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

Hey everyone! So there are a few notes about the edits that I made for this chapter's revisions. The first thing is that there have been a lot of revisions made, most of it in order to better connect the flow of the dialogue as well as to break up what I felt sounded like exposition that needed to come across more naturally. So I did my best in making sure that everything was integrated in a way where both characters are more actively engaged. I suggest that everyone check out the revised version, as I've made a good deal of changes to it. Last week was a really tough week for me, as I had to take a really major exam that completely frazzled me, so I feel like that might be the reason why I feel like this chapter requires a lot of revisions than usual. I do apologize for this, and I hope you guys enjoy the revised version of this chapter! :D As always, the revised sections are underlined! :D

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 situation that much more bizarre.

“Well enough.” I responded bluntly. “My suit 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 right 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 that 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 out 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 started 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 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 jets of superheated steam shot out from the gaps rapidly forming between the bricks, bathing the room in a blanket of thick white vapor which could’ve easily spelled the doom of anyone with unprotected skin or fur.

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 gross engineering oversight.

It took a few seconds for the steam to clear, and a few more seconds for the stones to fully descend, forming an intricate spiral staircase that stretched down hundreds of feet straight into what I’d previously assumed had been nothing but packed dirt.

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 should it plummet down a good two hundred or so feet!” The man announced jovially, acknowledging the distressing lack of any handrails or safety precautions that would’ve caused an OSHA inspector to go red in the face.

Whilst the sheer drop was nausea inducing, it didn’t bother me too much. On the logical side of things, I was 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. On the psychological side of things however, I honestly wasn’t too bothered either. All of those hours of recreational rooftop activities during middle and high school, and the compulsory training at the IAS in dealing with the psychological effects of height-sensitive operations, had made the sight of a sheer drop only mildly worrying.

To be honest, anyone who grew up in Acela with an ounce of interest in hobbies involving the outdoors, would already have been used to heights and vertigo. You would’ve had to, since most of the actual outdoor public spaces were typically zoned atop of megatower rooftops or the purpose-built elevated sections of the city.

“Just a few more steps, we’re almost there!” The armorer shouted back with a reassuring huff.

After a few more minutes of non-stop descent, I was eventually led out from the staircase and onto an elevated scaffolding that was raised twenty or so feet above an expansive room. A room that just seemed to go on forever in every possible direction.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 1000% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

And one that was practically bathed in mana-radiation from so many distinct sources that the HUD found it easier to collate it all into a neat stack of notifications.

Though after a quick glance at everything, it soon became clear just what these sources were.

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 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, then sent along a predetermined path via autonomous carts, pushed along through means unknown, towards what I could only describe as assembly benches. Where beings of armor about the same size as the armorer himself, but lacking in the detailing department, assembled each piece together before loading them up and sending them off further down the line.

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

The ramifications of this were just starting to sink in as I felt the man’s hollow glove landing on my shoulder with a dull thunk.

“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 just enough of the knowledge required to do so.” 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, clearly, as who else could have been responsible for the immaculate craftsmanship of the armor I see before me? The problem, however, lies in what happens when that skill inevitably meets its untimely demise, and-, well I’m getting a bit ahead of myself here.” The man hastily corrected himself, diverting the trajectory of the conversation. This marked perhaps one of the first few instances of discretion I’d seen from the man so far. “The problem also lies in what happens if you need more than what a lone smith can produce, as the inherent limitations of manpower starts to limit the potential of any fledgling civilization desiring greatness.”

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 dedicated our lives to solving, and it is with our collective efforts that we’ve managed to go beyond merely solving this little predicament. For we now live in an era where the gifts and skills, the talents and experiences, the magical potential of an individual is no longer bound 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.” He made a point of putting a hand to where his mouth should have been in an exaggerated display of faux-indignity. “This is where manufactoriums come in. It allows for the mass proliferation of the magical gifts, the learned skills, and the time-tested 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 tens, 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. Though the goal is ultimately the same: to multiply the reach of magic, by allowing the proliferation of artifices on a grand scale.” The armorer’s voice grew louder and louder throughout his boisterous speech, causing the platform to quite literally shake as a part of his show of theatrics. Even after it was all over, I could hear parts of the speech still echoing throughout the seemingly endless cavern.

At the end of it all, 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 what I’d been able to discern from the likes of Thacea and Thalmin thus far.

As all of this stood in stark contrast to the advancement and scale of society the pair seemed to be hinting at throughout all of our interactions.

