Construction in the city is in full swing. A week and a half has passed since our arrival here, but I can't say that even half of the work is done. The construction of Theramore continues, and the end is not even close in sight, but there are plenty of unmade beginnings. There are no external city walls; housing is being built; workshops, smithies, production facilities, and farms are not ready. I won't even mention the sewage, water supply, and other useful things. With the help of magic and sheer willpower, they built a pier, and now resources and refugees can be unloaded from the ships much more briskly.
People are flocking to the island even more actively than before. The mere thought of seeing the shore and then spending another month on board eating hardtack drives them to horror. Yes, the hunters organized the delivery of meat, fruit, and other products. But their choice is simple: cramped quarters and sea-sickness, or a city under construction with houses? It's quite obvious; I can understand their decision. Understand, but not agree.
People are trying by hook or by crook to break through to the land. Some drown, some are eaten, some are turned back by the guard. I fish out another part. I'm doing a good deed, working on my reputation in the city, and the rescued even thank me sometimes. Less often than I'd like, since I don't land them on the shore, but back on the ships. Saving people is no simple matter.
Ta-da, I passed the water elemental summoning. More precisely—the creation of a magical doll that behaves like a water elemental. No brains, one hundred percent loyalty, throws icicles. And it's quite good at catching those who love to get to the shore on improvised means. All for the glory of order in society; since I was given a position, it's not just rights, but also duties. I need to gain reputation, otherwise those snide "old" wizards love to remind me that I have a title in the city government, but no Magister title! I'm not Anakin; I don't have a lightsaber or a princess! I need to make a lightsaber, otherwise it's just not respectable. Okay, that's for later.
Anyway, as the self-satisfied owner of a water elemental, I took up "Baywatch" cosplay, fishing out those who overestimated their strength. Manhacks help too; I continue to test Territory Control using these little machines. Thanks to magic, they essentially weigh nothing and can fly for literally days, looking for points of interest. They find many.
But many do reach the shore and try to settle in the city, which, of course... isn't waiting for them, obviously; they only get in the way.
We have a construction site here, and all these illegal residents create chaos and crowds, walk everywhere, and create problems! And this is one of many problems. After all, having reached the city, people try to settle in better, to push out those who are already in line for housing, for food, for the benefits of civilization. They try to bypass prohibitions with bribes, arrogance, or outright criminal actions, in various ways. And there aren't enough houses for everyone; the builders themselves want to live in comfort, along with the officials, soldiers, and officers. A tent or a wooden house—the choice is obvious. In the end, it comes to blows, including with the elves. Because why did they build themselves a quarter with magic and sit there all satisfied? It's unfair!
Fortunately, we have plenty of mages, so the arrogant ones have something to answer to. My answer is always the same—only those who have work and whom we can settle somewhere are unloaded from the ships.
"You come to a place where no one is waiting for you and half the workers live in tents. And then you also demand something? Have you no shame? Wait until we build housing; you'll be notified. Don't like it? Look, a whole slum district has already formed on the coast out of scrap materials. Or row back; I don't care. Disrespect for the law is disrespect for me. And to those who don't respect me, I can give an icicle. Or several. And yes, after the incident with the sewage, healers treat frostbite at triple the price."
It helps, though not always. I don't take off my helmet in the city; my age isn't visible, but they still try to pressure me. It's annoying.
Outside the city, it's also very fun. We need to lay a road to the north, to the great mountain found on the map. And there's jungle there, and in it—Murlocs, lizards, crocodiles. The workers are literally being eaten, though for the sake of housing out of turn, a whole, ahem, line has formed. But something needs to be done about this, and urgently. Even defense towers help only so much.
And this is where the senior officer, Captain Garran Vaymes, put pressure first on the hunters. Second, on me. I promised him mechanical transport for traveling over very rough terrain. He needed it yesterday! As he told me:
"The fatherland is in danger, the plan must be overfulfilled, two weeks' work in one! I'll organize a cake. DaVi, we need it!"
"I'll see what can be done, Commander."
Well, I had to personally "create the terrain," work for speed. Fortunately, materials and workers for the creation of the DAVI'S CUSTOMS garage were allocated. They'd better have allocated them, with such backing. I'm a Surveyor now, a respected elf in the hierarchy. I'm now entitled to crimson trousers, and everyone must do a "ku," twice. Okay, that's from a different story; it's just that the warrant officers become much more agreeable, the officers more friendly, and the privates—respectful.
Even Jaina, though she'll always remind me that I'm not a Magister or even a master. Mean girl, she sees that I don't like it. She's a grown-up wizard, and she behaves... okay, speak well of the boss or don't speak at all. And she's not going to die, so Jaina is our very best wizard. So there.
And then it was a matter of technique. The garage filled with the howl of cutters, the hiss of welding machines, the thud of hammers, and Dwarven multi-story swearing, interspersed with my requests to slow down so I could take notes. The latter was generated by my first employees, the brothers Brimbir and Brombor Stoneface. Both of them showed up the day after my appointment and announced:
"We were told there'd be a workshop here."
"And an elf would be in command of it."
"This should be really funny!"
"We're here to have a good laugh and do everything in the best possible way!"
"And then get dead drunk to celebrate our success!"
I was slightly offended, but I didn't send them packing right away. I was curious, after all, where such beauties came from.
"What do you want, square ones? I have a project. Either speak business or get out of here; time is precious. I can provide acceleration—" an ice spike formed over my hand, "—want some?"
The Dwarves looked at each other, looked into the visor of my helmet, looked at each other again, and exchanged a series of gestures.
"So, what they say is true, heh. Well then, long-ears, do you need workers?" and he held out a recommendation sheet.
Two freelance mechanics, arrived in search of a better life. Recommended to me by the Chancery. As I managed to find out, they were sent to me as part of the population staffing project. Soldiers and builders have already been unloaded from the ships, and now they are placing workers and specialists. Full social package, work, housing, salary, free meals in the army canteen by permit.
I have a workshop, and soon a second shop will be built next to it; the first one isn't enough. The Chancery took this into account; I was registered, and now my workshop is on the list for personnel staffing. The Dwarf brothers didn't rush to break into the city; they went through the official procedure. And they got a place of work with all the trimmings. The reason why the illegals, who sailed to the island out of turn, are particularly furious. Without a place of work and a paper, housing is not allocated to them; our own need it.
