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

Chapter 15

The day of my graduation had finally arrived, marked by the pale golden light of dawn streaming through the workshop windows. Dust motes danced in the early sunbeams, catching the light like tiny stars against the backdrop of aged wooden beams and the familiar array of tools that had become extensions of my hands over these past years. After dedicated study in the field of Tinkering, I stood at the threshold of a significant milestone. For over two years, I had trained as an apprentice under Teacher Eldon, absorbing knowledge with the same voracity that the workshop's stone floor absorbed spilled oils and reagents. The graduation ceremony would be a modest affair—Tinkerers valued skill over ceremony—but its significance weighed heavily upon me as I dressed in the traditional attire. The formal robes felt strange against my skin after years of practical work clothes stained with various chemicals and etching solutions. Made of deep blue fabric with silver thread accents depicting basic runic symbols, the garment represented my transition from apprentice to recognized practitioner. Standing before the small mirror in my quarters, I barely recognized myself. The face looking back at me belonged to someone who had traveled far beyond the confused slave who had first stumbled into this world. My features had hardened somewhat, with faint lines beginning to form at the corners of my eyes from countless hours of concentration on delicate work. My hands, once soft, now bore the calluses and minor burns that marked every experienced Tinkerer. The ceremony itself passed in a blur of ancient words and traditional gestures. The workshop had been cleared of its usual clutter, the tools and materials carefully stored away to make room for the handful of witnesses—other master Tinkerers from the city, a representative from the guild, and my business partner who had turned my miniature golems into a profitable venture. The air, normally filled with the acrid scents of chemicals and hot metal, had been purified with herbs that released a clean, subtle fragrance when crushed underfoot. That night, after the formal proceedings had concluded and the guests had departed, Eldon took me aside. The workshop had returned to its familiar state of organized chaos, with the smells of metal, oil, and arcane ingredients once again dominating the space. Shadows cast by a single crystal lamp elongated the silhouettes of tools and machines against the walls, creating an intimate enclosure around us.

Eldon's weathered face, usually set in lines of concentration or criticism, had softened somewhat. The harsh light emphasized the deep creases around his eyes and mouth, testament to decades of peering at intricate components and making precise adjustments. His dark skin contrasted with his close-cropped white hair, giving him a distinguished appearance despite his simple attire. "You've done well," he said, the words emerging gruffly as if unused to offering praise. His hands, marked by old scars and burns from a lifetime of crafting, rested on the workbench between us. "Better than I expected when I first took you on." The unexpected warmth in his voice caught me off guard. Throughout my apprenticeship, Eldon had been demanding, critical, and sparing with his approval. This acknowledgment, simple as it was, carried the weight of genuine respect.

"Thank you for taking a chance on me," I replied, remembering the day he had offered to help purchase my freedom. "For everything you've taught me." Something unspoken passed between us in that moment—an understanding that transcended the formal relationship of master and apprentice. In this strange world so far from where I had begun, Eldon had become more than a teacher. He had become a touchstone, a guide through unfamiliar territory, and in many ways, the closest thing to family I had in Iriddoria. The realization brought unexpected emotion welling up. For a moment, the sense of displacement that had followed me since my arrival faded, replaced by a tentative sense of belonging. Eldon seemed to recognize the shift, reaching forward to grip my shoulder firmly—a rare physical gesture from a man who typically maintained formal distance. Morning brought clarity with its cool light filtering through the workshop's high windows. The space seemed different somehow—still familiar but no longer defining the boundaries of my daily existence. Now it was simply a place rather than the totality of my world. Eldon sat at his desk, a massive wooden structure worn smooth by years of use and polished by the oils of countless hands. Scattered across its surface were books, scrolls, and small mechanical components arranged in a system comprehensible only to him. Behind him, shelves lined with ancient tomes and carefully labeled jars of ingredients climbed to the ceiling, a physical representation of accumulated knowledge.

He gestured to the chair across from him—not the apprentice's stool I had used for years, but a proper chair with a back and armrests, a subtle acknowledgment of my new status. "Sit," he said, clearing a space between us. "We need to discuss your plans." I settled into the chair, noticing the faint scent of leather conditioner and old parchment that seemed to cling to everything in this corner of the workshop. Through the window, I could see the city beginning to stir—merchants opening their stalls in the market square, apprentices from other workshops hurrying to begin their day's tasks, the occasional patrol of city guards in their distinctive uniforms.

