Meeting Uther the Lightbringer made me think. More precisely, not the meeting itself, but the fact that I now roughly know how much time we have left before everything goes to hell. It... was unexpected. I thought I'd have five years, or ten. That was the original plan. But so little time! So little! Why? I don't understand. But anger, despair, and other emotions won't help the cause.
I had to spend some time calming down. After all, a teenager's body has its drawbacks. For example, the walk through Stratholme could have ended in a dozen ways of varying degrees of danger, including mass infection of the residents and turning them into zombies. Well, it worked out, but I realize it was cool but reckless.
Or the urge to burst into tears or howl at the moon—that's another example. That's exactly the feeling I had when the Magister's flying tower took off, moving away from Stratholme. And I looked at this stone city, so alive, and sincerely sympathized with it. I felt sorry for the people; I felt sorry that I hadn't managed anything. And I felt sorry for myself. That I have to play with such difficult conditions. If these are bronze cheaters, I'll find a way to ruin their Monday, definitely. I promise.
But it's alright, DaVi, not all is lost yet; we haven't lost; I can still win and outplay everyone. And I will do it, yes. Essentially, nothing has changed; I just need to act faster and more aggressively.
Now I know for sure that I'm on a timer. On the other hand, it's not as bad as it was at the beginning. If the events of the Third War had started six months ago, it would have been much worse. I would have had raw potential but zero skills—just the thing to counter the Scourge, ancient gods, and other joys. Now everything is different; I have opportunities. I possess knowledge, so I can do a lot. I can implement many projects myself or with a little help, even if it takes some time. And what I can't do—I'll look for in the Magister's Library. He never forbade poking around in it, as long as I don't ruin the books and scrolls. I've never done anything like that; there's nothing to worry about.
Which means—we'll pull through. I exhaled. Has the bout of self-pity passed? It has. Composed and ready to act again. So, having greeted the Magister and shown him the trophies, I went to the bedroom, sat at the table, and began to calculate. I need a plan. In a red folder with the word "PLAN" in large letters.
"So, how much time do we have left?"
From a year to two, roughly. While Arthas deals with the Orcs, while he deals with the necromancers. Then Stratholme. The expedition to Northrend won't be fast; he needs to gather people and ships, equip them, and gather supplies for the long-term survival of a large number of people in the ice. Then sail for a couple of months, set up not just a camp but a full-fledged base in the permafrost zone, conduct several operations, find Frostmourne, and stick the blade into a dreadlord's kidney. A few months to return home and purge Lordaeron before the Army of Undead comes to Quel'Thalas. So let's write it down:
1) From the current moment until the start of the invasion of the Army of Undead, less than two years remain. I should ignore secondary skills as much as possible and focus on priority tasks and production. There is a project; we do it and don't get distracted by anything else. When the priority projects are ready, spend the remaining time as the situation dictates.
Did I become any happier after learning how little time I have? Not even once. Partly because it means I'm running out of time for everything. The mana thirst, the flying transport that I absolutely need—all of it is still in the project phase, but I have no more time to wait. I'll have to deal with it immediately; as soon as we land, I'll pull the blueprints from the archives and start building. Fortunately, the crystals scavenged from the Troll golems and the temple warehouses will be enough for something simple. Which means:
2) Build a flying ship. Not necessarily a ship. It must fly far, fast, and have five areas: a living zone, a workshop, storage, a control zone, and a technical zone. We'll build it out of wood, adjusting it with magic and the strength of golems. I'm a Mage, and I've come out to play. Think about the best engine options to be faster than standard flying monsters. Fending off a flock of gargoyles or their equivalents is hard; I need to be faster.
I'm no shipbuilder, but with the help of golems, the box, and magic, I can assemble something relatively whole and flight-capable. I'll refine it as I go. Good. Next.
3) Rush to Stratholme. Give Arthas a good thwack on the head with my staff. If possible, lay the Nathrezim to rest, at least for a while. Turn to the Paladins; they should have something suitable for exorcising a Demon.
