Lone: The Wanderer

Book 2: Chapter 57: State of Mind and Informational Lacking Information

Lone tried his best to get a good look at the primary prosecutor through his eye wraps. As best as he could tell, the person was a man and obviously a dwarf given his stocky shoulders and short frame.

He was wearing some armour - a pauldron and a heart guard - from the looks of things. They appeared to be ceremonial given how there were a lot of squiggles on them. Squiggles Lone was confident were very ornate and beautiful when looked at normally.

Apart from the large beard and what appeared to be steamforged glasses of some sort sitting atop the man's nose bridge, Lone couldn't make out any other distinctive features.

Congratulations! The host's passive skill [Enhanced Vision] has levelled up! It is now Beginner level 8.

"Thank you, Your Honour," the man said gracefully as he took the stand.

'On, nice. It was 'Your Honour'. I wonder what that actually means in the local language though? Maybe 'One Who Presides With The Blessing Of The Stone?' Despite having little concern for languages back on Earth beyond the history behind them, a new interest was forming within Lone to study the different tongues of this world.

"I would like to open Master Wilbur's case with a few statements and a question or two, if you would permit that of me, Your Honour," the man requested.

Lone saw the judge nod slightly before replying, "Very well, you may proceed."

"Wilbur Steamson. A Stone Dwarf of Krieg Ooderton. Born in the year SA 12 781," the prosecutor started.

'Twelfth Stone Age, year 781. I know it must be annoying as fuck for each kingdom and culture to have their own date system, but boy if it isn't awesome as heck,' Lone thought as he recalled it was currently the fourteenth Stone Age, year 264.

"Born to a swordsmith of little renown and a barmaid of a local tavern, you was fortunate enough to become apprenticed to Journeyman Steamforger Gilgar Heimfor at the age of 47. You, Master Wilbur, then proceeded to shake the entire kingdom with your unparalleled talent in the craft and not only surpassed your master in both talent and skill, but you even earned the title of Master Steamforger at age 332. A new record in dwarven history," the man recited.

Congratulations! The host's passive skill [Enhanced Vision] has levelled up! It is now Beginner level 9.

Lone dismissed the notification as he paid rapt attention to the dwarf reading out his master's history. This was all news to him, after all, and it was all very interesting.

"Unsatisfied with the level of your craft, after earning the permission of the greater council, you left the united dwarven kingdoms to go topside. This was claimed to be done in an effort to broaden your horizons. A bold goal. A noble goal, I might add. For come back with ever broadened horizons you did," the prosecutor praised.

The spectators broke out into hushed whispers. All of which were quietly speaking of how accomplished Wilbur was.

Lone couldn't help but nod at that. It felt good hearing someone he cared about being recognised for his true worth, though the man himself didn't appear to care as far as Lone could tell.

'Maybe 'cause his wife hasn't been mentioned? They met topside, didn't they?' Lone wondered.

"After 438 years on the surface travelling the lands, you returned here to this very krieg. Invention after invention, all just as intuitive or even more so than the last. Powered pickaxes. Mini Steamforged Sun Lamps. Steam-wheelers. This is just to list a handful of your marvellous creations." The man took a break to adjust his glasses.

'Wait a fuckin' minute, hold the corrupt officials! Gramps invented Steam-wheelers?' Lone asked himself in surprise. 'That is so fuckin' awesome.'

"Now, we come to today. Almost 300 years after such a significantly splendid life. Today, we stand here to potentially witness the downfall of a future epitome, though I have faith in the Stone that the truth shall come to light on this day. My first question, Mister Steamson. Did you teach the foxkin here how to steamforge?" the prosecutor asked.

Wilbur sighed in that way only the elderly who couldn't stand pomp and unneeded nonsense did. "Yes, ah did."

Lone leaned forward, "He's lying," he said loudly.

The judge frowned. "Mister Immortus, you will not speak until spoken to. We are dealing with his case right now, not yours."

Lone shrugged. "Fuck off. I don't know why, but the old man here wants to take the fall for my foolishness even though he did no wrong. Charge me with contempt or whatever. Wilbur's just gonna say yes to whatever you accuse him of anyway. He's not exactly in the right state of mind."

"I will charge you with contempt. Do not try to play it off as if it means not-"

"Your Honour?" the head prosecutor interrupted politely.

"Yes, Mister Chillforge?" the judge asked.

"Please allow him to speak. Their cases are intrinsically linked, after all. I do not mind if he interjects with his opinions. So long as he stays civil and on topic, I will allow it if you too shall permit such behaviour," the man Lone now knew to own the surname of Chillforge said.

