Roy crouched by the campfire, stirring the Infinite Soup pot with the focus of a surgeon performing a delicate operation. The flames crackled, casting flickering shadows on the faces around him. Lutrian, looking less like a half-dead scarecrow and more like a very tired, slightly underfed human, sat across from him.
A few days of Roy's magically-replenishing food, some actual medicine, and the absence of, you know, dying, had worked wonders. Eryndra stood nearby, arms folded, radiating an aura of "don't even think about causing trouble." Teddy and Lincoln, the Super Elite Presidroids, were doing their perimeter patrols, probably scaring off any wildlife within a five-mile radius.
The slaver caravan they'd been tracking had decided to play hide-and-seek in the city, giving Roy a breather to make sure Lutrian wasn't going to keel over. Now, under a sky full of stars that probably didn't care about their problems, Lutrian seemed stable enough for a proper chat.
He took a tentative sip of the stew from a tin cup Roy had provided. "Thank you, Captain Gunn," he murmured, the name sounding a little awkward, like a new pair of shoes that hadn't quite been broken in.
"Don't mention it," Roy said, tossing him a roll. "But if you're going to be the first truly new member of this dysfunctional crew, I need the full story. The unabridged version." He took out a notepad from his bag and put a pen to paper, intending to take notes on the story.
Lutrian swallowed, his gaze dropping to the embers, which were probably more interesting than his own reflection. "Very well. I shall begin…"
"My name... is Lutrian Arvale. I was... a prince. Second in line to the throne of the Umbral Consortium."
He paused, taking a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on the flickering firelight.
"My entire life, I was... a disappointment to my family. Especially to my older brother. He...he enjoyed inflicting pain, both physical and emotional. He would even collect small animals solely for the purpose of tormenting them. I... I did not fit the mold. Our family valued strength, ruthlessness... qualities I sorely lacked, at least in their eyes. The 'brutal warrior prince' archetype... it was expected. I was not that."
He gave a self-deprecating, humorless chuckle.
"One day... I reached my limit. The constant belittlement, the cruelty... I challenged him, my brother, to a formal duel. I don't know what possessed me. Perhaps it was a moment of madness. And... to their surprise, I won. It was... a thorough defeat. The court was stunned. The jester may very well not live much longer after that level of laughter. My brother's humiliation was... complete. And therefore, his thirst for revenge would be boundless."
He sighed, a deep, weary sound.
"I knew I could not stay. The retribution would be swift and merciless. So, that very night, I fled. I abandoned my title, my possessions... everything. I traded fine silks for rags, a palace for the streets. I became... a beggar. A wanderer. And now you found a failure of a prince to add to your crew."
Roy scoffed lightly.
"I've been living incognito for months," Lutrian said, his voice barely a whisper, the shame still clinging to him like a damp cloak. "Begging for scraps, surviving on whatever I could find. I've been…refining my light magic as best I could. Attack Mode is the only form I can truly control. Defensive Mode…I roughly understand it, but my practice in it is inadequate." He stared into his stew. "I suppose that's why you found me in such a…wretched state."
Roy stirred the fire, letting the silence hang in the air. Eryndra, still playing the role of silent, intimidating bodyguard, gave Lutrian a slight nod. It wasn't exactly a standing ovation, but it was something. Teddy and Lincoln paused their patrol, their mechanical eyes assessing the situation, but Roy waved them off. He didn't need a robot intervention right now. Roy did catch himself flicking his eye to check out the "Defensive Mode" note.
"So, runaway prince," Roy said, carefully, like he was handling a live grenade. "Your older brother wants you dead, your empire is probably looking for you, and you're afraid of your own family. Sounds…fun."
Lutrian nodded, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "The empire is certainly searching for me. Perhaps even my father is involved. But it is my brother's…personal vengeance I fear most." He let out a shaky laugh that was more self-deprecating than amused. "Still, it is preferable to remaining and submitting to that…tyrant. I would rather starve."
Roy ladled more stew into Lutrian's cup, because apparently, he was now running a soup kitchen for emotionally damaged royalty. "Well, you won't starve. Not on my watch. But there are rules. No calling me a god. And if you knock over my drones again, I'm tossing you into the nearest body of water. Deal?"
A faint smile, genuine this time, touched Lutrian's face. "Deal."
The next few days were a mix of playing nursemaid and mad scientist. Roy doled out medicine – antibiotics for the cuts that looked suspiciously infected, painkillers for the bruises that were probably courtesy of life on the streets. He made Lutrian rest, eat actual meals and practice his light magic so Roy could poke and prod at it. Over time, through pure force of Mana and concentration, Roy found himself capable of slightly moving his own mana.
