RISING OF THE GOLEM KING FROM ZERO TO HERO, Volume 1, Part One by H. L. Watson - HTML preview

Chapter 13

The morning sun filtered through the workshop's high windows, casting long beams of light that illuminated dancing dust motes and highlighted the organized chaos of my new life. During these first few months of freedom, I devoted myself entirely to my studies. The transition from my previous existence as a slave to that of an apprentice Tinkerer required adjustment, but the liberation of choosing my own path outweighed any difficulties I encountered. The workshop that had become my second home was a marvel of organized clutter. Workbenches lined the walls, their surfaces covered with an assortment of tools, half-finished projects, and materials sorted into labeled containers. The air carried the distinctive blend of scents that I'd come to associate with Tinkerer work: hot metal, the sharp tang of magical reagents, the earthy smell of crushed minerals, and the faint hint of ozone that lingered after magical energies had been manipulated. Brass pipes snaked along the ceiling, occasionally releasing small puffs of steam that dissipated into the rafters. My arrangement with my teacher was straightforward but significant. He would cover my tuition fees and provide me with a monthly allowance of 10 gold pieces. In return, I owed him the considerable sum he'd paid for my freedom, plus interest. The debt would be repaid through my hard work, dedication, and eventually, the products of my craft. One morning, as sunlight streamed through the windows and caught the minute crystalline particles floating in the air, my teacher finally revealed his name to me.

"Eldon Sundale," he stated simply, his weathered hands continuing to sort through a collection of crystalline fragments. His white hair was cropped close to his scalp, emphasizing the sharp angles of his dark-skinned face. Deep lines etched around his eyes suggested both age and a lifetime of focusing on intricate details. "That is my name, but you are not to use it." He paused his sorting to look directly at me, his dark eyes piercing. "You will address me as 'teacher' until your training is complete and you have earned the right to call me by name. Is that understood?"

"Yes, teacher," I replied, watching as he resumed his methodical sorting of crystals by color and clarity.

The revelation of his name felt significant, a small token of trust extended between master and apprentice. Teacher Eldon rarely offered personal information, preferring to focus exclusively on the craft.

Later that same day, as we tallied the cost of materials for an upcoming project, Teacher Eldon provided me with context that brought the magnitude of my debt into sharper focus. "The average monthly income for a household in this region is approximately 20 gold pieces," he explained, his fingers tracing columns of figures in a ledger. The afternoon light caught the fine network of lines on his hands, testament to decades of delicate work. I nearly dropped the small crystal I was holding. "Twenty gold pieces per month?"

"Indeed." A hint of amusement flickered across his usually stern features. "Which should give you perspective on the amount I've lent you for your freedom." The full weight of his words settled on my shoulders. Ten thousand gold pieces—equivalent to nearly forty years of income for a typical family. The enormity of his investment in me was staggering.

"Why would you take such a risk?" I asked, setting down the crystal carefully on the workbench. Teacher Eldon's expression grew thoughtful, the usual harshness softening momentarily. "I have high expectations for you," he said simply. "Potential like yours appears rarely, even across decades of teaching. I am curious to see what you might accomplish, given the proper guidance and resources."

His words carried both a compliment and a challenge. I was determined to prove his judgment sound.

As days turned to weeks and weeks to months, I found myself particularly drawn to the creation of crystal orbs. The precise scripts and formulations required resonated with my previous experience in programming languages, creating a bridge between my past life and present circumstances. The familiarity was comforting amid so much that remained foreign.

The workshop section dedicated to crystal work was separated from the main area by a partial wall, creating a space where temperature and humidity could be more carefully controlled. Special lamps provided consistent lighting for the detailed etching work, and the workbenches were equipped with stabilizing mounts to prevent even the slightest tremor from disturbing precision tools.

My first glimpse of the full crystal orb creation process left me spellbound. Teacher Eldon had invited me to observe as he created a new orb for a wealthy client. The process began with the careful selection and preparation of materials—magical sands with varying properties and crystalline minerals crushed to a fine powder, the particles catching the light like microscopic stars.

