Chapter 36: The Border of Necessity (Revised)
The air had changed. It was the first thing I noticed, even through the constant, grinding pain. The sweet, damp scent of the Sylvanate's ancient forests of the Monster Kingdom's mountains was gone. In their place was a permanent, coppery tang. It was like the world's largest bloodstain had been left to rust under a hazy, sunless sky.
'I guess we have to endure this scent. Not like I'm missing the Academy or anything. It's been three days here now.'
We were three days into the Cinder Canyons. This was a labyrinth of rust-red rock and iron-rich dust that formed a natural moat between the old world and the new. The lush, chaotic greenery of nature had been replaced by the stark, ordered decay of industry. We could see the bleached white bones of some colossal, long-dead creature. They protruded from the canyon walls as their surfaces stained with veins of green and blue oxidation.
"This reminds me of my Aunt Bessie's cooking," Rolf rumbled nonsense memories. "It was all metal, all the time, and you're never quite sure if it's supposed to be edible. I hated it."
My attempt at a laugh turned into a wet, pained cough. Rolf's attempt at humor was a welcome distraction from the cold, creeping dread that was my constant companion. The necrotic rot on my left arm had finally passed my elbow. It was no longer just a patch of dead flesh. It was like a parasite eating me away from the inside.
Nyssa pulled a small, soot-stained leather notebook from her pack. She was literally taking notes about my arm's condition. "My mana is too precious to waste on simple stationery," she murmured, her quill scratching furiously. "It is quite fascinating. Seeing how it is devouring your hand is giving me chills. We need to find a cure for it soon. The entire socio-political landscape of the Shattered Reach continent is defined by this transition."
I shifted my weight, my good arm braced against the canyon wall as a wave of dizziness washed over me. "Lay it on me, Nyssa. Distract me from the fact that my arm is trying to file for divorce from the rest of my body."
She looked up, her emerald eyes serious. "We're crossing a philosophical border as much as a geographical one. The Sylvanate, the Zenith Academy, even the Monster Kingdom to an extent, they're all what's known as 'Blood-Rank' societies. Your worth is determined by your lineage, your race, your innate magical affinity. An Elf is born superior to a Human, who is born superior to a Goblin. It's a rigid, unchangeable hierarchy."
"Tell me about it," I grunted, thinking of Theron's sneering face. "I got the memo."
Kaelith, who was scouting a few yards ahead, melted back into view beside us, her movements silent as always. "The Forge is different," she said. "It's a 'Utility-Index' society. They don't look at your race or birthright. All you need to do is to prove your worth. If you are valuable, then you are treasured."
"Exactly!" Nyssa beamed at her. "In the Kingdom of Iron & Steam, your bloodline means less than nothing. What matters is what you can do. Just think about the possible opportunities present in this land. A Goblin's inventive mind and their natural aptitude for tinkering and mechanics, is valued far more than an Elf's archery or a Human's piety. Your 'Trade' is your rank."
"So, I go from being a gutter-goblin to a potentially valuable asset?" I mused, a bitter smile on my lips. "That's an upgrade, I suppose. At least they'll hate me for my ideas instead of my parents."
"It's not a meritocracy," Kaelith corrected, her tone sharp. "It's a utilitarian meritocracy. If your invention is useful to the state, you are rewarded. If it is not, you are a drain on resources. It is a different kind of cage. One made of brass and steam instead of silver and magic."
A fresh, searing wave of cold shot up my arm, so intense it made me gasp. I looked down. The black rot had inched another finger's length toward my shoulder. I could feel it now. It was not a normal wound. It was holding me back like an anchor. A metaphysical hook buried in my soul, pulling me toward something. Toward the Soul-Reaver. Toward its master. Valerius.
"It is getting faster," I said, my voice tight. "This is not just the simple rot. He's tracking me. Or he will be, soon. He will come and find us in no time if this continues."
Nyssa's face paled. "The curse is creating a sympathetic resonance. As long as the limb is attached, you are a beacon."
I stopped, leaning heavily against the rock. "There's only one solution," I said, my voice flat. "Rolf. Nyssa. Kaelith."
The next few minutes were a blur of grim, efficient preparation. I sat on the ground, my back against a boulder, my left arm stretched out on a flat slate rock. I looked at my pack, my kingdom of four.
"Rolf," I said, my voice steady. "When I tell you, you hold me down and don't let go, no matter what. I'd rather be a one-armed king than a whole-bodied slave."
He just nodded, his massive hands gripping my shoulders.
"Nyssa," I continued. "Make it quick. And clean."
She swallowed hard, her knuckles white as she gripped Kaelith's heated dagger. "I will, Grik. I swear."
I took one last look at my left hand. Then I met Kaelith's gaze. "Now."
The pain was beyond words. It was a universe of agony, a white-hot supernova that erased all thought. I felt the blade bite, a searing line of fire that was immediately followed by the grotesque, wet tearing of muscle and tendon. Rolf's grip was the only thing holding me to the earth as my body bucked and screamed. Then Kaelith was there, pressing the flat of her other, white-hot dagger against the stump.
The smell hit me then. The acrid, nauseating stench of my own burning flesh. It was the smell of sacrifice. The smell of necessity. The world went black for a moment, and when I came to, it was over.
My arm was gone. In its place was a cauterized, blackened stump. The anchor was broken. The constant, soul-deep pull of the Soul-Reaver was gone.
