EXCEEDING SAFE LEVELS. 200… 225… 297… 327 DEGREES CELSIUS. PASSIVE HEAT SHIELDING NOMINAL. INTERNAL TEMPERATURE CONTROL NOMINAL.

Some sort of pressure seal had clearly been broken, and it was only thanks to some magic-based air ventilation system that the place just didn’t blow up in a violent display of engineering oversight.

It took a few seconds for the steam to clear, and a few more seconds more for the stones to fully descend, forming what I could only be described as an intricate spiral staircase that descended hundreds of feet straight into the earth below.

Except this didn’t just lead straight down into an inky black abyss like one would expect from a journey deep into a hidden room or a basement.

No.

In fact, it was the exact opposite.

As all I could see from this vantage point was light, an enormous amount of it. Which was quickly tempered by a rapid tinting of the helmet’s lenses, revealing hints of an entire world beneath the academy’s grounds.

With a wordless glance and a gesture for me to follow, we both began our descent downwards.

“Watch your step! None of this was designed with anyone but me in mind, so I wouldn’t want to be responsible for what happens to those fleshy insides after plummeting a good two hundred or so feet!” The man announced jovially. Acknowledging the distressing lack of any handrails or any safety precautions that would’ve caused any OSHA inspector to go red in the face.

Whilst the sheer drop was nausea inducing, it didn’t bother me too much. I was physically assured by the fact that the suit's exoskeleton automatically compensated for each and every step. With any misstep or oversight on my part, simply overridden by its auto compensators. Mentally however, considering the amount of time I spent participating in recreational rooftop activities, and the compulsory training at the IAS that involved dealing with issues with heights in particular, I wasn’t all that bothered at all by this sheer drop.

To be honest, anyone who grew up in Acela with an ounce of interest in hobbies involving the outdoors, would’ve more than certain been acclimated to heights and vertigo. Given the fact that megatower rooftops and elevated public spaces were what really defined Acelan life.

Descending further into the underground workshop, it became very much clear that the armorer wasn’t exaggerating.

The workshop above was immediately put to shame, and then some, as I was led out from the staircase and onto an elevated scaffolding that was raised just twenty or so feet above an expansive room that went on for miles and miles around us.

Within the cavernous space were rows upon rows of what I could only describe as micro-forges, each generating an incredible amount of light and heat that was just compounded by how closely packed all of them were. Little self-contained work benches were spread amongst them, and what appeared to be a series of minecarts further connected each of these workstations together.

Each station seemed to be focused on the forging of a particular aspect of a weapon. I could see parts of blades, pommels, handguards, and various other pieces of an endless variety of pre-gunpowder era weaponry being crafted by hand. Or rather, by armored hands. As each and every station was manned by what I could only describe was miniature, simplified versions of the armorer.

The weapons being forged seemed to follow this trend of simplification as well. As the bits and pieces of weaponry weren’t anywhere nearly as intricate as the ones above. There were no written inscriptions, no fancy engravings, not even the gold trimmings or finishings that I’d expected from a magical weapon. Instead, they seemed to be rather plain and simple. Well crafted, sure, but still plain.

Everything here was forged and crafted by hand, before being sent via a series of carts, pushed along through means unknown, towards what I could only describe as assembly benches. Where an being composed only of armor, assembled each individual piece together, before sending them off even further down the line.

It didn’t take long for me to realize what all this was.

The ramifications of this was dawning upon me as the man finally landed a hand on my shoulder, just as my perceptions on the Nexus took yet another drastic shift.

“This is-”

“This is a manufactorium, Emma Booker.” The man spoke with glee. “For you see, each handsome golem you see there? Well, they’re parts of me. Or more specifically, they’re fragments. Aspects of my memory and experiences that have been extracted and imbued with a single task in mind, and a single role to perform, with the knowledge needed just for a single specialized task.” The man began, as he leaned against one of the few pieces of railing that existed on this elevated platform. “You see, Emma Booker, any realm can birth legendary blacksmiths. Such as yours, constructing the impressive armor that I now see before me. The problem lies in what happens when that skill inevitably ends, and-, well I’m getting a bit ahead of myself there.” The man paused, clearly forcing himself to divert the trajectory of the conversation, which was one of the first few instances of discretion I’d seen of the man so far. “The problem also lies in what happens if you need more than what a lone smith can produce, and if that’s really enough to build the foundations of an advanced society off of.”