"I've given it considerable thought," I began, meeting Eldon's penetrating gaze directly. "I plan to establish my own workshop—a place for experimentation where I can develop new applications for what I've learned."

Eldon nodded slightly, his expression revealing neither approval nor disapproval. His fingers, still remarkably steady despite his age, tapped thoughtfully against the worn wood of his desk. "A sound beginning," he acknowledged. "But location matters in our trade. Do you plan on setting up your new shop in our current town or in another larger city, perhaps even the capital?" His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied my reaction. "After all, given your exceptional skill set, I bet you'll find no lack of patrons there."

The question was pointed, probing not just for my immediate plans but for my broader ambitions. Eldon had always been perceptive, recognizing that my goals might extend beyond the typical aspirations of a newly graduated Tinkerer.

"The capital," I answered without hesitation. "Valoria."

The word hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. Valoria, the heart of the Valtterrium Empire, was a bustling metropolis that embodied the harmonious blend of Romanesque grandeur and steampunk fantasy. Its reputation extended far beyond its borders, drawing scholars, artisans, and opportunists from across Iriddoria. "I need access to knowledge that isn't available here," I continued, leaning forward slightly. "The libraries in Valoria are said to contain texts on advanced Tinkering techniques that exist nowhere else in the empire."

I didn't mention my deepest motivation—the hope that somewhere in those vast repositories of information might lie the key to returning home. That dream, while never abandoned, remained private, something I rarely articulated even to myself.

Eldon's expression remained neutral, but I detected a flicker of something—perhaps pride, perhaps concern—in his dark eyes. "The capital has much to offer a skilled Tinkerer," he agreed. "But it also has its dangers. Competition is fierce, and the political currents run deep."

"I've considered that," I assured him. "I've already invested in teaching orbs to store information from key texts." These specialized crystal orbs, capable of absorbing and preserving written knowledge for later retrieval, had cost me dearly—approximately 300 gold pieces each, even with the discount Eldon had arranged. "They'll allow me to continue learning while I establish myself."

A more practical concern emerged as I outlined my plans. My golem bot business, which had flourished under local conditions, would be difficult to maintain during travel and resettlement. After careful consideration, I had negotiated with my business partner to sell him the rights and schematics to continue production without me.

"The deal was finalized yesterday," I explained. "Thirty thousand gold pieces, most of which I've deposited with the Imperial Bank for safekeeping and access throughout the empire." Eldon's eyebrows rose fractionally—a significant display of surprise from a man who typically maintained rigid control over his expressions. "A substantial sum," he observed. "Enough to establish yourself comfortably, if managed wisely."

The conversation shifted to practical matters of travel and logistics. Eldon leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking slightly beneath his weight. The morning light cast half his face in shadow, giving his expression an inscrutable quality.

"You'll need protection on the roads," he stated flatly. "The imperial highways are generally safe, but a lone traveler with valuable equipment presents a tempting target for bandits."

"I've thought about hiring guards," I admitted.

"Good." Eldon nodded. "And you'll need help managing your equipment and belongings. I suggest you purchase slaves to assist you."

He must have noticed my immediate discomfort, as his eyes narrowed slightly in assessment. "You still harbor reservations about slavery," he observed. It wasn't a question. I shifted in my chair, the discomfort more moral than physical. "Where I come from, owning another person is considered deeply wrong," I explained, though we had discussed this cultural difference before. "I understand it's common practice here, but I can't bring myself to participate in it."

Eldon regarded me for a long moment, his weathered face impassive. "Your world's customs are not Iriddoria's," he said finally. "But I respect your position. Perhaps hired servants would suit your conscience better, though they may prove less reliable for long-term service."

"That's my preference," I confirmed. "I'd rather pay fair wages to willing workers than own people, regardless of how well they might be treated."

