A Soldier's Life - 421 - Keep Calm And Crank On

Chapter 421: Keep Calm And Crank On

Working in the glassworks turned out to be a surprisingly fascinating experience. Belrak and Marnor, two grizzled old dwarves and master glassblowers, spent as much time bickering with each other as they did shaping molten glass. Their constant banter was both entertaining and exhausting, and before long, I found myself knee-deep in it.

They were convinced I needed to learn everything immediately, as if they could cram years of experience and knowledge into six hours. Their instructions came with a whirlwind of terms and techniques no normal man could possibly retain. But with the dreamscape amulet, I had a chance to process the lessons later.

Though I would not visit often, they still took the time to walk me through the entire process: from measuring and mixing raw materials to fueling the thermal stone furnaces that brought the sands to a molten glow. They explained each ingredient in obsessive detail—where it was sourced, what properties it added, and which ratios produced the most transparent, strongest, or most colorful glass.

They had six furnaces, but only four of them were currently active with thermal stones. Each dwarf had one furnace for molten glass and another for reheating during the shaping process.

I was genuinely stunned to learn that most of their raw materials came from the Isle of the Dead. Belrak opened his mouth to explain further, but Marnor smacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t tell him that—it’ll scare the boy.” Then, turning to me with a forced smile, he added, “Expeditions are meticulously planned and usually quite safe.” They agreed between themselves not to mention the isle again or explain the expeditions further.

Once I became comfortable with the dwarves, I started asking my own questions. “Are your products used in Sanctuary or sold outside?” Before answering, they told me to toss the slightly odd-shaped bottle I had made into the furnace to be remelted. It had been my second attempt at blowing a simple flask through the pipe and rolling it to shape. I thought it was decent, but not perfect enough for these masters.

Marnor winked conspiratorially as he answered my question. “Most go to the alchemists. But sometimes we keep a few for our secret distillery.”

Belrak rolled his eyes. He was more detailed in his response. “Jalorien sometimes sells crates of finished potions, but never just our glassware. We specialize in preparing flasks for preservation enchantments, but that’s too advanced for you, boy. Just try to make a glass that won’t fall over if it is placed on a flat surface,” he chuckled. I frowned as my first two attempts had been good enough not to fall over.

“What enchantment do they use on your glassware?” I asked as I carefully rolled and blew into my pipe for my third attempt.

“Mostly tier two stuff,” Belrak said casually. “Some tier three for when the master alchemists are using rare exotic ingredients.” I coughed in surprise, almost ruining my bottle. Tier one enchantments were simple enchantments and what the Telhian Empire used on the jars of blood samples in the Archives. Tier two enchantments were embedded in the glass and could extend the life of a potion twentyfold. Tier two enchantments were usually worth more than the potion itself. No one in the Telhian Empire could make a tier two flask enchantment, to my knowledge.

Tier three would have been able to keep a potion indefinitely if fed with aether regularly, matching dungeon-brewed potions in shelf life. They were mentioned more as myths in the alchemy books I read. Since the enchantments included the stopper, once a potion was uncorked, the enchantment was destroyed.

We worked for a few hours, and my skill slowly improved, but not up to their exacting standards. I watched as my efforts were repeatedly smashed and tossed back to return to molten glass. The pair of dwarves were good-natured and had developed a working relationship over decades.

There was a third glassblower, an elf, but he was more of a glass shaper, using a spell form to shape glass, and he had his own workshop with a view of the ocean. From the dwarves’ tone, it was clear they thought their counterpart was a bit haughty and conceited. Belrak even stated that he produced ten times what the uppity elf could in a day.

The dwarves let me go early, and I collected Evie from the hatchery, and we climbed the steps together. She was gushing about how fun it was to care for the cute chicks and count eggs. The only thing she didn’t like was having to grind up the fish meal for their food because it smelled so bad.

As we climbed, I asked her questions about the hatchery. There were two hatcheries and three egg farms. The hatchery produced six hundred chicken eggs and one hundred duck eggs on an average day. I thought that was a stretch to supply fifteen hundred Sentinels supposedly living in Sanctuary. The mature males and three-year-old hens were slaughtered once a week. In all, there were twelve children and five adults who oversaw the process. Besides fish, poultry was the only other fresh meat on Sanctuary.

We reached the plateau to find Benito had prepared rubbery noodles and salty garlic butter, topped with precious crispy bacon for our dinner. It was edible if you swallowed it before tasting it. We discussed our day while we ate. Blaze was learning how master fletchers select the perfect fletchings. Benito was learning how to repair fishing nets, and Lesna was deeply involved in understanding costume design.

They were also making friends among the Sentinels. Sanctuary seemed like a self-sufficient, isolated community on the surface, a perfect cult. But in two days, we were told there would be weapons practice. On every fourth day, there were two practice sessions on the plateau, one in the morning and one in the evening. We would be part of the evening practice, as we had our classes in the morning. Evie was not required to participate until she reached fifteen, but she had developed a competitive streak during our time at Veilmark, and she was not going to sit it out.

That night, I started using the dreamscape amulet to study and pass the classes as soon as possible. That way, I could free up half of my day to study in the Repository. That, paired with the amulet of clarity during the lectures, should expedite my consumption of the material on the undead.

After morning lessons, I had Blaze escort Evie to the hatchery so I wouldn't be late for my artificing apprenticeship. The workshop door was open when I tested it. A sharp, metallic scent laced with ozone greeted me as I stepped inside.