I could hear a slyness beginning to form in the man’s voice, as it was clear that if he still had a face, he’d be grinning with pride right about now. “This is what we smiths, artificers, forgers, and enchanters have managed to solve. For the gifts and skills, the talents and experiences, the magical potential of an individual is no longer isolated to that one person. Why, it would be a shame for someone like myself to be relegated to producing ten swords a day would it not? That rate of smithing wouldn’t be remotely enough to arm a squad of outer guardsman. This is where manufactoriums come in. It allows for the mass proliferation of both the gifts, skills, and experiences of a single master weaponsmith, to be disseminated amongst hundreds of thousands of hands. It allows for a contemporary civilization to even exist in the first place. It takes the small pool of those talented and gifted, and expands on them ten, hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands, or even millions of times over! This does, of course, heavily depend on the skills, systems, and spells in place. However, the goal is ultimately the same: to multiply the reach of magic, by allowing the proliferation of artifices on a grand scale.”

I was stunned.

Not because of the scale of industry before me of course.

But because of the fact that the Nexus was even capable of any industry, or even the concept of mass production to begin with.

This changes things.

And brings into question so many more observations I’d made with the likes of Thacea and Thalmin.

“Sorecar, forgive me if I’m confused or something here, but aside from my own realm, don’t all other adjacent realms have mana and thus magic?”

“That is correct, Emma Booker!” The man beamed back.

“Then I need to ask, why were my peers so shocked when-”

When they were hit with the idea of mass production. Was what I wanted to say. However, letting that spill right now might not be the best thing to do.

So I tried skirting around it.

“-when they mentioned the Nexian Outer Guard? The way they mentioned it made me think that the power of each outer guardsman was somehow unattainable. But given how magic is clearly capable of all of this, I’m just-”

“Hah! They’re adjacent realmers like yourself, Emma Booker.” The man interjected, as if sensing where my line of questioning was going. “Adjacent realmers, even ones that have been partners to the Nexus for tens of thousands of years, still lack the capacity to do what we do here in the Nexus. Indeed, it isn’t surprising why even your newfound peers are impressed by our outer guards.”

All of this began making so much sense.

The concentration of production, of industries of scale, through a bastardized version of industrialization, all contained and kept within a single dimension… if the Nexus really was the only one capable of this. It didn’t surprise me how and why they’d remained in the position they were in. Even with what I assumed were hundreds or thousands of other adjacent realms under their belt.

These pricks had somehow found a way to industrialize magic, keeping a functional gap in the process.

“I apologize if I’ve been too headstrong and overly enthusiastic about this entire state of affairs, Emma Booker.” The man broke me out of my reverie. “I’d just assumed that since you seemed enthusiastic to learn more about the true underpinnings of our advanced magical society, that you’d be alright with my tirades. Which, admittedly, can come across as a tad bit too intense in some regards so I do apologize.” The man offered.

The over apologeticness was a welcome break from what could’ve quickly devolved into another Ilunor-like spat. If the lizard were here, or heck, if any other member of the faculty was here to give me the tour, I assumed that we’d be neck deep in an intense monologue or speech about how vastly superior the Nexus was and how Earthrealm was probably just a bunch of thatched huts next to a river or something. The fact that the armorer was at least self-aware of how condescending these speeches could go was a breath of fresh air, and honestly, says a lot about the type of person he was despite the whole pride he had for this whole factory he had under his belt.

“It’s alright, Sorecar.” I managed out. “It’s just a lot to take in, is all.” I spoke, omitting a lot in the process.

Oh how I wanted to just bring up how this place reminded me of the 19th century’s burgeoning industries. But I just had to resist, at least until I could fully trust the man.

“So is this like, the only manufactorium in the Nexus? I can’t imagine there’d be many more soulbound like you walking around holding the keys to operations this massive.” I continued asking, digging into the specifics now.

Something that the EVI was probably eager to listen in on.

“Ah, hah. That’s… Apologies, Emma Booker. Tackling that question is indeed a tricky one. I do not know the specifics myself, as I only know of known-manufactoriums, not crown-manufactoriums. In addition, I…” The man paused, as if needing to take stock of what he was about to say. Something that was strikingly rare, which meant that whatever was about to be said next was either something that really hit him hard emotionally, or that was important enough to think over before actually saying it out loud. “I… can’t say for certain.” He uttered out with a despondent sigh. “And no, this isn’t because I don’t want to tell you. I genuinely simply lack the knowledge necessary to tell you. The Academy, as is tradition, ensures that they send a representative on my behalf to both the Grand Fair and the Weapons Festival. As I’ve mentioned prior, it’s a physical impossibility for me to leave the castle grounds, so it’s only practical that they do this. As a result, I only hear relevant feedback pertaining to the performance of my weapon against other smithies and weaponsmiths. Rarely do I hear anything pertaining to the state of the actual trade, and most certainly not something as concrete as a solid number as to how many such tradesmen and smiths exist. Though, as a rough estimate, the last Weapons Festival had a total of ten thousand applicants, in which only one thousand were chosen for candidacy for the annual weapons fair competition. Which could only mean there’s at least ten thousand out there.” The man shrugged, clearly more disappointed and caught up in his lack of participation than his limited knowledge of the world outside the castle grounds.