Eldon accepted this with a nod. "As you wish. However, I do have something that might interest you regardless." He rose from his chair, his joints cracking audibly with the movement, and crossed to a large cabinet on the far wall. From within, he withdrew a rolled parchment, which he spread across the desk between us.

The detailed diagrams depicted a workspace, but unlike any I had seen before. This was a mobile workshop, cleverly designed to transport a Tinkerer's essential tools and materials while providing a functional workspace even during extended travel. "A traveling tinker's workshop," Eldon explained, his finger tracing the ingenious storage compartments and fold-out work surfaces. "I've had this in my possession for years but never found occasion to use it. With some minor modifications, it could serve you well on your journey."

The craftsmanship evident in the designs was exceptional, incorporating both practical functionality and magical enhancements for security and environmental control. Such a vehicle would solve many of the logistical challenges I faced in transporting delicate equipment and materials across potentially rough terrain.

"It's perfect," I acknowledged, studying the details more closely. "Though I imagine it doesn't come cheap."

Eldon named a price that, while substantial, seemed fair given the workshop's specialized nature and magical components. We negotiated briefly, settling on terms that satisfied us both. With the immediate practical matters addressed, my thoughts turned to another concern. Since arriving in this world, I had formed few personal connections. The need for trustworthy companions suddenly seemed pressing as I contemplated leaving the only place I had known in Iriddoria.

The faces of Adele and Dahlia surfaced in my memory—the kitchen mother and her daughter who had shown me kindness during my time as a slave in Jiren's household. Their gentle guidance had helped me navigate the unfamiliar customs and expectations of my new reality when I was at my most vulnerable and confused.

Days later, I found myself approaching Jiren's estate, a substantial property near the city's affluent district. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets, and the scent of flowering vines cascading over garden walls perfumed the air. The manor itself stood apart from its neighbors, with high walls surrounding a central courtyard visible through the ornate iron gates.

Guards in Jiren's household livery—deep green with silver trim—watched my approach with professional suspicion. Their hands rested casually on weapon hilts, and their posture straightened as I neared the gate. Unlike my previous visits as a slave, I now approached as a free man of means, dressed in quality clothing that reflected my new station. A small, jeweled ring adorned my finger—a marker of success that opened many doors in this status-conscious society. "State your business," the senior guard demanded, his eyes narrowing as he tried to place my face.

"I'm here to see Master Jiren on a matter of business," I replied, maintaining a neutral tone despite the strange reversal of addressing my former owner so formally. "My name is Eric Henson, former apprentice to Master Tinkerer Eldon."

Recognition flickered in the guard's eyes, followed by carefully masked surprise. "Wait here," he instructed, dispatching a younger guard to announce my arrival.

The wait was brief but gave me time to observe the changes to the property since my departure. New statuary adorned the courtyard, and the flowerbeds had been replanted with more exotic varieties. The fountain at the center had been refurbished, its water dancing in complex patterns that suggested magical enhancement—a luxury that spoke of Jiren's continued prosperity. The young guard returned promptly, his posture more respectful than before. "Master Jiren will see you. Follow me."

I was led not to the servants' entrance I had once used, but through the main doors into the manor's grand foyer. Marble floors gleamed beneath my feet, and tapestries depicting historical scenes hung from the high walls. The air carried the scent of beeswax polish and expensive incense, creating an atmosphere of refined opulence.

A servant approached—not one I recognized from my time here—and offered to take my travel cloak. Another appeared with refreshments on a silver tray, bowing slightly as she informed me that Master Jiren would join me shortly in his study. I was ushered into a well-appointed room lined with bookshelves and furnished with comfortable chairs arranged around a low table. The study revealed much about Jiren's character that I had never appreciated during my time as his slave. The books were not merely decorative but showed signs of frequent use, their spines cracked and pages marked. Maps of trading routes hung on one wall, annotated with notes about seasonal variations and political disruptions. His desk, positioned to catch the natural light from tall windows, was organized with the precision of a man who valued efficiency. Various objects d'art were displayed on shelves and small tables—not ostentatiously, but with the discerning eye of a collector who appreciated craftsmanship. Among these treasures, one item in particular caught my attention: a small statue of a dragon crafted from what appeared to be platinum or white gold, its eyes set with tiny emeralds that caught the light with an almost lifelike gleam. The workmanship was exquisite, suggesting it was the product of a master craftsman, possibly even magically enhanced.

