Baldur continued his northward journey, his swift pace accompanied by the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet. As he traveled, his attention alternated between his surroundings and the small clockwork gear he was meticulously working on. Filing down the gear teeth, Baldur prepared the surface for the infusion of intricate runes.
Creating the gear had been a meticulous process. Lacking the modern instruments he was accustomed to, Baldur had fashioned a mold out of Bone Steel, a material that could withstand high temperatures. The absence of his familiar tools made him yearn for his previous life, where advanced technology was readily available. But he made do with what he had in this new world.
In his youth, Baldur had discovered his innate ability to bring his clockwork toys to a semblance of life. However, as he grew older, he realized that his creations were not truly alive like the automatons his father could bestow life upon. Instead, Baldur could only give his clockwork figures a set of instructions to follow.
Reflecting on the power of intent and emotion, Baldur understood how his childhood imagination and occasional bursts of anger had merged, imbuing his toy soldiers with a lifelike quality. Unfortunately, most of his creations had been lost over time, left behind when he departed from the orphanage and arrived at Camp Half-Blood.
Though his clockwork soldiers held sentimental value, Baldur had abandoned them as he delved into broader realms of crafting. However, circumstances had now compelled him to return to them, driven by the necessity of his current situation.
In this new world, without microprocessors and the ability to code his robots, Baldur decided to revisit his roots. He realized that with his expanded knowledge and skills, he could create clockwork figures that could truly imitate life.
An aberrant idea had struck Baldur, and he had already tested it with some success. Realizing that he could take it a step further, he became determined to create something truly remarkable. He pushed himself to multitask, preparing all the necessary components to build his second clockwork soldier in this unfamiliar land.
The first soldier he had created was simple, serving as a toy with a basic rune on its back to draw in mana for power. Leveraging his technological aptitude, Baldur had given it a complex set of instructions, treating them like lines of code. This approach, combined with his divine gifts from his father, had brought his creations closer to life than his siblings could ever achieve.
However, due to the size limitations of his first soldier, Baldur had to keep its instructions relatively simple, lacking dynamic problem-solving capabilities. As Baldur finished sanding the gear and carefully placed it in his side pouch, he noticed a small group of people climbing up the mountain to his left.
What caught his attention was their peculiar lack of footwear. The absence of shoes struck Baldur as odd, and he decided it was best to avoid them. Not wanting to currently deal with any locals that could distract him, he quickened his pace, hoping they wouldn't notice him, and focused solely on running towards his destination.
Despite the significant distance he had already covered, Baldur grew tired of traveling on foot. He eagerly looked forward to returning and working on a more advanced mode of transportation. Ideas flooded his mind, ranging from all-terrain steampunk vehicles to Power Ranger Megazords. One idea particularly intrigued him – riding a mechanical beast both as a cool means of transportation and as a form of protection.
As the sun began to set, signaling the end of his second day of travel, Baldur chose to make camp once again. This time, he decided to take a moment to meditate. He settled near the crackling campfire, finding solace in the mesmerizing dance of the flames. Staring into the flickering orange hues, Baldur allowed his mind to drift, organizing his thoughts about future projects and contemplating his purpose in these strange new lands.
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Jora POV
Jora skillfully stoked the flames of their campfire, maneuvering the larger logs to create a suitable cooking area for the metal plate Baldur had provided. As Jora tended to the fire, his mind couldn't help but wander to the peculiar changes he had observed in Baldur's behavior.
Back when they were part of a clan, Baldur was always seen trailing behind Galrum, obeying his every command. Now, the roles had reversed, with Baldur taking charge and issuing orders. It was a stark contrast that left Jora contemplating the profound transformation his friend had undergone. Furthermore, Baldur displayed impressive control over fire and had crafted remarkable weapons akin to those wielded by the Crows.
For a moment, Jora entertained the absurd notion that Baldur might be a member of the Crows. However, he quickly dismissed the thought as unfounded. As far as Jora knew, Baldur was born within their own clan. While the changes in Baldur's demeanor were strange, Jora chose to largely ignore them. After all, he had heard tales of peculiar magics from the clan shaman, and stranger things had been witnessed than a person's personality altering after a head injury.
Recalling a shaman's story of a person losing all their memories after a blow to the head, Jora glanced around, noticing the effects of Baldur's magic on their surroundings. Since Baldur's intervention, the snow in the vicinity had begun to melt, creating a warmer environment that no longer necessitated sleeping next to the fire.
However, the drawback of the melting snow was the formation of muddy terrain, making it arduous for Jora to work on the construction of his home. He knew he had to wait until the ground hardened as Baldur had cautioned him, lest his abode collapse during his slumber.
As the fire crackled and popped, Jora's attention was drawn to the return of Arson, Galrum conspicuously absent. Curiosity piqued, Jora inquired, "Where did Galrum go?"
Arson seemed nonchalant as he settled beside the fire, retrieving slices of elk from a basket to cook on the hot metal plate. He replied, "He said he went to pick berries for dessert."
Jora immediately stood up, alarmed by Arson's response. "You fool! Galrum never picks berries himself. He always forces us to do it!"
It took a moment for Arson to grasp the gravity of the situation. As he opened his mouth to speak, a grating and otherworldly voice resonated from within Baldur's enclosed area. "Intruder detected. Deploying to neutralize threat."
