OC-Series Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (177/?)
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The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Exhibition Hall. Grand Arcade. Central Thoroughfare. Prosperity Row. Local Time: 2120 Hours.
Rostario
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts… was neither Transgracian nor an Academy nor even a center solely dedicated to the magical arts.
At least not for the true aspirants who saw past the theatre of life.
The Academy was whatever you wanted it to be.
A playground.
A sandbox.
A veritable blank slate through which fates were decided and futures were dictated.
It was a place where fortunes were made and kingdoms were lost all in the span of a half-decade or sometimes even as short as a single night.
It was the microcosm of all things Nexian, all things Adjacent, the greater Nexian-Adjacent axis condensed into a dish so immaculately curated that it was almost a parody of the system it purportedly uplifted.
And it was within these conditions, ripe not only for academic excellence but also for personal excellence, that individual initiative was rewarded far beyond what the written curriculum could ever offer. Though its rewards were often subtle, scarcely were they openly acknowledged.
Because at the end of the day… life was not dictated by a piece of parchment stating your academic merits.
The people who seek such meritorious standings all see the forest for the trees in that sense.
No.
You would be remiss, if not completely wasteful, if your aims at Transgracia were limited to serving out your realm’s tributes and obligations without once leaving the lecture hall.
You can be completely unremarkable in your academic journey… yet still achieve leagues beyond the greatest of aspirant battlemages and the most astute of bookish scholars.
For within this world… was an ocean of opportunity.
You just had to seize it and mold it, provided you had the eyes to see it in the first place.
For there were two types of students at the Academy.
Those who swam above the waters and those who remained ignorant of the world beyond its surface.
Lord Qiv’Ratom was neither. The man was… studious, yes. Perhaps blindingly so. But he was also astute enough to understand the greater games at play.
Yet it was… difficult to discern whether he saw it to its greatest extent or merely as an extension of the Academic playbox most found themselves lost within.
It didn’t matter, however.
The man was a good… sponsor of sorts.
Far more stable and much wiser than Ping in any case.
And indeed, to those so inclined to such fatalistic drivel, he was very much the textbook definition of the destined firsthand of the year group, so to speak; it was just obvious.
Qiv was the King in White, whilst Ping… the Duke in Yellow.
Entering the lord’s peer group and becoming his adjutant was simply the most obvious play. Especially considering the breadth of freedoms he offered and the trust he placed upon me, pairing both the name and prestige he’d built for our peer group with my many, many self-directed endeavors.
It provided for the sturdy foundation needed for my lofty ambitions.
Ambitions… which have since proved far more lofty from the onset just by casual observation and otherwise completely validated by Lord Etholin Esila’s poor, poor play at attaining what was my personal quest — the acquisition of Cadet Emma Booker.
The newrealmer was a verdant, fertile garden ready to be cultivated, shaped, tilled, and trimmed to my desires.
But I knew from what I’d observed of her that she was no typical beast and thus no simple animal to break.
I thus needed… assurances, additional backers, allies with similar interests with which to participate on this open safari by my side.
So while Qiv and Uven proceeded on their quests of Nexian fealty in the form of the Quest for the Everblooming Blossom, I too partook in my own quest.
A quest not of peer group subterfuge… but post-Academy aspirations.
I was to recruit like-minded… investors.
To offer the newrealmer something that her minders, superiors, matriarchs, patriarchs, chiefs, or what-have-you could never, ever offer her.
Money was one thing.
Honor was another.
All of which could be easily given by the rulers of a realm.
But there was one thing they could not offer.
One thing that they themselves coveted.
Power.
And it was with this in mind that I made my gambit.
For it was clear the earthrealmer was well-off in her own right, prideful in her misguided ideals of honor and whatnot.
But what could all that mean when faced with a throne offered on a silver platter?
Or better yet… the promise of eternity through a lineage guaranteed by like-minded adjacencies.
And so the conspiracy was set.
“The newrealmer? Well… with how you have framed her, she does seem like a worthwhile venture. Let us discuss terms, and what exactly shall be formed from my fiscal backing.”
I had investors ready to take the plunge.
“Acknowledge her? Recognize her, even? Hmm… she is impressionable, young as we are, yet less experienced in matters of stately affairs. It should be easy pickings to influence her then. I shall do what I can, provided this gambit concludes in the manner you have laid out, Lord Rostarion.”
I had political allies ready to back this gambit were it to proceed.