A very important point. I'm not particularly against the "Purge of Stratholme" (if everything here is like the strategy game, in the event of defeat, Arthas's army will be literally buried under corpses. There are tens of thousands of Infected citizens in the city; a hundred or two soldiers won't be able to do anything at all), but I need to try to keep the prince's sanity intact. Ner'zhul's plan won't be canceled, but if we succeed, we all win a little more time. And time, in my case, is expensive. So, point four:
4) Build a machine that will condense magic from the environment to bypass the thirst. If the Magister doesn't know how it's done, turn to Dalaran or the Dwarves. They'll think of something. Also, this machine can be used as a reactor for the flying ship. Consider that possibility.
An absolutely necessary thing. Why is it only in this position on the priority list? Because without flying transport, the Undead will eat me anyway. There's no point in running from Ghouls; you'll just die tired. The machine, the golems, and the assembly bench—all of this needs to be moved, and moved fast. Very fast. If I'm not mistaken, at the time of the attack on Silvermoon, Arthas didn't have gargoyles yet, which means everything hinges on the ability to fly fast. Next, I need:
5) Make a new staff and a compound bow for Venidan. Rework the gauntlet toward having more functions. Figure out why I feel like I'm missing some of the gauntlet's capabilities. This feeling of wrongness is annoying me.
The gauntlet… I'm still not sure why I'm making it. There's just a certain feeling that some power is hidden within the gauntlet, and if I make it right… But what kind of power, or how exactly it should be "right," I have no idea. There's just this knowledge. No such feeling for the staff, or for a backpack with manipulators, or anything else. For the gauntlet, the feeling is there. It's unsettling.
A hand snatched the list just as I was lost in thought about the gauntlet. What? Who?
"So, DaVi, what exactly is a 'compound bow'?"
I jumped, staring at Venidan, who had sat down on the edge of the table, reading my list. She had already changed into "home" clothes. She had swapped her long leather pants, shirt, and jacket for breeches and a tank top with slippers. Actually, I'd only recently seen her in such clothes; she never dresses like this "in the field."
It was funny when Mother invited her to stay the night, and I saw her like this for the first time. I was very surprised; usually, she wears rather closed-off outfits. But here she looks quite domestic, and you wouldn't say she's over a hundred years old, honestly.
And considering I'm still sitting here in my "traveling" gear, I feel a bit awkward. I'm the one who should be complaining about the appearance of "uncouth Outlaws," not the other way around. And considering she's socially above me too, it makes it even more awkward.
"And how long have you been sitting here?"
Venidan spread her hands.
"I didn't count, but about an hour, I think. First, you stared at that Human city like you were stunned, then you came here and, instead of resting, changing outfits, and eating lunch, you started making a list and sketches. Even the Magister asked if you've fallen in love or if you want to burn it down? And yes, you still smell slightly damp; how about changing, now that you've snapped out of it?"
I couldn't help but sigh. I sniffed my robe sleeve, and indeed, there was a smell.
"I don't need to burn it down; that will happen anyway. Being a child seer is quite painful, Veni. Especially if you can't prove anything. And yes, sorry about the smell, I'll fix it now. I really don't look my best."
Venidan chuckled, placing a hand on my head. In other cases, I would have brushed it off and blasted her with a lightning bolt for good measure. But now… I'm still shell-shocked by the situation. Seeing that I didn't react, the Elf smiled. Not arrogantly, but rather simply, slightly awkwardly. It was clear that such a thing was unusual for her.
"Do you believe in it yourself?" I nodded, and she continued, "Then all you can do is move forward," and in a mocking tone, she parodied someone, "And now, change and wash up, young lady. A lady of your age is not supposed to behave so recklessly. Remember your place and live up to it."
I couldn't help but smile.
"Parents?"
Veni nodded.
