Path of Dragons 17 - Chapter 27 - Industry (Patreon)

The old work-slave stood before Elijah, his shoulders bowed.  Not in subservience, but rather, because of his burden.  And rightly so, too.  The item was enormous, perhaps as large as a horse and awkwardly shaped, to boot.  He was more than strong enough to hold it, but the unwieldy thing definitely strained his balance. 

Still, when he looked up, it was with no small degree of pride.  On a work-slave’s face, it was an odd and out-of-place expression.

Elijah could appreciate the craftsman’s sentiment, though, as much because he felt that the work-slaves deserved to feel such emotions as because it was a good indicator of the orc’s confidence in the quality of his labor. 

Still, he had no idea what he was looking at.

The shape was recognizable.  In fact, it looked remarkably like the tree that had become the visual representation of his cultivation system.  The orcish craftsman couldn’t have seen it more than once – in the arena – but he’d recreated it perfectly.  Every branch.  The sturdy trunk.  Even the individual leaves. 

They had all been carved from a single piece of green stone.  In a lot of ways, it reminded Elijah of dragonstone, but the gradient was different enough that he knew it was a different material altogether.  On top of that, it held a sheen that suggested it lay somewhere between rock and processed metal. 

The trunk was slightly darker than the rest, with the limbs becoming progressively lighter in tone until the leaves drew much closer to white.  The effect was a surprising amount of depth that made it look almost alive. 

However, there was a dash of milky white at the crown, just where the top-most branches met the trunk.  Elijah recognized it as the termite queen’s brain, though it had been so seamlessly integrated into the overall structure that, even though Elijah had become intimately familiar with the item, it became difficult to recognize it for the horrific trophy it was.

It pulsed with uncommon power.

“What is it?” Elijah asked.  “What does it do?”

“I do not know,” admitted the orc.  Then, he described his intention – to incorporate the focus powers of the shamans’ staves with the essence of the crystalline brain.  However, from his explanation, Elijah got the impression that the work-slave was less in control of the final product than his lofty status as Agmar’s greatest craftsman indicated. 

In fact, the description of the process sounded remarkably like Elijah’s earliest attempts at carving, both his staves and his dolmens.  Back then, instinct had taken the wheel, while he was just along for the ride.  Sure, he could influence the direction, but those instincts were the driving factor behind most of each session.

Over the years, Elijah had learned to exert more control over crafting, but he was still more subject to his instincts than any true Tradesman. 

However, the work-slave’s efforts were subtly different in that, in addition to the role of his instincts, he also relied on the Star Forge at the center of Agmar.  Elijah wasn’t clear as to what it actually did, but he felt comfortable in the assumption that it shouldered much of the burden.

Perhaps it was even responsible for some of the orcs’ more impressive feats.  Like the engines that drove their ships or the cannons they used to so frequently.  And from the sound of it, the staves that Elijah now knew served as conduits for the shamans’ powers. 

They could still exert their domains upon the world, but those staves were the key to the enormous breadth of the effect. 

Which made perfect sense, now that Elijah thought about it.  And he was a little embarrassed that he’d not figured it out sooner.  Perhaps if he had, he might’ve had an easier time defeating those first few shamans.  Now that he had that information, it would be a lot easier to deal with any unruly dissidents.

Regardless, the tree was clearly a powerful item.  The only question was how he was meant to use it, which would very much depend on what Carmen had to say about it.  If she failed to identify it, there was always the Agora representative who’d set up shop in the Vengeance.  They weren’t selling anything – at least officially – but they were there to appraise any items or materials the expedition found.

So far, they had discovered a host of useful resources, and the Appraiser had gotten a heap of experience.  Largely, that was because they were in the middle of a deity-tier trial in an ancestral world, but it was also because the system seemed to take the budding war with the dragons into account.  The increased danger made everything count for more, especially among the non-combatants. 

In the meantime, Elijah took the metal-crystal tree and hefted it aloft. 

The surrounding orcs all took notice and cheered, filling the arena with a thunderous sound that Elijah felt in his very bones.  He held it there for a few moments before, at last, sending it into his Arcane Loop. 

It barely fit.

Lately, he’d noticed that particular problem.  As useful as the Arcane Vault within the ring was, it had become somewhat outdated for his needs.  Elijah had no issue storing all the supplies he’d need for years alone, but it was impossible to send larger items into the space. 

It could accommodate the tree’s size, but only barely.  That told him that he needed to see about upgrading the ring sometime soon.  It was a growth item, so that was an avenue of possibility, but if finding the appropriate materials to prompt an upgrade proved to difficult, he could always commission one through Kirlissa’s network of Merchants.  Or he could have Atticus look around.

Elijah preferred the latter.

Not just because of his issues with the Empire of Scale, either.  Kirlissa was on his side, and unequivocally so.  However, she was also part of the empire with which he’d gone to war.  The fact that it hadn’t really heated up yet didn’t change that reality.  He wouldn’t put it outside the realm of possibility that someone within the Vyrin clan was working at cross-purposes. 

