Trinity of Magic

Zeke followed the surly dwarf at a leisurely pace, having decided to accept the man’s roundabout invitation to visit his shop.

For one, Gunner had assured him it was close by. For another, Zeke realized he could learn a lot from the dwarf. Despite Gunner’s dismissive attitude toward every craftsman he mentioned, Zeke could still gauge how much respect—or lack thereof—the man had for their abilities. If nothing else, the number of curse words he used to describe each one was a telling indicator.

“Who’d be the best person to talk to if I need to buy resources in large quantities?” Zeke asked as they passed a group of miners. The men barely glanced up, their faces smudged with soot as they worked.

Gunner turned halfway, giving Zeke a sidelong look. “Depends on what ye mean by large quantities. If it’s just a few wagon loads, I might be able to sort ye out myself.”

Zeke smirked faintly, shaking his head. Gunner’s knack for sniffing out business opportunities was almost impressive, but in this case, it was unlikely he could deliver.

“Over a million gold’s worth,” Zeke said, his tone casual.

The effect was immediate. Gunner staggered to the side, his wheelbarrow teetering dangerously. “How much?” he barked, regaining his balance with an audible grunt.

“Over a million,” Zeke repeated, his expression calm.

For a long moment, Gunner said nothing, his eyes fixed forward as he resumed pushing the wheelbarrow in silence. Eventually, he muttered, “Aye… that’s a wee bit outside my range.” The words sounded forced, as if admitting them caused him physical discomfort.

Zeke chuckled softly but refrained from calling out the obvious bluff. “That’s unfortunate,” he said, feigning disappointment. “Do you know anyone who could handle an order like that?”

Gunner fell silent, his brow furrowed as though weighing his words. Finally, he let out a low grunt, signaling that he’d made up his mind. “There aren’t many who could handle an order that size,” he admitted, his tone cautious. “But this ain’t the place to be discussing such matters. Let’s get to my shop first.”

Zeke nodded in agreement, opting not to press further. As long as Gunner could provide him with a lead or two, the detour would be worth the time. The pair continued on in silence, Zeke using the opportunity to take in his surroundings.

While the city itself was impressive with its bustling streets and industrious energy, Zeke found himself captivated by what lay beneath the surface, revealed only by his Spatial Awareness. The true marvel of Stonehearth unfolded underground. The entire mountain was riddled with an intricate web of pipes and tunnels, a network so vast it seemed almost alive.

Thousands of interconnected conduits crisscrossed through the rock, forming a labyrinth that would be a logistical nightmare for anyone else. Yet somehow, it all worked seamlessly. As far as Zeke could tell, every building had access to fresh water, clean air, and a steady supply of heat in one form or another.

Where the resources originated or how they were distributed remained a mystery, but there was no denying the genius behind the system. If nothing else, Zeke had to admit that the dwarfs’ reputation for ingenuity was well-earned.

“We’re ‘ere,” Gunner announced, steering his cart toward a sturdy doorway. A small ramp led up to the entrance, allowing him to push the wheelbarrow seamlessly over the threshold and into the building.

Zeke followed, stepping inside and taking in the space. To his surprise, the city—despite being designed primarily for dwarven use—was remarkably accommodating for someone of his height. He had expected cramped quarters, low ceilings, and narrow doorframes that would force him to duck constantly. Yet, none of those concerns had materialized.

In fact, the opposite was true. The dwarves seemed to have a penchant for building things on a grand scale. Most doorways were tall enough to fit three dwarves stacked atop one another, and the ceilings soared high overhead. The rooms themselves felt almost cavernous, leaving Zeke to wonder if such spaciousness was truly necessary or simply a quirk of dwarven architectural style.

Zeke glanced around the room and immediately recognized it as a workshop. Unlike specialists who focused on a single craft, Gunner appeared to be a jack of all trades. The room was equipped with a forge and anvil, a rune-carving table, and various engineering projects scattered across workstations lining all four walls.

As soon as they entered, Gunner hurried to unload his cart and began draping cloths over the workstations, clearly attempting to conceal their contents. Zeke watched the frantic effort with an amused smile. Did Gunner forget the state of the room before inviting him in? It was far too late to hide the clutter—Zeke had already seen everything.

Not that it mattered. Zeke wasn’t the type to judge someone’s skill by the tidiness of their workspace. In fact, he knew that some of the brightest minds thrived in chaos, using it as fuel for their creativity. Instead of focusing on the disarray, Zeke activated his spatial perception, allowing him to examine the contents beneath the hastily thrown coverings.

The first table he scrutinized held a mechanical valve designed to open and close through the application of Mana. Zeke analyzed the design briefly before moving on, unimpressed. It was clever enough, but he could devise a superior mechanism in minutes if necessary.

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The second table, however, held something more intriguing: a mechanical arm—or rather, a prototype of one. The device seemed intended to be worn like a gauntlet, amplifying the strength and durability of the wearer. On the surface, it was an impressive concept, but Zeke quickly noticed several glaring flaws. In its current form, the arm would not only fail to function properly but could even pose a danger to the user. It was a far cry from a finished product.

Zeke’s interest only grew as he continued surveying the room. Though the projects scattered around lacked polish, they radiated the unmistakable energy of innovation. He could tell that most of these creations hadn’t been commissioned by clients but had sprung from Gunner’s insatiable curiosity.

It was clear now why the dwarf had been so eager to secure business with him. Maintaining a workshop like this—with its assortment of half-finished prototypes and experimental designs—would be incredibly costly. Without a steady stream of income, such indulgent creativity would be difficult to sustain.

