52 The Workshop

Neita didn't know how to respond. It turns out she had just saved one of the members of a bandit camp. On top of that, it was a group the guild office had been putting notices and warnings out for years.

The Fangs of Nyt were decently powerful, elusive, and a quick enough group that was able to dodge any officers before discovery on any traveling road. They were the cause of nearly a hundred missing person cases, stolen property, and businesses destroyed due to devastating losses.

'How did they end up like this? Did that boy do all this to them? I can understand maybe he went there for revenge or hatred, but I just don't understand how.'

Neita was so confused and hoped this Symora woman could help. If she knew about the whole ordeal and was cooperative, then maybe the investigation wasn't even needed. Neita could have reports quickly filed and she could resume her original mission asking Galahad more about the incident.

The magic lift stopped at the designated floor, the same one she had been in nearly a month previously. In the bed against the corner, Symora was sitting upright in her bed with cuffs restrained around her wrists and a book between her hands. She was fully awake, and asides from the confinement and rather paled complexion, no one would have thought the slim brunette was nearly on the verge of death just a few hours ago.

Symora was reading the book up until the moment Neita and Pavell came into her space and shut the curtain designed to prevent easedroppers. The book quickly left her hands and she grabbed a notepad and pen from the side of the bed, ready to 'speak' in a way.

Without a tongue, most of Symora's words came out heavily garbled and too mispronounced for any clear understanding. In the long road of recovery and high-leveled healing magic, she would have to use writing as her temporary voice.

"Good evening Miss Vantré. I'm Neita Lilgrey, the one who found you at the camp and currently a representative of the Etherite Guild." She truly hoped there was some misunderstanding and the woman she saved wasn't a murderous bandit or thief, Symora didn't seem so dangerous right now in front of her.

The patient only nodded quietly and awaited questioning. Leaving Neita a little frazzled about how to begin. She first asked if Symora was comfortable discussing the events that occurred in detail and received another silent nod.

"Do you know what happened out in the hills near the road? Why were you there and how the fire began?"

Symora quickly began writing. "I was part of a small traveling business that was kidnapped months ago by the Fangs of Nyt." She lied.

Symora had actually been with Dante and the bandit camp for years. Whenever they couldn't find enough carriages to steal from before migrating to a new road; they had members invest in creating their own prizes. She like many others would be hired into a business, and claim a few weeks later that she could sell a great deal of their overstock in the neighboring town or village. Once the items were out on the road, they could steal them like normal. It wasn't a process they'd use often, but the easy removal of witnesses put them at even less of a risk with equal rewards.

She was only using one of her previous lures as a false alibi, knowing that the massacre and dead family business had shut up anyone who could argue her defense. A role of victim was easy to convey when she had spent a long period of time working her way into the trader's family.

Her most recent pseudo life was able to provide enough information for Neita to find on the guild tablet and they both internally sighed with relief. Neither wanting to draw her out as a criminal after everything they had gone through. Pavell was the only one who seemed suspicious of the convenient story, but she held her tongue.

They then went through a fake story of how she was a prisoner for a long duration of time until witnessing chaos develop in the bandit camp one night, appearing to be an intruder of some kind. While the violence and killing was causing disarray, she attempted to escape before being attacked and knocked unconscious with some form harmful magic. Pretending the lashings on her soul weren't from her own stasis Arrays.

After she awoke, a few days had passed when Neita discovered her. She genuinely had no idea why the fire started and she could only assume they came from the intruder she never saw. Symora had no idea Arma had burned down the entire camp before leaving on his own.

*****

Dwarves were not an entire race of short, hairy, pure stubborn-headed crafters that were offended by any form of ignorance about the art of creation. Only a some of them acted in such a way, those extremists of the craft were the cause of such stereotypes assumptions among the other races and it stuck to the minds of anyone during their first contact with any dwarf.

Naturally, there were other dwarves that didn't define themselves as just creation classes or were contantly raging against any other humanoid race; they were capable of being one of the four classes and worked on dealing with the dungeons beneath their countries as well. It was more likely they'd become creations classes while humans or elves would become battle classes.

It seemed Galahad had the bad luck of dealing with the rare occurring dwarf with anger issues about his obsession for crafting and apparently with inexperienced/clumsy young workers.

'I'm surprised there's even a dwarf so far in the Etherite Kingdom.' Galahad felt his entire chance crumble as he sheathed his sword.

Despite feeling hopeless about the situation, he still started approaching the short man that had increasingly clear lines of angry wrinkles along his face when he yelled. Galahad didn't have time to waste and wanted to get this over with before having to think of a different way to break into the dungeon on his own.

Galahad also figured it was best to not dwell on the man's tiny property, him loitering or having fear to move would definitely sour the dwarf's mood even further, that in turn would ruin his chances even more than just zero. Galahad had to tread carefully if he wanted the supposive device that could find Karmic crystal plates from a distance.

The dwarf was still fuming the whole time about the incident with the door, that he didn't even notice Galahad until he was stepping over the splintered fragments of the wood near the entrance.

"And who the fuck do you think you are? Can't you see I'm busy?" The crabby dwarf stood at the door while beginning to tug at the beard tied into a thick braid along his face.

"Galahad Mystroff of Teramore. Here with a request of assistance by the Count of Teramore." Galahad spoke with his customer service voice to mask the irritation and immediately tried handing the unopened red letter to the dwarf.

