Chapter 123 - 122: Where the Light Begins

Chapter 123: Chapter 122: Where the Light Begins Goblin Village A week had passed since their journey, and the group finally returned to the village. The sentries sounded a horn. Goblins began to gather, cheering as the returning group entered the clearing. The sun dipped behind the trees, casting golden rays through the forest canopy. Smoke curled from chimneys. Children chased each other through the grass. It was good to be home. Jen was the first to run up to them. "Brother!" she called, hugging Lumberling’s side. Then her eyes sparkled as she turned. "Big sis Vaenyra!" she squealed, throwing her arms around the elf without hesitation. Vaenyra blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but then smiled and gently returned the hug. "It seems she made another friend," Lumberling murmured with a quiet chuckle. "Whew," Aurelya exhaled as she dismounted. "Finally done with all the walking and traveling. I’m going to sleep for two days straight." Then, plop, she slipped and landed squarely on her backside in the dirt, her robes smeared with mud. "Ugh! Really?!" she snapped, glaring at her soiled clothes. She let out a dramatic huff and declared for all to hear, "Is there no gentleman left in this camp to help a tired lady off her horse? Someone here did claim to be one, I’m sure..." Her sharp gaze slid meaningfully toward Lumberling’s back. Lumberling paused mid-step, turned to look at her, and grinned. "Apologies, milady. I should’ve remembered that even strong and capable ladies like yourself sometimes need royal assistance," he said with exaggerated reverence, offering his hand with a bow. "Hmph. I don’t need your help," Aurelya scoffed, slapping his hand aside and standing up without aid, though she did brush at her clothes with slightly more force than necessary. Not far off, Uncle Drake and Celine watched the exchange in silence. They glanced at each other. Celine gave a small smile. "She’s lively." Uncle Drake shrugged, grinning. "Reminds me of someone..." The couple shared a knowing look. Meanwhile, Orrin came jogging up and clapped a hand on Lumberling’s shoulder. "Yo! Welcome back, lovebirds!" he said with his usual lack of subtlety. "Bet something spicy happened during the trip, huh? Don’t worry, no need to share the details, we’ll just assume you’re now officially together. So... when’s the wedding? Any plans for kids?" Whap! Both Celine and Uncle Drake smacked their foreheads in unison. The latter lunged forward and clamped a hand over Orrin’s mouth. "Alright! Time to eat!" Uncle Drake announced, dragging the old man backward. "We prepared a feast! Come before the stew gets cold!" "Y-yeah, food! Great idea!" Aurelya stammered, fleeing in the direction of the dining hall like a startled cat. Lumberling watched her go, amused, then shook his head and followed after with a light smile. .... Beneath the canopy of their dining hall, a series of thatched roofs propped between great tree trunks, long tables had been set. Fires crackled in the central pit, casting light on steaming pots, roasted meat, and fresh bread. Goblins bustled around with bowls and trays, cheering and laughing. Sylra was already seated near the center, flanked by Vaenyra and Jen. Jen waved upon seeing Lumberling and patted a seat beside her. The returning captains were loud and proud, bragging about their loot and retelling tales of the battle with no shortage of dramatic flair. "I swear, the mage blasted a hole straight through three trees, and the kobold behind them!" "And the one with the wind magic? Sent a whole group flying off the cliff!" They raised their cups and bowls, recounting the fight with gleaming eyes and exaggerated gestures. Lumberling sat quietly at first, savoring the warmth and food. He looked around the room, at old friends and new allies, at laughter and light. Home. And despite the war still raging beyond the village... for this moment, he allowed himself to enjoy peace. ..... By nightfall, Lumberling made his way to the forge, its orange glow already visible through the trees. The rhythmic clink of metal on metal had faded, replaced by the low hum of embers and the occasional hiss of cooling iron. Tarnix and Izzek stood waiting near the anvil, their faces etched with soot and long hours. Sparks danced behind them, the forge casting flickering light on their leathery aprons. "My Lord," they greeted in near unison, dipping their heads with a practiced, respectful bow. Lumberling returned a brief nod. "Have you brought the materials I asked for? And the custom-mades?" "We managed most of it," said Izzek, wiping his calloused hands on a soot-stained cloth. "Bought what we could from the cities. Some pieces, we had to improvise." "As for the custom parts," Tarnix added, stepping forward with a slight grin, "they’re better than new. We used carriage steel. Stuff that remembers how to hold shape." Lumberling’s eyes sparkled faintly in the forge light. "Perfect." Tarnix tilted his head, curiosity winning over caution. "If I may, my Lord... Coils? Magnets? Gears? Not your usual siege engine. What do you plan to build this time?" Lumberling allowed a faint smile. "You’ll see soon enough. Come, help me build it." The two blacksmiths exchanged a look, a silent mix of curiosity and wariness. "Of course," Tarnix said, already reaching for his