Chương 36: Too Cool for School

'Master, can we make a sword?'

'A sword!? As your first project!?'

'...'

'Sure, steel's over there, just clean up after yourself.' —The Apprentice Artificer's Guide to Impractical First Projects Pabu's short, brown legs pattered against the soft undergrowth of the ancient forest. Decaying leaves underfoot were unbothered by the wind of Pabu's passing. A lifetime of curious exploration in these woods gave a certain finesse that the others lacked. But they would be thankful for Pabu's adventurous nature today. When they learned of the Elder Killer… They would have to listen.

They would have to change. Hoomans came before, destroying their homes while they sat and argued. And hoomans have come again. Despite Pabu's desire to leave this place, to explore, the shaded paths calmed the unsettling, nervous tremors that made Pabu's legs shake. It was a place of safety. Safety in the foreboding darkness seen from outside the forest. Safety in the winding paths that led unknowing intruders astray. Safety under the Guardian of the Forest. If they would not listen…

Pabu would speak to the Guardian. An hour passed before the first signs of civilization appeared. A berry-bush, picked a little too clean. Half of a footprint, carelessly left in the softened dirt from recent rains. And most egregiously, an abandoned klegsh. Some Grelk had no dignity. Pabu sniffed irritably, pushing decaying undergrowth over the object before bounding toward the grove that lay just beyond. The feeling of insecurity was deeply ingrained.

It was their greatest sin, an opinion that perhaps only Pabu held, but it was true. It had to just be the nerves talking. It wasn't as if anything dangerous would find its way this deep into the forest. Pabu shook off the thoughts and peered up at the towering trees of the grove. It was time. Well, almost time. Shrugging off the bolt of cloth, Pabu made a slight detour. A marvelous yellow sash would certainly add a bit of authority.

> Steel Ingot > A rounded ingot. Salvaged from old wrought iron. > Quality: Uncommon > Grade: Medium > Material > Salvage Leveled Up! I held the piece of steel in my hands, inspecting it closely, considering what I knew of metallurgy. As far as I could tell, the iron must have mixed with the high-quality charcoal. It would have absorbed the carbon and turned into steel. Normally, it would have become cast iron if it took on too much carbon.

The high-intensity heat, mixed with the solid charcoal, must have resulted in much less making its way into the molten iron. It was a large ingot, too. I'd be able to make a couple of tools from it. First, a pickaxe. I needed to get Danny off my back. The man was beyond ready to get the right materials coming in. Maybe after that, I'd—I stopped, remembering a hanging obligation. The steel could wait just a bit longer.

"Who can tell me how many concepts can be combined with a skill?" Cleo put a finger to her pursed lips, pretending to consider who to call on next. In front of me, Abbie wildly waved her little arm. Her younger brother had his face scrunched up in thought, then raised his own with a determined frown.

"Hmm… How about… Oliver!" She pointed, as if just spotting him in the crowd of the four people in attendance.

"It's two, Ms. Sharpe!" he said confidently. Abbie scoffed and sat up straight, her arm-waving intensifying.

"You're half right! The most on a skill that we have is two! But when we find more concepts, someone could add a third one if they wanted!" Oliver beamed at the praise. Abbie did not. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"Olly, you got it wrong."

"Did not. I got it half right. She said so!"

"She's just saying that to be nice."

"Maybe you should be nice."

"I am nice!"

"Am not." Benjie sighed loudly and crossed his arms. He'd clearly dealt with this on the daily, and had the temperament that most teens do. Cleo interjected before it devolved into a full-blown fiasco.

"Okay! I think that's a good time to take a break from the questions and do some homework." She reached down and picked up two thin sheets of slate.

"We're going to do a brainstorming session. I want each of you to think of a skill, then pick three concepts from the list we memorized. Apply each concept to the skill and tell me how you think it will change it, and why." I was interested in how the kids might think a skill would progress. Abbie certainly seemed to be more studious, and Oliver more adventurous. I was surprised when Cleo shoved the slate towards me, instead of the children.

"You thought these were for them, didn't you? You attend my class, and you do the work. Also," she looked over at the children, already hard at work designing their skills.

"They'd have these broken in five minutes. I had to have Curtis cut a slot for theirs on their desks." She handed the other to Benjie.

"Any skill, right?" I asked.

"Any that you don't currently have a concept combined with," she replied, already killing my plan for a quick completion.

"And since this is the first time you have bothered to attend, the concepts you have available are aeration, alacrity…" She rattled off a huge list of concepts, with only a few that I'd heard of. Naturally, I chose the only reasonable goal: figuring out how one might cast Fireball. I chose throwing as a general skill to work off of. I didn't have it, but then again, I didn't really focus on doing throwing. Maybe I should. The first concept would have to be heat. No. Maybe [Mana Manipulation]?

That was a skill, though. It was more difficult than I'd realized, and before I knew it, I was hunched over my tablet writing, wiping, and rewriting a plan.

"So, umm…" The hesitant voice interrupted my train of thought, and I looked up to see Benjie considering his next words.

"How, I mean, what does it feel like to, y'know, use a concept?"

"Good question. You ever eat a fruit gusher? It's like that, but in your brain. It just releases understanding of whatever the concept is." I broke at his boggled expression and laughed.

"Okay, maybe not that simple, but it isn't far from the truth," I explained the process, and he listened with rapt attention.

"You boys seem to be getting along. I hope your homework is doing as well as the conversation…?"

"Yes, Ms. Sharpe," Benjie mumbled, quickly returning to his tablet.

"You take this pretty seriously, don't you?" I asked, feeling a little put off.

"He was just curious."

"You take crafting seriously, don't you, Logan?"

"Of course, I—""It's the same thing. I have to provide a sound education, and the manner in which I conduct that experience amounts to the same effort and precision that goes into a sword, or whatever it is that you work on up there."

"That… makes sense. Sorry. Here's my skill." I handed her the slate tablet and watched her expression as she read over it. Before I could say anything, she shook her head.

"This looks strange to me. I agree with your thoughts on heat and convergence, but volatility? I would think you would want it to be as stable as possible."

"Maybe, but I think the base skill would do the heavy lifting. If your intent is to throw something, it's expected that it would make it to the target. That should keep it intact, and besides, what use is a ball of fire that doesn't explode when it hits?" She nodded, considering my argument.

"This is surprisingly well done. Considering you are less educated on the matter than an eight-year-old child," she said with a smile.

"I'm glad we have an understanding. I hope I see you in class a little more often; I think you could—we all could benefit from it."

"Looking forward to it. I'll see you around." I picked up my bag and got up to leave. Benjie dropped his tablet, chipping a corner. He bolted up and stumbled over his stump-stool, barely catching himself.

"Mr. Logan?"

"Just Logan's fine with me; I'm not a teacher," I said with a small laugh, noticing Cleo raise an eyebrow.

"Oh. Well, I saw your post on the board asking for help. My dad said that sometimes smiths take on apprentices, and I was wonderingifyouwoulddothat." He mumbled out the last bit in the same breath. This time, it was Cleo's turn to laugh at my expense.

"You want to be a craftsman?" I asked, gears already turning in my head.

"My dad always said I should go to trade school, and I really like 'Forged in Fire', so I thought maybe I—""You just wanted to make a sword, didn't you?"

"Yeah." He didn't look me in the eye. He really was a shy kid. I got it, though. Maybe I saw a bit of my own childhood in him.

"Why not? I'm not gonna lie, I've always wanted to make one too. Let's go make a sword." Cleo's look of surprise alone was worth taking on an apprentice, and I had a nice piece of steel calling our name.