Galahad wanted to read the contents repeatedly while traveling to Diagon, but the stamped wax emblem was flowing with a bit of mana he didn't want to disturb. It was bad enough that the dwarf was mad and if he somehow knew the letter was opened based on the magic stamp, his chances would surely be nowhere above zero percent.

The dwarf let out a chuff and rolled his eyes at the name Teramore, clearly doing no favors to Galahad chances of help. Before he could even respond, the dwarf turned his back to Galahad was already walking back inside the little shop.

"Damn Swittar, thinks that he can call up favors just because he got me outta one damn problem." He grumbled. Galahad felt he had no other choice but to quietly follow the short angry man.

'So much for old friends, more like debt to collect. This is probably how Count Gafordum is gonna treat me after this whole ordeal too.'

Galahad entered and originally wasn't sure what he should expect to find in the tiny shop, but it certainly wasn't a dusty common room with a molding couch and aging wallpaper. The building seemed to have once been a shop converted into a little home that was definitely unkept for years. It certainly didn't seem like the home of expert craftsmen.

The dwarf continued grumbling inaudibly to himself while kicking an empty metal cylinder across the floor, tiny fragments of metal spilled across the decayed carpet and revealed a large hole blown out from the inside.

'The kid dropped a pressurized canister of air magic and it exploded all of it at the door. I wonder why he had that here, this dump is no place or such deadly materials.'

Galahad looked back at the dwarf and saw him walk straight to one of the doors that led to a staircase to the basement. They both made their way down the stairs and Galahad was surprised that the stair case went so far down. He felt the air mixing with random fumes and stale taste, it took him quite a while to finally see the cause.

The stair case led to a concrete tunnel and thick metal doors, something far too costly to compare to the moldy room above. The dwarf rummaged with the dense door before finally revealing the massive space before him.

Galahad was taken aback at the room he entered. The space was almost as large as the goblin cavern he dealt with back in the dungeons. The room however, was completely man made and lit up with refined light crystals evenly placed across the ceiling, leaving no need for windows. The walls, floor, and ceiling were carved out smoothly to keep everything stable with only a few stone pillars for support, no low level monsters to run about it either.

Instead of goblins, there were all kinds of machines sitting in every open portion of the floor. There were some spinning crystals, others shining various colored lights in the air, and even one device emitting a jet blue flame at a high concentration.

Galahad watched each contraption run its own little experiment or process nonstop, he wasn't sure what to make of the whole place except call it incredible.

He pulled his sights away from the machines to keep following the angry dwarf. He was currently pulling a thin slate of metal out of some kind of stone incubator before pushing it back inside, clearly not satisfied by the results. Galahad watched and waited for his name and level to pop up above his head, but nothing showed.

No matter how long he looked nothing worked, not even when he watched the dwarf go down the stairs. There was no name or [???] like when he first met Arma or his gang of unfriendly bandits.

'I guess he doesn't even carry a Karmic Plate around, to each their own I guess.'

"Sir, . . . the Count sent me here with a request about one of your creations. I was hoping you could help me by allowing me a chance to use it." Galahad hoped to break the odd silence he was experiencing while walking with the dwarf, sadly it made no improvements.

"Whazzat?" He shouted while still ducking under a loud table that kept violently sifting a large pile of salt through a funnel. Galahad had to dodge around a few things before finding the dwarf now holding an odd device up in the air.

He peered at Galahad through a strange lens he was holding. It was the size of his head and had a magenta colored to the glass, observing Galahad with an odd stare. Galahad ignored the looks he received and repeated his statement.

The dwarf slowly set down the lens and looked at Galahad with a face that crossed between angry glare and absolute curiosity. "Why the hell is he getting invested in my work once again? I thought I told him to piss off with all fake smiles and attempts at wooing my favors."

"The Count of Teramore guided me to you in hopes that you would be able to help me find something in the dungeon." Galahad gestured at the letter again and trying to hand it to the dwarf.

The dwarf grabbed the letter from Galahad's hand, not even acknowledging his need to jump up a bit to snag it. He rummaged around a work bench to find himself reading glasses and a knife. The dwarf cut open the envelope and read the letter twice.

Galahad could only wait with growing irritation and anticipation. He was hoping he could give a quick input of help and then borrow the device to pull his friends out of the dungeon. If the dwarf refused, he'd would only have to wait and steal it or find something else.

The dwarf finally looked up at Galahad with a tensed face of anger once again, but his words seemed less rage induced. "I already told him before he left for his position in Teramore, that the Dungeon Lock was in working order, not unfinished."

That part excited Galahad, it meant no need to wait so long for the machine to be completed

"But he should have also known the cost of running it was next to impossible."

That part diminished Galahad's excitement.

"Gal-lah-had was it? Look, I'm sorry but Swittar sent ya onna fool's errand. The project for search-and-rescue tracking went to shit after I lost the patents for research." The dwarf trudged over to a blanketed machine that stood over eight feet tall and unveiled it. "There's no real use for her."

Galahad found himself looking at a miniature crystal resonance tower with unfamiliar runes and symbols written along the black base and three metal bowls surrounding the bottom.

The Dungeon Lock, a machine that would soon help him rescue his friends from the depths below.