"Yep. No matter what I think, upbringing doesn't go anywhere. So, Lady Davilinia, move forward—to the bathroom! And then we'll discuss what you've come up with and what we're going to do about it. I'll organize some food for us in the meantime."
So I went. For a change, Venidan was behaving perfectly politely and supporting me, which helped me endure the heavy thoughts. And to talk it out while we discussed everything I had planned. Thank her, truly.
The flight home ended with a party. Likely, the Magister had warned Mother in advance, so by the time we arrived, a set table and happy parents were already waiting for us. It was delicious, fun, and very pleasant. I won't lie, telling my parents how we beat that snake, how we hunted, how I found things with the scout's help—it was very satisfying. As was listening to the praise and showing off the trophies. It was a great evening. An evening when we were winners.
But it ended, and morning came. I woke up in my own bed, and it was as if there had been no Uther, no Trolls, and no panic. But I know that's a lie. The list is in the desk; Venidan left the desired dimensions for the new bow on a piece of paper. On the wall hangs a trophy—a cracked Troll mask, stripped of magic. A reminder that there is no time for cowardice. So, first breakfast, and then—work.
Not much time was spent extracting the blueprints, nor on the assessment. Even though much hadn't been built, I had prepared the blueprints and plans in advance. And now they would be put to use. I smiled:
"Yes, with some help, I can build this. I can now."
Perhaps that's how the mind of the Heroic Spirit Da Vinci works: a theme captures you, and suddenly your mind is filled with ideas, plans, and concepts. A rough sketch is calculated, polished, turning into a concept in the mind. Not just capabilities, but layout. Where I want windows, doors, what design, dimensions, construction, solutions. And already on paper, the concept becomes a blueprint and a project.
Mother peeked into the open door of the room.
"DaVi, good morning. I see you're feeling better. I'm glad."
I turned, smiling back.
"Morning, Mom. I've got ideas. Lots of ideas. Yesterday I was worried, I wasn't sure…"
I was hugged. A wonderful feeling of warmth, protection, and being needed. How good it felt.
"You'll manage, DaVi."
She really is great. I just drowned in the pleasure, letting the seconds flow. And when I was released, I smiled broadly and sincerely and replied:
"I think so too, Mom. I have ideas, so many ideas! I'll have to push myself, but I'll manage, I promise," and after thinking a bit, I added, "If anything, I'll be at that clearing from last time. I think it'll be quite loud; you won't miss it."
I can't help it; I adore her. She supports me and covers for me. And she helps with advice. After breakfast, she told me just that:
"If you need anything—just ask. I'll help."
Well, what can I say to that?
"I promise. And now it's time for me to go."
She waved:
"Don't be late for dinner! I'll punish you!"
I laughed, and we went our separate ways. I headed to my testing ground, on the way unsealing all the simple clay loader-golems I'd made earlier. Maybe they are stupid, clumsy, and crooked—that's true. But I don't need these Dolls to do anything complex. All that's required of them—everything is at hand, just take it and saw.
We have a forest here—a huge source of timber within walking distance. I just need to teach the golem to detect sufficiently thick and straight trees, rather than sawing everything in sight. The trees don't have to be particularly textured or beautiful. Even if I have to throw away half during processing, it's not a problem.
I'll level it with magic, grind away the excess, making tools and teaching the golems to use them at least somehow. I don't need a large transport; it doesn't have to be a masterpiece of shipbuilding. The main thing is that it doesn't fall apart immediately. Strengthening it with magic is no problem; our clay golems don't fall apart under their own weight, and the stone ones don't have crumbling joints. Strengthening is the foundation of golem-building.
The plan is simple. Take a crowd of golems, connect them into a cluster. Done.
Find a sufficiently large and level clearing. Done.
Divide the golems by roles. The leaders look for a tree with the specified parameters. The followers saw it, cut off the branches, and lug it to the clearing. This process isn't fast; it'll take a couple of days.
During these couple of days, I prepared and finished the pre-made blueprint, thinking about what I actually want to get.