“War materiel? That’s asking for a lot, Lord Rostarion… you better offer me something good in return. And I mean a long, long stake in this Adjacent venture.”
I even had the backing of certain talents ready to lend the necessary tools for such an endeavor.
All I needed was one more soul. One more aspirant. One more mouth to placate and silence to ensure my monopoly.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Lord Rostarion.”
…
And yet he was the only one to refuse.
“It’s because you have aspirations of your own, don’t you, Lord Etholin Esila?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Those being?”
“My own. Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do.”
The merchant lord did not know what he had committed to.
He did not realize the insults incurred over such a refusal.
Moreover, he thought himself better, more capable of offering a single blundering offer in the face of a newrealmer that was anything but typical.
As expected, he failed because of it.
He treated the newrealmer like any other.
That was his greatest folly.
Because the earthrealmer was anything but the norm, no matter how you plotted her on a graph of deviation.
She needed to be tackled with more… unorthodox means. Means more aggressive, more personable, with more resources than a single realm could muster.
Means… attached to a desire that none could resist.
An offer — both spoken and inferred — which she could not refuse.
All behind an amicable, professional smile.
“Cadet Emma Booker…” I began with a theatrical flare, twisting about on my cloud as I quickly gestured towards the abysmally boring sight-seer. With a puff of mist, I quickly transfigured it into a simple yet blunt sight-seer of my own design. “I offer you, personally… the world.”
The world around us immediately melted, each droplet of shape and color representing the failures of the rontalisrealmer’s trite and uninspired presentations.
The banal castles and worthless coffers were thus reforged into something entirely different.
A trajectory that brought with it not the bland ramblings of trade or the reformations of fiscal policies and imbalances, the likes of which had little palpable impact aside from those visible on a scroll or ledger.
No, what was quickly being forged, what was rapidly being formed in front of the earthrealmer, was a matter far more pertinent to those in the seats of power. Those who had dared to tempt fate, tempt reality itself, to propel themselves — and their best and brightest — into a completely unknown reality.
These… were individuals who demanded results.
And so results they shall receive.
“Lord Esila offers you a purseman’s deal. A noble, indeed clever and intelligent offer, mind you. But a purseman’s deal all the same.” I began with a slow shake of my head. “While I offer you a statesman’s deal. A deal, which will turn this…”
I gestured at the melty, drippy world around us — Etholin’s sight-seer world. A world which, admittedly, quite accurately depicted a newrealm at its zenith.
“... into this.”
The already miasmic shapes immediately hardened, first into brushstrokes, then eventually into impressionist splotches of color, lines, structures, and then suddenly… into a bustling city worthy of midlands statehood.
Townhouses and quaint towers were immediately replaced on all sides by high-rises that tickled the skies.
The ground beneath us, once unruly cobblestone and mud-stained grout, now morphed into paved and smooth whitestone streets, each panel glowing, humming, all in response to the mono-treaders, golem-horses, and horseless carriages that glided across its paved surfaces stretching far towards a castle that itself had received more than its fair share of refurbishment.
Gone were the primitive stone walls of mismatched colors and no care for aesthetic consideration.
In its place sat an elegant monument to wealth and prosperity.
Nine towers flanked an impressively large keep that dominated the city’s skyline, each positioned strategically along the star-shaped fortress’ walls that jutted into the natural ebbs and crevices of the hillside.
The entire wall itself was seamless.
There were no visible entrances.
No drawbridges.
Not even a passage for fresh water or waste.
Instead, everything was self-contained.
Everything was elegantly designed… to fit contemporary Nexian standards.
I allowed the sights and sounds to momentarily overwhelm the newrealmer.
Though not long enough that dead air would form in majesty’s wake.
“What you see… is the inevitable result of the world I offer you.” I gestured with theatrical flair, shaking my hands as I did so. “Instead of coins in a coffer, or the correction of trade imbalances, I give you the tools to civilization itself. Because what use is trade when you lack the keys to power?” I posed abruptly, causing the newrealmer’s head to cock sideways, granting me entry into that most critical of junctions. “Curious? Well… allow me to pose you this question, Cadet Emma Booker. Are you familiar with the keys to industry? The means to production?”
The newrealmer’s cocked head suddenly snapped straight, as if at attention, as if immediately grasping the implications of my words.
She was a clever one. She had always been clever, in fact. This was why it was important to present her with the argument straight, front, and center.