The brothers approved of the machine and expressed a desire to "work like Stakhanovites" for the glory of our city. Peculiar, but they approved.
"It'll kick your ass, of course, but it's a necessary thing; you can't gallop through jungles and swamps on horses. Here it's either this or airships. So the client is right; production needs to be set up as quickly as possible. Come on, show us what you've got where. We'll show you, elf, how real, tough, sweaty, buff men work."
The second one nodded, playing with his muscles:
"Real men's work, brother. Strong as rocks!"
The first one answered him, or rather yelled:
"Powerful as mountains! Work will flow like rivers of beer!"
And all this while playing with tensed muscles. And they finished it all with a fist bump and a roar:
"We swear by our magnificent beards! For the clan! For beer! For metal!"
Damn, why are half the Dwarves I meet like this, eh? Well, it's none of my business.
With the brothers, the process of building the walker went much faster, that's a fact. They have acquaintances in the smithy, they know where to get machine tools and metal, and where to order spare parts. Resources appeared, and assembly went even faster than before. I suspect they report on the progress of the work to the top; at least no one asked me, although I appear in the town hall regularly. But everything is clear here; we are on schedule. I assemble the main components, like a cheater who has assembly-easing bonuses. And "territory expansion" too. In short, the first three prototypes were finished very quickly, in just nine days. Now that the magical assembler can be taught how to act, it will assemble them in a day or two, provided there are parts and materials.
It turned out well. Five meters high, two legs, an open cabin with motorcycle-style control levers. Almost silent; that was an important condition of the order. It runs quite briskly over rough terrain and jumps about twenty meters after a run-up. I know that if it were just mechanics, there would be a mass of problems with both movement and stabilization.
But I'm a cheater! Or rather, a mage. And what is the basic rule of golem-making? A golem cannot do what its creator hasn't taught it. So we take a mechanical drive with a gyrostabilizer so it consumes less Mana and is more autonomous. For leg control—hydraulic cylinders. And so that the resulting mechanism doesn't act stupid and runs correctly—a golem that watches where we're running and where to put the legs. And so the golem doesn't act stupid, I asked Venidan to teach it to run. More precisely, I harnessed her, using my new powers.
The Rogue flew in on the Pepelats from reconnaissance of the northern lands and listened to the proposal. And she asked snidely:
"Midget, does it matter that I have a flight scheduled? I can't just up and tell the commander to get lost. The days when we were autonomous are over."
And here's a surprise. I hadn't told her about the promotion; there was no time. In the city, as holders of different positions and classes, we ended up in different jobs. Yes, in the future I'll be able to reassemble our team if they want, but for now there's simply no point. Each of us is in our place. Veni is in reconnaissance; I'm learning the science of workshop management, thanks to Mom for the help, and the construction of underground utilities. Although in this case, I have something to say and something to wave around. A position, yeah.
"They'll wait, Veni. I'll write you an order and give you an extra day. I'm important now; I have a position. Surveyor, by personal order of Lady Proudmoore. Actually, while you were off on reconnaissance, they made it official. With this, all my projects, workshops, and bases will go much more briskly. Actually, they already have. And I can recruit personnel. The order was made by the Chancery, so the priority is high, and the possibilities are too, as long as it's ready as soon as possible."
Venidan looked with interest.
"You're not joking? Hm, congratulations; finally, you've been properly appreciated. No, really, congratulations, midget. You're our little but very important person now," I showed this hussy my middle finger, and she giggled. "Then why are you so unhappy?"
Because they've annoyed me.
"The position doesn't belong to the magical hierarchy. I was inducted into the council, but they didn't give me the rank of master, which Jaina has, by the way. Mom has it too, for that matter. Which both of them love to remind me of, so that I study. I wish they'd sign estimates like that, tsk."
The Rogue laughed, sympathized, and agreed to help.
"So, I have to run over rough terrain so you can record it and teach the golem to run like that too and not trip over everything?"
I nodded.
"That's the idea. I don't think I can quickly make a runner out of myself; that leaves asking someone else. You don't need to run fast; it's even better if you show and tell how to do it correctly. How to place the foot, how to move. Based on this, I'll write a rune plate. Fortunately, I have contacts with Dwarves now; I can afford to consult with a master."
In the end, Veni honestly worked her assignment to teach the golems to run. First simply, then she looked at the machine's limb; we made a small doll-golem with "paws" of a similar design and practiced with them. She watched how the doll ran, gave hints, showed, and gave advice.
We tried again, remade, checked. First in a straight line, then we put logs on the road, then we made posts, I created slippery terrain, we depicted a forest, an obstacle at height. The machine made mistakes, fell, crashed, but we repeated. Time after time, until the desired result was achieved. I even had a fit of nostalgia; it all reminded me so much of old games... which I'll never see again unless I recreate them one day. Still, life in this world has its downsides. Well, never mind. What matters is that we did it. We taught the little one, and I successfully transferred this information to a full-fledged walker.
The machine's test run, which I arranged for Veni, the walker passed, albeit after corrections from the Rogue herself. It works; the machine itself watches where it needs to step and doesn't stumble. It's a success. And when we finished the assembly, the first prototypes went to the scouts for testing immediately. And we are assembling new machines in the meantime. More precisely, the automatic assembly module and a couple of Dwarves, a Gnome, and a Human sent to me are doing it. Yes, new personnel. And a second garage is already being laid nearby; it's clear that one simply won't be enough. Fortunately, building the garage isn't my business; there are workers, let them handle it.
As for me... I'm busy building the sewage system, as part of my punishment and because I'm a mage's apprentice, and someone has to do it. The project was given to me on the very first day, along with the news of the promotion. This allowed me to work quite well on the project, adding my own tunnels to the existing plan. After all, besides the sewage, I need to build my own future underground complex. And that means connecting it to the city utilities. I even discussed this with Mom.
"I plan not just to build my part of the sewage system, but also to lay part of the future infrastructure of the base. And also add a secret passage; after all, a secret passage into the sewage is a classic."
Mom laughed.
"Are you going to lure spies?"
I nodded.
"Well, of course. An obvious secret passage simply must include traps. Although the sewage is also needed, of course. There is, however, a small problem—I've never built underground bases. Some things, like the tunnels, I can outline. But no more. I need someone who can design all this. Mom, do you know anyone?"
And this is where the pattern broke.
