Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (28/?) WiP 1

Hey everyone! Here's the Work in Progress for Chapter 28 I hope you guys enjoy! :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 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 of an individual are 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 the 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 mileage does, of course, depend on the skill, spells, and systems in place, but it is what has allowed the gifts of magic to truly propagate.”