There's no need to obsess over the design of a magic tower or a ship. My machine will have two modes. Flight and ground. For ground, it needs legs like a spider, supports. For flight, they can be pressed against the hull. Mass is not an issue; I levitate myself, my flying gargoyle-golems do it. It's the same principle here, just a larger size. Slap on a spell, and it'll be fine.
I don't want to make the hull too large; that would require more time and a more complex construction. So my ship will be cylindrical, vertical, closer in shape to the Magister's tower. A central shaft around which blocks are formed. At the bottom, supports and a frame to which the module-compartments are attached. At the top, the cockpit and technical zone. And engines for more speed, but that's for later.
All this is needed to minimize Mana consumption. I could use a magic field instead of glass and make the ship entirely flying, like Dalaran or the flying main buildings of the Undead. Or Jaina's flying ship. But I don't have such accumulators; apparently, for the Undead, the one at the main building is the size of a house. No thanks, we'll be economical. I'll find somewhere to put the excess energy.
When the first trees arrived, I began to form the base frame. Cross-shaped, with supports, from the thickest trees. Grinding them with the strength of golems and magic, giving them shape, connecting them with pins traded from the blacksmith and magical reinforcement. Da Vinci's Servant made her devices literally out of junk; why am I any worse? I have high-quality, magical timber here. A material that couldn't be obtained in the Grail War or in Chaldea. The result should be impressive.
In general, my life became a commute between home—with an obligatory report to my mother on my progress—the library, in search of knowledge about magical carpentry, and the clearing, which over this week had turned into a logging zone where several dozen clay golems were scurrying about.
The relatively small clearing (previously) had turned into a large space where a mountain of stumps and branches rose in one spot, while from a second pile, the villagers were hauling firewood for themselves (I made no secret of the workshop). Separately lay a mountain of logs, the processing zone. On the ground, if you looked closely, you could notice magical guides.
Why? Reminder: golems are stupid, and if you don't set a route for them, they'll just push new trees straight through, ignoring other golems and any obstacles. After a couple of accidents, I had to solve the issue. It would also be good to place a contour to filter out bad trees. And automate the processing. And haul the finished products and trash to the right places without crashing into each other. And rework this here and that there. Strengthen the ground so the workpiece doesn't sink into it under its own weight. Here the golems collided—rework it. There we burn the excess so the mountain of leaves doesn't pile up. Hang a reinforcement; I don't want to burn down half the forest. And here. And there…
And the logs themselves have strengthening and binding contours applied to them. We mold and form all this stuff with magic too; a couple of times I had to fend off accidentally created Treants. These offspring of Druidism are haunting me.
I started coming home regularly with no Mana at all, in such a dead and exhausted state, with circles around my eyes, that it resulted in a scandal. But I can't stop. Not now, not when everything is working out as it should. More reading. More magic. More logs and production waste.
The frame grew to the second floor. The base, supports, and attachments for modular compartments appeared; the second level took shape: I want to make two blocks of four compartments, one above the other. In the end, the ship will be three stories high—a kind of tower, but not monolithic. And around it…
In a certain sense, a real Factorio unfolded here, only instead of a pasta factory, there were dozens and dozens of magical guides, seasoned with conditions and rules on where and what to haul so the golems wouldn't get confused, obeying simple conditions. Assembly—strictly under supervision; these clay-things are as dumb as the logs they carry. One engineer and many mechanisms. Except I'm not dressed in a vest (I made myself a hard hat, because it's necessary), but in a red-and-yellow outfit with pants.
Of course, a large table stands to the side, on which moisture-protected blueprints are spread out so I can check the plan at any moment. And lay down another dozen spells because another junction worked incorrectly and the golems crushed each other, creating a jam and paralyzing the assembly. Grrr!
The construction quickly became public knowledge. Neighbors came to gawk. And not just to gawk, but to look at the blueprints, give hints, and offer advice.
