The Dark Lord of Crafting

Monsters gathered outside the ring of torches. We had camped for the evening, resting for a few hours while night fell and mobs appeared. Mount Doom wouldn't be reached in a single night, and my companions needed the opportunity to learn how to use their new skills. Leto was warming his hands by the fire, an empty bowl beside him.

The soup was thrown together from a few leftover supplies, herbs Esmelda saved from the wagons, and vegetables from my coin collection. There wasn't much food left, but I had my thermos, so we would never be without water. Celaeno flapped down to alight on a log we hadn't yet thrown in the fire. The flames fascinated her, and she watched the rise and fall of the red and orange tongues amid the wood for a moment before speaking.

"We could not face the Shifter. I am shamed."

"Don't be," I said. "I'd rather you were all alive and safe to fly another day than throwing yourselves into a fight you couldn't win."

She pumped her shoulders, shrugging her wings. Above us, harpies called to each other as phantoms shrieked. "There are more swimmers tonight than ever before."

"Three heroes in one place," I said, "that has to affect the spawn rate."

Gastard was standing in front of the outer ring of torches, giving his FAQ a final read-through before the festivities began. Esmelda was sitting cross-legged beside me, wearing a pensive expression.

"Are you sure we share your curse?"

"The mobs are coming faster than usual." I looked at the swaying ranks of zombies ahead of Gastard. "Fladnag said all heroes had the same problem, but for his group, they had someone in their party who could stop it."

“I thought what weakened the veil was bringing heroes from another world," Esmelda said. "I don't like to think that my gift has come at a cost to Plana itself."

"The isekai thing probably makes it worse. It doesn't look like the rate has tripled, but it has definitely increased. As long as we stay close, we can deal with it together. And if we have to separate for any reason, I'll make sure you both have as many enchanted torches as you need."

Esmelda shook her head decisively. "We won't be separated. Not now."

Gastard deactivated his screen and twisted to look back at us. "Are you prepared?" He asked.

"I am." Esmelda and I stood. My potion ingredients were all tapped out, but there had been plenty of materials to craft a new bow. It looked ungainly in Esmelda's hands, being as tall as she was, and she eyed it doubtfully.

"You may have wasted the effort of making this for me," she said. "Though Gastard can always use the extra arrows."

"What did your Woodcraft skill say again?" I asked.

"That it aids in all forms of wilderness survival," she said. "But that doesn't mean I'm strong enough to draw this. You said my Might was very low."

"F-, is the lowest I've seen an attribute,” I said, though I would likely soon be testing how low that rating could go. “Your System hasn't strengthened you yet, but it may not have to. Try it."

Esmelda accepted the quiver I offered her and slung it over her shoulder. The bundle of arrows looked as comically large on her as the bow, but they wouldn't be too much of a burden.

"It's not as if I haven't ever used one before," she said, turning away from us to nock the first arrow, "it's just that—-"

She pulled back the string with ease and was so shocked that she lost her grip, firing into the ground ten paces away. The twang of the bow was lost amid the moans of the shamblers, but there was no mistaking what had happened.

"Let me try!" Leto hopped over to his mother and tugged the bow away from her. She was so stunned that she didn't stop him, but when he tried to pull the string, he couldn't get it more than halfway back.

"It's too hard," he said. "How did you do that?"

"Is it enchanted?" Esmelda asked me. "Did you attune it to me when you crafted it?"

"Nope," I said. "That's all you, or your class. My tools all work differently for me than they do for other people. But I suspect that my class role has always been to supply other heroes with equipment. There just weren't other heroes before. Heir isn’t a crafting class, but there are tools associated with it. You wouldn't be much of a woodsman if you couldn't use a bow. You'll probably find my swords easy to use too. Or maybe the ax. We'll have to test them both out."

The idea had occurred to me while Esmelda read her skill list to me. I'd had to discover my skills by accident and hadn't seen the full list until hitting level thirty had given me entity status. The System was more forthcoming with her than it had ever been with me, listing three skills from the beginning, though, unlike Gastard, she did not have a personal FAQ.