Maybe because they were true traitors.  Perhaps because they saw Elijah as a net detriment to the clan’s future and wanted to remove the threat to Prosperity’s influence.  Or it could simply be driven by greed.

But Elijah didn’t trust them.

By contrast, he knew that Atticus would never betray him.  The Merchant was as much a brother to him as Mano was.  Probably even more so, considering that he’d known Atticus for far longer.  There was also the added benefit that his business – such as it existed – was inextricably intertwined with Atticus’s. 

Elijah valued that far more than the supposed bond between clansmen. 

The reality was that he had choices.  He wasn’t wholly dependent on Kirlissa to get things done.  In fact, he preferred to do things his own way.  He’d barely taken anything from her.

The cheering continued until Elijah lowered his hands and turned to Ok’tarik.  With a nod, the pair left the arena behind, not stopping until they’d traversed Agmar and entered the warchief’s enormous ship. 

Elijah was just as impressed by its size as he was the heavy modifications that had begun.  For orcs, that meant adding more armor, more cannons, and larger engines.  None were any more efficient than the old versions, but they were more powerful by virtue of their increased size.

With orcs, bigger was always better.

Elijah intended to give them a leg up in that department.  Their fleet was impressive in scope, but he wanted it to become much deadlier.  The other dragons were ready for what they usually saw.  There were plenty of records to prepare them for what to expect.  Yet, if humanity’s Tradesmen could implement some of their designs with the fleet, then things would markedly change.

Before that, Elijah had something else he needed to tend to.

Which was how he found himself kneeling next to Makit, who was weaker now than ever before.  She would die.  That certainty hadn’t changed, and there was nothing he could do to stop that, save to remove the child still growing in her womb.  That would kill the infant, and it might not be enough to save the mother.

What’s more, she wouldn’t thank him for it.

For all that orcish mothers abandoned their children soon after birth, they were fiercely protective of them until that moment of separation.  She didn’t care about her own life, just the birth of her child.

Elijah had chosen to respect her wishes and let her die.

Ok’tarik was of a similar mind, though he was obviously much more conflicted than the doomed mother.  He had accepted the reality of the situation, but not easily.  And certainly not without objection.

Elijah placed his hand on her enormously swollen belly and cast his senses inside.  He could already feel the child, body, mind, and soul.  He would be strong.  Healthy.  And what’s more, a connection existed between Elijah and the unborn orc.  From the outside looking in, it would be entirely undetectable.  However, Elijah could feel it, almost like he’d grown an extra arm.

That, combined with the hole in his spirit, was a constant reminder of what he’d done. 

Did he regret it?

In retrospect, no.  But he likely wouldn’t have taken the same actions, had he a chance to do it all over again.  Elijah had experienced countless days of pain.  He had been through agony that would have broken most people.  But that hole?  It was always there, like a burr in his spirit, a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

He felt no weaker, but he knew that if he repeated those actions, it would destroy him.  Not physically, but rather, in terms of his cultivation.  He would maintain the results of his previous efforts, but future improvements would become much more difficult.

That was the price to be paid for granting a core. 

It would only grow worse the more often he did it.  Though there was hope.  According to the notification he’d received – as well as his conversation with the Poet – the child’s growth would slowly make up for Elijah’s lost potential.  Eventually, the hole would disappear altogether.

But if the child failed?  If he died? 

The hole would remain forever.

Or at least that was the implication.  Clearly, the act wasn’t meant to be undertaken lightly.  It confirmed why dragons with granted cores were comparatively uncommon.  Elijah had met a couple here and there, but they tended to try not to draw attention to themselves.

Vaguely, Elijah wondered if that might not have been the reason for his reception during the Tournament of the First Fang.  After all, if he’d been killed during that last fight, it would have weakened Kirlissa.  In a world where she was practically unassailable – at least from a personal perspective – that might have been the only way any of her enemies could get to her.

Now that Elijah was in that same boat, he could admire her restraint.  By all rights, she would have been entirely justified to have wrapped her arms around him in an effort to protect him from her enemies.  Yet, she hadn’t done that.  Instead, she had let him make his own mistakes.  She had allowed him to live a life of extreme danger.

For that, Elijah was grateful.  He never would’ve become the man he had become if she’d played the role of overprotective parent.

“How long?” asked Ok’tarik.

Elijah shook his head, then looked up at the anxious orc.  “A month.  Two, maybe.  It might even be as long as six.”

“That is not normal.”

Indeed, while orcish pregnancies tended to be longer than that of human women – at least as far as Elijah could tell – Makit should have already given birth.  That she hadn’t was solely up to Elijah’s interference.

“I know.  He’s healthy, though.  That’s all I can tell you.”

“That is enough.”

Elijah pushed himself to his feet and said, “I need to go back to my people.  I have some plans for the war, and I can’t get anything else done here.  Not now.”

“What are these plans?”

“Industrial revolution,” Elijah answered.  “And then?  Then, we kill dragons.”

Despite his anxiety, Ok’tarik gave Elijah a tight nod.  “As it should be.  Go.  Return when you have the means of victory in your grasp.”