April 18, 2024
Start
A handful of people were inspecting the arrangement of hand cannons inside one of the headquarter's armory. There was Jean, Hertha, and the armorers who kept everything tidy and clean... ish. The small rubble of bricks in the corner stood out like an eyesore.
There weren't less than five firearms as Jean had expected. Nor there was less than ten. Rather, there were thirty arranged in a presentable grid.
Jean only expected around five.
John made six times of that.
Somehow.
Jean asked with a palpable hesitation. "Have each of these been test-fired?"
Jean noticed something. Instead of a three-inch barrel, the handguns presented before her all have roughly five-inch barrels along with a new addition of a trigger guard. She had some questions. How much difference can an addition of a few inches will it have? Will it make it louder? Will it make it more accurate? Will it make it more powerful?
And how did John make thirty of them?
"Yes. Every one of them has been tested during our sleeping shift." Hertha checked the clipboard for the fourth time and then turned to the rubble of bricks in one corner. "I must inform you of something else, Master Jean. We'll be expecting another addition of approximately eight in the next batch."
"What!?"
Everyone cringed.
"I thought we discussed this!" Jean didn't bother checking anything as she lost her usual demeanor. She took a breath, "Whose decision was it to involve other blacksmiths? We already scared Wagner and his apprentice half to death."
"About that... John sourced labor only from the Investigation Company. They have a detailed report and a study of the processes."
"Since when did our alchemist learn how to blacksmith?" Jean narrowed her eyelids. Last time she knew, most members of that company were either alchemists with a genuine passion for the art who'd rather dabble with potions. Or those that barely passed their physical evaluation test. Often both.
"Er, no." Hertha flipped a page, understanding her confusion. "Rather, John designed… hammering machines and specialized tools, while coming up with processes that shortened the manufacturing from one hour and a half to… roughly a fraction of that. There's no accurate conclusion yet, as the Investigation Company is still processing some things on their end."
"He what?" With a quick mental math, Jean discovered an anomaly. "Even so, the production output shouldn't correspond with… this much." She gestured to the hand cannons. "He should have had only a few hours if he had developed his machine."
"… He requested the Investigation Company to make a multiple of those machines. He trained some of our knights to use them."
After a few seconds of contemplation, Jean speedily walked out of the armory and across through the long hallway of the headquarters - it would better serve her to check everything herself than read reports. She couldn't care less of the saluting knights who stepped besides to give way. She strutted down a stairway that leads to the workshop wing.
She was not a blacksmith. She never picked up a hammer with the intent to strike hot metal on an anvil. However, she has seen Mastersmith Wagner work his magic every time she walks past his smithy. She was not unfamiliar with the sound of a hammer hitting metal.
Jean stopped and pressed her ear against the door. What was she hearing? The countless muffled hammer blows made it sound as if a hundred blacksmiths were hard at work inside! She furrowed her brows. As she pushed the door open, she was blown by the sudden heat that poured out. She was met with a few pairs of eyes who turned to the newcomer.
Hundreds of hammer blows assaulted her ears.
… What are those things!?
…
"And that's how these mechanical power hammers work," John explained boredly, licking his lips that tasted salty from all the sweat. The heat from the hearth turned the entire workshop into an oven. He was trying his best to ignore a bead of sweat sliding down Jean's jawline that was about to drop to her cleavage.
He failed.
It's that thing propelling our transport balloons. Jean's eyes bored at the recognizable parts of the entire thick wooden apparatus. It looked like an unholy matrimony of… many things. She recognized a carriage wheel. A crossbow limb. A hammer. An anvil.
(AN: I know this is cheating, I'm sorry, but describing machines is hard. For your imagination and the unfamiliar, just google 'blacksmith tire hammer'.)
"May I try it, John?"
John gave her a casual shrug.
Jean stepped on the foot pedal. The flywheel spun, it pushed a thick rod up and down. The ram, sandwiched by wooden guide bars that kept it stable and guided the thing down much like a guillotine, reciprocated at dizzying speeds. The ram hammered the anvil at a pace that no smith can ever hope to match!
Thunk Thunk Thunk Thunk Thunk Thunk Thunk Thunk-
John coughed. Jean let go of the pedal.