"You could have asked Geltaan; he wouldn't refuse you. Ultimately, he designed you quite successfully."
I admit, it took me a few seconds to understand what she was talking about. I didn't remember any Architects or fortifiers with that name. Or Elves in general. Except for one specific one. And to realize what exactly was said, and that it was about him... I blanked out, I won't deny it, but it was truly unexpected.
"You're joking."
Mother only smiled mysteriously at that.
"Well, he didn't always construct pastries. We all started somewhere. I was a Battle Mage, and he was engaged in the magical construction of fortifications. Over time, we just decided to settle down, have you, and chose a more peaceful life. And a peaceful profession."
Alright, that... makes sense. Elves aren't Humans; only the Farstriders can really be called a professional army for us. So purely combat professions aren't in high demand. We live a long time; there's nothing wrong with having several professions at different periods of life. So... it makes sense. I'm repeating myself. It's just that it's still quite unexpected.
"So, he'll help?"
She ruffled my hair.
"Of course, dear. Of course he'll help. Has he ever refused you? And the fact that a certain someone is asking him for help... He'll never admit it, but he'll be very, very happy, I'm sure."
New discoveries every day, indeed. Anyway, I went to my father. I showed him the project. Of course, I had to explain a lot. Assembly lines, the reactor, what would be done, in what order, and why. Father, a High Elf with a small beard and a cold gaze in his blue eyes, accepted the project, though he demanded some things be adjusted. He decided this:
"So, we'll make several... security perimeters. The first level is what everyone should see. Workshops, offices, and warehouses on the surface. Anyone can enter there."
I nodded; it was all clear and logical.
"It makes sense to separate them from the rest. So that even in theory, it would be impossible to get lower through them. A facade."
The Elf nodded, making notes and leaning over the blueprints.
"Yes, that's correct. We expect many strangers there who must not penetrate further, even in theory. Next. The second level—warehouses and communications. Places that will be relatively easy to penetrate, including during cargo delivery. Those same passages, connections to the sewers. Not as open as the first level, but for an experienced Rogue—not an obstacle. Yes, there will be your golems and Invisibility systems. But Rogues have always been famous for their Subtlety. Just keep in mind that the enemy will be able to get in there. This will be a pure defensive perimeter, the task of which is to weed out the weak."
Unpleasant, but I don't know that much specifically about Rogues. I call Veni a rogue, but she's still a hybrid, with an emphasis on the bow and stealth in the forest. Elite Wardens agents, like Valeera Sanguinar, would likely pass the second level as well. I'm almost certain that we'll cross paths with that red-and-green Systems Alliance rogue sooner or later.
"Alright, I understand. Next?"
The Elf showed a few more sketches.
"The third level of security. Connected to the second at several important communication points. Infrastructure, goods from warehouses, water supply if needed. Several bridges known to you, lined with all enemy detection systems. There are no accidental guests here, nor can there be. Which means those who reach the third level will be professionals. Production facilities will be located here, but offices too. With disinformation; it's not worth storing anything important there."
I got the idea.
"So the enemy finds information and doesn't go further?"
"Correct," the Elf smirked with clearly visible sadism, "another trap for fools. Valuable resources, but also poison among the gold. Do you understand?"
Of course. I replied with the same smile.
"They will die painfully, father."
The Elf huffed.
"Good. The fourth level is a decoy. Essentially bait for those for whom what was found on the third level isn't enough. Well-fortified traps leading to nowhere. You wanted to make a complex inhabited by golems, like the towers of the elder mages?" I nodded. "Then this is what's needed. Everything valuable will be stored on the fifth level. Where no one expects it. Your laboratories, entertainment rooms," he winked, "which parents shouldn't know about, the library, this reactor hall of yours, two-leveled. No signs, not a single trace; only your memory can lead you there."
And yes, the reactor room has a second floor. The sole task of this floor is, in case of a critical failure, to bury the reactor room with all the chaos that will be happening in it. Protection for the most extreme case.
"I understand, father."
And all this goodness at a depth of twenty meters below the surface. Yes, I perfectly understood the essence of the idea. Each of the five levels is seasoned with traps and golems. But there's a nuance.
"It seems, father, we'll have to start construction from the fifth level. We need to assemble the energy source as soon as possible. And the magic."
The Elf pondered, examining the blueprint and making marks. He thought for a long time, about ten minutes.
"We can proceed as follows: lay a tunnel directly to the construction point. Build it. Then, when the construction is finished, fill in the tunnel, change its direction, add traps. You want the enemy not to get to that place, right?"
I nodded.
"I don't, father."
The Elf immediately continued:
"Then proceed from the assumption that the enemy will find out the path, will penetrate at the moment of construction at the most vulnerable moment for this. That he will take advantage of the complex's weakness while such an opportunity exists. And act accordingly. The path should not lead to the goal at all, only to death."
And father suggested quite a few traps as well, as well as decoys. I would never have thought that father had such a creative streak. This maniac even suggested building a three-dimensional labyrinth with randomly moving trap-rooms. To the question "what is the point of this schizo-tech," he impassively replied:
"The enemy will be sincerely convinced that something valuable is hidden there and will not be able to pass by such a labyrinth."
In general, as it turned out, my father is quite a fan of fortification, entrenchment, and traps. He should be designing villain bases from Bond movies, seriously. But I won't argue; if you set aside the most unhinged ideas—a lot of sensible things were said. In a world of sword and magic, it's not just you applying that magic, but the enemy too. And it's not just you who can create something non-standard. The enemy can and will too. And it's better if he doesn't find the cache at all than to give him a chance at Lockpicking. This should be thought over thoroughly.
Well, for now... I should remember that I am a Mage's apprentice. And also punished. In short, it's high time to dig the sewers. After all, who in magical society does all the dirty and thankless work? Apprentices, of course, and from any profession. And until I get my master rank, the lord mages can and will send me to do all sorts of things. The only consolation is that I'm not the only one so "beautiful." There are about fifty apprentices, and we are digging the sewers collectively. More precisely, each has their own section; the city, damn it, is big, and it needs to be done quickly. Fine, I'll think of it as training, and that Earthwork skills will be useful to me when creating the underground complex.
All this started back in the first week of my stay in the city, and relatively harmlessly—with summoning an Elemental. I had read the general theory, but there had been no practice yet. And even though I passed the summoning of a standard water Elemental for a Mage quite quickly, an earth Elemental is a different matter.