Eryndra, the designated sparring partner for emotionally unstable prince, occasionally tested Lutrian's Attack Mode by letting him strike her, she remained undamaged. He was getting better, but he still looked like he needed a solid week of sleep and a spa day.
Roy took him to the merchant he traded his gear to. Thankfully, he hadn't been able to sell the expensive gear. No one in these slums could likely afford it. He bought it back for four gold coins which Lutrian said was a massive overpay.
"Let's go and get this armor adjusted to remove all recognizable patterns so you can wear it without fear again. Is there a blacksmith in the area?" Roy asked as he eyed the beautifully ornate details of the armor.
A flicker of understanding crossed Lutrian's face. "Ah. Yes, of course. The… heraldry. I remember one place not far from here, follow me."
A short walk brought them to a smithy that looked like it was one strong gust of wind away from collapsing. The sign above the door was barely clinging to its moorings, a testament to neglect. Inside, amidst a chaotic landscape of tools, discarded metal, and half-finished projects, slumped a dwarf. He was ancient, his beard a tangled mess that seemed to have lost the will to grow, and his entire being radiated an aura of profound existential weariness.
Roy cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the cluttered space. The dwarf remained motionless.
"Excuse me," Roy repeated, raising his voice. "We require your services."
With agonizing slowness, the dwarf lifted his head. Bloodshot eyes, filled with the weight of countless years, focused on Roy. "Go away," he rasped, his voice a dry, grating sound, like stones grinding together. "Today is not a day I can work."
Unfazed, Roy reached for his pouch. The subtle clink of gold, even muffled, had a subtle, yet undeniable, effect. The dwarf's eyes widened, a mere millimeter, but it was noticeable. "We need royal markings removed from armor and a sword," Roy explained. "Patterns altered. And we need it done quickly. I'm prepared to pay ten gold coins."
The dwarf stared at the pouch as if it contained the secrets of the universe. His expression, however, remained unchanged, a mask of utter apathy.
Lutrian, stepping forward, couldn't contain his dismay. "Captain Gunn! Such extravagance! That sum… it's more than most people earn in fifteen years! You can't simply…"
Roy cut him off with a raised hand. "It's necessary. And it must be done properly. Ten gold." He extended the pouch.
A groan, deep and resonating with the weariness of ages, escaped the dwarf. Slowly, painfully slowly, he reached out a trembling hand. He took the pouch, its weight causing his arm to visibly sag. He peered inside, his eyes widening further, then, with the same glacial speed, looked back at Roy.
"Alright," he mumbled. "But don't expect any wonders. I'm old. Exhausted. I haven't felt… anything… in decades, perhaps centuries."
Roy nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Perhaps… this will assist." From his backpack he handed out several items, Earth snacks, a thermos of soup, a bar of chocolate with a foil wrapper that gleamed in the dim light, pain relievers for what Roy assumed was arthritis, and, with a theatrical flourish, a can of vibrantly colored energy drink, .
In Roy's ear Serenity chimed in. "Roy, you could give him a heart attack, and I don't even know if medication has the same effect on a dwarf, it may even be poisonous."
"These could be risky, but this should relieve some of you pain, and the drink will temporarily revitalize you. I cannot promise survival," Roy said, his tone indicating caution.
The dwarf stared at the strange offerings as if they were objects from another planet. "Bah! It takes more than a drink and some witch brews to kill a dwarf," he said before taking the items.
He sniffed the stew cautiously, a look of satisfaction grew. But, before tasting he pulled it away to marvel at the refined craftsmanship of the thermos. Then, he took a tentative sip. His eyes widened. He took a larger sip, followed by another. A low moan of pure pleasure escaped his lips.
The chocolate, its sweet scent permeating the smithy, was next. The dwarf took it, bit into it, and his face… transformed. It was like witnessing a statue gradually awakening. A glimmer of something resembling joy sparked in his eyes.
Finally, the energy drink. Roy popped the top for him after the dwarf looked at it, the fizzing sound causing the dwarf to flinch slightly. He took the can, hesitating for a moment, then took a sip. He drained the rest of the can in a single gulp, a manic grin spreading across his face as he savored the sweet tangy fluid.
The effect was delayed but dramatic. The dwarf's eyes widened to an almost comical degree. He began to tremble, not from age, but from a sudden, overwhelming surge of… energy.
"By the Great Forge!" he roared, his voice suddenly booming, clear and strong. "I… I feel… reborn!"