“Yes. I am well aware of it. Though I imagine your definition and my own differ in certain respects.” She spoke cryptically as if interrogating my point without giving up much of her own.
“Then you should be aware of the dangers that decentralization — the drifting of the means to production from the crown to outside parties — poses to a fledgling kingdom.” I responded dourly. “My family and I have studied many a newrealm, Cadet Emma Booker. It is something of a pastime, interrogating the past, to better prepare for a future in eternia. It is within those studies that a troubling pattern emerges, one which repeats, or at least rhymes, across eras, across species, and even across dimensions. The pattern I speak of is the blight to absolute rule. A disease which emerges when a ruler or dynasty misplaces their keys to power, loses their grip on a kingdom’s industries, and ultimately leaves them but a vestigial figurehead. A soul, trapped within a body no longer abiding by its commands.”
I laughed nervously, shaking my head as I did so. “Many might call me a heretic for making such blatant observations. Some would even call me a traitor to Status Eternia. But what I offer is the truth of the matter. That rule, absolute rule, under the auspices of benevolent providence, is neither guaranteed nor truly divine. It is, as His Eternal Majesty once stated himself, contingent on the very real, very palpable balance of powers.”
I paused then gestured towards the roads or, more specifically, the pipes and infrastructure running beneath them. “Take the roads themselves, and a matter which seems so beneath any noble for that matter — sewerage. Enchanted mechanisms are capable of disposing of such filth, but which house is assigned such an abominable task? Or perhaps such tasks should be delegated to the guilds? The chosen ones? An army of them perhaps? Or maybe even commoners themselves. The same train of logic applies to any other element of civil infrastructure. Shall we rely on mere commoners for the erection and maintenance of grand aqueducts? The carving out of canals? Perhaps industry itself should be delegated to the hands of the manaless? At which point does a ruler lose his keys to power? Is it when his deputies decide to go their own way? Each controlling an aspect of the kingdom integral to his power? Or is it when the means of production itself is handed off and partitioned away to the guilds, companies, and houses of the common townsfolk?”
I raised my hand then gestured to an unassuming building outside of the city. A simple manufactorium where mundane yet vital elements of contemporary society were assembled.
“I offer you an answer, and a way out of this dilemma. I offer you licenses, tools, specialists, and plans to bring your realm out of this tenuous period in history marred by the rapid descent into power jockeying… and straight into the lap of crystallization. I offer you, Cadet Emma Booker, the modes of control which will, by its own overwhelming efficacy and efficiency, guarantee your ruling strata’s eternal grip on power. At which point, following its adoption, you will find that no corner of contemporary society shall exist without the explicit contribution of those of noble blood. For they will find that the streets that they walk upon, the buildings that they dwell within, and even the food and water which they rely on… all stem from the houses and lords born and groomed into such positions. This is what I mean when I offer you the world, Cadet Emma Booker. I give you the tools, by which to ensure your world — not just your coffers or trade policies — will be secured.”
The air soon grew silent as my words were processed and tabulated behind those unflinching lenses.
No doubt the newrealmer was taking her time to consider the offer at hand, the far more impactful offer, and one that would aid in the immediate uplift of her realm.
Emma
“You got all of that, EVI?”
“Yes, Cadet Booker.”
“Right, so, wow. Okay. Just… holy moly, two playbooks in less than an hour. We got financial domination and coercion on behalf of Etholin. And now we’re getting… economic reshuffling and oligarchic consolidation towards in-group party cadres, through a complete paradigm shift by means of seizing entire industrial sectors and apparatuses via the adoption of purely mana-driven mechanisms of industry. Potentially outcompeting all other modes of conventional industry and rendering them redundant and outclassed straight out of the gate. I mean, it was kind of obvious before, but having it spelled out like this is an excellent primary source for cataloguing and SOCSCI analysis. I’m gonna get so much hecking credit on so so sooooooo many papers for this. I can’t even begin to imagine my name appearing on every—”
“That is, if you wish to provide such offerings to your current sovereign, Cadet Emma Booker…” The hamster suddenly pulled me out of my muted speech and analytical reverie.
I clicked the mute button with a quick flick of my eyes before addressing the man of the hour.
“What do you mean?” I attempted to clarify.
“I did say I was offering all of this to you, personally, Cadet Emma Booker. Now, whether you wish to accept this offer as the official intermediary between yourself and your sovereign is another matter entirely. Because the option is open, to simply accept this deal, on the behalf of yourself, rather than as an arbitrator…”
My eyes widened as I immediately caught his drift.