Venidan arrived when the primary frame was already assembled, making the construction resemble the skeleton of a monster. Surveying the scale, Venidan whistled.
"Wow, you've really picked up speed. And it'll fly? How?"
I smiled broadly. It was my turn to show off. And to rest a bit; it had been another long day. One of many.
"The idea is that this is literally the skeleton of the future ship, Veni. At the top will be the cockpit, the control station. And the guide-engines will be there too. Below the cockpit is the technical zone, making it all work and controlling the process. And these crossbeams—typical blocks, rooms, will be attached to them. Initially—eight pieces, on two floors."
Venidan nodded, then asked:
"And the engines are… like the Dwarves have? Why? The Magister's tower flies without these follies."
I nodded.
"That's true. But the Magister's tower is powered by a converter, and it costs a real fortune. Too much. And I have neither the time nor the money in the required amount. Access to materials, as you understand, is non-existent. Besides, I have an idea how to make this thing faster than the tower. Faster than anything built in Azeroth, well, except for Goblin crazy-tech."
Here, to be honest, I cheated. I strained my now-perfect memory and reproduced the principle of a jet engine. Initially, I thought about installing a turboprop, but why complicate things if I can avoid it?
A turboprop engine consists of a propeller, a gearbox, and a turbocharger. The principle of operation for this type of engine is quite simple: atmospheric air is compressed and fed into the combustion chamber, where it mixes with fuel. There, with the help of a spark plug, this mixture is ignited and burns, forming high-pressure combustion products that rotate a turbine disk, which turns the propeller.
Now compare this to a "whistle": the airflow goes through a pipe, is compressed, the pressure is increased manifold with the help of burning fuel, and then it's ejected from the nozzle, creating thrust. And you don't have to mess with blades, clearances, and the rest. And in case of trouble, it'll be much easier to fix.
And no, it wasn't just easy. Strengthening the construction, making it not disintegrate under loads, making it work correctly—that's a lot of physics and theoretical mechanics.
At least thanks to magic, many problems can be bypassed. For example—nozzles, the hull, the chamber in which all this will happen. They need to be formed from steel, and done very precisely, then strengthened. Minimum tolerances so there are no power losses. Hydrogen will be used as fuel: it can be obtained without much difficulty. Magic allows it, and spells that create wind are available. I realize that mechanics would strangle me right now, but having access to magical molding and material strengthening and not using it is stupid.
And yes, I'm not interested in the opinion of the surrounding Elves. I understand what many neighbors who saw my project are thinking. The Magister, when he came, asked directly:
"Why complicate the construction mechanically so much? It would be simpler to just layer a few more spells. You are capable of that, young lady."
I nodded.
"Simpler, but irrational. Magister, will you sell me a magic turret? I'll feed the excess into it."
And yes, I think Jaina Proudmoore, who created literally a flying ship, is showing off. I can fix all the weaknesses of the construction with magic. Or I can install engines, glass in the windows, and put the extra Mana into shields and magical weapons. Or combine them, getting much more speed. For a ship, the Mana losses for all these domestic trifles must be horse-sized. I can't do that, sorry. Or rather, I can, but I'm not going to.
Parallel to the ship assembly, I'm working on two more projects.
First, mines. Even without cannons, I can carpet-bomb or seed fields with mines. Which means I need to tune the assembly line and build up a reserve for myself. Ideally, it'll be like this: I fly over the terrain, the mines drop out, bury themselves, and the enemy blows up on them. I'm happy. And for this, I need to prepare spots on the ship for storing and dropping mines.
Second… the gauntlet, the bow, and the staff. The bow had to be calculated with Veni's help; I'd never built anything like it before, only saw it in pictures. And while we adjusted the construction, fitted the tension and mass… But in the end, Veni was satisfied; I am too, I like it when my work is appreciated.
I'm assembling the staff from scratch, using a crystal taken from the Trolls. A metal tube, three spacers between which a crimson crystal levitates. And spells, of course, so that it's not just a stick, but a concentrator staff.