Heir came with Architect, Emissary, and Woodcraft, though there were probably more to be discovered. The descriptions were only one or two lines each. Architect dovetailed nicely with my power set. It read "The hero can organize resources efficiently and design unique structures," which had seemed odd given her class summary. Emissary made more sense, it was geared toward negotiation and diplomacy.

Woodcraft was obviously meant to be very broad in its applications. It didn't look like Esmelda was going to be granted dramatic or outwardly impressive talents. She would not be shooting lightning bolts. But I didn't think the System handed out dud classes. Whatever her skills allowed her to do, she was going to be supernaturally good at it.

Esmelda took the bow back from Leto.

"Stay by the fire," she said to him and retrieved the arrow. "You can watch, but you do not have permission to leave the inner ring."

Leto marched sullenly back to the campfire to stand by Celaeno.

"This isn't fair," he said to the harpy, and Celaeno raised her head so that it was at a level with Leto.

"Do not worry," she said. "I will share the swimmer's flesh with you so that you go strong." Then she coughed up a hunk of partially digested phantom onto the grass.

"Don't give my son monster meat." I said at the same moment that Esmelda responded with "Don't eat that!"

Leto moved to the other side of the fire.

"The night wanes," Gastard called impatiently. It was still well before midnight, but it would be better to start killing monsters before they became too numerous to handle safely. I donned my helmet, and we stood together at the edge of the torchlight. Though I had grown weaker, my armor was still more than sufficient to keep me from being battered to death by average mobs.

Gastard would be just as tough a nut for them to crack, I’d repaired his armor with more diamonds at an anvil. Esmelda was only going to attack from a distance. She paced to one side, sighted an arrow, and fired. The whistle of the missile barely registered at such close range. One moment, she had drawn the string back, and the next, a zombie was crumpling with a shaft sticking out of its forehead.

The buster sword would stay in my inventory, it was too heavy for me now, but I still had Caliburn, though I didn't intend to use it unless the others got into trouble. Esmelda checked her status screen.

"A third of a level," she reported, confirming that they would gain experience from killing mobs and that the kill still counted if it was done at range.

Gastard grunted. "Was this truly a game in the world of your birth?"

"Not this specifically," I said. "But all the level and experience stuff was in a lot of different games."

He lifted his sword toward the storm of Dargoth, a black mass delineating the skies of Atlan from my empire. "By the powers of Gotte, which he has seen fit to invest me with, I shall be the greatest gamer you have ever known."

"You, uh…yeah, cool."

He leaped forward, severing the first zombie's head. Others lurched for him, heedless of their impending deaths. No matter how much practice I got, or how many benefits the System gave me, I didn't think I'd ever look as good at fighting as Gastard. His sword was a part of him, responding to his needs fluidly and without hesitation.

Mobs fell, unable to take advantage of their numbers as he moved among them, never straying too far from the torchlight. He had always been skilled, but I could already see the difference having a class had made. The precision of his strikes was almost otherworldly, and as far as I knew, he hadn't even gotten any adjustments to his attributes yet.

If this was what he looked like with beginner-rank skills, it was scary to think about what he would soon become. I wanted to read that FAQ, but so far, he had kept the information it contained to himself.

Esmelda shot arrow after arrow, only missing her mark when a zombie lurched or dropped suddenly. They weren't fast, but their movements were irregular, and she was only going for headshots. Her face was a mask of concentration, as she notched and loosed, picking off one target after another. There was no flashy magic, glowing contrails, or explosions, but it was clear her System was at work.

She had become a world-class archer the moment she picked up the bow. If we wanted explosions, I could just enchant her some flaming arrows. There had been so many mobs to begin with, clearing them had seemed like a task that would take hours, especially with more spawns appearing all the time, but the herd had thinned after only a few minutes.

A bellow split the night as a troll appeared out of a thick patch of darkness under a nearby tree. It barreled through a few ambling zombies to reach Gastard, throwing its arm out in a brutal backhand. I started forward. Hero or not, taking a troll alone and head on was a lot for someone's first day.

Gastard's sword flashed, a brilliant white glow running up the edge of his blade as he slashed the incoming limb. It severed cleanly, and the troll barely had time to yelp in surprise before Plana's new Knight of the Realm drove his weapon into its breastbone. The same sword that had barely been able to scratch troll skin before now pierced its thick hide like it was paper.