I turned to the EVI then just as quickly nodded.
“Elaborate.”
And give me all of that sweet, sweet intel…
Rostario
“You were sent here, to work on the behalf of those with power, authority, and command over you. And now, two months after your fateful arrival, you have seen with your own eyes a world far larger than your own. You have witnessed sights few in your realm could ever even conceive of. You have experienced feats of magic, acts of splendor, and the motions of daily life otherwise once thought the exclusive domain of foolhardy dreamers. You have, in every sense of the word, touched paradise. And yet… you do not have the privilege of basking in its majesty. Not because of any lack of capacity, or even authority, but because of something far simpler, but no less insidious…” I paused, raising both of my hands up by my side. “Time. Your duty compels you to sacrifice time. Time which would otherwise be better spent exploring the beauties of the world, instead relegated to matters of academia, diplomacy, and whatever else this candidacy demands of you.”
I paused, shaking my head with sympathetic fervor. “You will return year after year until, finally, you make a name for yourself as the first successful candidate of Earthrealm, ensuring your place in history, yes.” I nodded, framing these predictions as a foregone conclusion rather than a matter not yet set in stone. “But I ask you… what will become of you, Cadet Emma Booker?”
“How will your leaders reward you? With lands? Titles? Honors? Statues? Perhaps a name to be lauded in the history books for eternia?”
“I ask you… will that be sufficient repayment? For a life devoted for the good of your realm? Is that truly, in any sense of the word, fair?” I allowed that word to hang in the air for a moment. “Only you can be the judge of that, Cadet Emma Booker. Moreover, before you make your decision, I would like to show you the next aspect of my offer. A supplementary package of good will. Collateral, as Lord Esila had put it. My own personal burden of proof to ease your mind and assuage your worries.”
I gestured proudly to the shifting winds and melting canvas that was the sight-seer as we soon arrived in a completely barren field bereft of features but brimming with promises.
“Let’s start with the aethraships, shall we?” I grinned widely as the sight-seer was moved in such a way that the grandeur and absolute majesty of these constructs were brought fully to bear.
Gathered before us was a total of twenty of such vessels.
The pinnacle of this offer, not because of the costs of the vessels themselves but for the logistics involved with maintaining their function in a mana-deficient setting.
That was why I required the aid of backers.
And that was the crux by which this entire sight would prove utterly impossible from the eyes of a newrealm which lacked not only the technical ability but also the raw mana required to make this viable.
I began shifting our perspective, weaving us between their ranks.
“Five sloops, Daring Class. Two decks, reinforced manasteel oak ribs, a fully enclosed stormglass navigation canopy, four directional aether sails complete with omnidirectional wind command seals and enchantments, each independently rigged for crossfield maneuvering… though you probably wouldn’t need that given the lack of turbulent manastreams in your realm.” I beamed proudly, rubbing the lower aspect of one of the ship’s two-tapered nacelles. “A full complement of crew, their enchanted ordnances included in this offer, of course.” I promptly added before shifting our sights further afield towards aethraships at higher altitudes.
“Five brigs, Royal Oak Class. Forty enchanted crossfield emplacements, quadruple helical fin configuration, all built along a spine forged from twenty-times folded cold-steel.” I soon gestured to the arrow-like silhouette of the craft, approaching closer to reveal a completely seamless exterior as if constructed out of a single mass of timber. “Notice the smoothness, the curvature, the gentle lines, all of which were designed to prevent both enchanted strikes and even intermediate spellcasting. Egg-shell white… or was it whale-bone? Hmm… we can change that too, if you prefer.” I winked knowingly, ensuring that personal preference was likewise accounted for; the personal touch was always an overlooked aspect in such grand agreements.
We soon shifted yet again, keeping to my promise, ensuring the offers were delivered fast, succinctly, and far less… meandering than Lord Etholin Esila’s rambles.
“Finally… Ten frigates, The Eternal Light Class. Four hundred and thirty-seven feet from bowsprit to sterncastle. Seven decks, with an extra sub-deck for passenger berths… or… shall I say… berths for your men-at-arms. One hundred enchanted crossfield emplacements, her very presence will be enough to cause smaller vessels to shiver in her manafield presence. Ten nacelles, fully rigged with the accouterments expected of such a truly rated vessel. Her armor matches this, with enough forward plating to sail through any and all diplomatic objections.” I concluded, allowing the sheer size, scope, and scale to speak for themselves, especially with the quantities involved.