"The hammer weighs only a few pounds heavier than your typical hammer. Could have been heavier, but that'd require a stronger frame. Timaeus provided lube, Sucrose provided the fuel, and Albedo… pretty much did all the carpentry. Like, how do you slice wood with magic? Wish I could do magic." He said the last few rhetorically.
John recalled how Albedo sliced timber into beams like a laser cutter just as he did with the barrel. Shaping anything with an organic shape is nearly impossible for him without visual aid, but if it's with simple flat-facing geometry, then it's a breeze. Especially for wood.
Magic is convenient.
The motor spun the flywheel that had a connecting rod with a hammer attached. The flywheel spins which rams the rod down. In a way, it resembled a car engine; the flywheel acted as the crankshaft, where the ram acted like a piston, moving from a rotational motion to linear actuation. Everything else keeps everything in place.
"Anyways. Uhh. Can I get to work?" John deadpanned.
"… Do you mind if I observe?" Jean collected herself. Indeed, the hammering machine was an otherworldly novelty, but she shouldn't gawk like a child the first time she was a puppy. Even if the puppy is some kind of a monstrous machine.
"Myeh 'right sure whatever. Don't expect me to talk, though." John clapped once, turning his back to her. "Alright team. Do… whatever you were doing."
The workshop was then filled with a cacophony of metallic clangs.
Her attention came to one of the unarmored knights who, with long metal tongs, held a piece of red-hot iron. His hammering machine had a small hammer. With its narrow-headed face, every strike had drawn the metal into a long rectangle. It had noticeable warpings, yet the knight in charge seemed satisfied with the poor quality as he set it aside to the floor in a small pile.
Jean would have lashed out for the obvious display of negligence. Even she can see that.
Someone else took them. A female knight gathered the roughly rectangular pieces and reheated everything on the hearth. She gave a glowing piece to another worker manning another machine with a different hammer and anvil piece, which looked like two long bars meant to sandwich the workpiece flatly.
Oh. Jean could see that the tool was for ironing the imperfections. The piece continued to another station with a crescent-contoured hammer with a curved anvil, as it hammered the bar into a half-round pipe.
This pattern was repeated until it went to John's station, which poured flux and welded the two edges together. The piece sparked from every strike, gradually forming into a five-inch barrel. After multiple inspections and corrections, he quenched the piece into a bucket of water, and stacked it in a pile, as someone else gathered everything and exited the room.
And that's just for the barrel. The other rooms must be for making the different parts that likely employed similar philosophies. She realized something in her observation throughout the entire operation, or something close to it.
Instead of a single worker doing every single step, every single step is done by a single worker.
…
"Good evening, Jean! I hope you had a good…" Kaeya trailed into silence just as his smile melted into a slight frown. He glanced at the grandfather clock. "Nevermind. It's not seven yet and here you are already worried about what's coming."
"It's not about the siege." Jean had this complicated expression. "I'm not even sure anymore."
"Yeah… do tell." Kaeya closed the door behind him and strolled in front of Jean's office table, all the while combing his moist hair fresh straight out of the bath. "Did you train? You look like you need a shower."
"We have thirty hand cannons." Jean went straight to the point.
Kaeya merely raised an eyebrow. "A bit unnecessary, don't you think?"
"… What?" Jean perked in confusion.
"Unnecessary. Overkill, if anything." Kaeya went to the couch to sit and looked over the window to the opposite. It was going to be completely dark in a few minutes. "I thought we were only expecting John to make five. Whose idea was it to make thirty training models?"
"… What do you mean training models? They're not - oh I see." Jean raised her voice a little louder for what she was about to say. Slowly, she corrected, "We have thirty functional hand cannons, Kaeya. Every single one of them is serviceable."
A few seconds of silence filled the room.
"What?" Kaeya froze on the sofa. Thirty? Did he hear that right? In such a short period? Did John overwork himself? Wait… even so, thirty is impossible given the time. "Oh Archons, whose idea was it to ask help from Wagner and his apprentice? I thought we discussed this."
"… He did not get any help from any smiths. He did it all by himself with some help from the Investigation Company." Jean resisted to sink her face to her arms laid on the table. "Go check the armory if you want."
Kaeya raced out of her office just as fast as he came in. When the door flipped open, someone else entered.
"Captain Hertha. I thought you were training your knights with the new weapon?"
