Rules of Biomancy: A LitRPG Healer Fantasy

Those words were the starting shot that got the entire group up on their feet. Though over an hour had gone by, the fruits were as fresh as ever, and the meat was hot and delicious. Jack hadn’t seen a single thing on his plate before, but it was impossible to not try everything.

Ribs from a fire-breathing pig? Perfectly portioned thigh cuts from a bird whose feathers could cut through steel? The belly of a salmon-like fish that swam through the air and tasted like vanilla coffee mixed in with ribeyes? There was no end, and Jack ate to his heart's content.

Not that he had any chance of keeping up with some of the others in the group. Certainly not Hafrad, whose pace was only matched by Aleksi and Dawn.

“Never have I seen such a small creature eat so much,” the dwarf commented, as a cut of a steak the size of Dawn’s duck body was consumed in ten seconds. “Even the stoneworms of Lodar couldn’t hope to perform a feat such as this.”

“Comes with Dawn being a shapeshifter of sorts, I suppose,” Jack explained, as the duck jumped over to Elijah who was eating quietly while listening to Grace rant about some magical subject. He wasn’t exactly sure about the details, but they’d been at it for a while now. “Her appetite doesn’t change depending on her size, so it can look a little freaky when she’s this small.”

“Oh? How large can she become?”

“I’m not sure about the max size, but I did see her get as big as Sasha yesterday,” he replied, earning him a momentary glance from the woman in question. It didn’t last, as she returned to listening in on Elijah and Grace’s conversation. “About those stoneworms you mentioned, though, could I ask how big they are?”

“The short answer to that would be ‘as small as your thumb and as big as a town,’” Hafrad said. “At the depths that the old cities sit, the creatures have learned to prosper under immense pressure. Every beast starts small, but the gift of long lives allows them to steadily grow into giants. For a stoneworm, a century would allow it to swallow us all whole.”

Suffice to say, Jack didn’t stop asking questions for an hour after that point. The others allowed him the chance, and the dwarf certainly had nothing against showering him with the stories of his ancestors. As Jack learned, tradition and history were two interlocked facets of the dwarven countries that took priority over almost everything else.

Each child that grew up in Darim was subjected to years of intense studying to make sure they could recite fundamental poems, songs, and verdicts of the ancient dwarven kings. They had to know the rites and prayers that would be made to Duron, the god of rock and stone, and how to ask for his guidance when they practiced their crafts.

“When other races talk of the dwarves, they always believe us to be rowdy drunks who do nothing but cover ourselves in dirt, drink, and mine the depths for Duron’s flesh,” Hafrad slurred, taking the bottle third he and Jack had shared and emptied the last half in one swig. “They’re right in that we do all three of those things, but our paths spread wider than just mining and drinking. We craft armor and weapons, we sculpt statues of our ancestors in their honor, we are the best jewelers left in this world and the songs… You, Jack Larson, should be crying yer tears out, for I cannot sing like my wee nephews. They’re my older sister's, all born in the same round, and they have voices that would make even the hardest hearts weep tears of joy. The way they sing together is a treasure that lightens the soul, I tell ya.”

Though Hafrad had worked hard to mimic the accents Jack had gotten used to inside Serenova, some of the dwarf’s words were starting to wobble and return to another accent. He wouldn’t outright call it Scottish, since there were some southern undertones hidden deeper in the wording, but it was still very different from what it had been an hour before.

Or maybe that was just the stout talking. Louis hadn’t lied about the strength, and the alcohol was starting to catch up to him.

“You know, I never did think too deeply about that view I had of dwarves in my head,” Jack commented, getting a bark of a laugh out of Hafrad because of the pun. “But, then, what is your specialization even?”

“I am a diplomat in both profession and specialization,” Hafrad supplied. It was said with a smile, but the cheer did seem to dampen as memories filled the skull of the dwarf. “In my youth, I thought I would follow in the footsteps of my father, and work with precious metals to create brilliant accessories. The Silverstone Family earned their name, and we were in the past known for the perfect blending between light-colored materials.