When Gunner finally draped a cloth over the last table, he turned to face Zeke with an air of triumph, as if proud of his quick effort to tidy up. Zeke couldn’t suppress a small smirk. Did the dwarf genuinely think he’d managed to conceal the chaos? Even if Gunner had been faster, it wouldn’t have mattered—Zeke had already taken everything in.

Still, he kept his observations to himself, choosing not to shatter the man’s sense of accomplishment. Instead, he leaned slightly against the wall, waiting to see what Gunner would say next.

“Welcome to my smithy,” Gunner declared, a wide grin lighting up his face.

Zeke raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping the room. “Doesn’t seem like there’s much for sale,”he replied, nodding pointedly at the covered workstations, where not a single item was on display.

Gunner followed Zeke’s gaze and visibly winced, clearly realizing the problem. In his haste to cover the mess, he had also concealed all his creations, leaving him in an awkward spot.

“Well…” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “I do my best work on commission anyway. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll make it for you!” He puffed out his chest and struck a fist against it, his pride shining through as if daring Zeke to challenge him with a difficult task.

Zeke couldn’t help but chuckle at the display, but an idea soon crossed his mind. Why not put Gunner to the test? The dwarf’s creativity was evident, but Zeke still had no gauge of his actual skill as an engineer. This could be an excellent opportunity to evaluate both. Two birds, one stone.

With his decision made, Zeke strode to one of the tables and pulled back the cloth. Beneath it lay a workspace littered with blueprints, drafts, and half-formed ideas. This was clearly where Gunner brainstormed his creations. Zeke brushed aside the cluttered stack of unfinished plans, grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment, and placed it squarely in the center of the table.

A quill lifted into the air as if guided by invisible strings, dipped itself into an ink pot, and began sketching on the blank parchment. Its movements were precise and steady, outlining a detailed diagram as Zeke turned to face Gunner.

“Alright,” he said, grinning at the dwarf’s wide-eyed stare. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Zeke jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the floating quill. “That’s part of a project I’ve been working on for some time. Here’s the deal: I want you to take a look and suggest any improvements to the current design. For every meaningful enhancement you come up with, I’ll pay you 1,000 gold. Sound fair?”

Gunner’s jaw dropped, his ruddy face a mix of shock and disbelief. “A thousand gold? Per improvement? Just fer the plans?”

Zeke nodded, his satisfaction growing at the dwarf’s reaction. The design he was sharing was for the Gondola—a cornerstone of his most lucrative venture to date. If Gunner could genuinely improve on it, the reward would be more than worth the cost. In truth, Zeke considered the offer a bargain.

Still, he tempered his expectations. While the test was a legitimate opportunity for Gunner, Zeke had a secondary motive. He hoped this gesture would win over the dwarf’s cooperation and loosen his tongue when it came to sharing the information Zeke needed. Gunner seemed like the type to cling to potential business opportunities, but with this enticing offer on the table, that reluctance might just melt away.

“So,” Zeke began, snapping Gunner out of his trance. “Who do I need to talk to in order to find a large-scale business partner?”

Gunner reluctantly tore his gaze from the parchment where the enchanted feather continued its meticulous work. Meeting Zeke’s eyes, he let out a thoughtful grunt. “If yer lookin’ fer someone who can trade on the level of a merchant lord, there’s only a handful in all of Stonehearth. But it won’t do ye any good to track ‘em down.”

Zeke frowned. “Why not?”

“It’s not how business is done down here,” Gunner replied with a casual shrug.

Zeke sighed, his frustration creeping into his voice. “I thought dwarves were supposed to be less rigid.”

Gunner raised a bushy brow, an amused glint in his eyes. “Rigid? I wouldn’t call us rigid. But most dwarves won’t do business with strangers, lad—especially not on a handshake deal, let alone some fancy contract.”

Zeke tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “What’s wrong with a contract?”

Gunner extended his hand, palm up, as if inviting Zeke to shake it. “Do ye know what this is?” he asked.

“A handshake?” Zeke replied, his tone edged with confusion.

Gunner scoffed, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Among dwarves, it’s a bond, lad. A word given, sealed by a firm shake, is as good as any writ.”

Zeke nodded slowly, his brow furrowing in thought. “So, no contracts at all?”

Gunner shrugged again. “It’s not that we can’t use ‘em. It’s just... words carry weight. A dwarf who breaks his handshake oath? He’s finished. Our reputation is our wealth, and no bit of parchment can replace that.”

The explanation made sense in its own way, but Zeke couldn’t help but feel the weight of an unfamiliar culture pressing down on his plans. If trust was a prerequisite for partnership, then earning it might prove to be a more significant challenge than he’d anticipated.

“How hard would it be to gain their trust?” Zeke asked, already dreading the answer.

Gunner grinned. “Hard for some, effortless for others,” he said, speaking cryptically as he rummaged through his pockets. He soon pulled out what he was looking for and handed it to Zeke. “But you’re in luck,” he added. “This could be your best chance to make an impression.”

Zeke took the object from Gunner’s hand. It was a slightly crumpled piece of paper. He unfolded it, smoothing out the creases before reading it carefully. It appeared to be a flyer promoting an event called the Brewers Festival.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Only one of the biggest events in Stonehearth,” Gunner said, a hint of pride in his voice. “All the big shots will be there. If you impress them at the festival, I wouldn’t be surprised if they came to you with a deal of their own.”

Zeke’s gaze returned to the flyer, his eyes catching the date. The festival was just two days away. Now only one question remained. “How do I make an impression?”

Gunner grinned. “Skill and Guts, lad.”