Blacksmith vs. the System 297

The moment I arrived at the meeting room, well, more of a building that had been built specifically for diplomatic purposes, one of the guards bellowed. “His Majesty, the Protector of the Land, Limitless Mage, Brave Blade, Hammer of Endless Creations, the King of Steel is here!”

As the declaration rang in the room, a stab of shame danced in me. The declaration was loud and pretentious, especially with the extra titles, but I didn’t comment. It was another impossible battle.

Instead, I paused at the entrance, my stance relaxed yet majestic … Dexterity helped me to cheat. While our guests took my presence, I examined them in turn; every single person radiated a certain presence. Inevitable, as even without the inherent biases of the System, a merciless world meant that the ability to dole out death was the single most important qualification for most jobs.

Especially for diplomats, making it vital. Luckily, the same fact meant that it was not insulting for the host to wear full-plate armor.

While I took a note of the guests and cross-referenced them with the booklet I had received earlier, I noticed Rosie arrive at the room using one of the side entrances, mixing among the servants. A smart choice. Meanwhile, Terry and Harold were already there, talking with the emissary of Asterion.

“Welcome, our friends visiting from afar …” I started, following it with a trite speech that went for five minutes, which said absolutely nothing of substance. Yet, once I finished it, people clapped and cheered like I had promised them the world.

Politics.

Of course, no one cared about the speech. It was just a warm-up. Once they were done, I moved toward the center of the room, where a robust ward was in place to prevent eavesdropping either through stats or spells, without making it look garish.

Frankly, that enchantment was a display of luxury far surpassing every luxury dish or decorative item we had on display, a true declaration of our capabilities. That we didn’t just have steel, but also spells.

Once I took my place, Asterion made the first move. A middle-aged man, one that I hadn’t met, but yet I heard. A man who was only known by his title. The Marshall. The leader of Asterion’s defense force. His presence alone elevated our diplomatic event to a major degree, helping our prestige quite a bit.

I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that his presence was to help us. No, his presence was a declaration of victory, showing that Asterion no longer needed him to defend the walls.

As I watched him approach, I hid those questions, and looked at the blade he was carrying. A familiar one, one of the ten special blades for the officers. “Lord Marshall,” I greeted him. “I hope your new sword has been satisfactory.”

He paused at my words for a second before his eyes widened as he remembered I was the one that forged it. Interesting reaction, suggesting a level of dissociation between my identity as a king and as a blacksmith. “It has been truly a game changer, Your Majesty,” he responded. “It is truly a marvelous weapon, especially using Radiant Flame skills.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” I responded. “Though not as happy as your presence suggests. It seems that the news we were getting about the battle has been accurate. You have finally vanquished Drakka.”

“Yes, it has been, but I have to admit, without the gracious help of your city, it might have been impossible. The city of Asterion owes you a debt of gratitude.”

It took all my experience to hold back a confused frown, as I could see one thing. His words were actually the truth, and not just diplomatic kindness. That confused me. While we helped, ultimately, our assistance was mostly peripheral, and more than paid for with the Ichor they provided back to us.

It meant I was missing something, likely something important. “It’s what friendship requires. When we were at our lowest, we received a gift from you, and we did our best to pay back when the situation required. Hopefully, it’ll be like this in the future.”

“I have no doubt that it will be, Your Majesty. Asterion will always be a friend of the King of Steel,” he responded, which once again came across as pure truth. He really believed that it would be the case.

I decided not to prod it. While I wanted to know about the source of his conviction, it was not the time or place to probe that.

I nodded before I changed the topic, prodding him against other topics, like trade, but at his utter disinterest, I quickly switched to the story of our latest victory against Drakka, which was far more to his tastes. While that topic had no practical benefit, it still helped me to be seen talking with him for a long time. It was a sign to everyone else about the strength of our alliance.

As for trade or other practical topics, I assumed one of his retinue was responsible for it.