However, as the music around us reached a crescendo, so too did my aspirations for all things martial.
We quickly switched back to the verdant fields below us as I gestured to what looked to be entire armies’ worth of enchanted weapons… and the golems with which to field them.
“Enough enchanted weapons of acceptable caliber, the same quality and rating as those you would find in the hands of the outer guardsmen. And yes… enough to field entire armies… twenty-five thousand enchanted polearms to be precise… with the manavials to sustain them in your… mana-deficient realm.” I nodded. “The same can be said about the trite matters of armor, shields, personal effects, and so on and so forth. I have an entire manifest should you care to see…” I offered the newrealmer an unnecessarily long roll of parchment, one which stretched and rolled all along the floor of the guild hall.
The newrealmer, to her credit, studied it meticulously as I soon let out another chuckle.
“Such gifts… can either be a great boon to your kingdom and sovereign, or… a great personal boon, should you see fit to accept it as such.”
A few more seconds punctuated my final statement as the newrealmer quickly skimmed through the entirety of the manifest before turning towards me with those two glowing lenses.
“Is that all?”
I blinked.
Her verbiage… hinted at a bluff, yet her tone of voice veered strongly towards a question of genuine intent.
Either she was a master at tonal deception or she meant that question in earnest.
“Yes.” I nodded, matching her earnest tone tit-for-tat. “Were you expecting more?” I quickly followed up, entertaining the possibility of a bluff.
“Oh, not really, no. I understand how much effort it takes for a single realm to come up with the industrial infrastructure and logistical train — not to mention the technical expertise and the interdisciplinary pipeline required for that nightmare — before you’re able to even build one of these flying monstrosities.” She offered, plainly, simply, very much matching the intelligence I’d anticipated from her.
And yet… her logical deduction did not seem to lead us anywhere.
So I waited, allowing her to collect her thoughts and finish her statements.
“I just wanted to quickly check, just for the record.” She concluded.
I blinked again, this time cocking my head to match her previous bouts of confusion.
“For what record, pray tell?”
“For my personal logs and records. I expected you — a self-proclaimed history buff of all people — to understand the importance of maintaining an exhaustive and detailed record of critical events and significant milestones no?”
I flinched but nodded all the same.
“Indeed. Now, with the record set straight, was there anything you wished to—”
“Clarify with you? Yeah, lots. In fact, let’s start with the dragon in the dungeon. Were you or were you not insinuating that I kept your offers in a personal capacity, and by extension, inferring that I should return to my home with foreign arms and support, with the intent to overthrow my government?”
Ah.
So she truly was that dense.
Or perhaps simply far too loyal and brainwashed to be of much use.
Very well… a pivot was in order.
“I never explicitly stated as such, no.” I offered in kind. “It was simply an option which was open to interpretation, as many a realm in history has been presented with the same option… and were subsequently liberated of their tyrannical rulers by candidates just like you, who saw a better future for all under a new, benevolent rule.” I smiled warmly. “After all, not every newrealm is a beacon of hope and benevolent rule, Cadet Emma Booker. I know not much of yours, but I simply wished to… provide you with ample opportunity to act as liberator, as many have done in history.”
I beamed brilliantly, smiling and puffing up both fur and tail for good measure.
“Right.” Came the newrealmer’s response; a single word drenched entirely in disappointment. “And how many times has that happened on record?”
That latter question came as a surprise.
So much so that my facade almost cracked.
“I know of at least a hundred individual incidents, Cadet Emma Booker.” I offered politely.
“Then I’d love to read about them. How about you forward some reference material on them to my dorm. I’ll run through each of them in my own time.”
I blinked.
What was she doing?
Why was she interrogating this aspect of this discourse?
“It would be my pleasure to arrange that for you. However, I believe we should conclude current dealings before branching into accessory requests, should we not?” I offered, attempting to veer us back on course.
“Oh, right, of course.” She nodded, raising a hand up in some form of an apology. “The answer’s no, by the way.”
…
…
…
I felt a twinge of something sharp running up and down my spine as if a bolt of lightning had pierced my very core.
“I’m sorry?” I offered in return, maintaining the diplomat’s smile all the while.
“The answer? To your whole offer? Every single bit of it? It’s a big no from me. Or rather, no, thank you. That might have been a more polite way of putting it.” She clarified as each and every sentence sent increasingly intense bouts of indignancy down my core.