The result should not be combat-oriented, but rather engineering-based, working more flexibly with matter than is available to mages. So that we don't have to work with levitating pickaxes and shovels; that would be long, just unbearably long. But I'm not discouraged; after all, it's a very useful tool during construction; it's stupid to refuse such a thing. And I will definitely, absolutely need it in the very near future, which everyone understands.
Mother decided to teach me the new spell. We met on the outskirts of the city so as not to disturb anyone. People, houses, and construction sites were left behind. Ahead was a stony beach with occasional waves washing up, and further on the horizon, numerous ships, boats, and several water elementals, following my example, performing the role of patrols and rescuers.
After making sure that we weren't disturbing anyone and no one would disturb us, mother turned, nodded to herself, and spoke:
"It's quite simple, dear. Essentially, the spell you need consists of two parts. The first forms the Elemental. The second fills the summoned form with content. Like the golems you make in large quantities, but a little different. A water Elemental is quite simple; it doesn't need special skills. An earth one is more complex."
I nodded.
"I remember, mom. It's the summoning standard. The Elemental doesn't have normal stabilization, which is why it breaks down quite quickly, unlike natural ones. The ones Shamans work with. If you want the doll to last longer, it makes sense to make a full-fledged golem body."
Mother smiled.
"That's right, well done. Now remember the formation and repeat it when you're ready, DaVi."
Saying this, the Elf began to form strings. Somewhat similar to "terrain creation," but not it. Obviously, this is needed to form the construct's body. And the resulting weaves—to set the creature's skills. I didn't hurry, examining the resulting formation. As best as I could. After all, I must show a worthy result, a successful one. I asked her to repeat it slowly, memorizing the necessary sequence.
In the process of inspection, a question occurred to me.
"Is it possible to negotiate with them? Well, summon a full-fledged Elemental and negotiate so that it does something?"
I happen to have the corresponding rituals from the Karazhan books. The Guardians studied all sorts of magic. Not just Medivh, but his predecessors as well, collected and took notes on any magical knowledge. And since the mages had to interact with Orcs, there is information about shamanism and about summoning an Elemental. And even though shamanism itself isn't held in high regard by mages, the books exist, and are even quite detailed. Take and perform, if there's a desire. Though, the consequences are also on you.
Mother nodded.
"Everything is possible, dear. Shamans negotiate with elementals, as I've heard. But it's difficult; besides, elementals can be quite willful. If it doesn't like what you're doing, you'll find yourself in battle without an assistant. Or the work will be done poorly. Yes, the Elemental's capabilities after subjugation may be limited, but it's reliable. A subordinated Elemental won't be able to do a poor job, run away, or betray you. Keep that in mind."
That makes sense. I'm no Thrall to spend years tuning myself to the "worthy" use of power. Ultimately, the Elemental is needed for a specific task. Creating a construct or simply subordinating an existing one really should be easier. I smirked to myself.
"Starting."
So, the first stage: form the body of my construct. To make it easier, I lowered my hands to the ground, almost "touching" the strings. I really wanted to blurt out "summoning technique," but they wouldn't get it. Alright, jokes aside, let's form it. This stage is harder than the water form. Gather and pull... And I immediately got a flick on the forehead. Naturally, my concentration broke.
"Mom?"
She didn't just interfere for no reason, right? The Elf leaned over and looked disapprovingly.
"Not like that, DaVi. This isn't a water Elemental. Water is plastic and takes any shape. But the essence and meaning of stone is not in flexibility. It's about something else. About hardness, monumentality. And immobility. Statics. Add joints; otherwise, the Mana consumption even for movement will be huge."
"Understood."
On the third attempt, I managed to do it correctly, getting something like joints. It turned out looking like a stone skeleton, nearly two and a half meters tall. Or even a Ghoul, with heavy paws covered in stone "flesh" and powerful claws. Satisfied with the result, mother gave the signal.
"Good. Now fill the result of your labor with logic. Memorize the formation."
I managed to repeat it on the second try, fortunately because the Elf held the strings in the right position, allowing me to examine the weave from all sides. And in general, I had more experience; I'd practiced on golems.
Finally, the Elemental began to move. You control it mentally, just like the water one, right? Good. Stand up. The golem heavily rose onto four limbs. Jump. Dance. Distracted by laughter, I noticed mother having fun. I was even hugged, which was very nice.
"Well done, my good girl. Everything is done as it should be. Now let it apply magic."
I couldn't help but laugh. Very specific jokes started popping into my head when the Elemental began to slowly spread its arms and the soil right in front of it began to part. You'll be Billy. Apparently, my laughter was taken for satisfaction with the successful summoning. And they decided to remind me that I hadn't been trying for nothing.
"Well done, everything is done as it should be. Now—to the construction site. You have the map; the magical markers are laid out. We will be watching your progress, young Wizard."
"Alright, I'll do it."
The second phase, the most tedious and slow—laying the sewer tunnels. In fact—a whole network of tunnels for all sorts of purposes. From narrow drains straight from the houses to local catchment basins. From them, through slightly sloped collectors—into the collection and treatment system. From there—remove the excess from the city. Each subsequent level is larger than the previous one. In the future, it will be inhabited by a mass of slugs devouring the waste of an entire city. Both dead and living, undesirable.
A separate quest—the storm drain. We don't need the city to be flooded after rain. And since our terrain is tropical, there might be a rainy season. In short, we need a storm drain. It needs to be led out of the city. And done in such a way that this pipe doesn't become a road for all the Rogues and simple spies. And so that it's impossible to repeat that wall explosion from "Lord of the Rings." But that's not my business, really. I'll stick turrets in my zone.
And yes. Separately—laying underground communications for my future base. Both simple secret passages allowing free exit in any part of the city, and full-fledged transport tunnels. Supplying production, delivering products to the city and the shipyards. This is part of the second level of security perimeter.
A whole network of tunnels, passages, and channels at different heights. But that's not all. The city is on an island; the water table starts early. And not only does the Elemental part the earth not that quickly, the tunnel starts to flood almost immediately. Slowly, but surely. To prevent this, I had to put on a helmet and freeze, freeze, freeze. Heartily, so as not to bother with pumping out the excess. Because of which, any "intellect" who tried to use the toilet... During construction work, yeah... In short, this asshole will freeze off everything in honor of which he was so "proudly" named.
