14
When he finally made it back to the comfort of the Workshop, Milo felt emotionally drained. He wished he could be the kind of person to speak up for himself when Fergus had insulted him.
And when other students had jostled him while he ran laps, or smirked at him behind his back, he wished he had the intelligence to come up with biting comments to shut them up and leave an impression which made them reconsider teasing him in future.
Unfortunately, he had always been the type to drop his head and concentrate on his work instead.
To push his mind inward.
The only good thing to come from the day was the mana rifle in his hand. Every student was able to carry one, and Milo held his like it was the most precious thing in the world.
And, to him, it was.
As the mana round exploded into its target he felt a sense of power for the first time in his life. Like he had the ability to do something strong. It wasn’t a spell, but it was still devastating.
And, looking at the other scores, he felt surprised to think he had maybe more ability in shooting than he’d expected he would.
His aim had been better than most of the class.
For the first time, it was something he was proud of. Something which hinted at abilities he might hone which would prove himself in front of the other students.
He squeezed the rifle tightly before setting it on the workbench next to his own.
Click leapt out of the shadows and thrust its back up to him again for him to switch Access Memory crystals. He patted the little golem which gave a proud purr of gears.
“Good job, Click,” he told it. While he wasn’t entirely sure it needed any positive reinforcement, he felt it didn’t hurt.
And the way the construct flicked its legs and bounced happily made him feel it liked it.
“Could you keep an eye on Mistress Vizzingbelle’s classes with the older students?
I’d like to see if she has any advanced tips I can use. ”
Click let out a sharp chitter and snapped an arm up. Almost like a salute.
Then it tore away, skittering up a wall before scooting into the ducts.
With a smile, Milo turned to the components still laid out on the floor. It was time to start building.
Using the plans as a guide, he gathered what he needed to make the torso first. He felt this was the core of the machine and as such wanted to start with that and move outwards.
With a screwdriver in one hand and a pair of goggles pulled down over his eyes, he worked smoothly. He felt his mind sink into a soft calm state which wasn’t quite empty.
It was instead focused on only what was needed to build.
Other thoughts, such as his shame at accepting how he was treated by his fellow students, or even the pride at having shot better than most of them, were pushed aside in favor of mechanical thoughts as he dedicated his brain entirely to assembling the golem.
As he slotted some ribs in place, he was again surprised at just how human the skeleton looked. As though the dwarves had intentionally built it to imitate everything about the mortal humanoid body.
They could have done things differently, he thought.
But that wasn’t their intention.
It was definitely mimicry.
He used one of the welding irons to link the ribs to a thick slab of dwarven bronze which acted as the sternum. This plate was fairly thick. Made to protect the internal structure which would be housed within.
Click came and went.
Time crawled past.
And eventually Milo stood in front of a small skeleton. It would stand at shoulder-height when it was finished. But he guessed that, as an assassin, it would need to be small so it could move stealthily.
Dwarven bronze wasn’t a heavy material. It was actually a very light alloy despite its strength. Still, some of the bones had holes in them to reduce weight further.
This would give the construct greater agility, he thought.
With every new piece added to the frame, he felt more and more awed at the ingenuity of the dwarves. Every component looked to have been considered with intention and purpose in mind. Not a single piece looked to be like it wasn’t meticulously studied for the right weight and shape.
Even the joints were carefully designed.
Knees, elbows, and wrists were reinforced with the knowledge that these would be under a lot of stress.
Checking the skull was connected properly, he shivered.
With how human the frame looked, he almost felt like a necromancer. Like he was about to revive a dead corpse.
His idea to make his own friends now sounded morbid.
“It’s not alive,” he murmured. “It’s a machine. A golem. That’s all.”
Giving the skull a pat, he turned and started collecting the main parts to begin working on the Drive Train.
Cables.
Lots of cables.
Thin cable, thick cable, elastic cable. So much of it. He found a tool which measured the width of the cables and used that to make sure he was using the right ones in the right places.
This was the musculature which connected with gears and sometimes hard-wired to the Frame. He was careful when welding. Careful to make sure he did a good job.
It would be terrible if he finally got it working and then its legs gave out because his welds were too poor.
Halfway through, he put the tool down and rubbed at his eyes.
It was late. He had no window, but he knew it would be dark outside.
“I think that’ll do for today,” he said out loud. Then remembered. “Fed, have the cores finished recharging yet?”
Affirmative, Milo. Cores have reached maximum recharge.
He went to the Core Recharging stations and removed the two cores. Their crystals were now glowing brightly beneath green lights. Setting them aside, he picked up his mana rifle.
Then paused again. “Fed, do you have any plans for weapons like this?”