"Supposedly. I'm having trouble finding more volunteers with the guts to shoot something that can blow up in their hands." Hertha leaned out the door. The other captain was fast to get up the stairway. "Let me guess. Kaeya wanted to see the hand cannons?"
"… Yes."
"Oh, Barbatos. I can't even imagine how he'd react."
And who can?
Only two of them can understand Kaeya's surprise.
Winning battles often relied on luck more than anyone liked to admit. Luck plays a larger role when you are at a disadvantage against enemies. With a chunk of their responsibility falling on the reserves; only a few are in the know that the Favonius… might have lowered the bar in the last few tryouts to compensate for Varka's expedition. Simply enough, the Knight of Favonius has its fighting power reduced to a fraction.
John changed that.
He came up with a cheap weapon that allowed amateurs to be devastating.
A hand cannon is not as fast or accurate as their war bows, but everyone in the demonstration knew one shot could down even a mitachurl. Or hurt it badly. The original plan they had for hand cannons was to arm a few knights guarding important cargos or warehouses just for tonight. With their supposedly few numbers, they're not meant to be a force multiplier, but merely as deterrents; winning battles doesn't necessarily mean killing every enemy. Scaring off monsters works fine, but breaking their spirit with a bang that can be exploited works better.
John changed that.
He came up with machines and methods that could arm an entire division in mere days.
Cavalry units were a formidable force with their mobility and power on the battlefield. The shock value of a cavalry charge can induce disarray among enemy infantry units. Culturally speaking, a knight and their steed are analogous and a knight cannot be true without the other. Practically speaking, if you remove that from the Knights of Favonius, it might as well be a handicap.
John changed that.
He gave the Favonius a viable dirt-cheap alternative.
Of course, in their discussion at Angel's Tavern, they hadn't yet decided on a price tag. But no matter how much resources you pour in, you can do nothing to rush a foal to grow old, or similarly, a squire to be a full-fledged knight.
While a hypothetical hand-cannon division cannot maneuver across terrain as fast as cavalry do, they do share similar elements. Dare say, a competent strategist could figure out that gun squads would shine the brightest in cramped environments. The demonstration did take place in a room.
And guess what? The city is one, huge cramped environment.
They don't need horsemen patrolling streets.
They need guns inside buildings.
"Acting Grand Master." Hertha paused. "It's obvious enough a lot is going on in your mind, and I'm going to guess it has anything to do with John."
"It has everything to do with him." Jean pulled a drawer open. She laid a city map on her table where every building is outlined. "Let's talk about him later. I'm sure you're not just here to complain about volunteers."
The two took their time to strategize.
Again.
They made different strategies for tonight, but they're for mitigating risks.
With a new variable introduced, they need new plans.
And it's all because of a single person.
This time, they did not discuss how to minimize damage if an Abyss Mage were to attack and summon its monstrous minions. Instead, they talked to catch them off guard for an ambush. If not, then at the very least deter.
Hertha pointed out transport routes, warehouses, and transportation assets. Particularly, the Abyss Order has targeted their transport balloons and will target them again. It'd make for an attractive bait, wouldn't it?
The two were disturbed when the door opened abruptly.
"I see you've even visited the workshop." Jean gestured for the sweaty captain to enter. "We were just discussing which building could serve best as ambush sites."
"… We just had an additional ten hand cannons." Said Kaeya flatly, still standing in the doorway like a frozen deer. "We have forty. We can arm five or so squads."
"Yes." Hertha nodded, emotionless. "We expected that."
"He… they... we can make ten of them every hour." The cavalry captain did a bit of math in his head. "I can have gun platoons by this week. Or entire divisions by this month."
"We know," Hertha smirked. "You know this is the first time I've seen you like this."
The two mused over his blank expression, which was neither cool nor heated, as they wondered what was swirling inside his mind.
Is it the machine John invented that can rival the productivity of blacksmithing guilds?
Or…
Is it the methodology John used that allowed amateurs to outproduce master crafters?
He hasn't even been here for a week.
And yet he's making storms.
Like they're nothing.
Who is John?
…
Plop!
John wiped off his sweat. He scratched his ass on the toilet. At least the seat was made of marble.