The judge nodded slightly. "Very well. As the leading prosecutor, I will grant you this. Mister Immortus, you are free to speak provided you follow the stated instructions."

"Thanks. Honestly didn't expect that. Also, Chillforge? Fuckin' badass family name. You won the lottery with that one," Lone commented.

The prosecutor smiled, or Lone thought he did. Hard to tell with such a large beard covering his already obscured face.

"I appreciate the compliment, Mister Immortus. Now, would you mind elaborating on your earlier words? Mister Steamson is not in his right state of mind?" he asked.

Lone nodded, earning him a glare from not only Wilbur, but also from Sonya. "He's sick. I mean, we all know this, right? Wilbur's got some incurable disease. The disease itself doesn't mess with his mind, no, but it does mess with his state of mind. Long story short, he couldn't give a fuck less about becoming an epitome. He just wants to protect me, and since he's dying already... even though I went and learned steamforging on my own behind his back, he's got it stuck in his head that it would make more sense to pin everything on himself in an attempt to get me exiled or something instead of executed."

Lone leaned back into his chair and rolled his shoulders as he coughed and put on an old man's voice. "'Ah'm gonna die soon anyway, so no need to ruin ah young man's life as well for ah foolish, youthful mistake' is what he's thinking. I mean, I get it, but destroying a centuries-old legacy for the sake of little ol' me? That's not fair. It's not fair to Wilbur nor to dwarven culture as a whole. Honestly, anything he says should be scrutinised very carefully. He'll say whatever he can to implicate himself even though he knows he never taught me a lick of steamforging."

Wilbur stood up abruptly and slammed his fist on the desk in front of them. "The feck 're ye onna aboot, ya daft little shit?!"

Lone grinned. "See? He's all pissy now that I've hung him out to dry like that. 'The special Golden Foxkin is throwin' his life away for my sake even though ah'm so old!' fuckin' boohoo."

He wagged his tails a little bit to bring attention to them. "Wilbur, I've awakened so many times. You're not the only dead man walking. Just 'cause I'm young and don't have some rare disease, that does not mean I'm worth tossing your legacy away for. Can you guys, like, judge his case right now and then just move on to mine? I think we'd all like this incredibly expensive and convoluted mess to be over with as soon as possible."

"You ungrateful little bastard! After everthin' ah've done fer ye! Why ah-"

Lone shook his head. "This much stress isn't good for his health. He still hasn't finished that final project of his too, right? The one that will finalise his transition into an epitome before his death."

Wilbur's face went pale. "How dae ye ken aboot 'at?!"

'Of course I had Soph and Sophie keep track of you as best as they could while I was locked up. Who do you think I am? This ain't my first rodeo. And of course they found out you're working on a steamforged version of communication orbs that don't require mana input to work. Not like I'd tell you that though,' Lone grinned. Everything was going as planned.

Congratulations! The host's passive skill [Enhanced Vision] has levelled up! It is now Beginner level 10.

Everything was going as planned and a rank up was on the horizon. Indeed, there was little for Lone to be upset about right now.

A few meaningful looks were shared between the judge, the primary prosecutor, as well as a few key individuals in the spectator seats as far as Lone could make out.

'Don't tell me...' He had a sneaking suspicion that him creating a rift between himself and Wilbur might have been without reason.

"Your Honour," Mister Chillforge said, "I am willing to do as Mister Immortus stated."

The judge nodded. "Very well. Deciders, you may leave the courtroom. You have an hour to come to a consensus regarding the outcome of Mister Steamson's charges."

Lone watched as a group of thirteen individuals got up from a stand he had previously overlooked. They uniformly left the hall through a backdoor as if they had rehearsed the action.

'Deciders? Is that the dwarven version of the jury? Seems like a profession too, not a civil duty. Interesting, if not highly corruptible. I wonder if they are trained to get skills to prevent bribery and the like? Maybe they're all illusion mages and they hide their appearances? The possibilities are limitless,' Lone thought in both jest and intrigue.

"I will now call for a session of recess. Court is dismissed for the next hour," the judge proclaimed.

Lone, Wilbur, and Sonya, were led to a private room by a contingent of guards before being left to their own devices. Of course, both Lone and his master were still bound by ardartian shackles.

Wilbur reeling back his fist the second the door to the chamber was closed before he socked Lone clean in the jaw as hard as he could.

"What in the name o' all things spiritual dae ye think ye were doin' back there, ye ungrateful little bastard?!" he screamed in fury.