Teacher Eldon combined these components with practiced precision, measuring quantities by eye with an accuracy that spoke of decades of experience. His movements were economical, wasting neither energy nor materials as he worked. The mixture was then transferred to a crucible made of a strange, dark metal that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light. "Watch carefully," he instructed, his voice dropping to the quiet tone he used when demonstrating particularly important techniques. "The temperature must be exact." He activated a contraption that resembled something from my world's industrial revolution—a steampunk fantasy made real. Brass fittings gleamed in the workshop light, and small gauges with tiny needles monitored conditions inside the heating chamber. The mixture melted under intense heat, transforming from dull powder to molten potential. What followed captured my imagination completely. A mechanical arm with intricate gears and clockwork precision slowly turned and lifted the molten material, drawing it upward and outward until it formed a rough sphere approximately the size of a baseball. The glowing mass suspended in the air, held by forces I couldn't yet fully comprehend, its surface rippling with swirls of color that shifted and changed like oil on water.

The scent of hot minerals filled the air, along with a subtle electricity that made the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. The workshop fell silent except for the soft clicking of the machine and the occasional adjustment Teacher Eldon made to the controls. Even breathing seemed intrusive during this delicate phase.

Once formed, the orb was extracted and carefully transferred to a cooling chamber, where the temperature gradually decreased according to a precise schedule. Too rapid cooling would introduce stress fractures; too slow would allow impurities to settle unevenly. The balance required constant monitoring and occasional adjustments. After cooling came the shaping and polishing—a process that combined mechanical precision with artisanal skill. Teacher Eldon used specialized tools to cut and shape the rough orb into a perfect sphere, then polished it until the surface gleamed with flawless clarity. His hands moved with surprising gentleness for someone whose fingers showed the calluses and minor scars of a lifetime of such work.

"The quality of the orb determines its capacity," Teacher Eldon explained as he examined the finished sphere, holding it up to catch the light. "A flawed orb cannot hold complex enchantments, regardless of the skill of the one who etches it." The testing phase that followed was equally fascinating. Teacher Eldon placed the orb in a specialized apparatus that resembled a small telescope mounted on a pivot, with various lenses and crystals arranged to direct focused light through the orb from multiple angles. He examined it with methodical care, occasionally making notations in a small leather-bound book. "We look for inclusions, microscopic bubbles, stress lines—anything that might interfere with the energy pathways once the runic script is applied," he explained, adjusting one of the lenses. "An imperfection invisible to the naked eye can cause catastrophic failure once the orb is activated."

Several hours of testing later, Teacher Eldon pronounced himself satisfied with the orb's capacity. The final and most intricate phase could now begin: the etching of arcane runic script onto and into the orb's surface.

This was where my fascination truly ignited. The etching process gave me a profound sense of nostalgia—it was remarkably similar to coding in my previous life. Lines of runic symbols were carefully inscribed into the orb's surface using a specialized tool that channeled minute amounts of magical energy to cut into the crystal without fracturing it. Teacher Eldon's concentration during this process was absolute. His brow furrowed deeply, the lines on his face becoming more pronounced as he hunched over his work. Hours passed in silence broken only by the soft scratching of the etching tool and the occasional deep breath as he completed particularly complex sequences.

When he finally straightened, rolling his shoulders to release the tension of such focused work, the orb sat on its pedestal covered in intricate symbols that seemed to shimmer slightly even in the still air of the workshop.

"Come," he said, motioning me closer.

He lifted the orb and placed it in my hands. The crystal was cool and surprisingly heavy, with a perfect balance that made it seem almost alive.

"Close your eyes and concentrate," Teacher Eldon instructed, his normally gruff voice unusually gentle. "Feel the engravings in your mind."

I did as instructed, closing my eyes and focusing my attention on the orb in my hands. At first, there was nothing—just darkness and the physical sensation of smooth crystal against my palms. Then, gradually, shapes began to form in my mind's eye—clear symbols and patterns that matched the etchings on the orb's surface.

"Can't you see them, boy?" Teacher Eldon whispered, a rare note of excitement in his voice.

"All struck," I replied, using a common expression of surprise I'd picked up in this world. "I can see them." The shock in my voice was unmistakable, even to my own ears. Teacher Eldon nodded, his usual stern expression briefly replaced by satisfaction. "Now, reach out to the orb with your mind. Imagine touching one of the symbols." Again, I followed his instructions, mentally focusing on one of the clearer symbols that had appeared in my mind. The symbol seemed to sharpen, becoming more defined against the darkness behind my closed eyelids.