He was thankful for the headquarter's plumbing system. He didn't know how he'd keep his dignity if he were to haul a shit bucket throughout the hallway. Worse so, if maids like that cutie he met were to haul in his stead. Frankly, he didn't want to learn how people dealt with their crap before plumbing. And certainly, he didn't want to immerse himself in that side of history.
The steaks he ate. The pizza. The skewers. Oh, he should have added some greens. A lot of greens.
And that was earlier this day? Damn.
Time moved so slowly.
Time never had moved so slowly in his life.
One day he was working part-time… and then the next…
It hasn't even been a week.
It hadn't even been three days.
The first day was the day he started his new life lost in the wilds. Alone, confused, and kidnapped. He was rescued by Amber. Met the others. Explored Mondstadt. Offered a job. Then slept to prepare for the next.
The second day was… just yesterday. He moved boxes and scribbled on checklists. The monsters attacked. The siege started. He rescued Timaeus. Helped others. Fought an Abyss Mage. Failed. Lost consciousness.
The third is today. He woke up in the ward. Talked with some people. Cooked steak to test his System. Talked with some people again. Worked with explosives. Worked on his first-ever gun. Chased by the entirety of Favonius. Talked with the same people who he thought would silence him. Now he's a firearms manufacturer for medieval knights.
What a fucking turn of events.
And he still has a few hours left until midnight.
… Dang... it has been only three days. Oh, man.
A lot of things that are happening in his new life aren't normal. Then again, there are a lot of things more bizarre in this world. Having an identity crisis in the restroom paled in comparison.
His heel tapped on the floor obsessively. His chest felt irritated.
He needs order.
He needs structure.
He needs routines he can follow that will induce a sense of normalcy. And he needs stress relief. He wanted a lot of things out of his mind. He needed escape. One way or another, he'll need a coping mechanism. His work was more than enough to keep him focused, but he can't do work 24-7.
Beer will only bring trouble. It's too much of a risk. Alcohol is an absolute no.
He needed distractions.
He recalled something earlier, and of all memories he revised, his mind gallivanted where Jean sweated in the workshop when she tested his machine. He recalled as clear as water. It must be the System at play. The power hammer wasn't completely stable. With its frame made of wood, it had minor structural flaws. Thus, when the hammerhead slammed against the anvil, some forces traveled to her leg while she stomped the foot pedal very stiffly, traveling throughout her torso.
Her droplets of sweat sprinkled down onto her sweaty -
And that's why he stopped her mid-way. He might not be the only one staring.
He can't deny she's attractive.
He wondered if the System had a seduction mechanic.
"Hey. Have you heard?" A muffled voice resounded on the other side. "Captain Kaeya and Hertha are relocating people to their experimental platoons."
John wiped his buttcrack with a thick wad of tissue (he's thankful whoever introduced it) as he tossed it in the trash. He didn't bother putting his pants up. He waddled towards the door like a penguin, pressing his ear on the door.
"Yeah!" A female voice squealed proudly. "I'm assigned with one of the hand cannon units!"
"Wait, you volunteered to shoot those terrible things? Aren't those dangerous?"
"Don't worry! They work! We're setting up ambush sites in the apartment district."
…
"I don't understand you." At this point, Anastacia cared little about professionalism as she openly sighed with deep frustration. "We're all stuck in the same boat, aren't we? Why won't you let us help?"
(AN: Anastacia is that Fatuu diplomat in Mondstadt's archon quest.)
"We're telling you to stand down." Kaeya shrugged coolly. He held his lamp tight. "I don't understand how you don't understand. Should I make it clear? We don't need you. Just return to your hotel and relax."
"Respectfully speaking, the Knights of Favonius is severely understaffed as it is. You can't expect us to relax in this situation." Anastacia scoffed. The blonde Fatuu diplomat shook her head. She gestured to the transport balloons. "We're merely filling in as additional security. Are you leaving something as big as this cargo vulnerable with little manpower? Are you begging to be attacked?"
That's the fucking point. Kaeya kept his mouth still. His head turned to the other Fatui. Their normal members formed a semi-circle, armed with swords sheathed on their belts. Standing in the center were a few of their… less-than-normal counterparts; skirmishers. Hulking men whose physique had nothing to do with their diet, just as how their weapons were anything but ordinary.
On one side was the Fatui, on the other were knights and a medley of spearmen mercenaries.
