Chapter 24: An Unlikely Lesson

Winter nights in Wyrmrest Hollow were usually dark, with only a smattering of stars glinting like cold fragments of silver above. The wind often howled through the crooked pine trees at the village’s edge, rattling shutters and setting dogs to barking before they fell quiet again. Normally, villagers would have long since barred their doors and windows, gathered close around the hearth with bowls of steaming stew, and drifted off to sleep with the fire crackling low.

But tonight was different. Tonight, Wyrmrest Hollow shone as bright as day by the light of dozens of torches planted into the ground. Their smoke trailed into the crisp air, staining the night sky with smudges of gray. Shadows flickered against walls and rooftops, making it seem as though giants prowled the streets. No one rested. No one slept. The whole village was alive with purpose, their hearts unified by one thought, that they would fight the mountain beasts themselves.

The decision had transformed the sleepy settlement into a makeshift factory and workshop. Nuan’s carpenter shop, usually cluttered with half-finished stools and the scent of pine shavings, had become a production line for ballista parts. The air was thick with sawdust and sweat as villagers young and old took turns sawing planks, sanding shafts, and shaping curved arms. From there, the pieces were carried to the village square, where other groups worked tirelessly to assemble them under Aina’s watchful eye. She corrected angles, tightened ropes, and explained how the firing mechanisms should be bound. It wasn’t elegant, but it was effective.

The clang of iron rang from the village’s sole forge. Inside, the smith and his assistants hammered with relentless rhythm, sparks leaping each time steel met steel. Salvaged cylinders from fallen Gurn striders were clamped into vices and shaved down into crude but serviceable syringes. Each was designed to deliver a payload of paralyzing toxin, a desperate innovation born from necessity. The forge blazed so brightly it painted the entire street orange, sweat dripping from the smith’s brow as if he were battling the fire itself.

Meanwhile, Aina’s old house had been turned into a dangerous alchemy station. There, villagers worked under her instructions to slice the pale caps of white wing mushrooms into thin fragments. Each cut released a faint, bitter odor for just a second, because by the next second, it would’ve already paralyzed one’s sense of smell.

The mushrooms were then soaked in cold well water, their poison leaching into the liquid until it turned murky under lamplight. Despite precautions of cloth veils over their mouths, gloves of oiled cloth, and wooden chips to avoid direct handling, accidents were inevitable. Two villagers had already collapsed when a careless breath or a cut finger allowed the toxin to seep into their bodies. They now lay on mats in the corner, breathing shallowly but still alive.

Rhielle had reassured everyone that the dose was too small to kill. “They’ll wake within the hour,” she promised, voice steady though her own eyes darted often to the stricken. And so, despite the risks, the work continued. By midnight, several clay pots brimmed with pale, viscous essence, awaiting only time to thicken before it could be drawn into syringe-arrows.

Outside, loud voices carried across alleys. Someone nervously hummed an old folk tune, others whispered prayers to unknown gods. In corners, children peeked, wide-eyed, from behind buildings to glance at the strange machinery and hear the anxious murmurs of grown-ups. One small girl, no more than seven, crept near the weapons line and touched a ballista arm, feeling the cold wood. She jumped when someone cleared his throat. The man smiled and said, “Stay back, child.” She nodded and scurried away, returning to her siblings.

The homeless man who had lost his memory, one whom the villagers simply named Duan because he was found by Nuan Lusan, stood before the warstrider that Aina simply called Iron Blossom. He admired its sleek shape, vastly different from both Gurn and Ferradorn designs, as well as the revolutionary concepts incorporated into the design.

Torchlight danced along its polished surface, highlighting the graceful curves and brutal lines of its design. Compared to the clunky Gurn striders or the aged Ferradorn models he had once seen, this was a marvel. Every joint seemed to promise fluid movement; every plate of armor hinted at hidden strength. It was not just a machine, it was artistry and power fused together.

He could not stop staring. He had seen striders before, had touched a lot of them. His hands remembered the cool metal, the vibration of engines as it revved for action, but never one like this. Watching Iron Blossom stride across the barren field, Duan had felt an ache of awe. The way it ran, smooth and balanced, made other striders look like lumbering oxen. It was fast, responsive, alive in a way machines rarely were.

“Uncle Duan? Are you on break now?” Aina asked when she saw Duan simply standing there looking at her mecha.

He glanced at her briefly but didn’t look away from the machine. “This is amazing,” he murmured.

“Of course it’s amazing. It’s mine.” Aina puffed up with pride, planting her fists on her hips.

Duan finally turned his gaze to her, lips twitching. “You did a great job.”