"Good," Teacher Eldon observed, apparently reading my success in my expression. "Now, focus and push your energy into it."

I hesitated, not fully understanding what he meant. Yet somehow, instinct guided me. I concentrated on the symbol and felt something flow outward from my core—a small stream of energy that connected me to the selected rune. The symbol in my mind flared briefly with light, and I felt a corresponding drain on my stamina, as though I'd completed a short sprint. Teacher Eldon directed me to repeat the process with several more symbols. By the time I had activated twenty engraved symbols in sequence, exhaustion had settled into my bones. My breathing came in deep, labored pulls, and a fine sheen of sweat had formed on my brow. "What was that?" I asked, finally opening my eyes. The workshop seemed unnaturally bright after the darkness behind my eyelids.

Teacher Eldon took the orb from my hands and placed it carefully back on its stand. He studied me for a moment, his expression thoughtful.

"You have twelve affinities," he began, referring to my test results from months ago. "This allows you to work with all known magic element types. You even have the ability to work with arcane energy, which I don't think I've ever encountered in a Tinkerer before." He ran a finger along the edge of the workbench, his gaze distant as though recalling information from long memory.

"I don't know how much practical use the arcane affinity will be to you," he continued. "Arcane material elements are extremely expensive and not commonly worked with. In addition, because your affinities are all R1, which is fairly normal for a Tinkerer, your magical strength—or magic potency if you prefer—will always be somewhat lacking, at least compared to some other magical classes."

He pulled up a stool and sat across from me, his knees cracking slightly as he lowered himself. The late afternoon sun caught the side of his face, highlighting the web of wrinkles that spoke of a life spent in concentration.

"Your magical strength," he explained, "is comparable to electric voltage. Just like higher voltage can power more powerful machines, higher-ranked magical affinities can power more powerful magical devices."

His explanation bridged my two worlds—the technological one I'd left behind and the magical one I now inhabited. The comparison helped clarify concepts that had previously seemed abstract.

"However," Teacher Eldon continued, "you're still unpracticed, so your current store of magical energy is insufficient. With regular exercise, you can increase your magical energy capacity, much like building arm muscles over time. This would give you not only a greater store of magical power to draw from but also allow you to apply it more quickly in various applications." In that moment of understanding, I knew I had found my calling. Crystal orb creation represented the perfect blend of technical precision and magical artistry—a field where my previous knowledge of programming could merge with the new magical principles I was learning.

In the months that followed, I immersed myself in study and practice. The workshop became more familiar than my small rented room. My quarters were spartan—a narrow bed, a small desk for study, and a single shelf for my few possessions—but they represented freedom that still felt novel after years of slavery.

One afternoon, several months into my apprenticeship, I sat examining a completed crystal orb— not one I had made, but one Teacher Eldon had given me to study. The baseball-sized clear sphere shimmered in the light streaming through the workshop windows, creating small rainbows on the scarred surface of the workbench.

The potential contained within such a simple object fascinated me. These orbs could hold thoughts, memories, or skills. Some were used to teach basic tasks or transfer knowledge directly from texts into a person's mind. The memory of my arrival in this world suddenly clicked into place—the intimidating old man in the hooded cloak who had painfully implanted language knowledge directly into my mind must have used something similar to these crystal orbs. That realization brought the technology's significance into sharper focus. It had felt like a switch flipping inside my brain, activating a part that allowed me to understand and speak a language previously unknown to me. The implications were staggering—the ability to extract information from books and directly insert it into a person's consciousness. The workshop felt suddenly quiet as I contemplated these possibilities. The usual background sounds—the ticking of various clockwork devices, the distant murmur of apprentices in the main workshop area, the occasional hiss of steam from the ventilation system—faded from my awareness as my mind explored potential applications.

Under Teacher Eldon's guidance, I began learning the critical importance of material selection in crystal orb making. He demonstrated this lesson memorably one afternoon by deliberately creating an orb from substandard materials. The workshop was cleared of other helpers, and protective barriers were erected around the demonstration area. "Watch carefully," he instructed, his expression grave. "This is not a mistake you want to make." The demonstration proceeded normally until the activation phase. When Teacher Eldon channeled magical energy into the flawed orb, the crystal began to vibrate, emitting a high-pitched whine that set my teeth on edge. Cracks appeared on its surface, spreading like lightning across the sky. Then, with a sound like shattering glass magnified tenfold, the orb exploded. Fragments flew in all directions, some embedding themselves in the wooden protective barriers with enough force to penetrate several inches deep.