"The Frozen Throne is like that. If you're not Arthas, you'll freeze your ass off."
And I'm not ashamed; these geniuses were warned that people were working. If anything, temporary toilets have been built where slugs are fattening up before being released into the already built sewers. They were brought in bottles, small ones. And an adult slime can be the size of a cow. And warnings are hanging around the city. But nooo, there are wise guys, and quite a few of them. Such an "aromatic" obstacle.
Next on our list—laying and sealing the tunnels. Partially with stone, partially with transmutation magic, the walls are given their final shape. Metal is used to a minimum. Including because slugs don't eat stone, but they dissolve steel in minutes.
That was my first month in Theramore. In the morning you wake up, eat, go to work in the workshop, blueprints, adjustments—the Dwarves and I yell at each other, but then we come to a decision and make up. After lunch—I build the sewers, dig tunnels with the golem, freeze, wait for the workers to lay the stone, reinforce. It's dark, cold enough to make your teeth chatter, tedious and monotonous. In the tunnels, I'm wrapped in a fur coat over Armor with a closed breathing system. But there's a lot of practice, just to the point of numbness. Good thing the Elemental does most of the work, not me.
By the fourth week, I sincerely wanted to kill. From the cold, from the stench and the darkness. From those idiots who couldn't care less about warnings. Only for their sake, out of pure hatred for humanity, did I put as much power as possible into the frost, mastering the use of a blizzard in a radius almost like a Magister's. Hope you freeze everything off, you freaks. Every time an announcement is made—use is forbidden, there are the toilets, walk over—and they still try. Even the management took pity and issued an order: treat frostbite at five times the price. Because they don't listen, they barge in, and then they strain the healers.
But we continued to dig. Elementals parting the rock with their hands, freezing so it wouldn't flood, laying, sealing with magic. Digging a sewer under a not-so-small city isn't like drawing things on a fence, even if I only do it for about four hours every day, because there are other duties. I get home by night, unwrap myself, and hit the shower. And then sleeeeeep. And so day after day.
Until at a certain point, we finished. The Mage apprentices connected the communications into a single network, the adults checked and approved, and I made many preparations for the future dungeon without dragons. Soon I'll be the "boss of the gym." Cool, in general. I went to report to Jaina personally; mother was busy. The sorceress received me, listened, and confirmed the completion of the task. Now they need to wait until the necessary amount of "material" accumulates in the sewers and release the slime. This will take another week or two.
But judging by the sorceress's face, I'm about to be tasked with something else. I'm just sure of it.
"It's good that you finished, and on time. Davilinia, your help will be required in other places. As you can see, the construction of the city is progressing, but we cannot sit and wait forever. We should move forward. Do you agree?"
Yeah? Just as I thought. Well, I'm listening. Naturally, with a polite half-bow.
"Of course. What needs to be done, Lady Jaina?"
The sorceress nodded to her own thoughts.
"The most urgent work within the city is completed; from here on, we'll manage with the workers' forces. Involving you in the construction of residential houses would be a waste of potential. Hm. Do you already know the latest intelligence reports?"
Of course. I read the news, which, by the way, spreads through the city with the speed of a hurricane. This is done specifically so that the population sees progress and knows we aren't just twiddling our thumbs here. I recited from memory, looking at the sorceress:
"Advanced detachments of Theramore troops have made contact with Orcs in the northwest, Lady Jaina. But according to my punishment, I am forbidden from leaving the city..."
Jaina smiled.
"Lady Clarinel and I thought about it and decided that keeping you strictly within the city limits is counterproductive. Besides, you tried very hard in performing your last job, and we both want to reward you. So now you are allowed, if there is a direct order from the Chancery, to visit the jungles around the city. Without combat Alchemy; you won't be allowed to use it until the healer gives the go-ahead. As you understand, for a violation, this privilege can be taken away. Use it wisely, Davilinia."
I won't say I'm very thrilled... Let's put it this way: a city with a lot of work is better than jungles full of mosquitoes, crocodiles, and Murlocs. But I'm not exactly in a position to be picky. So, a polite bow and say, hiding my dissatisfaction:
"Thank you for this opportunity, Lady Jaina."
The sorceress smiled, apparently noticing my reaction after all.
"Well, it's not all that bad, Davilinia. I understand that the cold dark walls of the sewers are not the best place for a child. So I have a task for you and a few more of your colleagues," the sorceress levitated a sheet of paper to herself, "look. As you already know, the scouts found the sought-after mountain of the Guardian. What's even more unpleasant, our advanced detachments have engaged in battle with Orc scouts. The Horde has also crossed the ocean, as it turns out. Therefore, it was decided to lay a road to the northwest, to establish communications. Naturally, the work teams encountered resistance from the local fauna. Predators, and a large number of Murlocs. Their destruction is precisely a task for Mage apprentices. And for you—an opportunity to air out and practice combat magic. Can you handle it?"
I should. I was tossing Trolls around, and these fish-faced ones... Well, they're unpleasant, but there's less threat from them than from a hypothetical Death Knight or Nerubians. Unless there's a straight-up mob of them, of course. And there will almost certainly be a mob of them.
"Of course, Lady Jaina. I'll carve them up. Venidan and the ship aren't in the city, so I'll need to take a Crane. Is that allowed?"
Surprise, but the walkers are reserved for the military. So despite the fact that we assemble them, I can't use them without permission. Although I am assembling my own for the team. It turned out to be a very useful machine for running over rough terrain. The Knights also approved of the machine and immediately began decorating them like some kind of bikers. Skulls, they started painting them in various wild colors. Those who are older—apply house crests. Younger Knights generally go overboard with completely wild color schemes. But it's much better than horses. A fact with which even the conservatives agree.
"I'll sign the permit," Jaina nodded, "will you manage yourself, or should I assign a couple more apprentices to help?"
"I could, but let there be backup," it's easier here; I'm used to acting either alone or with Veni and Dartaola. Backup won't be redundant. Who knows what interesting poisons they have there. These are Murlocs; for all their weakness, they can be extremely dangerous in large numbers. They even have their own mages, shamans, and dark priests. Well, void magic users.
"Commendable prudence," the sorceress smiled satisfiedly. "If you had refused, I would have ordered it. Not only is risking a valuable specialist by sending you alone—in any case, not the way to go. But also, in principle, sending an apprentice on such a task alone is simply idiocy."