“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 you to clarify something for me. Earlier today, one of my peers had mentioned something about the Nexian Outer Guard. The specifics of the conversation currently elude me, but I digress.” Okay Emma, calm down, you’re starting to scare me with the flowery language here. SIOP says you’re supposed to match the local dialect, not compete in it. A part of me thought to myself. “The way they spoke of the Outer Guard gave off the implication that their own realms were somehow unable to field armies to a similar standard. If all adjacent realms have magic, then surely the extent of how well-equipped the Outer Guard is shouldn’t be surprising to them, correct?” I asked, phrasing things as diplomatically as I could. A part of me wanted to be upfront about it, to ask the armorer outright why it was that both Thacea and Thalmin had been stumped by the concept of mass production, if a magic equivalent clearly existed. Though phrasing it like that would mean I’d be giving away hints of Earth’s capabilities before I was ready to divulge it.

“Hah! They’re adjacent realmers like yourself, Emma Booker.” The man answered without a hint of hesitation. “Adjacent realmers, even ones that have been partnered to the Nexus for tens of thousands of years, still lack the capacity to do what we do here in the Nexus. With all that being said, it isn’t surprising why your newfound peers hold our Outer Guardsman in such high regards, since no equivalent exists beyond the Nexus.”

Since no equivalent exists beyond the Nexus…

All of this began making so much sense.

The concentration of production, the accumulation and buildup of manufacturing capabilities, all of it through a bastardized version of conventional industrialization… if the Nexus really was the only one capable of this, then it was obvious why they’d managed to come out on top.

And this wasn’t even accounting for whatever magical ace-in-the-hole they had in the form of their actual magic-users.

However, despite its impressiveness, all of this did raise another question. Why didn’t the other adjacent realms just copy-

“I apologize if I’ve been too headstrong and overly enthusiastic about this entire state of affairs, Emma Booker.” The man quickly added, pulling me out of my next train of thought. “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 intensive in some regards.” 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, it spoke a lot about the type of person he was despite the pride he obviously had for his accomplishments.

“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, including my rampant desires to make flat-out comparisons of this manufactorium to Earth and the Ind-Net.

“I can imagine it must be quite overwhelming, in which case, I’m thankful that your first exposure to a manufactorium was here at the Academy and not some place else within the Nexus.” The man responded off-handedly.

Which sparked an entirely new line of questioning in my head.

“So this sort of thing isn’t uncommon in the Nexus?” I continued asking, digging into the specifics now. “Just how commonplace are manufactoriums?”

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, making this the second time he’d purposefully halted himself mid-speech. Which, given his track record so far, could only mean one of two things. Either he realized what he was about to get into warranted some level of discretion, or he was getting into territory that hit him hard emotionally.

“I… can’t say for certain.” He finally managed to utter out with a despondent sigh. “And no, this isn’t a matter of discretion or anything of the sort. I just genuinely lack the knowledge necessary to tell you. You see, when I said I was bound to the Academy, I truly did mean it in every capacity of the word. For not only am I physically restricted to the grounds within its walls, but so too am I unable to socially project myself beyond my narrow sliver of relevance and utility. Thus, correspondences to the world beyond the Academy are few and far in between. The only exception to this rule are the various Weapons Fairs of the Nexus, but even that has its limitations. The Academy, as is tradition, ensures that they send a representative on my behalf to both the Grand Fair and the Weapons Festival. As a result, I only hear relevant feedback pertaining to the performance of my weapons 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 of just how many such tradesmen and smiths exist.” He took another deep breath, placing a single hand to his helmet’s visor, mimicking how someone might pinch the bridge of their nose in deep thought. “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 Crowns’ Fair. Which would imply that there’s at least ten thousand currently in existence.” The man ended his lengthy tirade with the same despondent sigh he’d started it with.

A sigh which just didn’t sit right with me, as my concern began to grow.

And it wasn’t because of the number of factories, even with the low-ball estimate of ten-thousand.

Those were rookie numbers, and it made the Nexus’ manufacturing output to be something more comparable to pre-intrasolar Earth.

No, what bothered me was the sheer unfairness of it all. Of a person having to deal with five thousand whole years of living in the shadow of his work, without once being able to actually enjoy the best part of it.

Seeing it in action with a crowd cheering on.

With all of that being said, an idea quickly began manifesting in the back of my gremlin mind.

An idea that, while kind of dumb, was at least worth trying. Or at the very least, being put to writing.

A field trip was now on the table.

“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 we get the crate back or someone blows up.”

“Acknowledged, Cadet Booker.”

The fact that the idea was actually now saved somewhere in the back of the EVI’s dataspace 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… surprising.” I acknowledged, diving into the lie of omission territory yet again.

“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, a far cry from most of my interactions with the faculty so far.

“Thanks Sorecar.” I returned politely, before getting back into the intel-gathering driver’s seat. “But there is something else that’s starting to bother me.”

“And what is that?” The man responded with a simple head-tilt.

Now was time for the trillion dollar question. One that’d help me hit my threat assessment report right out of the park.

“You mentioned how there’s at least ten thousand manufactoriums out there, so that got me thinking… Why do you need so many?” I asked without hesitation.