As I contemplated this piece, appreciating its artistry, a servant entered with refreshments. To my surprise, it was Dahlia, Adele's daughter. She had grown since I'd last seen her, transforming from a girl to a young woman of perhaps eighteen or nineteen. Her pink hair, once worn in childish braids, now fell in soft waves around a face that had lost its childish roundness. Her movements as she arranged a tray of tea and light refreshments showed a graceful efficiency. "Eric?" she whispered when she recognized me, her sky-blue eyes widening in surprise. A flush of color rose to her cheeks, and she nearly dropped the delicate cup she was handling. "It's really you!"

"Hello, Dahlia," I replied softly, struck by how much she had changed. "It's good to see you again."

She glanced nervously toward the door before continuing in a hushed tone. "You look so different. Almost like a noble." Her gaze flickered to my fine clothes and the ring on my finger. "Life has changed considerably," I acknowledged with a small smile. "How have you and your mother been?"

"We manage," she replied, her voice carefully neutral despite the warmth in her eyes. "Mother still runs the kitchen. I help where I can." Another quick glance toward the door. "Why have you come back?"

Before I could answer, footsteps in the hallway signaled an approaching presence. Dahlia immediately straightened, resuming the proper posture of a well-trained servant just as Jiren entered the study.

My former owner had aged subtly since I'd last seen him. Silver now dominated the once-dark hair at his temples, and the lines around his eyes had deepened. Nevertheless, he carried himself with the same confident authority, dressed in clothing that spoke of wealth without crossing into ostentation. His sharp gaze assessed me thoroughly, noting the changes in my appearance and demeanor.

"Dahlia, bring me something stronger than tea," he instructed without looking at her. "The amber brandy from the eastern cabinet."

She nodded and slipped from the room, quiet as a shadow. Jiren settled into the chair across from me, his movements deliberate and controlled. "So, the slave becomes the freeman," he observed, his tone revealing nothing of his thoughts on this reversal of fortune. "Your Tinkerer master must have seen something in you worth nurturing."

"He did," I acknowledged simply.

Dahlia returned promptly with Jiren's drink—an amber liquid in a small crystal glass—and a plate of delicate biscuits. She set these before him with practiced precision before withdrawing once more, casting a final curious glance in my direction. Jiren took a measured sip of his brandy, then fixed me with a direct stare. "Why have you come back, Eric? I doubt it's for the pleasure of my company."

The bluntness was characteristic of the man, and in some ways, I appreciated the lack of pretense. I set my teacup down carefully, gathering my thoughts. "I've completed my studies and recently sold a business venture for a considerable sum," I began, maintaining eye contact despite the lingering discomfort of addressing my former owner as an equal. "I'm preparing to relocate to Valoria to continue my work, but I find myself in need of trustworthy servants."

I paused, then continued more directly. "Having few connections in this world, I've returned to inquire whether you would be willing to sell me the only two people I know who fit that description."

Jiren's eyebrows rose slightly, and he stroked his beard in a gesture I remembered well from my time in his household. "You mean Dahlia?" His tone carried an insinuation that made me uncomfortable.

"I'm interested in purchasing both Dahlia and her mother, Adele," I clarified firmly. "For the purpose of setting them free and then contracting with them to be my personal servants, if they're interested in such an arrangement."

A knowing smile spread across Jiren's face, and he leaned forward with an expression that bordered on lewd. "Ah, I see. The young girl has caught your fancy, has she? Many men in your position would feel the same. She's growing into quite the beauty." Heat rose to my face, not from embarrassment but from indignation at his assumption. "You misunderstand my intentions entirely," I stated, clearing my throat. "My interest is purely in securing trustworthy household staff who already know me and might be willing to work in my service. Nothing more."