There are three plans for equivalent rifle-based weapons, Milo. Would you like me to retrieve them for you?
“If you could, please.” He yawned. “I might take them with me to look over tonight. Do you know if they’re more powerful than this one?”
One is equivalent. Two have greater range and power.
“Do we have the components for them?”
Negative, Milo. Additional crystals would need to be sourced.
“Let me guess. The Prime access is required.”
The Prime can gain access to crystals, Milo. However, it is noted that crystals are commonly found within the Keep.
He thought about that. “Mana lights, you mean?”
Affirmative. Similar crystals are required to store sufficient mana.
He gave his rifle a pat. “Can I use the one I already have?”
Negative. It is not sufficient.
“Hmm. I’ll check the specs in the plans and go see Mister Spragg, then,” he said.
Yawning again, he watched as a small arm cruised into the room from the library. It moved along a rail overhead and let out a soft squeal as it came to a halt near his workbench.
Reaching up, he took the three scrolls. “Thanks, Fed.”
You are welcome, Milo.
Tucking the scrolls into his pack, he headed for the door. Along the way, he also picked up his broom.
It didn’t look like it was getting much use.
Ket might begin to suspect he wasn’t doing anything.
“Ah, I’ll sweep the Workshop when I’ve finished the golem.”
He plodded upstairs, wishing the dwarves had better ways to get around the massive Keep. Stairs just seemed so archaic for a race who could do so much with golems.
His mind suddenly filled with an image of a dwarf being princess-carried by a golem.
He wondered if that’s how they got around. The thought made him chuckle.
“What are you grinning at, normie?”
Milo sighed as Fergus stepped in front of him. Stimpleton was right behind him. A couple of other students lounged nearby on couches which filled the common room.
“I’m tired, Fergus,” he said. “Can we do this tomorrow?”
“You’re tired? Because of you, I had to run extra laps! How do you think I feel, normie?”
“That had nothing to do with me, and you know it.”
“What I know, normie,” Fergus growled, leaning down and taking a fistful of Milo’s tunic, “Is that I don’t like you. I don’t like your face. I don’t like your attitude. And I don’t like that you’re even here. How can you call yourself a mage when you can’t even cast a single spell?”
“I didn’t call myself anything,” Milo returned, his mind trying to come up with something smart.
Maybe funny. But all he could feel was anger.
Anger at Fergus for stopping him. Anger at himself for being unable to use magic.
And anger at the mages who put him in this position.
“Do you really think I want to be here? I don’t want to be here. I was happy where I was.”
“Then go back,” Fergus hissed.
“I can’t, and you know it,” Milo said. “Whether I can cast a spell or not, my blood can store some mana. Sure, it’s a shitty amount. But it’s there. Enough that the Mage Court says I belong to them now. I have no choice any more than you do. What do you want me to do, Fergus?”
“I want you to stay outta my sight! Keep to the bloody lower halls like the nothing you are!” He flicked the broom in Milo’s hand. “This is all you are, normie. A cleaner. Stop coming to class pretending you’re anything better than that.”
Milo lifted his head. “Is this because I can shoot better than you?”
“Bullshit you can.” Fergus shook his head. “You might’ve fooled that dumb teacher, but I know you cheated. And there was definitely something wrong with my scope.”
“Sure.”
Fergus wrenched him around, pushing him up against the wall. His eyes blazed fiercely. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“Fergus…” Milo sighed heavily. The room had gone completely silent as everyone turned in their direction. “Fergus, I’m nineteen. You’re, what? Twenty?”
Fergus blinked at the question. “Twenty-one.”
“Great.” Milo reached up and took hold of the other young man’s wrist and gently pulled his hand off his tunic.
As he spoke, he tried to imitate the weary tone Master Sunderland had used when breaking up arguments between apprentices.
“So, act your age. We’re not kids. This isn’t a high school.
This is the Mage Academy. Do you think this kind of behavior is what the Mage Court wants to see? ”
Fergus opened his mouth, his face turning red with rage.
But it wasn’t his words which rang through the common room.
“Very nicely said, kid,” Ket called. “Fergus Paddstone, you look like you got a lotta energy! That’s wild.
I heard from Mistress Vizzingbelle that you did an awful lot of running today.
But maybe it weren’t enough. Now, I got a bucket and a mop and the Mess needs cleaning.
Looks like lunch didn’t agree with someone’s sensitive belly.
I was gonna ask Milo to do it, but I’m so glad you volunteered instead. ”
Fergus glared at Milo.
Milo stared back, letting his lips curl upwards.
Sometimes witty words weren’t needed.
A smile was insult enough.