I went to the Magister twice for advice.
"Modular construction is rarely used, young lady. Mostly by less gifted races. That doesn't mean it can't be done. But it will create the wrong impression."
I nodded, but did it anyway. The Undead don't care about impressions if it works.
As for the gauntlet… I updated the protective stone, added a couple of spells, including several commands that will force the mines to attack everyone around me or specific targets. I reworked the fingers, since my hand is smaller. Now you can strike from the gauntlet with a pre-prepared spell. Who's a good girl? I'm a good girl.
Once I ended up at the healer's, after two days without sleep and with magical exhaustion. How I managed to convince him not to tell my parents, I don't quite understand myself. The healer agreed on the condition that I actually get some sleep and don't end up in his care again. I had to agree and start following a daily routine.
On the twenty-first day, I stepped into the cockpit, which I'd been shaping for the last week. The idea is simple—connect thick logs into a single block with magic, then grind everything at once, carving out what's needed. What's the problem? Well, I'll start from the beginning.
It started with Mother coming over once again. She has her own work, but she still comes regularly, bringing food and just to support me. She knows I enjoy telling her about my successes. So this time I was lost in myself, operating strings and grinding the bridge. The box was already assembled; it was time to give it shape and carve things out.
I want to make panoramic windows across the entire wall on the bridge, which can be closed with shutters in battle. The control mechanisms and the captain's chair will be located there too. I could steer directly (and I will; the gauntlet will serve as a universal key with commands embedded in it, but shhh), but who knows, maybe someone else will need to steer. So there will be a pilot's seat.
I came to my senses from a kiss on the crown of my head and smiled.
"Good afternoon, Mom."
She smiled, floating above the ground as usual. It's quite dusty and covered in sawdust here.
"Good afternoon, dear. How's it going?"
I gestured at the construction. The cockpit block is being assembled and prepared (so it can be reworked) separately. It's just as modular. Inside—the control mechanisms. No steering wheels, just good old levers. Yes, everything is wooden. I'm a cheater; I'm allowed. I can remove material stress from the equation. It's not just Gnomes and the Legion who can build multi-story Mechs that don't sink into the floor or break under their own weight. Maybe I'm a Warhammer fan?
In short, I can and I do. This is magic; bending physics over because my will is stronger and I have more Mana is just a normal Monday. Even if today is Wednesday. So I just waved my hand.
"Come, I'll show you, Mom."
And we went. The block isn't ready yet. No doors, no windows, no equipment or furniture. Essentially an empty wooden… box. It should be. But no. Um…
"How is this possible?"
Mother looked around, and so did I. This room… why is it like this? When did I do this?
"Is something wrong, Davilinia?" she asked with a hint of concern.
I nodded.
"I didn't have time to prepare this room this much. Why is it… like this? So ready?"
There's still no furniture or anything in the room. But at the same time, the floors are already polished, and the niches for the windows are carved. And not crudely, but exactly as I wanted. High vertical windows in full height with an excellent view from above. The recesses for levers and tools, for the captain's chair, for shelves and seats are ready. An empty but almost finished room.
"Did you do it wrong?" Mother clarified, "I think there's enough material outside to rework it. Don't worry."
I shook my head, trying to gather my thoughts and understand what was happening.
"The problem isn't that I didn't do it. I wanted to do it like this; I was thinking about it. I just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Wait. Thinking. I was thinking. I wanted it. Will, as a component. I'm an idiot and didn't think. At all."
Mother smiled broadly and poked me in the forehead. The strings shuddered, obeying her will.
"Magical vision. Look."
I looked. And I saw not an elephant in the room, not a mammoth. A TYRANNOSAURUS, HOLY CRAP!!! How did I not notice this before?
"Territory Creation. So that's what you are…"
All these weeks I'd been laying down hundreds of spells. All these guides, reinforcements, purifications, and so on. I connected them, layered one over another, binding everything together. In fact, the entire clearing had lost its natural strings in favor of the ones I had laid down. Some—several times. And they had connected into a system on their own, adjusting to the concept of the ship I had been building all this time.