Jiren chuckled, leaning back in his chair with an amused expression. "Relax, lad," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "I was only teasing. Of course, I understand your intentions." His casual dismissal of my discomfort was typical of the man I remembered—always maintaining the upper hand in any interaction through small manipulations and feigned joviality. "So, you're willing to sell them to me?" I asked, eager to move past his insinuations. He nodded, a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "For the right price, of course," he replied, his eyes gleaming with barely concealed avarice. Jiren studied me for a moment, head tilted slightly to one side. "Your world must be very strange indeed if you would purchase slaves only to free them," he observed. "Most men would simply hire servants if that was their intention."

I didn't bother explaining that my concern stemmed from wanting to ensure Adele and Dahlia had a choice in the matter—that by purchasing and freeing them, I would give them options they currently lacked. Such nuances would likely be lost on a man who viewed people primarily as property or tools.

"Adele is exceptionally valuable to my household," Jiren continued, warming to the negotiation. "She manages the entire kitchen staff with remarkable efficiency. Finding a replacement would be quite inconvenient."

I recognized the tactic for what it was—an attempt to drive up the price by emphasizing what he would lose in the transaction. "I'm aware of her value," I replied evenly. "Please state your price so we can determine if business between us is possible."

Jiren stroked his beard again, eyes narrowing as he assessed me—not just my words, but my clothing, my posture, the ring on my finger—calculating what I might be willing to pay. "Five hundred for Adele," he declared finally. "Two hundred for Dahlia. Seven hundred total." The amount was significantly inflated—nearly triple what either woman would normally cost on the open market—but I had anticipated such tactics. The sum represented a small fraction of my available funds, and haggling over their lives struck me as distasteful. "Seven hundred it is," I agreed, reaching into my coat to withdraw a small leather folio containing banking papers. I wrote out a payment order for the stated amount, affixed my banking seal, and signed with the flourish I had practiced to match the local custom. I slid the document across the table to Jiren, who examined it with the practiced eye of an experienced merchant. His eyebrows rose slightly at the bank's embossed seal—one of the most prestigious financial institutions in the region.

"This seems to be in order," he acknowledged, carefully folding the document and tucking it into his own jacket. "When will you be collecting your purchases?" The phrasing made my skin crawl, but I maintained a neutral expression. "I'll return in a few days after making arrangements for their accommodation. Will that be acceptable?" Jiren nodded his agreement, then rose from his chair and extended his hand toward me—a gesture between equals that would have been unthinkable during my time as his slave. "It seems our business is concluded, then."

I stood and accepted the handshake, his grip firm but not challenging. For a moment, something like respect flickered in his eyes.

"You've come a long way, lad," he said, his voice softening unexpectedly. "I hope that you find what you're looking for."

The statement caught me off guard—almost sounding like genuine well-wishing rather than his usual calculated manipulation. I nodded in acknowledgment, unable to formulate a more detailed response, and took my leave.

As I walked back through the city streets toward my temporary lodgings, I reflected on the transaction. Seven hundred gold pieces was indeed far above fair market value for two non-magical slaves. A woman with Adele's domestic skills would typically command between one hundred and one hundred fifty gold, with Dahlia valued even lower due to her youth and lesser experience.

Yet the inflated price meant little to me compared to what it would purchase—not just their service, but the opportunity to repay a small measure of the kindness they had shown me during my lowest moments in this world. I remembered Adele's quiet encouragement when work seemed overwhelming, and Dahlia's small acts of consideration—an extra portion of food, a warm blanket on cold nights, whispered warnings about Jiren's moods. Whether they ultimately chose to enter my service or pursue other opportunities with their newfound freedom, I would consider the money well spent. Their worth as people far exceeded any market value that could be assigned to them.

As I made my way through the tradesmen district, where craftspeople of all varieties plied their specialized skills, I contemplated the coming changes. The familiar sights and smells of the city—bakers sliding fresh loaves from stone ovens, blacksmiths hammering glowing metal, street vendors calling out their wares—would soon be replaced by the grandeur and complexity of Valoria.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement mixed with apprehension. What would Adele and Dahlia say when they discovered I had purchased their freedom? Would they accept my offer of employment, or would they choose different paths now that choice was finally theirs to make? The possibility that they might decline weighed on me, but I was prepared to accept whatever decision they made.

After all, true freedom meant the right to choose one's own destiny—a principle I valued above all others since my own liberty had been so dearly purchased.