The severed arm hit the ground a second before Gastard sidestepped around the troll as it fell forward. Dead. I stopped moving. The original summary of my class had included some snide remarks about how Survivors could step in as front-line fighters when there wasn't anyone better around. With all that I'd accomplished since then, killing mobs, demons, and even that Pebbleheart, I thought of myself as a pretty serious contender.

But Survivor was a utility role. Versatile, broad. This was what it looked like when someone had a class that was built for monster hunting. I was both impressed and a little envious. Not that I would have traded crafting for being a Knight of the Realm, but dang, had he looked cool slaying that troll.

A few minutes later, we were back around the fire, and the only thing that surrounded the outer ring of torches was corpses.

"You were amazing!" Leto said, bouncing on his heels. "Can you teach me to do that?"

"I will teach you whatever you like," Gastard was using a cloth to clean the blood off of his blade. "But you cannot do what I can do without the blessing of a higher power."

Leto plopped down and grabbed a few stalks of grass to tear up in his hands. "I want a System too," he said.

"No." My tone was sharper than I meant it to be, and he frowned up at me.

"Why not? If David comes back, he can give one to me."

"You don't want to be like David."

"But he's stronger than any of you."

Esmelda and I exchanged a glance. Her gray eyes held the same worry as mine. On one hand, the idea of Leto receiving the same kind of boon we had was enticing. He could defend himself, and presumably, even return to life if he was killed. But it wouldn't come without side effects. Not getting older was an incredible gift, unless you were ten.

"David is trapped," Esmelda said. "Though he can take any form he likes, his true body is still that of the child he was when he came to this world."

"That's not so bad," Leto said. "He can do anything he wants, anyway. Fly. Shoot fire. I bet he could make Kevin go away too if he wanted to."

"Maybe he could," I said. "But what happened to him is not something we ever want for you." That Mizu had allowed it to happen at all called into question her nature, and that of Harmony. What kind of divine power thought it was a good idea to use a child that way? And even if there was a reason, why hadn't they fixed him in the centuries since his rebirth?

Leto continued to rip up the grass, and I changed the subject. It wasn't as if Leto was at risk of developing superpowers. Whatever David had done to infuse Esmelda and Gastard with essence was well beyond our capabilities, and it had been against whatever guidelines the goddess set for him to do so.

"So what level are you guys?" I asked.

"Nine," Esmelda said, her face lighting up. "Is that a lot?"

"For one fight? That's incredible. The first ten levels do go fast. It slows down from ten to twenty, and after twenty, most of what you do won't give you experience at all. I get most of mine from mining, but the quality of the materials I mine has to be higher to get higher levels. It's the same with monsters. I don't think any amount of zombie killing will get you to level thirty. Achievements help though."

"Does that mean I'm already stronger?" Esmelda asked. "The number went up, but I don't feel any different."

"Your skills matter more. Check to see if they are any higher. Woodcraft lets you shoot the bow as you do, so you should see progress in that."

Esmelda tapped her tattoo to activate her screen. It was surreal watching someone else do it, and even stranger for that someone to be Esmelda. Reading from a floating hologram wasn't that different from using a tablet, but the people of this world didn't normally have screens of any kind to look at. She had taken to it as if it was totally natural.

"I have notifications, she said. "Purifier, and another called Favored Enemy."

"What's Favored Enemy?" I expected Purifier to be the same as it was for me. The System had given her credit for killing a bunch of monsters, "purging taint," as it liked to say. What a phrase.

"It says that for defeating ten of the same breed of monster, I've been rewarded with a boost to my skill that only applies when I'm using it against Koroshai."

"That's neat," I said. "I guess every class has achievements tailored to their development." It wouldn't have made sense for either of them to be awarded Crafty or Hoarder, for sure.

"And Woodcraft has improved," she said. "It's three now. What does that mean?"

That was a loaded question. Increasing skills improved performance, but the System didn't quantify that improvement for users. As "Miner" went up, I could harvest materials faster, but I'd never tried to do the math and the notifications didn't provide me with percentages.