"Imagine if that had been near your face," Teacher Eldon said calmly, surveying the destruction. "Quality materials are not merely a luxury—they are a necessity." With his permission, I began practicing with leftover materials—usually small crystal shards that would otherwise be discarded. These fragments, while too small for commercial orbs, provided perfect practice pieces for a beginner. I spent long hours studying the basic runes and refining my etching technique, working to create the most effective practice crystal I could from these limited resources.

My small room in the boarding house became an extension of the workshop. I converted the desk into a makeshift workbench, complete with a small etching kit Teacher Eldon had allowed me to borrow.

After weeks of practice, I selected the best crystal shard available to me—a piece about the size of a large marble with exceptional clarity despite its small size. The etching process took three full nights of work, my back and neck growing stiff from hunching over the tiny crystal for hours at a time. The sharp, mineral smell of the etching process filled my small room, and my fingers developed temporary calluses from gripping the delicate tools. When I finally completed the project, the result was modest but functional—a marble-sized crystal orb capable of holding a simple light-generating spell. The runic script covered its surface in a pattern that would have been almost invisible if not for the way it caught the light when the orb was rotated.

I brought my creation to Teacher Eldon the next day, nervous about his assessment but proud of what I'd accomplished. He examined the small orb carefully, holding it up to various light sources and testing its magical response with instruments from his workbench. "Most apprentices," he said finally, setting the orb down between us, "take two or three years to craft their first functional orb." His expression remained neutral, but I detected a hint of something unusual in his tone—perhaps surprise, perhaps approval. "You've managed it in a few months."

His acknowledgment fueled my determination. The path of a Tinkerer was becoming clearer to me with each passing day. Unlike other magical classes who channeled their innate energies directly, Tinkerers achieved similar results through devices and machines—a approach that resonated with my background in technology.

My status as an S-class Tinkerer apprentice with twelve affinities, even at the lowest R1 strength ranking, removed many of the limitations other apprentices faced. The knowledge from my former world, combined with what I was learning here, presented possibilities that seemed limited only by my imagination and access to materials.

This realization drove me to expand my studies beyond crystal orbs. I began experimenting with simple golem construction, despite the significant cost of materials for fully functional models. Instead, I focused on creating small, toy-like versions that reminded me of the robotic toys from my previous life.

My first successful golem was rudimentary—a six-inch construct capable of walking forward, turning, and responding to basic verbal commands. Its movements were jerky, and its "intelligence" was extremely limited, but it functioned as intended. The small crystal core that powered it glowed with a soft blue light visible through seams in its metal casing. When I demonstrated it to Teacher Eldon, his eyebrows rose noticeably. "We haven't covered this material yet," he observed, watching the small construct navigate across his workbench. "How did you achieve this?"

"I extrapolated from the principles we discussed regarding energy transference in crystal orbs," I explained, trying to keep the pride from my voice. "And I studied some of the texts in the reference section of the workshop."

"Impressive," he admitted, picking up the tiny golem to examine its construction more closely. "Most apprentices wouldn't attempt something like this until well into their second year of training."

His words confirmed what I was beginning to suspect—my progress was unusual, accelerated by the combination of my previous world's knowledge and my unique magical classification. This realization, rather than making me complacent, only intensified my dedication. The months turned into years. I spent countless hours studying recorded advancements in magical technology, experimenting with new designs, and pushing the boundaries of what I could create with the materials available to me. Each new skill mastered brought greater confidence and broader possibilities for future work.

My debt to Teacher Eldon remained a constant reminder of both my obligation and his belief in my potential. Rather than resenting this burden, I embraced it as motivation to excel. With continued hard work and dedication, I knew I could become a Tinkerer of significant skill and repay the investment he had made in my future.

For the next two years, I maintained this punishing schedule of study and practice. Sleep became a luxury, meals often forgotten until hunger made concentration impossible. The workshop became more home than my rented room, and the scents of metal, crystal, and magic became as familiar as my own skin. I pushed myself relentlessly, never content to rest, always seeking the next challenge, the next skill to master, the next barrier to overcome.