hammer. "Though, fair warning, if it explodes, we’re blaming you." ..... Day 1: Assembly Begins By sunrise, the forge had transformed into a workshop of strange chaos. Sawdust covered the floor. Pulleys dangled from ceiling beams. The scent of burnt oil and resin clung to the air. The hammering of swords gave way to the rasp of saws, the grind of filing gears, and occasional muttering curses about warped axles. Lumberling hunched over a bench, sketching feverishly with charcoal, diagrams of coils, wheels, and crankshafts. His handwriting was barely legible, but the intent was clear: motion, rotation, conversion. Izzek cut and assembled the wooden frame using ashwood beams from a broken cart. Tarnix worked on the gear housing, repurposing chain links and gear teeth from an old grain mill. By night, they had a frame, a curious contraption with a foot pedal, a spinning wheel rigged with magnets, and a mounted coil of copper wire. Tarnix scratched his head. "So... this thing spins, and we get what? Spinning?" Lumberling chuckled. "Spin hard enough, and the invisible starts moving." .... Day 2: The Coil and the Filament The next morning was filled with meticulous labor. They wound copper wire around an iron bolt, again and again, until their arms ached and their fingers cramped. "We’re trying to make this little scrap glow?" Tarnix asked, exasperated. "Feels like trying to milk lightning from a squirrel." "You’ll see," Lumberling replied, unwinding a cramp from his wrist. He pointed to a thin wire of drawn iron stretched between two bent nails. "This is our filament. It glows when heated. We need to make it glow, without fire." "And this... makes the heat?" Izzek gestured to the coil. "Electrons," Lumberling said simply. "Tiny, invisible workers." "What are...?" "They’re real," Lumberling cut in before Izzek could finish, "and they don’t argue about their shifts." That evening, Izzek handed him a jar, glass shaped by reheated lantern shards, sealed with thick resin. Lumberling placed it over the filament, gently tightening it onto the wooden base. "Our first bulb," he said quietly. .... Day 3: The First Spark By the third night, the contraption stood complete. A crank-powered rig of wood and metal. A spinning flywheel. A coil housed inside a ring of salvaged magnets. And above it, a jar containing a hopeful glow. Lumberling took the seat, hands gripping the wooden handlebars. He began to pedal. The flywheel spun. The coil rotated fast inside the magnetic casing. The device hummed. Tarnix and Izzek leaned in, breath held. For a moment, nothing. Then a faint red flicker. A pulse. The filament glowed. "By the forge..." Izzek whispered, jaw slack. "No oil?" Tarnix murmured. "No flame?" Lumberling kept pedaling, the glow strengthening into a steady amber light. "It’s crude," he said through controlled breaths, "but it works." He stopped. The wheel slowed. The light dimmed... then died. The blacksmiths stared at the darkened bulb as if it were a holy relic. "Imagine this," Lumberling said, stepping off the seat. "Scaled up. Pedal power for homes. Turbines. Light at night. No fire. No smoke." Tarnix let out a long, low whistle. "What in the world are we building?" Lumberling wiped his palms on his cloak. "The future," he said simply. "And it starts here." ..... The next morning in the Goblin Village The sun had barely climbed past the trees when Aurelya started pacing near the forge, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "Where is that guy? Did he come out already? What’s he even doing in there?" she asked for the third time that morning, her brows twitching in irritation. Krivex, hammering away at a bent spearhead, didn’t even look up. "Still in the smithy. At times like this, he’s usually building something weird and useful again." A familiar voice snuck in from beside him. "Ohhh? What’s this?" Skitz teased with a grin too wide for his small face. "Is someone missing our dear Lord?" The air suddenly shifted. A sharp pulse of mana rolled across the ground like a cold snap, just a whisper, but enough to freeze a lesser creature in place. The birds in the trees fell silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Skitz’s pupils shrank. He froze like a rat in a lightning storm. "E-Ehem! What I meant to say was... our Lord is likely just very busy. But don’t worry! I-I’ll let him know you were looking for him!" Aurelya shot him a glance, sharp, amused, and very much still annoyed. "Tell him he still owes me, and he better make good on that promise. I plan to beat his ass at chess again." With a snort and a flip of her blonde hair, she turned on her heel and strode off. Skitz waited until she was out of earshot, then exhaled like he’d just survived a duel with a giant monster. "I swear, one day that elf’s going to kill me with vibes alone." "You almost got us both killed," Krivex muttered, finally looking up. "And for what? A joke?" "It was a great joke," Skitz said, rubbing his neck. "She never reacts like that when he says stuff like this." "Maybe he has some kind of elf charm passive," Krivex grunted. "’Aura of Grace’ or something." "I want that charm too," Skitz mumbled. "This sucks." Krivex chuckled and returned to his paper works. "Back to work. If he doesn’t blow something up by tonight, I’ll be disappointed." Inside the forge, the bulb still sat, dark now, but waiting.