MM - Chapter 224 - IT’S ALL IN THE WRIST

Raine leaned back in his study's chair, the polished high-level wood not releasing the slightest creak under his attribute-laden weight. The seven crafters clustered around couldn’t tear their eyes from the scattered blueprints. The only scribe remaining—a girl with ink-stained fingers that didn’t look a day over twelve, stared at one schematic in particular, unable to pull her attention from the treasure. The hunger was there; she wanted to advance. Raine saw in her the same drive that had pushed him through endless nights of trial and error.

It was the same for all of them. These weren't just papers spread across a table; they were lifelines.

The lone builder, a broad-shouldered man with a gray-streaked beard broke the silence, his voice course as raw granite. “I ain’t signing nothing yet. But, I wouldn’t still be here if I weren’t interested. So what happens next, you gonna lock us in a room and hope we magic-up some miracles before tossing us a cred?”

Raine's lips curved into a half-smile. The man’s cynicism from past deals gone awry was a wedge that would only sink him deeper into Astra’s grasp. Enhanced senses picked up the faint tremor in the man's hands—nerves masked by bravado. Tempering had sharpened instincts forged over a lifetime of negotiation. Reading these people felt like cheating. “Not quite. The guild hall lacks tools and facilities. They’ll be done in a week or so. We’ll move back to the crafting hall for your auditions.”

“Auditions?!” One of the two remaining alchemists—a sharp-eyed woman, crossed scarred forearms. “What’s the point? If we could figure out how to craft anything, we wouldn’t be broke, and no offense… here.”

Raine stood, the blueprints vanishing with a swipe of his hand. “The point is that now you have me. If you still can’t produce with at least a twenty-five percent success rate after what I’m about to show you, then I don’t want you.” He flicked them interim contracts to cover the trial, which only required them to complete ten refined materials or one completed craft within a day. Such light requirements were a one-time deal. In the future, he would be much more demanding to those who came crawling to Astra for guidance.

“You asked if we were ready to sign, now we have to take a test?!” The second alchemist barked. “You’re just jerking us around! You think we’ll stand for this kind of disrespect because you dropped a few low-grade blueprints? What’s the big deal, anyways? I created two originals myself, you know! I’ll not be degraded by this nonsense a moment longer.”

Two more left with the man and Raine didn’t stop them. He was used to the pride of crafters. Only five remained.

The youthful scribe raised a timid hand, eyes dancing between the empty table and retreating alchemist. “I-is the salary on this contract really real? Five gold a month, and five percent of any produced goods?”

“Not exactly,” Raine confessed. “That’s only as a novice. If you check the next section, you’ll see the salary increases significantly with rank.”

Scanning the following paragraph, her jaw hit the floor. “A thousand gold per week?!”

Raine snorted when each of them dove back into their offered contracts to confirm her outburst. “Grandmaster isn’t something a normal person can achieve, but it's a solid dream, nonetheless. Honestly, the salary is a consolation. The real income is in the percentage of produced goods. But that only shines if you have what it takes.”

With that threat hanging in the air, Raine left for the crafting hall and the remaining five trailed behind. They continued to pour over the nuances of the contract on the way. Their repeated attempts to suss out loopholes were warranted. He answered their questions patiently, knowing there was no such trap to find. Malicious compliance was the opposite of helpful in a long-term crafter. He wanted them fat and happy, and equally motivated.

They arrived to find that word had spread. Sneers, pointed fingers, and even slurs were sent their way. Raine ignored them, knowing their tunes would change all too soon. He pushed through the doors to reveal a distinctly unsettling quietude. The lack of falling hammers and roaring forges was almost loud in the still air. No excited voices bargained over rare materials, no feet hustled from room to room, delivering goods. The hall stood empty save for the Vaaterran staff and a few guards. 

Raine approached the rental desk, sliding a pouch across the counter. “Five adept rooms, six hands each.”

The burly builder choked on his spit, coughing and hacking as he realized it had been gold in the pouch and not silver. An adept room cost a gold per day, and each hand was five days, meaning Raine had just dropped 150 gold like it was nothing. At the current rate of 6,500 credits on the exchange, that was edging on a million credits—enough to live without working for a lifetime.

For Raine, such a price was but a drop. With just over two million gold remaining, he had enough to bankroll far more than these few crafters. Yet, all his funds would be gone in a blink if he didn’t create the circular economy required by every major guild. After all, two million wouldn’t even cover the rent for the two additional plots of land he intended to procure.

The clerk, a harried Vaaterran with spectacles perched on his nose, weighed the gold and nodded enthusiastically. “Thank you for your patronage, my lord. They'll be ready in moments!”

“Is this for real? I’ve never been in an adept room before.” The young scribe looked faint, swaying on her feet.

But Raine wasn’t done. He slid a slip of paper across the counter, followed by several even heftier sacks of gold. “Procure sixty crates of each listed material and have them delivered two per day.” The clerk claimed the sacks with quick obedience, assuring it would happen. The crafters crowded his shoulders, awestricken by the sheer quantity of materials listed, each knowing they were looking at a true horde that would take months, if not years to buy themselves. Thousands of gold vanished into the clerk’s greedy hands, more credits than their brains could compute.

Of course, the doors were open to the outside, and they weren’t the only ones privy to Raine’s spending. He’d pitched his voice louder than necessary for good reason. The shocked murmurs faded as he followed a staff member down a nearby hallway. His potential crafters followed, not one of them doubting that at the very least, Alaric had the funds to back up his wild claims.