I didn't comment on that, silently nodding. Grabbing the transport permit and the task sheet, the next morning I set off for the meeting point with the other executors. I feel like a real player who received a group quest. Hitting Murlocs—that's a natural classic, like twenty pieces of Boar meat. Or skins. By the way, on the way back, I can stock up on meat. So the scout-bird was also included in the set. It will sit on my shoulder, like the original. A mechanical Falcon, almost identical to a natural one.
If I think about it, I really am glad to get out of the city. Let's be honest, I'm used to the fact that there aren't that many people around, and we are all more or less free in our actions. But in the city, you have to be careful, in every sense. Don't say this, don't act like that, don't cast frost waves, don't smash furniture, don't blow anything up. Constant restrictions.
In short, I tumbled out onto the square in front of the town hall the next morning perfectly pleased with myself and ready for achievements. And I almost ran into a Human and a Gnome girl. Both—in mage robes, judging by the coloring—apprentices. It seems these are my colleagues. The Human is a rather tall guy about sixteen years old, a real long-armed beanpole, red-haired and big-eared. For a Human. The Gnome girl—shorter than me, but not by much, a brunette, cute and chubby-cheeked. I'm the middle one, it turns out. They didn't notice me, so I crept up from behind, putting my hands on their shoulders. Given the height difference, I had to strain a bit.
"Gathering for Murlocs, folks?"
Both apprentices turned sharply at my words and hands. And exhaled, as if they expected to meet someone else. Heh.
"Well, yeah. And you..." the guy started to speak but was interrupted by the Gnome girl.
"And she is the ice monster from the undercity—the ass-biter!"
What? What kind of jokes are these?
"I don't follow."
The Gnome girl, completely unashamed, explained.
"Well, rumors are already going around that in the sewers we were building, an ice monster has settled that freezes butts and bites them off. And you look strong. I'm Klanika, by the way. And this is Stan."
Ahhhhh. Well, yeah, that happened. No, I understand that the sewers are needed to drain sewage into them. Но it should be done after they are already built and the builders have left them. So I had to find a solution, fortunately deep freezing handles that.
"I'm Davilinia, or DaVi, for friends. Not an ass-biter; I might strike with lightning for that. Anyway, are we everyone, or will there be someone else?"
"Everyone," the guy shrugged, "well, shall we go? We'll get there by lunch."
I laughed. No, I could have said it straight but... that's not interesting. And I want to show off. Ultimately, why not, hm?
"Go ahead, I'll catch up with you. There's only one road anyway."
The guy frowned.
"Are you sure? We could wait. It might be dangerous there."
Then there won't be a surprise.
"It won't take long. Don't worry. You won't even have time to walk away from the city. I guarantee, it's not long."
"Alright," the guy shrugged, "just be quick."
They went, clearly in no hurry, well, and my path lies to the garage. There should be a fresh batch of walkers there, and I intend to privatize one. The guard at the garage hesitated at first, but seeing the paper with the managerial signature and seal, he honestly handed over the machine. And I even managed not to knock anything down in the process of bringing the Crane out of the garage. Including thanks to the "cruise control" in the form of a golem.
Well, yes, we rode them during testing, but the controls are still a bit unusual. Two levers, there's a throttle handle, but for turning, you don't use a wheel control, but an increase or decrease in the stroke of a specific limb. Depending on the force of the press, a turn occurs in the specified direction.
However, to look more solid in front of my peers, I had time to practice. So I left the city not through the northern, but the eastern gates, and went around. I'm still much faster than any pedestrian.
The road isn't finished yet, there are no pedestrians, the chance of hitting something is minimal, I can learn. Enough territory has been cleared so that the road couldn't be blocked by dropping a tree on it. And also an arrow or a spell. And this exposes the slightly unstable, liquid soil of the local jungles. Yes, the workers made an embankment, but the irregularities are still visible. It will crawl, sooner or later, I'm almost certain of it.
The walker successfully picks up its feet; people who do happen to be met step aside, letting the machine pass. Looking at them like this, from a height, is pleasant. And there are my companions, walking along the shoulder to the north. They look back, but only noticed when I braked nearby. Apparently, they didn't expect to see me on such a transport.
"So, as I already said, we'll get there in an hour. Climb in, I'll show you what speed is."
Stan actually whistled. And fear was reflected on the guy's face. Em, who is teaching you, where does the fear come from, what's with the fear of adventure and small violations of order?
"Did you steal the machine? You'll be punished, you idiot! They're for the knights!" the guy groaned, "return it immediately!"
The Gnome girl giggled.
"Well, they'll punish her later. Not you, I think she knows what she's doing. For now, I suggest a ride."
With these words, she waved her hands and slowly rose into the air, climbing up and helping herself with levitation. The guy looks frankly nervous.
"This won't end well for any of us, you don't understand... These are machines being assembled for knights by special order. This isn't just a stolen golem; we won't get off with a flogging for this. Why are you girls so reckless, huh?"
God, everyone is so nervous.
"It was issued to me by direct order of the Chancery, Stan. Don't shake, or you can go on foot while we ride. Everything will be fine."
The Gnome girl, who had climbed behind my back and sat in the saddle, looked out and is looking into my face with clear curiosity.
"Seriously? By direct order?"
I nodded.
"I have acquaintances in the Chancery. The document is quite official," the guy below still doesn't look impressed, "well, men have diminished. I said, I have a permit. And you're still shaking. Some guy you are. Coward..."
"I'm not a coward!" the mage larva, having suddenly found a second wind, jumped up, clearly helping himself with magic, but it looks powerful anyway, "move over!"
We laughed, but I didn't give up the control levers.
"Sit in the back. Unlike some people, I know how to control it. I have experience."
In the process of boarding, the guy got a slap on the hands for trying to grab everything in sight.
"Hold onto my belt. And tighter, lower. Even tighter. You're not groping, you're holding on, so hold on tighter. Starting."
And, solely out of the best intentions, I cranked the throttle handle "to the floor." We started forward to the Gnome girl's laughter and the guy frantically clutching me, the thud of the walker's feet on the road. I can't see his face, but I'm absolutely sure he's trying to look solid. And yes, putting on a helmet was the right decision. Insects smashing against the frontal shield is better than them hitting your face.
"So, how do you like it?"