Six elves looked up from their workstations—five men and one woman—all bent over tables filled with spools of fine wire, polished discs, and complex mechanisms. Along one wall, various weapons were carefully arranged: axes, swords, maces. Even from this distance, I could tell all the weapons were masterfully forged. Another wall displayed rows of cuirasses, some bronze and others steel. The third wall caught my eye the most: a tall shelf of ancient books, their spines polished metal with clear elven script.

I took a step toward them, but Lepidus appeared in front of me, blocking the way. His unblinking eyes stared at me for a long moment before he spoke. “Follow me,” he turned and walked to a station with a single crank device that reminded me of a meat grinder where chunks of meat were placed in the top and ground chuck was spit out. Stacks of small silver and gold bars were piled next to the device. “This is your station. You will be making wire for the artificers.”

He sat in my chair and filled the top receptacle with silver bars. “You feed it aether through your hand while you crank.” He said flatly. “One steady rotation per heartbeat to get a consistent diameter wire.”

“Then how do you know how fast to go?” I asked. My question was serious, but I realized my error as the unliving man turned slowly toward me, and the elven artificers in the room paused in their tasks to look over at us.

“Two millennia of practice,” was his flat reply. I realized I should shut up and learn as Lepidus demonstrated the device. As the crank turned, so did the spool that gathered the extruded wire. The metal in the feeder was not melted, as I felt no heat being generated by the device. Lepidus’ steady hand cranked the device ten times in a continual rhythm before stopping and leaving without another word. I guessed it was all the instruction I could expect.

I took the seat, looked around the room at the other artificers who were focused on much more intricate tasks. Two were etching weapons, and another was etching a disc. The others were gathering materials to their station in preparation. Everyone was eerily quiet as they worked, and I guessed it was because Lepidus preferred it that way.

I sighed and started turning the crank, which resisted more than I expected, but soon I found a rhythm. Lepidus came by and checked on me four times, probably expecting me to have made a mistake, but I was focused on the task. The extruder artifact looked ancient but worked surprisingly well.

After finishing my first spool of silver wire, I walked over to the collection of tomes and pulled one down titled Cold Resistance. There were no pages inside, but a series of metal plates etched with spell forms. I had paged through half the book, six plates, when Lepidus appeared at my side and took it from me.

“One thousand perfect spools of wire before you can peruse the runic guides.” He put the book back and pointed to my station. I sarcastically thought how much more fun it was caring for chicks. I finished ten spools that afternoon, with the eleventh not passing inspection by Lepidus.

When I was leaving, my companion from the voyage here joined me. Velkryn had a smile as he talked, “Having fun yet?”

“I had more fun in the glassworks. Is it always going to be that quiet in there?” I asked.

“Only during the afternoon shift. That group prefers to work in silence. The artificers in the morning are more talkative. You are doing well, ten spools in half a day. How is your wrist and arm?” He asked seriously.

I had actually healed myself dozens of times to help keep the soreness at bay, but he didn’t need to know that. I rotated my shoulder, pretending to work it out. “It is going to be stiff tomorrow, but I will manage.”

Velkryn patted me on the back. “Excellent work. Word is Lepidus doesn’t want you there, so be careful. He is hoping the menial tasks will break you.” He walked away, but I had already guessed that much. What did the Medicus of the First Legion have against me?

It was Evie’s turn to make dinner, and she prepared large plates of cheesy scrambled duck eggs mixed with spinach. The hard cheese she used didn’t melt very well, so it was chunky. No one complained as we ate and talked. The discussion was lively again, and I chose to listen rather than regale them with tales of my endless cranking of an extruder.

That night, I began my earnest practice in the dreamscape to complete the required education of the Sentinels. With the possibility of only being here for eight months, I wanted to take full advantage of the knowledge in the Repository.

We stepped out onto the plateau after breakfast. Hundreds of elves in a variety of armor, ranging from ornate leather to polished plate, stretched and warmed up with different swords, spears, and maces. In the group were also dozens of dwarves, a few humans, four orcs, and a single goliath. The goliath was Makru, and Benito said he was one of the fishermen. He was clad in full plate armor with a large sigil of Death Sentinels on his chest.

Half the Sentinel army of Sanctuary was impressively arrayed before us, and before today, I had doubted their preparedness. We all watched outside our classroom as unit commanders brought their men and women together to practice group tactics against other units. Before they began, our instructor, a beautiful elven woman, was hissing at us to come inside so she could begin teaching.

I noted High Sentinel Fenlorian walking against the group in matte black metal armor, with one hand resting on his sheathed sword and the other directing the groups. The commander of the Sentinels was quickly obeyed, and whenever he went, the units instantly organized themselves. That was all we were able to see as we were ushered in and had our lesson begin. After lunch, the less experienced Sentinels and initiates would have our combat practice, and I was looking forward to it.

© Copyrighted 2024, 2025 by AlwaysRollsAOne

No permission is granted to translate, copy, or repost this original work of fiction. If you are reading this on a site other than my Patreon, it has been stolen without my permission and violates DMCA. Remember, this work is the result of my creative effort and is protected by copyright law. Removing or altering this notification acknowledges that you are aware you are in violation of DMCA. And here is a new one: No permission is granted for my original work to be used to train AI.