Either way, it goes fucking wrong. Kaeya considered both scenarios.
If I let the Fatui help…
They will help 'for free' and leverage it against the Favonius… somehow. From thereon, it'll be a slippery slope towards a positive public opinion, which they then can use as a bigger leverage... somehow. Oh! Maybe the Fatui aren't so bad after all! They just want to help! So let them. We're all in this together, after all!
And if I don't let them help…
They'll try to paint the Favonius as pretentious elitists… somehow. They'll convince the public that the knights lost grip of the situation, that this siege would be better handled with foreign aid… somehow. Oh! The Fatui may be bad guys, but we need everyone's help on this! Even if it means playing ball with them!
Which then goes on in a circle.
You just can't win. Kaeya thought bitterly. The Fatui aren't to be taken lightly. They'll use every trick in the book to get what they want. He recalled sightings of their agents searching for cracks in the siege. It's not hard to figure out they're finding ways to sabotage the situation to their advantage. But this situation calls for a more delicate approach. If any Fatuu dies in the ambush by friendly fire under public witness, then the Knights of Favonius will have a hell of a political field trip.
And it's not like he can warn the Fatui of their plans; likely, they'll just screw things deliberately to extend this siege.
"Heyo~ Kaeya."
What? Who? Oh fuck no! John! Get the fuck out of here! Kaeya fought every piece of him that wanted to lash out at the approaching figure.
"I see that you're uhh…" The strangely garbed young man walked towards the captain. "Talking with… friends?" John tried not to point out how one of them was as tall as three meters…
Three. Meters.
What in the actual fuck.
"Friends would be… an overstatement, young man." Anastacia crossed her arms, whose curiosity couldn't be hidden behind her mask. Some of the skirmishers grunted in annoyance. She gestured towards the newcomer. "May I get the pleasure of getting your name?"
"He's merely a worker." Kaeya stepped in, unwilling to share details. He turned to him. "Please, leave. They're the Fatui. You don't want to be here."
"Alright. Sure. I'll be going to the docks, then. I was planning to take a stroll." John noted the warning. He asked, "That is… if you need me somewhere else, sir?"
"… Actually, no." Kaeya forced a frown. Now that's an idea right there. John might be a blessing in disguise if he pulled this right. Kaeya laid a bait for the Fatuu; if he can get some of them to split and leave somewhere, it'd reduce the chances of fucking up the ambush. "We'll need every help we can get in the docks. I'll be expecting you there. Just be sure to be safe."
"Alright, then." John nodded to the side and he turned back. He sauntered to the docks.
Anastacia followed him. The other Fatui started an argument in her stead.
"Excuse me!"
John stopped only when he thought he was out of Kaeya's earshot. He turned and said boredly. "Oh hey."
"My apologies. I am Anastacia. I merely have some questions for you if you don't mind." Anastacia placed her palm on her clavicle. Diplomacy one-oh-one states that to get close to someone, ask for their name first. "May I know your name?"
"Uh… I'm Barack Obama." Like hell he'd share his name. It's not like John is his true name anyway.
"… Barack Obama?"
"Look." Barack deadpanned, talking in a strange, smooth, and confident accent with a slightly deep voice. He pushed her to the defensive. "If you got something to say about my name, say it."
"Oh no no." Anastacia shook her hands placatingly. "It's just that… Barack?"
"Barack. Like… uh… Do you know? Barracks? An accommodation for soldiers? You see, my parents were in a mercenary company. Not the smartest lot."
"I see…" Anastacia stroked her chin. "I can tell you're not a knight. Mr. Obama, if you don't mind me asking, what's your occupation with the Knights of Favonius? And what is it about this dock?"
"I work for them. I just move stuff around." He wanted to make himself look unimportant. "I was gonna go to the pier because they needed some extra hands."
"… Oh." She smelled an opportunity. He's just some dumb muscle for hire. "The docks. Yes, do go on. Is there something big that's happening?"
"… What? You really don't know what's going on?" Barack made it sound like it's something more important than in reality. A big bait for a big fish. He could use this to gain information. He said judgementally, "You really don't, huh? I heard that you guys want to help. But word on the street is you guys have done nothing in this siege. I'd heard mentions of Fatui, otherwise." He took a quick breath. "We're getting harassed by monsters everywhere. I'm sure you know. You had so many chances, anesthesia. What do you say about that?"