Lone rolled his jaw and swallowed the small amount of blood that had pooled in his mouth from the hit. 'Strong arm for a dying man.'

Lone ignored Wilbur and chose to sit down instead. After all, the room had not only seats and a table, but snacks and ale as well.

Only once his hands were filled with refreshments did he turn his attention to his fuming master.

"Don't be an idiot, Gramps," he said as he got comfy and chugged an entire tankard of strong dwarven ale. "I admit, what I did looks pretty fuckin' dumb from the perspective of an outsider looking in. However, stop and think about it. You've figured it out, right, Sonya? If you hadn't, I bet you'd have punched me too."

Wilbur glanced at the arbiter in confusion. She sighed deeply as she nodded silently in agreeance.

"What the feck is he going on about?" Now slightly calmer, Wilbur's usually hidden accent slowly receded.

"I'll explain," Lone said as he grabbed some jerky and stuffed it into his mouth. "Pork? No... some kind of beef? Tasty regardless."

He leaned back into his chair and simply stated, "I didn't gain a level in any of my conversational skills. Namely, Persuasion or Acting. They aren't expert rank or anything, so if I had truly convinced them to decide your fate with my little show there, I would have gained a level or several. There were over a hundred people in that room. If anyone gained a level in deception-base skills in there, it would be the judge and Chillforge."

Wilbur frowned deeply. "What're ye saying, lad?"

Sonya took off her spectacles and wiped them in anger. "He's saying your trial is rigged. They're gonna acquit you of all wrongdoing. Or do something damn near similar to the same effect, regardless of the truth of the matter."

"And thank fuck for that. I'm sad about no levels, but part one of operation ride-the-system-don't-be-ridden-by-it is complete. The name's a working title," Lone said, earning him a 'you are beyond insane' look from his arbiter.

He just grinned as he looked over at Wilbur and could barely make out the look of complete horror and disbelief on his master's aged expression. "My money's on them postponing the trial indefinitely. They'll wait until you're dead and buried, they'll make you an epitome, then they'll spin it into you having done nothing wrong."

"But... no. They wouldn't... They don't care about me. They never did-"

"This about your wife?" Lone asked only to get a weak nod in response. "Of course they wouldn't care about her. She wasn't a dwarf. You probably got a lot of shit for it too. A steamforging master marrying outside of the species? A disgrace and a political danger. They couldn't care less about Wilbur Steamson. What do they care about though? Master Steamforger Wilbur Steamson, Epitome of Steamforging, creator of so many wonders. As if they would throw away such a fantastic piece of cultural and national pride as an epitome. Over me, a foxkin who they are going to try to kill and have be forgotten as soon as possible?"

He swallowed some more of the jerky and washed it down with another tankard of ale. "Are steamforgers even allowed to marry outside of the dwarven species? No need to answer that, no, they aren't. I've looked into it. You weren't punished because you are literally a walking god at the craft. I would bet my left bollock that they covered it up. Any wagers on how many people even know you ever married in the first place?"

"They're not the nicest of folk, the greater council, but they've been good to me, lad. Ah don't appeciat-"

Lone laughed heartily, interrupting the old man. "Don't be naive. Look into it after this shit blows over. Anyway, I truly do wish my words had changed their opinions, but sadly, their minds were made up from the second this matter was brought to light. You're gonna walk free today."

"I... I never thought..." Wilbur held his face in his hand before he exhaled deeply. "No, it makes sense. It makes perfect sense..." He slowly took a seat next to Lone before adding, "Sorry for punchin' ye."

"Eh, don't worry about it," Lone chuckled. "I have a very punchable face. Goes hand-in-hand with the incredibly handsome trait."

Wilbur smiled a little. "Cocky git." He then stared straight into Sonya's eyes. "They're gonna kill him?"

She nodded tersely. "After stripping him of his skills. At least, that's what someone with a lot of power is lobbying for."

"... Feck that. As if ah'll let the person to have the most feckin' potential for the craft to perhaps have ever lived be snuffed out like that!" Wilbur said in a heated manner before his face paled and he started coughing violently.

Lone quickly reached over and patted the man's back. "Woah there, easy, Gramps. I ain't gonna die, and I sure as fuck am not gonna lose a single one of my skills. Don't worry. I have contingencies in place."

Lone noticed Sonya scowl deeply upon hearing that, but he hardly cared. He instead focused on calming down his mentor.

While he had mentally prepared himself to allow Wilbur to pass on as he wished, Lone sure as hell didn't want to be present for the affair. He had enough trauma as it was already.