“The sixty-seventh king of Lodar even wore an armband crafted by my great-great-grandfather. But, alas, I inherited a silver tongue from my mother’s line as well, and the king of Darim took me in to be trained in the ways of diplomacy. After fifty years of apprenticing, I was granted the position of managing relations between Darim and Castilla, with Serenova now added onto the pile.”

An incredible story, though one detail wasn’t missed by Jack’s clouding mind.

“You were an apprentice for fifty years?” Jack asked, to which Hafrad nodded as he opened another bottle. “And you’re supposed to have had this position for over a hundred… Just how old are you again?”

“Three years ago, I celebrated my 250th birthday,” came the reply. It was short yet held enough weight that Jack froze in place. The dwarf didn’t even seem that old when you looked past the beard that easily reached the diplomat’s stomach. What age did dwarves live to again? “It’s one of the most noteworthy events in a dwarf’s life, only below the day of one’s vows and the day their first child arrives into this world. It’s one of the few that are also accompanied by gifts.”

“Oh?” Jack interjected, the mention of gifts making his mind locked in once again. “What sort of presents are you given?”

“Titles, works of art that are dedicated to you by your friends, and it is not uncommon to be granted the honor of wearing your family’s insignia,” Hafrad explained. Before Jack could even start to ask another question, the dwarf put a hand on the center braid of his beard, where the white ring in the very middle reflected in a different way than all the others. “This ring was crafted almost a thousand years ago, by a master in my family, and it is renowned in Darim for being one of the few accessories made of mithril.”

Mithril.

Like any other person who’d read or heard of a single fantasy book, Jack could easily recognize the name. It was a mythical metal, known for its lightness while also being tougher and more durable than the finest steel. Likewise, it also held some magical properties, which explained why Jack kept seeing it exude a white light even when he had his eyes closed. It wasn’t powerful, but it was impossible to miss nonetheless.

“It’s beautiful,” Jack confessed, lowering his head to get a better look. It looked so different from the other rings, which he learned were made of silver, up close. The finish was near-perfect, and the small notches from age that the other rings carried could hardly be noticed on the one made of mithril. “Can I… can I touch it?”

The room went silent.

Jack could feel the eyes of almost every person fall on him, as his face grew redder and redder.

“Sorry, if that wasn’t something you’re supposed to ask,” Jack apologized, his face only becoming redder as Hafrad took his sweet ass time replying. Those dwarven eyes just seemed to dig into his soul the longer they waited. “I didn’t mean offense.”

“... None was taken, lad. It’s merely a question that I didn’t expect to ever hear from a human,” Hafrad finally answered. “I’ll allow you to touch the heirloom, but I must first ask why you want to.”

I want to know if I can recreate it.

That was the honest truth. Whatever the metal in front of Jack’s eyes was, it didn’t seem to be an alloy of anything he’d seen before. From the feel it gave off, the mithril was pure, yet that meant that it was somehow meant to fit on the periodic table, and that didn’t make sense.

Vera’s confusion at the mention of that chart months had made Jack consider that this world simply carried more elements than the old one, but before now he hadn’t been convinced. This, however? It finished the job.

And with the status that Mithril carried, he had to know.

Did that mean he was going to lie about his intentions? Jack considered it for a moment, but his heart rejected the notion. Hafrad had been honest to him, had told him stories of his family, and something twisted in his stomach at the thought of hiding such a simple truth from the dwarf.

“I am a Metamancer, if you’ve heard of that Affinity before,” Jack asked. The right eyebrow of the dwarf rose as he shook his head. “It’s a rare one, I admit, and I like to think of it as rather powerful. It allows me to transmute material into other materials. I can make silver into gold, gold into platinum, and I have had some semi-success in making coal into diamonds, though that has been a frustrating experience.

“Nevertheless, I’ve been steadily getting the hang of learning more about materials by physical touch, and I’m kinda hoping that I would be able to make mithril out of some other metal if I had a moment to inspect your ring.”

Jack expected some resistance to the idea, but the only thing he received was booming laughter. Hafrad tried to reply in words again and again, but the dwarf never uttered more than a syllable or two before he fell back into the clutches of uncontainable chuckles.