“It has been a pleasure, Lord Marshall,” I said once I finished my story. We have already spent twenty minutes chatting, which was just right for the message. He nodded, showing that he understood the silent message as well. “I hope we can meet again.”

“It is my hope as well, Your Majesty,” he responded. “It has been an enlightening talk, especially hearing about your innovative approaches when it comes to production classes.” Once again, honest. While the System bias was impactful, it was hard to argue against truly spectacular results.

With that, he went back to the crowd. The others shuffled, each sizing each other wordlessly, trying to figure out who would be going next. The unofficial nature of the party meant that someone moving out of turn might ruffle some feathers.

While most sized each other, three people stood at once, and started walking toward me, not even sparing a glance toward the rest. Vessalia. Each wore a different color of robe, but while their robes carried elemental motifs, I could see that it was nothing more than a fashion choice.

I could sense the aura of their skill. It was soft, subtle, almost like an aftertaste of conceptual transformation. It was a subtle perception, only possible due to a combination of high Wisdom and Perception.

“Your Majesty,” the one at the center greeted. “I’m Junior Archmage Selene, and I’m here with my two apprentices.” Even while greeting me, I could sense a haughty aura radiating off her, dismissive of everything around her, with me as the sole exception. My guess, based on the time they had spent observing my privacy ward with barely disguised interest while I was talking with Lord Marshall, was less about my identity as a king, and more about my skill as a mage.

I didn’t find it weird. The privacy ward was truly a masterpiece, mixing conceptual and structural casting perfectly, all bound around a small metal plate to solidify, making it difficult to dispel.

“My pleasure, Junior Archmage,” I responded, using her title, as she was clearly proud of it.

“We’re here to clarify an issue before it can lead to a misunderstanding between our cities. It has come to our attention that some traitors who have been exiled from our city have disguised themselves as official envoys, going as far as to support the heretics in Drakka.”

It was an obvious lie, but I had no choice but to let it slide. Ultimately, Vessalia had participated in the battle in a limited way, only taking over a few weaker ley lines at the border of Asterion, retreating once the battle had shifted. They had been fence-sitters.

While it bothered me to let their aggression slide, I had to. They were isolationists, but proud ones. A weak apology deflecting the truth was already more than I expected to receive. One that I had to accept, no matter how it rankled my sensibilities.

Politics was an ugly business.

I nodded. “I’m happy to hear the truth of it. It has been our honor to help you get rid of such traitors.”

At that mention, I felt a flicker of anger, followed by a sense of gloom from one of the apprentices, the young man at the left. He likely had a personal connection to one of the fallen. Despite the nature of the situation, I couldn’t help but pity him.

Yes, they were the aggressors, but I wasn’t naive enough to think that every enemy soldier was a raging evil lunatic. Every soldier had their loved ones.

“It’s good that we could leave such distasteful things behind,” she responded. “It means we can discuss important things. Like arranging a diplomatic visit to Vessalia. An exalted mage like you will enjoy our special environment.”

“Maybe once the distasteful issue with Drakka is finally over,” I responded. “As the king, I can’t leave my land unprotected.” While that was the truth, it didn’t change the fact that I had no intention of visiting them. Under their wards, I would be helpless if they decided to turn hostile.

Considering the disappointment I felt from the angry apprentice, it might be more likely than I feared.

“A pity,” she said. “A mage shouldn’t bother with trivial issues, not when the art of magic is on the line.”

“The world is a complicated place. Sometimes, we don’t have many options,” I responded.

“Of course,” she said. “May I ask you a question about the ward you created?”

“It would be my pleasure,” I responded, trying to look casual to hide my excitement. I had no doubt that her question would try to get our secrets, but I didn’t refuse. I needed her goodwill.

After all, it was a chance for me to ask questions about Void.

Too bad, after discussing it for a few minutes, the belligerent apprentice reminded her that they had to report back to Vessalia, and initiated their retreat. I let them, hoping that her curiosity about the unique ward would create another opportunity for me.

Before I could lament the loss of opportunity, another figure started moving toward me.

The envoy of Tristelion.