I can see where the resulting array, with its epicenter on the assembly site, becomes less dense as the number of spells and poured-in Mana decreases. And this affects the world around it; the altered zone responds to my magic with a mere thought. It obeys the Mage's will—mine—to match the concept being invested. The process has become self-sustaining as long as there's enough Mana for it. But we are still in Quel'Thalas; there's plenty of Mana. And it's happening.
The ground itself seemed to accept the idea that such a ship would stand upon it and began to adjust reality to fit that idea. As a Mage, to make sure everything is right, I keep the blueprints, ideas, schemes, my desires, and concepts in my head. What I want to get in the end. I poured in a dozen of my reserves, which are not small at all. And I got the "Territory Creation" effect.
A spell that reshapes the area to the Mage's needs. Incorrect. There is no "Territory Creation" spell as such. It's… a complex of measures to change the territory for the Mage's needs, yes. Not necessarily combat ones. The most famous case for any WoW player is Dalaran. Mages forced a city not prepared for it to take off and become a flying city, a mobile base. They reworked the territory for their needs. And it can even teleport all over the planet. So such a process is more than well-known to local Mages. To the powerful ones, obviously. Medivh on the upper levels of Karazhan, I recall, also went wild.
My creation looks modest against that backdrop, just an optimization of the construction site. But now that I know I can… This needs to be tested, refined, and thought about how to use. Oh yes.
I groaned.
"Oh, I'm such an idiooooot for not seeing it sooner."
Mother laughed merrily.
"Well, I think it looks good. I like it."
I scratched the top of my head, slightly puzzled.
"It's not bad, I don't deny it; it's just unexpected. And I'm not sure it should be exactly like this in the end, and here even the reinforcement where the module joints on the frame should be has layered itself. In short, I'll have to double-check everything to make sure it's as it should be. I don't want to ruin my own project."
Okay, nothing bad happened. Actually, I should have realized this sooner. As a possessor of the "Universal Man potential" who was a Caster, I inherited an abnormal learning speed. One can assume it's not just that.
Even agreeing that I'm a foolish imitator, I might still possess the skills inherent to the original. And there are plenty of bonuses there. Not just "class skills," which is normal for Azeroth too, but also passive abilities. That same super-fast learning and simplification of any task the original took on. Is it possible that I got the same set, which I just didn't know about? Likely. And that's very, very pleasant.
A hand rested on my shoulder, and I reacted. After all, Mother is here; it's rude to space out like that.
"Everything's fine, Mom, I was just surprised."
She smiled.
"You'll succeed. Just don't rush, think, and don't go head-on. With your potential, it's just not necessary. If you made a mistake—rework it. If you don't know—ask for advice."
I sighed.
"In my opinion, these are fairly obvious things."
Mother smirked.
"Oh yes. But do we listen to adults when they talk about it? I didn't."
That's how I found out about the "surprise." As I said, it's not so bad, just sudden. I had no idea it could be done like that—or rather, I didn't think of it. Well, it'll be a lesson for me.
"Thanks, Mom. I feel better."
Okay, the primary frame is ready. I still need to finish the cockpit, the technical zone, the engines with guides (and yes, this thing will hover), and conduct tests. And while I'm doing all that, start the module assembly. Now that this clearing has literally become an assembly shop, the process should go easier. And assembling typical rooms shouldn't be hard. What, can't I build a hut with an army of golems? I have an excellent construction crew.
I need to strengthen the construction better; I don't know how to pilot. At all. It would be a shame to wreck the device. Hm. What if I build a model and practice on it? It's not quite the same, of course. But I could try.
I think in another month the main work will be finished. After all, magic allows bypassing many things that a mechanic would do head-on.
I laughed, but the laugh came out a bit nervous. If only I can make it in time for Stratholme.
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