"You're probably a slightly better archer," I said. "And slightly better at whatever else the skill helps you do, since it applies to anything wilderness survival-related. You can try starting a fire, or something, and see if it's easier than it should be. The big thing with skills is that they have milestones. Every five or ten levels, Miner allowed me to harvest new materials. I'm not sure how that will play out for you, but the notifications should give you hints when it happens."

She frowned. "Improving skills improves my skill. That is simple enough. What is the overall level for then?"

"I can use the experience to enchant equipment. And the higher my level is, the more options I have. I'm not sure what your class would use it for. Regardless, hitting level thirty is what triggers the System to give you an assessment and unlock whatever hidden aspects your class has. So we should get you there as fast as possible."

If someone had been around to tell me that in the beginning, my second life would have gone differently. I had an orb to help me collect extra essence to use for enchanting, and before that, I'd had Kevin's monster-eating sword, but I'd still given up a lot of my levels in what I now saw as a waste of an important resource. That, and all the dying, had set me back.

They wouldn't be dying. We couldn't be sure that they would come back if they did, as they hadn't gained their System in the normal way. Even if they could respawn, we didn't know where their spawn point would be either.

Esmelda looked at Gastard, who was still tending to his blade. "You killed far more of them than I did. What level are you?"

"Three."

My mouth dropped. Was his class really that different from ours?"

"But you killed a troll!" Leto looked personally offended by the outcome, as if he'd been the one cheated out of experience.

"I used it to enhance my blade."

"Oh," Esmelda said, "is that why it glowed?"

Gastard held up the weapon in question to examine it for any remaining monster residue. Though it may have been a trick of the fire, I thought I saw a glimmer of white light playing along its edge.

"Yes," he said. "When I defeat an opponent, I can choose to accept the essence into myself or redirect it into my armament. It is like your enchanting, though simpler and more pure."

"And it stays enhanced?" I asked.

"It does." Satisfied with his inspection, Gastard sheathed the blade. "It is a part of my skill, Favored Weapon. I can only have one, but it was an easy decision. My father's sword will soon be finer than anything you can produce."

He seemed smug about that, but I was happy for him. Refusing my enchantments had made him less effective up to now, but the System had given him a way to advance without compromising his beliefs.

"How did you know how to do it?"

"The fak explained." He looked into the fire. "Knights of the Realm are meant to work in pairs, a master and an apprentice. You could have never taught me what I needed to know. It is a mental trick, a feeling, but I never would have realized what it meant on my own. I think that is why they gave me the fak."

His inability to use acronyms correctly was grating on me, but I let it slide. "I'm glad you have it," I said. "But I still think you should keep as much of your experience as you can. Once you hit level thirty, you can start working toward having the best sword in the universe."

"I could not have killed the troll without it," he shrugged. "If it is a sacrifice, it is one I am glad to make."

We talked for a while longer. Gastard's class came with three other skills. Hunter helped him track and combat the creatures of Bedlam. Another, Oathsworn, let him act as a stand in for an Oathblade, which was fascinating to think about. But the real standout for me was called Prestidigitation.

"Does it really use the word miracles?"

Gastard sighed. I'd already asked him that twice. "Minor miracles," he confirmed. "The fak is unclear. It says that I can pray to Gotte for intervention, and that he will answer, but only in a limited way. It suggests I do not use the skill to clean my armor, as if anyone ever would."

Prestidigitation was the name of a cantrip in Dungeons and Dragons. It had almost unlimited use cases, but they were all negligible as far as game mechanics went. You could use it to clean an object, light a candle, make a tiny illusion or sensory effect, really whatever your Dungeon Master allowed, depending on which edition of the game you were playing. It sounded like the System had given him a low-level spell. But it was a skill, so it would progress as he used it. That was potentially more intriguing than any of his other abilities.

A new zombie was standing at the rim of the torch ring. It leaned into the light, then drew back when it became too oppressive for it to resist. Almost a slow-motion headbang. The others noticed me watching it.

"We should sleep in shifts," Gastard said. "One of us mans the perimeter while the others rest."

A little sleep was better than none. I took the first watch. Tomorrow would bring us closer to Mount Doom, a day closer to my total incapacitation. Despite that, I felt better about our chances than I had since breaking my oath with Bojack. There were three heroes now instead of one. The demon had no idea what was coming for him.