Sleeping Player (Project Chrysalis Book 3) by John Gold (novel24 TXT) 📕

It’s here, in the poorest district, that I feel most at home. The childhood Project Chrysalis gave me took place in a village where taking a trip to the market was an adventure in itself, back when I still hadn’t given any thought to luxuries like leveling-up.

In fact, everything you could call my normal childhood fit into just three weeks. My favorite memories are breakfasts with my parents, or maybe the lunches when father brought fish and mama praised him.

The local market, flush with the aroma of fresh village food, awakens those good memories for me. That’s why I come here instead of going to a trader’s shop.

After picking up enough food to last us five days, we head over to see the blacksmith about Femida’s sword.

The city is slowly waking up, the shops are starting to open, and players looking to sell their loot are beginning to gather on the streets. By the time we get to the blacksmith’s shop, the workday is already underway. Metal clangs, the familiar old lady voices her warning, and the smell of hot iron fills the area. Nothing has changed.

Femida’s stride changes as we get close, the chat filling with all kinds of choice language. Isaac has taken control, and he’s rushing toward the barrier above the smithy ahead of me. How do you describe a person possessed by a single idea? Isaac walks without paying the least bit of attention to other people. Cuffs to the back of the head, cursing at him in the chat, and warning after warning do nothing to stop him. To my great surprise, in fact, the barrier doesn’t do him any damage. The bonuses from the living armor are enough to withstand the aura from the accursed metal.

When we walk into the shop, the blacksmith looks up at us and does something I never would have expected. He just nods gravely and respectfully at the living armor.

“Greetings, great master.”

Isaac nods back without replying.

The blacksmith remembers our agreement and the reward he promised, though he asks Isaac to help him instead of me. Actually, it’s like I’m not even there. My mental resistance is no longer worthy of interest or respect.

Lots of people have heard about what happens when two past masters meet, but there are far fewer who have seen what they can create when they put their minds together. The pair starts forging one order after another, one taking the lead, and the other following. There are no words. Instead, the room is filled with the ringing of hammers and the heat from the red-hot metal. Poor Femida is forced to suffer through the slave-like labor in order to get her new sword.

The first break happens eighteen hours of forging later. Femida tells us we’re all crazy and heads off to sleep, the inveterate blacksmith goes off to get something to eat, and Isaac stands quietly by the barrier, waiting for the blacksmith to return so they can get back to work. It’s only then that I realize he doesn’t get tired mentally or physically when he’s forging. I’ve only ever seen that in people who really love their work.

While I have time, I head over to the auction and send Ekron a bottle of the best wine I can find, creating a contract in his name with a note for him.

Congratulations on a very nice debut as a god-killer.

Bloody Sagie

When I get back to the blacksmith, I climb into the living armor and start working with the accursed metal. The sense of being wrapped up in the work is a familiar one for me—it’s the way I felt both in the desert and in Hell, when I was forging the key to my success. Every item I made was awash in the blood of hundreds of victims, and each one made me a little crazier. I wonder how far gone Isaac is. How engrossed is he in doing what he loves? The armor tells me a lot, though it doesn’t tell me everything.

Three days later, the blacksmith collapses right next to the anvil. When I start healing him, I notice a dozen exhaustion debuffs, though I’m able to get the rosy cheeks back. Femida, sitting by the barrier, whines about how hard we’re pushing the old man. Not enough bodies for you? she asks in the chat.

After I get rid of the debuffs, Isaac and I carry the blacksmith into the house and lay him down on his bed. And it’s when we’re walking out of the room that I realize my own legs are wobbly—I’m about to collapse from exhaustion myself. It’s been three days since I last slept. The remains of my strength take me to where Femida is, and I throw myself down next to her. The living armor sits nearby as if looking over at his victim. He’s as happy as a child with a new toy, emotions from joy and superiority to satisfaction and enjoyment radiating from him. LJ takes up his post as I fade away into dream land.

Isaac crouches, whirling a knife around in his hand, as he studies me falling asleep. The knife in his hand freezes, and a message appears in the chat.

I told you…what insanity is…

***

A few construction brigades belonging to the Golden Hand showed up in Kurg. The emperor held Leon and his underlings guilty for the damage that had occurred, and the young god was too afraid of losing believers to push back. He decided to beg the mercy of the emperor and get to work.

At least, that’s what lots of people would have done, but not Leon.

After the altar to the nameless god was destroyed, the area that should have been subject to the power of the tree was renamed the Targ Spirit Forest after the mountain range the city butted up against.