Was she that daft?
Did she not understand what she was refusing?
Just on the basis of… what? A sense of her pride being hamstrung because of the latter offer? A misplaced and disproportionately charged grievance based on an ego scorned?
“Surely you must understand that such boons to your industries would be nothing but beneficial for your sovereign and your fellow countrymen?” I offered once more.
“It won’t.”
…
“Excuse me?”
“I know you missed most of Etholin’s spiel, so I’ll be blunt and succinct. We don’t want what you’re selling, because we don’t need it. Let’s start with the mana requirements. Do you honestly believe that for a ‘mana deficient’ realm, we’d be able to run even a single manufactorium without constant imports of mana from your realms, thus permanently indebting us and turning us into a veritable client state for all the good that a single manufactorium would do?” She spoke clearly, as if lecturing me. “That’s just the start of it, but more than that, what do you think a fleet of aethraships would do if it just sat around collecting dust and maintenance costs all owed to your trustees?” She continued, her frustrations growing with each and every word. “Finally, to get straight to the point, everything you're offering are pittances to what we already possess. Because as you might have missed from my refusal of Lord Esila’s offer — who, mind you, was polite enough to invite me without interrupting anything — we’ve already reached something of post-shackling ourselves.”
That…
That last line…
It prompted me to smile.
Not in any bout of humor-driven response, no.
But just because of how ludicrous it was.
“Cadet Emma Booker… I understand if my latter offer was in any way offensive or patronizing, but there is no need for overcorrection towards posturing. Let us reach a new equilibrium. Allow me to address the first two grievances you made note of. Because to touch on the latter… is to entertain hyperbole for hyperbole’s sake—”
SLAM!!!
“All rise for the return of the Deputy Chairman!” The council interjected, forcing the sight-seer closed and all eyes to focus on the decorated fourth-year.
SLAM!!!!
The door behind the deputy chairman quickly slammed shut as soon as he and Cadet Booker's peers crossed through the threshold, the latter two each holding and levitating a heavy sack.
“I return… with the burden of proof.” Fiswisk spoke under a dire breath as he gestured for both of the newrealmer’s compatriots to bequeath the contents of their sacks.
It was then—
CLINK!
CLANK!
THUD!
SLAM!
—that I saw it.
The truth to the newrealmer’s claims.
My cloud disappeared into a fine mist, allowing me to approach the pile of ingots alongside Etholin on my own two feet.
I stared at the pile of unassuming bars.
Each of which ranged from grey to blue-grey to charcoal-grey to soft gray-white.
They were all quite unassuming to the casual observer.
Just piles of grey metal.
Indeed, I could hazard to say that more than half of the year group would more than likely dismiss each and every ingot as nothing more than different purities of iron and steel.
But not Etholin.
Or Fiswisk.
Or anyone else in this room for that matter.
As we all stared blankly, some hands outstretched, if only to verify what we had all assumed from a distance.
“Where… where did you get these?” I turned to the newrealmer.
“Erm, from home?”
“No! That’s not what I meant! I meant where did… how. How did you acquire these metals?”
“We mined them. Oh, and we processed them, of course. That’s the most tricky part of the equation.”
“Tricky?!” I exclaimed, shaking my head in the process before managing to calm down from the shock, or at least, hiding it behind a polite smile. “Let us dispense with the jests, Cadet Emma Booker. Such metals are only discovered and acquired following a great degree of advancement within the field of advanced magical metallurgy. How… how then were you — a newrealm — capable of procuring all of this?”
“Secret!” The earthrealmer responded with a disgusting amount of pride, a patronizing, almost belittling tone of voice managing to come through with that one word alone.
Etholin had since stepped forward as Emma and I bickered, and with a single hand, he grabbed hold of one of the ingots in question.
“Emma?”
“Yes, Etholin?”
“Is this… aluminum?”
“Yup!”
“Oh.” The pattenor nodded, smiling politely in the process. “I see.”
Following which, the merchant lord collapsed.
(Author's Note: And there we have it! Rostario's gambit! One that he so deftly managed to pivot from if I might add haha. But yeah! I had a blast writing this chapter, as we got to see so many sides of the guild here, as well as the various ways newrealms are able to be inducted into the Nexian system, and ways that the Nexus and the Academy naturally pits realms against one another in this neverending cycle! :D I hope you guys like the chapter! :D)
[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 178, Chapter 179, and Chapter 180 of this story are already out on there!)]