"Classy!" the Gnome girl shouted, "fast and fun!"
"You're psychos!" the guy yelled, "it's fast, very fast!"
Of course it's fast; that's the point. Faster than a horse gallops. I heard that in "modern times," when the first self-propelled carriages appeared, many were very afraid of machines precisely because of the speed. Although our knights don't seem to suffer from such things. Well, or they don't show it, as an option. The few people walking along the road step aside, letting the walker pass and looking after it. Apparently, they've already learned who rides such machines. There were no attackers; we got there quickly and without incident.
We reached the builders' camp in about forty minutes. The view that opened up was not bad, but quite standard for a construction site. Tents, a lot of felled timber that will go to the city, guards along the perimeter. People with wheelbarrows making an embankment and chopping trees. The sentries noticed the machine, and a duty officer came out to meet us. Who was just a tiny bit surprised to find three mage larvae in the saddle instead of one knight.
However, he quickly calmed down upon seeing the papers and whose signature and seal were on the permit. That's what a good roof is.
"So, you're here to deal with the Murlocs? You got here fast. Seems the management is in a hurry."
I nodded.
"Yes, because of that. The elder mages remembered that apprentices exist to do the dirty work for them. And the Orcs aren't the best neighbors."
The officer grimaced.
"Orcs, tsk. Agreed, it's worth hurrying. Though I didn't expect the help would be so fast," he pointed to the Crane standing behind our backs.
I shrugged. What of it? I create them; why not keep one for myself. Especially since we're talking about a workshop; there's no unique patent; I can easily find resources for a couple. The plan is to equip our entire trio with such things. Just in case.
"Possessing capabilities and not using them is stupid, if you ask me. So, where are these murlocs of yours? The faster we take them down, the faster you'll finish the job."
The officer pointed slightly back and to the left.
"The canal is over there, a couple of hundred steps away. I don't know exactly where they live; we don't have scouts to go crawling through the swamps. But they come from that direction. Apparently, the noise angers them; they've attacked several times already. They killed three workers, and there are wounded. Poisoned weapons, some kind of foul, non-human magic. Dangerous beasts. And there are many of them, dozens; they attack suddenly and strike for the kill."
So, this is a job for us. No, I could find their camp myself and flood everything with ice, but that would just be boring. That's why I use the scout bird, but as backup, not as the primary weapon. I smirked.
"We'll do it," I said, then decided to ask the colleagues present, "any ideas?"
Stan shrugged.
"Go there and slaughter them? What else is there to think about?"
We could, but we won't do it that way. So I spoke as mockingly as possible:
"Are there any less stupid solutions?"
The guy flared up.
"Hey, that's a smart solution! That's exactly why we're here!" He looked down at me and spat out, "Maybe you have better ideas, Miss 'I'm-in-charge-here'?"
Pff, so noisy. And stupid.
"Let's start with the simple stuff. How do you plan to find the murlocs?" I pointed in the direction they had come from. "There are jungles, canals, and swamps over there. Murlocs aren't Humans; they don't build big cities with stone walls. Are we going to crawl through the swamps for the next week, is that it?"
The Gnome girl shuddered.
"I'd rather not. We need to come up with something."
Oh, Stan looked embarrassed. Or rather, thoughtful.
"But they come from that direction, so they must be close if they hear the construction noise. The forest should muffle it. Hmm, maybe... make some noise? Then they'll come, and we'll kill them. And we won't have to crawl through the swamps."
Maybe he's not so stupid after all.
"Sounds like a plan," Klanika smiled. "We just need to think everything through. If they're reaching the workers, there must be quite a lot of them. Dozens—that's not good."
Agreed.
"Yes, I think so too. Actually, I suggest we do this: lure the murlocs out, set off an elemental storm on them. Don't finish off a few, let them escape, and track them on this," I pointed to the walker. "Find their village, level everything there. Mission accomplished."
Stan beamed.
"Then let's do it!"
And so it was decided. So, the first stage—lure the enemy. Take positions near the body of water, away from the camp. Hide. And make noise. No, not shouting ourselves, that's stupid. I'll use my new acquisition, which I've been practicing with for the last month.
"Rock and Stone!"
I stood with my arms crossed over my chest, and behind me, in a flash, an Earth Elemental formed in the same pose, towering over my meter-and-a-half height. Still the same stone Ghoul. The Gnome girl snorted, and even Stan smiled. Oh well.
"Summon yours, we're going to make some noise. At the same time, they can work in close combat."
Apparently inspired by my creation, the guy threw up his hands and proclaimed:
"Crusher!"
His Elemental was a classic hunk of rock, frozen at the Mage's command as if flexing non-existent biceps. The Gnome girl looked at us and declared:
"Stonecutter!" After appearing, her Elemental broke a weak tree and tossed it over its shoulder.
Not bad at all. I even stepped back to see how this pathetic stone trio looked frozen in place. Ai-ya-ya-aaaaaa... Hee-hee.
"Wonderful. Now—smash!"
We hid, and the Elementals began tearing everything apart with their mighty fists with the loudest possible crunching. Trees, branches, bushes. What they didn't tear apart, they threw into the river; maybe the murlocs wouldn't like trash floating into their territory. Just breaking branches and making a racket is boring, so we started acting out all sorts of things. Boxing with trees, fencing with logs, singing loudly while the Elementals drummed on every possible surface. I don't know what the builders thought, but we tried our best. The roar and crackle were such that the birds cleared out instantly.
Naturally, my scout did too. So within half an hour, I knew exactly where the target village was. Even if these huts weren't visible from the air, true sight—also known as magical sight—lit up their Biotics users. If the murlocs didn't come themselves, I'd lead the guys; it wasn't far, we'd get there in about ten minutes. For now... I'll just say it's fun. And we're in no rush.
The murlocs appeared about forty minutes later. Apparently, they'd had enough. About half the village showed up.
"Gabburrrrggglllll!"
We went prone in time, watching the shore. There, the fish-faces—the murlocs—were climbing out of the water. Short, about a meter tall, but there were quite a lot of them. Ten, twenty. Thirty-three. Classic murlocs, a hybrid of a frog and a fish, with strange growths on their backs like degraded fins. Armed with spears and bone swords, many wore bone Armor, with skulls for helmets. A couple had staves made of sticks with skulls; looked like Mages.