He sprang to his feet with an agility that belied his apparent age. He seized Lutrian's sword and armor, which lay on a nearby workbench, and began to work with a speed and dexterity that bordered on the supernatural. He drew runic marking on his ancient looking forge and it lit instantly.
He hummed a lively, if slightly off-key, tune, his hammer striking the metal with rhythmic precision, tools blurring in his hands, sparks flying in a dazzling display. He was a one-dwarf whirlwind of industry, simultaneously altering the engravings on the sword with one hand while reshaping the armor's plates with the other.
Lutrian watched, utterly speechless, his mouth agape. "I… I have never witnessed such a… transformation. Are you a magical apothecary?"
Roy simply grinned, a touch of smug satisfaction in his expression. "Modern… enhancements," he offered by way of explanation.
In a mere thirty minutes – a timeframe that seemed impossible given the dwarf's previous state – the work was complete. The dwarf, beaming with pride and buzzing with residual energy, presented the modified sword and armor to Lutrian. The royal markings were gone, replaced with intricate, yet nondescript, designs. The armor's overall shape had been subtly altered, making it far less recognizable.
Lutrian, visibly impressed, took the armor and began to don it. As each piece clicked into place, his posture underwent a subtle but significant change. The defeated, downtrodden prince was replaced by a figure of quiet strength and renewed purpose. His, now cleaned, blonde hair, though still slightly unkempt, framed a face that, while bearing the traces of hardship, held a newfound determination. Donning the full regalia, modified armor gleaming, sword held with a confident grip, plus his new hood that came from a hoodie gave him earlier, a certain majesty surrounded him.
Roy stared, a fleeting thought crossing his mind: He looks… almost breathtaking. But before he could even contemplate voicing such an uncharacteristic sentiment, Eryndra intervened.
"You look absolutely gorgeous!" she exclaimed, her voice holding a hint of genuine admiration.
Roy blinked, feeling a peculiar mix of relief and… something else, something he couldn't quite identify. He swiftly shifted his attention back to the dwarf.
"Exceptional work," Roy said before taking a bag from Teddy. He pulled out a selection of canned food. "These… require a specific tool to open. Allow me to demonstrate." He showed the dwarf how to use a can opener, which, to Roys surprise, he mastered instantly. He also included a few more cans of the energy drink. And, noticing the dwarf subtly rubbing his shoulder, he handed him a bottle of pain relief medication. "For any lingering discomfort. Take two, but no more than twice a day. Once at sunrise, once at sunset. It should reduce the pain substantially."
Roy turned to walk away but hesitated. "Here, take ten more gold for your hard work, take a few weeks off and have a nice vacation."
The dwarf accepted the gifts, his eyes shining with a mixture of profound gratitude and sheer disbelief. "You… you've given me enough to finally retire," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I… I lack the words to express my thanks." He reached beneath his workbench and retrieved a knife. It was simple in design, but the blade… shimmered with an ethereal quality.
"I wish for you to have this," the dwarf said. "It is a knife I have labored over for twenty years. Its blade is crafted from a scale of the Emberforge Dragon. A creature of legend. It took me two decades merely to grind it to an edge. It is my greatest work, I pray it… serves you well."
Roy hesitated. Accepting gifts, particularly those imbued with such obvious personal significance, was not something he did lightly. But the dwarf's heartfelt sincerity was impossible to ignore. "I… accept," he said, taking the knife. "But, in exchange…" He reached into his tactical vest and withdrew a standard-issue combat knife. "Accept this in return. It pains me to say this is an item I don't exactly place great personal value in since it came free with the vest, but...yeah. Have it."
The dwarf accepted the knife, turning it over in his hands with reverence. "This metal…" he said, his voice filled with wonder. "It's… remarkable. So exquisitely crafted. So durable."
Roy shrugged. "It's called steel. A high-grade… form of iron." He decided against delving into the intricacies of modern metallurgy.
Roy examined his new dragon scale knife. He felt a sense of importance. He decided a free slot in his vest would hold the item. "Thank you. And, if you ever want a place to retire to, we have a settlement near the coast. I can offer you a nice home, free of charge. All we ask is you provide advice if you ever see something wrong."
"You're too kind, I shall consider it," the dwarf replied.
"Oh, by the way, what is your name?" Roy asked.
"I don't remember, it's been over a hundred years since I last used it!" the dwarf said with a healthy laugh.
With final farewells exchanged, Roy, Eryndra, Lutrian, Teddy, and Lincoln departed the smithy, leaving behind a dwarf who was now extraordinarily wealthy, remarkably energized, and blissfully retired.
After returning to their campsite they decided to take the rest of the day off and look for the slaver caravan the next day.