This genuinely bothered me.

Again, not the fact that at least ten thousand of these places existed.

Even if that was on the low end of the spectrum, that was still comparable to pre-intrasolar Earth.

And that was just small arms manufacturing, if I were to get pedantic about things.

No, what bothered me was once again the matter of the armorer’s plight.

Not only was the man unable to leave this little corner of the world, but he wasn’t even able to enjoy the thrill of mingling with his fellow weapons enthusiasts. Or in this case, was it more accurate to say enchantment enthusiasts?

Whatever it was, a new questline soon popped up into my head.

One that I knew was more than likely a dumb idea.

But when did that stop any humans from at least trying? Or at the very least, putting it to writing?

“EVI.”

“Yes, Cadet Booker?”

“Add a new questline: Find a way to get Sorecar to this year’s, or next year’s, or whichever year’s Weapons Fair.”

“Error: Unknown Request. Clarify, what do you mean by add new questline?” The AI shot back with an attitude.

“Just, make it a memo. A memo with an indefinite time limit. God knows I already have enough on my fucking plate as it is.”

“Acknowledged. Memo added. Would you like to set priority?”

“Not yet, but remind me like sometime after the dust has settled please.”

“Acknowledged, Cadet Booker.”

The fact that the idea was actually now saved somewhere in the back of the EVI’s mind satisfied me for now.

However, it was clear Sorecar was once again starting to worry, if his twiddling fingers were any indication.

My brief bouts of silence probably weren’t doing this whole newrealmer is in complete shock at the Nexus’ capabilities stereotype any favors.

Though to be fair… perhaps that was a good thing? It did help with my aims of keeping any hints  of humanity’s capabilities under wraps as best as possible.

“Emma Booker, are you-”

“I’m fine, Sorecar, sorry. I was lost in thought. All of this is just so incredibly… shocking to me.” I acknowledged. Again, sort of diving into the lie of omission territory again.

By maintaining a sort of shocked, out-of-my-depth outward appearance, the armorer wouldn’t be entirely clued in to how normalized the scale of this entire operation was for me.

“That’s quite alright, take all the time you need, Emma Booker.” The man reassured me, speaking in a tone that actually felt heartfelt and genuine. Moreso than even the gardener from earlier before.

Honestly, compared to that guy, the armorer was a lot less shady.

“Thanks Sorecar.” I returned warmly, before diving back into the intel-gathering driver’s seat. “There is something that’s been bothering me though, even after all of your explanations.”

“And what is that?”

Now was time for the million dollar question. One that’d start to paint a better picture of the Nexus. Or at least, I hoped so.

“Why do you need so many manufactoriums? Surely you can’t have an army that large to arm?” I asked without hesitation.

To which the armorer, yet again, replied without missing a single beat.

“It’s not just about arming them, Emma Booker.” He began, before drifting into yet another tangent. “Though I admit, the scale of smithing and production is necessary, as the outer guardsman of a single Nexian Duchy typically numbers somewhere in the hundreds of thousands.” Before once again, getting back on topic. “But beyond that, more than that really, It’s about upkeep and maintenance as well.” The man concluded simply, before vaguely gesturing at an entire section of the factory. “More than half of the manufactorium is dedicated to repair and re-enchantment work. The fact of the matter is, since these weapons are being given to those with a mana-field but lacking in the ability to manipulate mana, the weapons instead need to rely on either their own source of mana or the surrounding environmental mana to supply and sustain their magic. In the case of the former, they’re equipped with mana-ducts, which allows for the weapon to draw directly from a portable mana ampoule. Whilst in the case of the latter, the weapon instead draws from the surrounding mana to power its spells. Regardless of which method is used, both cause severe strain on the weapon. This strain can be as mild as an atrophy of the core, or as severe as a mana-channeling dysfunction, causing the weapon to fail catastrophically. As a result of this, most manufactoriums are dedicated to around-the-clock maintenance work. It’s the unglamorous side of the magic-fueled world we live in. And it’s one often overlooked by the elites of the adjacent realms as they chase after flashy spells, and not long-term investments such as these.”

To say that answer was nothing short of enlightening would’ve been an understatement.