The next two days were a slog. My mind kept sending signals to a hand that was no longer there. There was a maddening itch in a phantom space. But the creeping, necrotic cold was gone.
The air grew thicker as the scent of blood and burnt flesh was slowly replaced by the sharp, acrid smell of sulfur and coal smoke. I could hear the distant clanging from the thousand forges coming from our destination.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Finally, we saw our destination. A wall which was hundreds of feet high was built not of stone, but of interlocking plates of brass, iron, and copper. Great pipes could be seen which were as thick as ancient trees, were exhaling white steam. This was the Brass Gate.
Before it stood a thirty-foot-tall Clockwork Sentinel. It was a construct of riveted iron and polished brass. As we approached, its furnace-eye pulsed, and a flat, mechanical voice boomed from a horn on its chest.
"HALT. STATE YOUR TRADE."
We stopped. The sentinel's gaze swept over us. It lingered on Rolf's hybrid form, on Nyssa's staff, on Kaelith's daggers. Then it fixed on me, on the tattered rags and the cauterized stump of my left arm.
"TRADE UNRECOGNIZED. RANK: ZERO. UTILITY INDEX: NULL. ENTRY DENIED."
A low, grinding sound echoed from the gate as massive internal bolts began to slide into place.
"Hold on," I called out, my voice raspy but clear. I took a hobbling step forward. "You're processing us as individuals. That's your error. We are not four separate applicants. We are a single, Consolidated Production Cell. Requesting System Analysis."
The sentinel's furnace-eye flared, its whirring intensifying. "PROVIDE DESIGNATION PARAMETERS."
I took a breath, my mind cold and clear, the System's logic overlaying the world. "Designation One: Nyssa. Role, Systems Architect. Specialty, Arcane-Kinetic Theory and High-Density Environmental Mapping. She reverse-engineered a Master Tactician's combat patterns in real-time."
"Designation Two: Kaelith. Role, Stealth & Sabotage Unit. Specialty, High-Precision Infiltration and Selective Component Removal. She bypassed a temporal stasis field to engage a high-value target."
"Designation Three: Rolf. Role, Heavy Ordnance & Vanguard Support. Specialty, High-Durability Kinetic Impact Unit. He is a walking siege engine with regenerative capabilities."
I pointed to my own chest with my good hand. "Designation Four: Grik. Role, System Administrator & Synchronization Hub. My unique capability, the [Sovereign's Chain], acts as a real-time data and power-sharing network between all units. It boosts the cell's combined operational efficiency by a minimum of two hundred percent."
The sentinel's internal workings whirred louder. "THE PERIPHERAL. LEFT LIMB. COMPROMISED."
"The de-installation of a corrupted peripheral," I corrected, my voice as cold and clinical as the construct's. "The limb was compromised by a Class-5 necrotic data-siphon. It presented a critical security vulnerability to the entire cell. Its removal was a necessary system optimization to prevent external control. The cell is now secure."
Silence fell. It was broken by the hiss of steam from the sentinel's joints. The glowing furnace-eye pulsed rhythmically. Its light was scanning each of us in turn, as if cross-referencing our very beings against a vast, unseen database.
"ANALYSIS COMPLETE," the mechanical voice finally boomed, a new, almost imperceptible note of calculation in its tone.
"SYNERGY BONUS DETECTED. CONSOLIDATED PRODUCTION CELL EXCEEDS GRADE-B SPECIFICATIONS FOR TACTICAL RESPONSE AND ARCANE INTEGRATION. UTILITY INDEX: PENDING ASSESSMENT. ENTRY GRANTED. PROCEED TO ASSESSMENT HUB 7."
The Brass Gate opened with a deep, resonant groan that shook the very ground. As the gates opened, the breathtaking city was revealed.
We walked forward. A four member squad consisting of a goblin, a wolf-man, an elf, and a scholar. We passed through the shadow of the gate into the heart of the Kingdom of Iron & Steam. The air in the City felt different. It was a thick, choking wave of heat, coal smoke and ozone. The rhythmic CLANG of the hammers could be heard all across the city. This Kingdom was a production hub. But it was not developed enough to have produced a steam Engine.
The buildings were tall and the streets were paved with worn cobbles and steel plates. There were magical golemns that were used for doing manual labors, eliminating the need for manual labors. This was not a city of people. It was a city of function.
We were strangers in a strange land, wounded and hunted, with nothing but each other and a provisional entry into a world that valued only what we could prove we were worth.
Rolf leaned in close, his voice a low rumble to be heard over the din. "It stinks, but the social environment feels quite open-minded. Like imagine Noble Vampires talking with the likes of us back at the Academy. "
Nyssa was already craning her neck, her eyes wide with a terrifying, academic glee. "The power grid is inefficient... the heat exchange is primitive... I could improve this entire district's output by thirty percent with a few minor modifications."
Kaelith's gaze was sharp, missing nothing. "The Watchmen are clockwork. Their patrol patterns are predictable. The assassins will be flesh and blood, and they'll use the noise as cover."
And me? I looked at my pack, at my cell, at my kingdom. I looked at the blackened stump of my arm, not as a loss, but as the price of our admission. We had been judged not on our blood, but on our function. We had been accepted not for who we were born, but for what we had become.
A new board, new rules, and a new game to win. I, Grik, the one-armed System Administrator, was ready to play.