After morning came, Lutrian recommended they try the local Adventurer's Guild branch on the nicer side of town, a place that Roy was dreading. He had zero patience for bureaucracy, but a nagging thought wouldn't leave him alone: maybe they could measure his own magic there. If he was going to learn from Lutrian, he needed a baseline. Or, you know, any line at all.
So, on the fifth day, under a sky that looked like it was about to cry, they arrived at the city. Walls that were probably older than Roy, gates that creaked like they were complaining about their jobs, and merchants yelling about potions and blacksmithing services. They bribed the gate guard with a gold coin and got in without the required permits. As they approached the stables, Lutrian took a gold coin from before Roy could use it to rent one.
"Listen, I don't know how vast your wealth is, but over the last few days I've noticed you don't know a thing about money!" Lutrian said firmly. "Once I get the stable to put this...metal demon transporter into, it's time for a lesson!"
Roy groaned but reclined his sit to get comfortable enough to endure. "Go on."
Lutrian left the truck and approached the stable worker who was watching the truck cautiously. He bartered with him and showed the gold coin which cause the workers eye to widen. The worker quickly went inside and came back with a fairly large bag. Lutrian gave the coin in exchange for the bag and then opened the stall door for the truck to enter.
As Lutrian hopped into the truck he dumped all the contents of the bag onto the floor. Pile of silver coins formed and Lutrian threw the bag to the side.
"One...just one gold coin is one thousand silver coins, one silver is one thousand copper. This is eight hundred and thirty silver coins, the stable's daily fee is five copper, Understand so far?"
Roy nodded yes and Eryndra shook her head no.
"They only had eight hundred and thirty silver in their safe so I ended up paying for roughly ninety three years of stable use," Lutrian said with dramatic effect.
The numbers finally hit Roy. "Oh, I may have...made some mistakes, then," Roy said as he scratched his head nervously.
"...like?" Lutrian asked worriedly.
Roy rattled off a list which included: Five gold coins for a weird shirt he wanted from a strange merchant on the road to the slums, two gold for a town crier to stop yelling in his ear, seven gold for rotten food being sold that he didn't want anyone else to eat, fifteen gold for a fancy looking necklace that shattered the second he took it from its wooden box. He went on and on until the sum reached two hundred gold. Lutrian held up his hand for Roy to stop.
"I can hear no more of this..." he said with a tear in his eye. "Let's just go to the guild."
Roy sprayed some air freshener in the stable before leaving and gestured for Lutrian to lead the way. Only Roy, Eryndra, Teddy, Lincoln, and Lutrian approached the Adventurer's Guild building, the other Presidroids remained behind in the truck.
A receptionist, built like a linebacker, ears oddly shaped, and wearing a embroidered guild robe that probably doubled as a tent, greeted them. "Greetings, travelers. Are you here to sign up for the guild, test your rank or register for a quest?"
"I'm here for a…magic capacity measurement," Roy said, trying to sound nonchalant, like he did this every day. "Just…curious."
The receptionist blinked, her gaze lingering on Teddy and Lincoln, who were probably intimidating everyone within a ten-foot radius. "Uh…right. This way."
They were led into a side room that was surprisingly crowded. Lower-rank adventurers, staff members, and two guys who radiated menacing energy from across the hall. Roy figured they were high-class adventurers. Fancy gear, confident postures, the whole package.
In the center of the room was a box. Dark wood, waist-high, with two metal handles sticking out. Runes glowed faintly along the edges. It looked like something you'd find in a medieval torture chamber. "Place both hands on the handles," the receptionist said, her voice sounding a little strained. "Then focus your mana, squeeze, and hold the energy until the measurement is complete."
Roy inhaled, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. This was it. Show time. He stepped up, gripping the handles, which were surprisingly cold. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, because cliches were his comfort zone.
He squeezed, trying to picture that well of energy he'd only felt in brief, terrifying moments – like when he was firing the railgun and during Lutrian's lessons. The runes on the box flared, then pulsed. One beep. Two beeps. Then, with a pop that sounded suspiciously like a balloon bursting, the box cracked and exploded.
The room went silent. The box re-formed in a swirl of runes, shifting to a darker shade of ominous. Roy's heart was doing a frantic tap dance against his ribs. "Did I…break it?"
"Keep holding," the receptionist said, sounding like she was questioning her life choices.
The darker box pulsed, cracked, and then exploded into pieces. Then, because the universe had a sick sense of humor, it re-formed again. This happened five more times, each explosion more dramatic than the last, until finally the box gave a violent shudder and collapsed into a pile of dust. A glowing glyph spun in the air, fizzled out, and left behind one word: IMMEASURABLE.