My whole metaphor of this being industrialized magic really was more accurate than I had initially thought.

This was a lot to take in. However, I bet that if I had been anything but a human, then this more or less would’ve just completely sent me into a frenzy of hysterics.

I couldn’t imagine coming from an actual, proper, medieval world of even lesser advanced magic, then being shown all of this.

But again, whilst unexpected, this level of industry wasn’t at all unprecedented at least by humanity’s standards.

Similarly, I knew I couldn’t just dismiss the Nexus’ credibility in defense just yet.

For as much as I was learning about the Nexus right now, this was only a small, tiny glimpse into what was so clearly a much bigger picture.

Which led me to my next point, which would likewise be as much of a headache to write about in my report as this whole revelation as to  the Nexus’ capabilities was bound to be.

“If I understand this right, the Nexus has been dealing with adjacent realms for tens of thousands of years, correct?”

“Correct.” Scorecard nodded.

“Then why hasn’t it caught on elsewhere? Surely I’m not the first person from another realm to be peering into a facto-, er, a manufactoriums.” I quickly caught myself.

“Of course not! However, it’s quite rare that we get any students down here. Like I said before, Emma Booker. Artificing, smithing, and the nitty-gritty of magical production are all the unglamorous sides to an advanced magical society. The students here, being primarily noble born, find even the notion of talking to me something of a mark of pariah-ship. Their goal here isn’t to learn about how such things work, but rather, to mingle, forge alliances, and to learn about the strengthening of the self through the study of mana manipulation. There’s a reason why Artificing Theory was removed from the curriculum millenia ago. If memory serves me right, perhaps even sometime before the war.” The man mused but eventually shrugged it off.

The man was wordy, but that really wasn’t an issue for me, not when it provided more context for me to write up my reports with.

“I apologize for reiterating Sorecar but, you haven’t yet answered my initial question about why it hasn’t caught on-”

“Oh! Apologies! This old head of mind gets a bit preoccupied sometimes! It’s a bit jarring seeing myself from the manufactorium floor!” The man spoke off-handedly, which brought yet another question to mind which I kept for later. “But yes, the answer to that is simple really. It’s a result of two major factors. One: no other realm has managed to figure out a means to perfect memory-infusion in the manner that we have. And two: to compound this issue, no other realm possesses the sheer richness of mana that is present within the Nexus. So even if they do manage to find a means to safe and stable memory-infusion, the scarcity of mana simply wouldn’t allow all of those spell-affixed souls to exist, let alone to imbue the weapons core with enough mana to be effective.”

The troubling state of affairs just kept compounding one atop of another.

So the issue wasn’t just scale, nor was it a pure lack of knowledge. Those could be overcome with time.

No, the issue here ran deeper than that.

It was the nature of the adjacent realms themselves.

Which more or less fit the narrative Belnor had mentioned during the orientation, she did mention how the Nexus had a richer air of mana than the other realms.

Come to think of it, even the Apprentice made note of this during her whole attempt to cover up the sudden burst of mana radiation during breakfast. As she cited how this sort of thing was to be expected given how the Nexus was just that rich in mana.

There was just one more thing that bugged me. One more aspect of this whole trip that I wanted to address now.

“Sorecar.”

“Yes Emma Booker?”

“Is showing me around these facilities actually allowed?”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be?”

“I… isn’t there a concern that I might just take the ideas I see here, and apply it in my own realm? Aren’t you concerned that once this concept gets out, that other realms would follow suit?”

“Oh, in the case of the typical newrealmer? Most certainly. I’d have to get that approved by the faculty first, but more often than not I’ve yet to have seen a single student be prevented from touring the manufactoirum.”

“Then why didn’t you need approval for me?”

The man paused, then let out a series of plate-on-plate rattles, what I assumed was an attempt to make his laughter sound more boisterous. “That’s quite simple, Emma Booker. For one, I sincerely do appreciate your curiosity and your willingness to learn. Rarely do I have an opportunity to educate in my field of expertise. So I’m taking it upon myself to… bend rules and decorum somewhat” The man jostled about, perhaps in an attempt to mimic a wink. “And two? I have little worry about any of this dissemination of information being of any use in your realm.”

I paused, doing a double take as I cocked my head to the side in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

“You said it yourself, Emma Booker. You hail from a mana-less realm. All of this.” He gestured once more to the factory. “Is impossible to do without mana. In short, I do not need approval from the faculty, because there is no risk of this knowledge being of any practical use in your realm as without mana. Manufacturing of such scale, and the creation of such items are simply impossible to do in a mana-less realm.”