And yet, according to rumors, a murloc can actually be trained. Not just in magic, but in language and even a bit of culture. True, they don't live very long; they age early. Long enough to form a primitive society, but not enough for something more. A waste of time, or a Mage's whim. Though, if you're a Necromancer, even that problem is solvable. Because otherwise, it's not so bad. A murloc is quite capable of mastering both magic and complex tools if necessary. Well, those are thoughts for the future.
"Brrrg, gha!" the largest of those who appeared pointed at the Elementals.
They didn't seem to notice us. And since I'm the strongest Mage here, I'm the one in command.
"I'll freeze them, then you strike."
"Alright."
Lovely, especially since the murlocs, grumbling and bubbling, continued to approach. The Elementals ignored them; apparently, the fish-faces decided they weren't seen. Need to let them get closer, and then...
"Go!"
An icy wave struck, instantly freezing the water for dozens of meters ahead, along with the murlocs wading through it. A perfect coating with a significant margin. The murlocs who hadn't managed to leave the water were frozen into it to varying degrees. Now, even if they weren't touched, the fate of these creatures would be quite agonizing.
"Get them!" Stan yelled, ordering his Elemental to rush forward and firing Arcane Strikes. The Gnome's golem, swinging a new club—or rather, a log—trailed by a fraction of a second. As did mine.
The lead murloc heard this too and barked:
"Glakh! Burgrlangh!"
Almost immediately, darts with bone tips, a couple of Frostbolts, and a lot of murloc cursing seasoned with primitive spells flew in our direction. However, they very quickly had no time for us, as the Elementals stopped engaging in senseless vandalism and, thundering and crushing the ice, reached the attackers.
I admit, I even feel a little sorry for these creatures. After all, I am a product of a more civilized era that has brazenly invaded their pastoral life. And yes, Trolls are different. They are larger, cruder, more aggressive, and, importantly, more conscious. They look like us but are very different—wild, big, and dangerous. But murlocs are like our lesser brothers. Yes, they don't look like a kitty or a doggy, but I still feel much more sorry for them. Especially considering they have a culture; they have a society, albeit a primitive one.
Khrank...
Right nearby, at the edge of the Magic Shield, a bone spear slammed into a tree. And it was sharp; it got stuck. I even tried to wiggle it for curiosity's sake; I couldn't do it without a Buff. Alright, I hear you. My stone Warrior, crush them with all the power of your fists! Stylish and unstoppable. The Elemental slammed its fists together with a roar and, with the sound of a rockslide, rammed through the nearest murlocs, literally smearing them across the ice. I winced. Well... alright, that'll do. Especially since this machine has already stopped between two fish-faces and is working them both over with fast strikes.
What can I say? This is a beating with particular cynicism. Three successive freezes, attacks with ice and Arcana. All of this in the water so they couldn't get out. They were doomed; only Klanika temporarily saved some by shouting:
"Don't kill them all, we still need their village!"
Oops? Got a little carried away. I carefully breathed fire so a couple could get free and escape—singed, but alive. Especially since the rest were essentially finished. And silence fell. Climbing onto the walker, I surveyed the battlefield and whistled.
"Well, we really went wild here..."
Once again, I'm convinced that the use of Elemental Magic is destructive in one hundred percent of cases. The three of us effectively leveled about two hectares of forest. First the Elementals, who were the bait, and then us with our spells. A field of considerable size was shredded into firewood and chips, frozen through, slightly smoking, part of it bound in ice. And all this windfall was stained scarlet and brown. Mud, if you're wondering. Impressive, though.
"Hey, DaVi, let's move," Klanika tapped my shoulder, having climbed up behind me, "otherwise they'll get away and we'll have to search."
"Yeah, let's go."
Actually, in the murloc village, it turned out about the same. And I'm... not thrilled, okay? I understand they would have killed us, and possibly eaten us. But still, driving the walker back to the city after the cleanup, I don't feel very good. It's one thing to have an enemy who came to kill you themselves. It's another to have a settlement that was defending itself. Even if it's inhabited by monsters and ordered by the city leadership. I did what was required, but I'm not happy about what happened.
Besides the three of us, Kig-Yar (Jackals) carcasses are hanging from the hull. They ran to the smell of blood where we destroyed the first group. And then to the village. So the hunt found us itself, as did the meat. We decided to deliver them to the city; we'll turn them in and get extra money. Not too much, but who are we to turn down extra income, right?
And I still feel no sympathy for the Kig-Yar (Jackals). Nor for the Trolls. But I feel sorry for the murlocs. If I think about it, for the first time, I'm in the role of the aggressor-invader.
"Hey, DaVi, what's up?" Someone tapped my shoulder. Stan. "What's with her?"
The Gnome girl answered boredly:
"Tired, probably. You saw what kind of spells she has. Don't you fall asleep there, okay? No one else knows how to operate the walker."
I waved it off. It wasn't about being tired. And they wouldn't understand anyway. Different society. If they're an enemy, you can kill them, and you even should. Again, I'm not against destroying the Undead, or those same Trolls. Those who directly want to kill and eat you. But in the murloc village, we froze everything we could. So that not a single egg remained. Yes, I'm sad because of what was done; I can't help myself. We did everything right, of course, but that's cold comfort.
"Hey, DaVi, Klanika," the guy asked a few minutes later, "I know where we can find a bottle of ale, and no one will ask us questions. How about the three of us sit down and celebrate? We did a big and important thing; I think we've earned a little rest. And we picked up some cash. What do you think?"
The Gnome girl shrugged.
"I'm not against it if everyone else isn't. DaVi?"
To be honest, I wanted to say "no." I have no idea how my body will react to alcohol. I had an experience relatively recently, in Karazhan. Only I don't remember exactly what happened there, and I can't check. A problem. On the other hand, cutting myself off from the group entirely isn't right either... And they clearly won't let us get hammered. One bottle for three, pff. What could go wrong?
"Alright, I agree. But I'm reminding you, my Family works in the Chancery. And if they see me, I'm the one they'll bury."
Stan clearly brightened up.
"I'll do everything in the best possible way! Forward, murloc hunters! A well-deserved reward awaits us!"
Fine, fine. And even if I'm not a fan, I'll go along for the company. Forward. The walker, which had been moving steadily until then, sped up slightly, forcing the guy to hold onto us tighter. It seems he's still a little scared. Perhaps I really do lack friends or basic informal communication.
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