Silence. The kind of silence that made your ears ring. Roy let go of the shattered handles, dust swirling around his feet like he was some kind of magical dust bunny. "Uh…" He turned, completely bewildered. "Is it…permanently broken now?"
The guild staff were staring at him like he'd just sprouted a second head. One assistant whimpered, "That…that means your mana is…off the charts. Beyond any standard scale."
Roy scratched the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up. This was not how he'd planned this to go. "Huh. Well, that's…unexpected. How much do I owe you for the…box destruction?"
The two clearly-not-average adventurers stepped forward. The first one was built like a tank, wearing armor that probably cost more than Roy's entire ship. The second was slimmer, with twin daggers at his hips, looking like he was ready for a knife fight at any moment. They exchanged looks of disbelief, which quickly morphed into suspicion.
"You must be a fellow S-Class, or maybe Beyond-Class," the more armored one said, his voice firm, like he was trying to sound authoritative but was mostly just confused. "Show us your guild card. We received no notification of another high-ranking adventurer in this region."
Roy stood there, feeling like he was in the middle of a very awkward play. "I, uh…don't have a guild card. Because I'm not…in a guild."
The second adventurer let out a laugh that was more nervous than amused. "That's impossible. No one with that kind of mana can just…wander around unregistered. Stop joking around."
Eryndra, ever the silent guardian, stepped closer to Roy. Teddy and Lincoln flanked them, their mechanical presence suddenly very reassuring. The first adventurer caught sight of Eryndra, and his face went from "confused" to "I think I just soiled myself." "Wait—" he stammered, his eyes widening like saucers.
He dropped to one knee, bowing so low his forehead almost touched the remains of the test box. "Silence, you imbecile!" he snapped at his companion, his voice trembling. "We are in the presence of the God of Iron Thunder, Nightmare of the Elves! And that woman…that is the Goddess of the Iron Wrath! She who walks the deck of the Iron Wrath itself!"
"Not a chance!" the second adventurer said as he crossed his arms.
"Look!" the first adventurer yelled, "Th-the silver hair, the fancy armor, the hideous face!"
"Excuse me?" Eryndra said as she squinted her eyes in anger.
The second adventurers smile slowly faded, almost like he had a stroke on both sides of his body.
Roy's stomach did a somersault. He had absolutely no idea where this ridiculous rumor had come from, but the entire guild hall froze. Adventurers, staff, even people just walking by outside, they all dropped into hasty bows, sweating like they were in a sauna.
"Uh, hey," Roy tried, stepping forward, but quickly reverting to a stuttering and stammering mess. He put a hand on the kneeling man's shoulder, trying to calm him down. But the chaotic mana caused by the test was still swirling inside him. The moment his hand touched the armor, a pulse rippled outward.
The adventurer's eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.
A collective gasp went through the room. "An S-Class…defeated so easily?" someone whispered, sounding like they were about to faint.
"His chanting, could he be using Forgotten Tongues?!" another said.
The other adventurer was trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. "W-well deserved, Mr. God, sir," he squeaked, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. "He, uh, was clearly disrespecting your…glory. So this is…totally justified…right?"
Roy's face was burning. His anxiety was through the roof. He did the only thing he could think of: he turned and walked out of the building without uttering a word, Eryndra and the Presidroids following him like a very strange parade. Lutrian, looking completely lost, hurried after them.
Behind them, the guild erupted into chaos. Whispers, shouts, probably a few people questioning their sanity. Roy just wanted to find a hole and disappear.
Outside, he gulped in the fresh air, which smelled slightly less like panic and broken magical equipment. Eryndra gently touched his elbow, her eyes filled with concern. "Are you alright?"
Roy managed a shaky laugh that was mostly hysterical. "No. I am so not alright. But let's…just go. That was…irritating."
And then, because the universe apparently had it in for him, he spotted the slaver caravan in the distance. The same beat-up wagon from days ago, rolling from a tunnel near the city's main gate. The wooden bars, which looked like they'd been freshly painted, gleamed in the sunlight. It was like a slap in the face.
Roy's stomach twisted, a cold rage replacing the anxiety. "There they are," he muttered, his hands clenched into fists. "We found them."
Eryndra nodded, her expression darkening, a promise of violence in her eyes. Lutrian, still looking a bit shaky but determined, followed Roy's gaze. Teddy and Lincoln exchanged a look that probably meant, "Prepare for chaos."
Roy's heart was still pounding from the guild fiasco, but the anger was a welcome distraction. "Time to see how deep this slaver ring goes," he said, his voice low and steady.