"We are well aware," Anastacia replied diplomatically. "And we only want what's best for Mondstadt. You must understand, that the Knights of Favonius have been insistent that they're in control. But as you can see, they are not. We wouldn't be surrounded by monsters otherwise."
… They're throwing shade. But why? John's mind raced. What's best for Mondstadt? What kind of an organization is the Fatui? Why the dark aesthetics? What do they want with the city? Why do they hide behind masks? Why are some of their members twice as tall?
So many red flags.
"That's… true," Barack pointed at the transport balloons. "I guess I judged too early. You really do want to help, but the captain over there… he'd rather you be anywhere but near that cargo, right?"
"Yes. We want to prove that we can pull our weight. After all, we are in this siege together." The Fatuu diplomat slightly snidely continued, "But the knights… they're pretentious, Barack. They think they can deal with the Abyss Order alone, but if you ask me, I say we Fatui could do a better job."
Throwing shade. Again. It's so damn obvious they want to look better. But why? Barack said what he thinks she would like to hear, "I don't know what's going on, but that cargo looks very important, and your men look very strong. I guess… there'd be no harm having extra security if you ask me." Barack took a quick breath and said what could stroke her ego, "I say it's foolish that they chose mercenaries to fill in the vacuum; you guys look organized, so why would they rather trust random people over you guys?"
Anastacia clasped her hand. "Exactly~! I'm glad you understand, Barack!"
The fact that Kaeya, and by extension the entire Favonius, don't want them anywhere in the city tells that the Fatui would be better off gone. Not that he didn't recognize red flags from the start.
How can he trick the Fatui to move somewhere else?
"Anyways." Barack set up a trap. "It's nice talking to you, anesthesia. But I already have a lot of things to do. This siege is a bother as it is, but I still have work."
"Please." She kindly insisted. "I'm sure we can help."
"I uhh… I guess you could start at the docks?" Barack sprinkled some very delicious breadcrumbs. "Have you heard about the attack earlier in the docks?"
"Now that you mention it…" Anastacia tapped her chin, connecting every dot according to every piece of information they managed to gather despite the lack of public cooperation. "Yes. The docks would seem like an important target for the Abyss Order. After all, since no one can use the bridge, it's the only infrastructure in this city that connects to the outside world... Aha! The cargo! Of course! That must be where they're transporting the cargo!" She grinned. It's all connected. There's a good chance Abyss Mages could attack in the docks. They could use this chance to improve public relations! If we can get over there first and kill some monsters, we can take some trophies and parade them in public! That should improve public opinion.
Huh… Well, that worked. She's not wrong that there's a non-zero chance. Whatever she's thinking, he doesn't care. "You know, you make it sound like there'll be an attack over there any second. Ah gee. You're making me feel scared to go to work."
"Don't worry. You can leave this to us! We'll even haul boxes in your stead!"
"In my stead? But… I have to work." Barack sounded skeptical. Maybe he could try to push his luck. "Surely you understand? Who's going to pay me? How am I going to eat?"
"Ah of course. I don't want to make this hard for you, Barack. Please, take this." Anastacia pulled out a few pouches of mora out of her coat. It should be more than enough to discourage him. They don't need some civilians to mess with their mission. She handed him everything, "This should last you a month. Maybe more. Do you want to endanger your life over boxes? I'd say it's not worth it."
"Gee! They're heavy!" Barack did not have to fake a wide grin. Oh my god. While he did not know the value of the local currency, a month's worth meant for an ordinary worker couldn't be little. You don't look a gift horse in the mouth, but, "Are you sure about this? There has to be a catch, right?"
"You can simply treat this as… an incentive for a future partnership." Anastacia's lips twisted to a smirk. "I promise you that you'll have better opportunities in the Fatui than in the Knights of Favonius, Barack Obama."
Anastacia returned to her peers and gathered everyone in a circle. The next moment, they all went somewhere else and left Captain Kaeya alone.
Kaeya walked up to him with concern over his features, "What just happened? Are you alright?"
"She paid-" John coughed, switching back to his normal accent. "She paid me not to go the docks…" He shrugged, sliding the pouches in his pockets. "Don't know what's up with that. If you want, I can tell you everything she told me, sir."