Jora's throat tightened, and he turned to look in the direction of the sound. "You don't think... Could it be...?"
"Galrum wouldn't... Surely..." Arson's voice quivered with uncertainty as he took a hesitant step back. "Should we go check—"
The sound of grunts and curses erupted from behind the walls, prompting Jora and Arson to rush toward the unfinished section of the enclosure. As they reached the opening, a bizarre sight unfolded before their eyes.
A diminutive copper-colored warrior, no larger than Jora's hand, darted around Galrum with such speed that the restrained man—his ankles bound and hands shackled—could do nothing to defend himself. The warrior brandished a small black sword, resembling more of a needle to Jora and Arson, which inflicted grievous wounds, causing copious amounts of blood to flow. The weapon bore a resemblance to the ones Baldur had demonstrated to them earlier. Even the slightest cut seemed to trigger relentless bleeding, and the injuries took longer to heal than those inflicted by conventional weapons.
Although the sight was terrifying, the moon's glint reflecting off the warrior's metallic form captivated Jora and Arson, momentarily paralyzing them. Meanwhile, Galrum bore the brunt of the creature's assault, unable to fend off the relentless attacks.
Desperation filled Galrum's voice as he noticed Jora and Arson gaping at the horrific scene unfolding before them. "You damn fools, help me!" Despite his injuries, Galrum strained to inch closer to them, his hands reaching out.
To Jora, it came as no surprise that without Baldur's presence, Galrum had reverted to his usual domineering and controlling nature, abandoning the meek facade he put on in Baldur's presence. Galrum had always been driven by a fear of power, and Jora imagined it was what drove him to try and control others.
Jora found himself favoring Baldur over their former leader now, though. Unlike Galrum, Baldur provided clear direction and, despite the initial hardships, had been generous in sharing his magical artifacts, such as the water stick and the burning metal box that provided warmth.
While Arson pondered Galrum's plea, Jora decided that the man deserved whatever fate awaited him. Observing the hesitation in Arson's eyes and his own indifference, Galrum cursed vehemently, "You'll pay for this! GAHHH!"
Summoning his last ounce of strength, Galrum lunged toward Jora and Arson. However, before he could reach them, a chilling voice echoed once more, "Intruder escaping. Stalling disengaged. Employing elimination protocols."
In an instant, the metallic warrior moved with such swiftness that Jora could only hear the rush of air before realizing that the tiny figure had plunged its weapon into Galrum's throat. As their former leader's hands desperately grasped at the air, attempting to reach out for Jora and Arson, only gurgled sounds emerged from his mouth.
Collapsing to the ground, Galrum's life force ebbed away. Arson stood there, stunned by the spectacle. The voice resurfaced, jerking both men out of their stupor. "Intruder eliminated. Initializing cleanup protocol."
Despite its diminutive stature, the warrior effortlessly hoisted Galrum's lifeless body and began dragging it through the muddy grass toward the forge. Jora turned away, making his way back to the campfire, his movements snapping Arson out of his daze.
"Come on, I'm famished," Jora declared, his back turned to the trails of blood. Arson nodded silently, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the scene. Galrum's passing left Jora unfazed, but it deeply disturbed Arson. Baldur's formidable presence alone was intimidating, and now he had created a metallic entity capable of such brutality. Arson fervently hoped he would never have to experience it firsthand, as Galrum tragically did.
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Baldur POV
As the crackling flames of his campfire cast a warm glow, illuminating the night around him, Baldur sat hunched over his notebook, diligently recording intricate symbols and lines. To an onlooker in this unfamiliar world, his writings would appear as a mystic script or perhaps even a dark sorcerer's incantations.
In truth, Baldur's script was a complex amalgamation of code, heavily influenced by his expertise in programming languages like C++ and Java. He meticulously crafted a sophisticated framework, envisioning it as the foundation for his next generation of automatons.
Completing the compilation of his dynamic problem-solving protocols, Baldur's attention shifted to his next objective: acquiring suitable gems to serve as vessels for his magical infusion and runic engravings. These gems would act as the cores or brains of his creations, resembling the ancient concept of golem cores but enhanced by his own magical prowess.
Experimenting with various runes, Baldur sought to transfer the entirety of his journal's contents into the gem. He knew this process would require skillful manipulation of his technomancy abilities, a limited form of magic bestowed upon him by his divine lineage. With meticulous precision, he aimed to merge the intricacies of code and magic to achieve a harmonious fusion.
If successful, Baldur envisioned the creation of something akin to a virtual intelligence, an entity that could emulate cognition and exhibit advanced problem-solving capabilities. He understood the limitations of his own powers, realizing that he couldn't breathe life into his creations through sheer will alone. However, this knowledge didn't deter him from striving to push the boundaries and come as close as possible to the semblance of sentient existence.
Moreover, as the son of a god, Baldur knew he possessed untapped potential within him. With his father's presence no longer perceptible and the absence of any divine guidance, he felt an immense responsibility and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He resolved to seize the moment, dedicating himself to unlocking and expanding his own divine essence.
Baldur's quest to combine his technical expertise, magical abilities, and divine heritage was driven by an unwavering determination. As the flames danced before him, he continued to transcribe the intricate codes, his mind brimming with anticipation for the new creations he would forge and the untapped power he would unlock.