Unlike the novice rooms which were designed with a specific profession in mind, the expansive adept chambers were stocked with a full array of high-grade instruments tailored for every trade. At one side stood an elaborate drafting station, complete with a spacious desk, ergonomic stool, enchanted quills that never dulled, and self-replenishing ink reservoirs infused with stabilizing essences. Opposite it loomed a sophisticated forging suite, boasting precision hammers, an arcane furnace capable of sustaining extreme temperatures, ample fuel reserves, and an anvil reinforced with Elemental Power-conducting alloys. In an adjacent area sprawled a comprehensive woodworking atelier, equipped with automated saws, finely honed chisels of superior steel, lathes for intricate turning, and clamps enchanted for flawless alignment.

More than one tear rolled down dusty cheeks at the awe-inspiring sight. True to their calling, the crafters spread like wildfire, zipping to the tools familiar to their trades. They reverently ran fingers over items brimming with latent power, unable to form words beyond the groans squeezed from tightened diaphragms.

Raine let them have their fun until the first two crates of materials were delivered. Upon cracking them open, ores glinted brilliantly, herbs filled the air with fresh tang, and hides spilled forth, supple to the touch. The crafters stumbled in his direction, whites of their eyes showing as they drooled over the premium quality materials.

“This is too much.” The Metal Smith—a rotund woman with bulging biceps shook her head. “That ore’s too expensive. I’m pissing myself just thinking about smelting it down.”

“You’re thinking about it the wrong way then.” Raine replied, picking up a lump of shimmering ore. “Gold is just another tool, meaningless unless you can make something from it. Don’t think about where it came from, think about what it could become. That’s how I think of each of you. Not what you are, but what you will one day be. Last chance to back out. Once you sign the interim contract, you’ll never be permitted to speak of or use my methods outside of service to the guild.”

They had seen enough; there was no turning back. Raine’s interface pinged with five notifications before he even finished speaking. He grinned, signing as well, sealing their fates together. The group followed like ducklings as he approached one of the advanced smelters. 

“The secret…” his long pause brutally pulled at their heartstrings, “is preparation. Before the update, you dumped raw materials in and waited for a progress bar to load. Now, every step demands intent.” He held the ore up for them to examine, “Flaws, here and here; see the fractures? Heat or pressure will create further rippling microfractures that will ruin whatever you try to craft with it.” With a small, delicate pick, Raine chipped away the impurities, his movements precise, almost meditative. “Clean it first, align the grains. See how deep I had to go? This one will need to be placed on the outside of the sheet now.”

Raine tossed the Metal Smith another chunk of ore and she looked at it with fresh eyes. “Here and here?”

He nodded, smiling with enthusiasm. Handing her the pick, he left for the alchemist station. “Herbs can’t just be crushed together and thrown in a pot. Order, grain size, added moisture, every detail is vital. I don’t know as much about the specifics, so you’ll have to experiment on your own, but it's the same principle: adequate preparation of raw materials is the cornerstone of success. Take meticulous notes and you’ll have it down in no time.”

The scarred woman jumped in front of him, practically knocking over the expensive tools in her haste to start. Raine didn’t chastise her enthusiasm to start. He moved to the builder’s section. “You’ll never make anything the system accepts without properly processed lumber. Feel the grain, sand out the impurities. Know each knot, where it strengthens and weakens, then cut to take full advantage of each plank’s unique traits.”

On and on it went. Hours blurred as he rotated between them, answering questions, offering critiques, and congratulating successes. Failures mounted—cracked ores, curdled potions, snapped threads, but they were getting closer with each attempt. Raine's guidance was patient, his enhanced Acuity spotting errors before they compounded. All the while, echoes of a past where knowledge was hoarded like gold stirred in his heart. This was nothing like those days. Here, in this room, he was building a foundation that belonged solely to him.

Of the five, the youthful scribe stood out the most. Her quill danced over parchment, runes taking shape and glowing faintly by her third try. He stood over her shoulder, nodding approvingly. “The lines aren’t bleeding anymore. Good. You’re close.” His praise ignited a spark of confidence that, minutes later, culminated in a victorious shout as the scroll was accepted by the system: their first completed product.

“I did it! I did it! It really really worked!” She jumped up and down, squealing non-stop. They crowded around and clapped her shoulders, offering praise before quickly returning to their stations, ambition burning in their every movement.

“Follow me.” The girl looked up uncertainly as Raine snatched the scroll, but did as commanded. Outside the crafting hall, the two of them stood against the crowd. Faces scrawled with every conceivable emotion looked back as he held her achievement high. “Two hours and this little girl is already doing what all of you failed to do.” Raine’s arm and the runed scroll swiveled to Fizgore, standing nearby, charming the pants off a pair of pretty young girls. “Anyone tired of standing out here being useless, talk to Fizgore. Positions are limited, the potential for greatness is not.”

With that, he held out three gold to the girl. She stared up at him with the biggest eyes he’d ever seen before she snatched them just as quickly as he’d taken the scroll. With a delighted squeal, she dove back into the crafting hall, eager to earn more. The roar of questions followed her inside. 

As for Raine, he was already gone. Vanished right before their eyes as a Return Stone brought him closer to his next destination. The sun had climbed higher, dominating Silverlight with its brilliance. The city's pulse was in full beat, thrumming with activity. Vaaterrans flowed through the streets like blood through her arteries, and in the center of it all, the palace loomed large, beckoning with a quest’s reward that was long overdue.