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

“It’s not just about arming more soldiers, or simply expanding the guard, 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 maintenance.” 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 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, causing the weapon to become permanently inert. Or it can be 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.

Whilst this was a lot to take in, it probably didn’t even come close to what it would’ve felt like being introduced to all of this as a typical newrealmer. Especially if they’d arrived fresh from a medieval world with a lesser advanced state of magic.

Being introduced to a magical equivalent of a ye olde factory as a human just didn't have that same effect. However, it didn’t need to, for me to be on my toes.

The fact that the factory even existed in the first place threw off my general assumptions about the Nexus. With that one assumption thrown off, everything else was fair game, who knows what other ‘fantasy conventions’ would be thrown out the window?

I couldn’t just dismiss the Nexus’ defense credibility just yet, especially as my mission involved assessing any and all potential threats on this side of the portal with extreme scrutiny.

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, one that tied back to an earlier topic that’d been derailed earlier by the armorer.

“You say that these sorts of investments are often overlooked by the nobles attending the Academy.” I began, jumping straight off of the armorer’s throwaway statements. “And you also stated earlier that the Adjacent Realms lack the capacity to do what you do here in the Nexus, at least in terms of manufacturing and production.” I carefully prodded, before pinning both of my arms to my side with a slight cock of my head. “I just find it hard to believe that’s possible.”

“Excuse me?” Sorecar reared his whole body back, clearly not anticipating this sort of rebuttal after what felt like a flurry of non stop lecturing.

“It’s been thousands of years, surely the knowledge of these manufactoriums have spread to at least someone in one of the Adjacent Realms?”

“Well, yes, I do not dispute that. A select few of course, but, I digress. I’ve actually conducted this tour a few times before the war.” The man paused, as if realizing where I was going with this, as he started changing his tune. “Though the possession of knowledge, does not directly translate to its replication somewhere else.”

“Over the course of a lifetime? Perhaps not, but if the idea is there, then wouldn’t the code be cracked with enough time? I mean, I’d assume some adjacent realms have been connected to the Nexus for tens of thousands of years now, correct?” I shot back.

“Correct, and if this were any other matter. Say, the creation of an nth level golem, or certain planar-level spells, then you would most certainly be in the right, Emma Booker. However… this issue goes beyond a mere deficit in knowledge, willpower, time, or even political capital. This is a matter which relates to the very fundamental nature of the adjacent realms themselves.” The man spoke emphatically, gesticulating less wildly than before, making it clear that at some point he would’ve made for a pretty good lecturer. “You see, the Adjacent Realms cannot replicate a manufactorium, because they lack the richness of mana that is present in the Nexus. So even if they do manage to find a means of safe memory-infusion, and even if they had all of my trade secrets, the scarcity of mana simply wouldn’t allow for the fragments below us to exist in the first place. Not to mention the mana required for everything else you don’t see happening within the manufactorium’s walls.”

I needed a moment to process that, as I went silent for a few solid seconds.

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 what Belnor had mentioned during orientation, that the whole five day grace period thing was a mandatory break in order for the bodies of adjacent realmers to adapt to the richer air of mana in the Nexus.

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 mentioned how such things were possible given how much richer the Nexus was in mana.

“So it’s an outright physical impossibility.” I mumbled out, as I regarded my next question carefully.

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?”

“You mentioned how the last tour you did of this place was sometime before the war. So I have to ask: am I even allowed in here?”

“In the case of the typical newrealmer? I’d have to file a proper request to the dean or the vice dean.”

“So, you’re breaking the rules a bit by allowing me to be here?”

“Simply put, yes, Emma Booker.”

I paused at that, realizing that given the context of the draconian society that was the Academy, that this was a much bigger deal than it probably would be back on Earth.

“Why?” I managed out.

“It’s really quite simple, Emma Booker. For one, I merely wish to reciprocate your enthusiasm for learning. Rarely do I have an opportunity to educate others in my field of expertise. So I’m taking it upon myself to… bend the rules and decorum somewhat.” The man nodded a few times to emphasize this point, his tonal shift reflecting his genuine desire just for a conversation. “And two? Anything I say here will be of absolutely no use for you in your realm. As all of this.” He gestured once more to the factory. “Is impossible to accomplish without mana. In short, I do not need approval from the faculty, as I find there to be no risk in bringing up and discussing any of these topics. As without any mana to speak of, replicating the very concept of a manufactorium, and the subsequent scale of its production, is simply an impossibility.”

I would be lying if I didn’t say I wasn’t feeling the unrepentant urge to take Sorecar, stuff him in one of my crates, and bring him back with me for the summer holidays.

If only he could get a sneak peek into the megafoundries in EarthRing, or the megaforges of the belt, or perhaps even the Jovian Stellar Foundries.

If only he knew the truth.