“Well, it’s me.”

Her smugness made him chuckle. For a moment he was transported back to another life, to the academy halls filled with brilliant young minds who boasted the same way. Some of them had gone on to etch their names into history. Others had perished before their brilliance could fully bloom.

But one thing he knew with certainty: Rinia Virell had never walked among those halls. She couldn’t even write, he had noticed. No student of the academy could avoid endless reports, technical papers, or blueprint annotations. If she was illiterate, she couldn’t have trained there. That fact alone gnawed at him. If she wasn’t academy-trained, then how in the gods’ names had she built Iron Blossom?

Strider construction was knowledge jealously guarded by the court and noble houses. Independent builders risked everything; a workshop found without patronage would be seized, its secrets stripped and resold to ambitious lords. While it wasn’t illegal to build striders and use them for war, most people wouldn’t build one for fear of catching the eyes of the court.

For centuries, only two workshops in Ferradorn had official sanction, and even Gurn’s sole facility was state-controlled. Pilots who wanted striders had to beg from nobles or buy decrepit relics that looked like it should’ve been retired a century ago. Yet here was a rural woman. Untrained, unsanctioned, who had made a masterpiece.

“Do you like it?” Aina teased, sensing his awe.

“Very much so,” Duan admitted. His eyes gleamed as he added, half-joking, “I have half a mind to take it for myself.”

“Over my dead body!” Aina snapped, cheeks puffing red.

Duan chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Only jesting. Don’t take it so seriously.”

She narrowed her eyes but let it slide. “You’ve worked with mecha - striders before?” she asked, tilting her head, searching his face. Was his memory returning?

“I… think I’ve touched one before,” Duan replied cautiously. It was not a lie, that he could say for sure.

Together, they looked up at Iron Blossom. The great machine loomed like a sentinel, its shadow stretching long across the ground.

“I’ve always dreamed of this,” Aina confessed softly. “Striding across fields, climbing mountains, dispensing justice… all while piloting my own mecha.”

“Mecha?” Duan repeated, unfamiliar with the term.

Aina didn’t answer. Her eyes shone with a secret fire. “Too bad I can’t have a gatling gun, a missile barrage, or even simple dumb rockets.”

Dumb rockets? What even is a rocket? Duan had even more questions.

“If I had those, fighting a kaiju would be a piece of cake.”

What even is a kaiju? What language is that?

“Anyway, one of my dreams is fulfilled. Now I just need to fulfill nine other dreams.”

“You are… ambitious,” Duan said carefully. Then, after a pause, “Would you like some pointers?”

Aina didn’t reply right away. By this point, she had already deduced that the old man was someone who was more than he seemed. She didn’t know who he was or why he was here or even if his amnesia was real. But any pointers, when they were freely given, could be useful.

“The ape-like beast is troublesome because it fights like a human. But unlike human, all its four limbs could grab things. Its tail also has barbs, so watch out for that. It will try to keep your hands and feet occupied, then cut your wires with that tail. Never expose your vital connections.””

Wow, I didn’t expect him to actually give me useful advice.

“Beyond that, its strength is immense. Given time, it can twist steel as if it were clay. With two striders, you could overwhelm it. Alone? This will be very, very hard, especially since you have no experience against such beasts.”

Aina drew a deep breath, then forced a smile. “Well, I’ll make do. It’s not like we have an experienced pilot just lying around, do we?”

Duan’s pulse quickened. The temptation to break his disguise was too strong. “Would you like me to do it?”

She turned sharply, eyes narrowing, lips curving in a sly smirk. “Aiyayaya, I thought you had amnesia?”

Her tone was teasing, but her gaze was piercing. She now knew with certainty that Duan was pretending to have amnesia.

Duan laughed heartily, caught red-handed. Yet he felt no shame. “Well, I’m an old man. I remember some things, forget others.” Then he grinned like a boy, eyes alight with mischief. “Why don’t you let this uncle play with it? Just a little bit?”

Aina laughed, shaking her head. “No,” she said firmly, still laughing as she walked away.

Duan, who was left behind, didn’t feel offended. He truly had wanted to take the fight into his own hands. With his training, his instincts, he was confident he could best the beast where she might falter. But this was not his battle. The villagers had chosen their path. He was but a guest here, a wanderer caught between lives.

The villagers might’ve accepted him as one of them, but eventually he would have to return to his post. He was only here on a vacation, nothing else. He decided to just watch their struggles and offer help wherever he could.

Still, as he looked again at Iron Blossom, its silhouette framed by torchlight and smoke, a strange longing stirred in his chest. Perhaps his vacation would not remain so idle after all.