"Maybe another time. And drop the sir." Kaeya sighed deeply with great relief. He chuckled, "You have no idea how glad I am right now."
"Wat."
"Nothing," Kaeya smirked, shaking his head. "So… what brought you here?"
"I wanted to hunt some Abyss Mages." John unzipped his jacket, revealing a few hand cannons holstered in his pants and an experimental bandolier around his chest that Albedo made for him. "I heard what you guys are planning."
"… John. No." Kaeya scolded him like a child.
End
April 19 - 2024 - a bit of editing.
April 23 - 2024 - a bit of editing.
June 29, 2024 - a 'bit' of editing. Specifically some parts of the manufacturing scene.
In the last chapter AN, I said that I yap a lot in the AN.
Now I'm going to yap.
SUPPORT
KO-FI
NEED COFFEE
HattyCat
Oh man, I just want to rant about how much brain juice this chapter cost me.
The gun barrel production scene. Explaining how mass manufacturing works. A much deeper analysis of the implications of guns from Jean's perspective. John feeling horny for Jean in the restroom just after having an identity crisis. (I mean, come on, who doesn't question their life on the toilet? I sometimes do.) Kaeya's monologue of the Fatui's political tactics. John's psychological manipulation. Barack Obama.
omfg.
I swear that last part came out of random I am so sorry. But it was so funny enough not to rewrite it.
So many layers of considerations went into this chapter as you can imagine. Of course, I'm still open to criticism. I always will be. If there's a detail I missed, do point it out. Sometimes there are things that I forgot, like that one quest a few chapters back about John making a gun that I never brought up again.
As a writer, there's still a lot of room to improve, but if I were to tell my younger self from five years ago that I can write quality chapters with 4-6K word count within 2 to 3 days, he wouldn't believe me. Faster if I don't take breaks.
I mean… it's insane. I managed to fucking write around 30K words in around half a month. And it's not dumpster shit. Like… this is a significant milestone in my life as a writer! If I keep this up, who knows? Maybe I'll be able to write a quality chapter every day!
I used to struggle with writing a 2K word count that took me weeks. If I hadn't been poisoned with insecurities and whatnot, imagine what I would've been by now. And it's only made possible with a bit of grit and your support.
… Random question. If I were to set up a with benefits of reading advanced chapters, how much would each chapter would be worth? I'm not saying that I'll lock The Industrial Artificer chapters behind a paywall. I'm saying that I might be skilled enough to write my original fiction rotting in my hard drive and brain without suffering from burnout.
Might as well prove some people wrong that I can make money out of it… lol.
I'll explain it next post.
I'm planning to support myself financially one day as a writer, you see. I want this to be a serious thing. Why do you think I keep asking for criticism? Without a master I can learn from, I can only compare the skills of my present self to my past self.
I'm so corny. And random.
I need sleep.
So eepy.
My replies to recent reviews.
LowlifeNolife
Yeah. There's just something about guns, isn't there? Like, imagine training your whole life only for a tiny piece of rock to end you…
Speaking of America, there's just something weird about how people can buy them nilly willy, know what I mean?
kellar007
Well, we sure think alike! But honestly, that feels overkill. It's canon that you can kill giant robots with enough arrows… weird as that sounds.
Al the Obsessive
Thank you! Honestly, it kinda feels weird. Try to imagine my perspective for a bit. Summarily, in all my life, society taught me that art will get you no money. So when I received financial support, it felt… so damn good.
PanzerkampfwagenVI
… There's no limit as far as I've visualized. You gotta remember that Tevyat has all sorts of weird things.
ThatGuyYouMet
Me? A GOAT? Man…
Feels good reading that. No one in my family ever acknowledged me as a writer.
And yes, I know about Dornman Port. Honestly, it kinda bugs me that there's very little information on Tevyat's true scale and demographics. I can only use real-world maps as a reference, but that's not much.
And yes, I also came to the same headcannons of the port city. I do have headcannons of my own regarding the political situation outside the city… but that's for another chapter. Show, don't tell.
ShinySpiritomb
Kek.
To be fair, I can't blame the Favonius, all things considered. I hope that the Knights of Favonius had a VERY good reason why they let Varka take 80% of their military.