“Oh, to Duron, you— Oh, you— Someone like you— What… What in The Great Nine…” Hafrad was able to wheeze out, before finally getting control of himself. “I’m more than fine with this attempt of yours, Jack Larson, but I request that you won’t be disappointed by the result. To transform other metals into mithril has been attempted by every dwarf with a magical gift since time immemorial.”

"Don't worry. I won’t shed any tears if I fail,” Jack assured him, which Hafrad accepted. With a hand holding out the beard to grant easier access to the ring, he was allowed to start trying the impossible. “Well… here goes.”

Truth be told, there was no explosive burst of knowledge and ascendance as first touched the ring. Jack noted the cold feel of the metal, of course, as if the mithril refused the notion of reaching the warm temperature of the room, but that was only the superficial. The ring itself had been engraved with a helmet and an ax on its sides. He could almost imagine the true edges of the equipment, as his fingers trailed over the masterful craftwork.

Tell me how you work.

It rudely refused to respond, but Jack dug into the structure regardless. The composition wasn’t as dense as he’d expected, not as firm in how it was held together, and yet there was no question about the strength. Though it broke all sorts of rules about the composition of materials, Jack could innately tell how incredibly effective mithril could be when fashioned into armor.

Some part of him hinted at the metal being able to absorb strong blows for the user, completely ignoring the fact that the mithril was meant to be light as a feather.

Magic doesn’t care.

The metal didn’t care.

Incredible.

“Okay… that was interesting,” Jack commented two minutes later, as he opened his eyes and let go of the ring. Hafrad didn’t immediately reply, looking at him curiously. “Ready to see me fail?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, lad,” Hafrad rebuked, though Jack could tell that the dwarf didn’t expect it to work either. “You must trust your abilities if you want them to reach their peak.”

That was true, he supposed. Jack didn’t need to believe he could do this. He needed to know he could do it. This wasn’t some attempt at transmutation of a magical metal. Jack was going to transmute it. No ‘maybe’ was allowed. It was a certainty.

Blind faith, don’t fail me now!

Taking out a small ball of gold he’d played with the past days, he held it tightly in his right hand and allowed his Core to activate.

Channeling of [Transmute Solid] has been activated! Current cost: 46MP/sec

A lurch swept through his body as the veins recoiled from the massive drain, but Jack didn’t cease his efforts. The world simply needed a moment to understand that this wasn’t an attempt, that the gold didn’t just need to shake and crumple in his grasp but that it needed to be Transmuted into the white glory.

Come on, now,! You can do it.

In his mind, he imagined the process of tearing apart the lines that held the gold together, reforming each connection to match the mithril. Something deeper than that also happened, the very foundations shifting in their mass, and… Jack couldn’t put it into words that made sense. Hands not his own twisted unseen dials, changing the truth of the materium, and his body started to shake.

Error.

No.

There wasn’t any error with his work. Jack didn’t fail.

We are doing this, whether you like it or not.

Something in his Core seemed to relent at that absolute truth, and Jack’s approach to manipulating the metal in his hand was adjusted. The connections obeyed him more easily, the world didn’t push back as hard, and his shaking body relaxed enough for him to notice the words flying around him.

“Don’t tell me he actually did it,” Sasha muttered tiredly.

“Impossible,” Louis said under his breath.

Jack blinked. His eyes were stupidly dry, yet he couldn’t have been at it for more than twenty seconds. He didn’t have more Mana to work after that point, after all.

Flaw in [Transmute Solid] Spell-Tier detected! Spell moved from [Tier 2] to [Tier 3].

… Huh. If his mind wasn’t feeling so incredibly slow, Jack would probably be celebrating that fact. Instead, he slowly looked down at his right hand, where the small ball of gold still sat.

Or, wait, no.

While most of the sphere was still golden in color, the very top had become white. It was a surface area the size of a fingernail, but there was no doubt.

“I did it?” Jack said, blinking a few more times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. “I did it.”

Happiness and glee started to fill his body, pushing past the strengthening waves of tiredness, but it all became muted as he looked at Hafrad who had not yet uttered a word.

All form of cheer and joviality was gone from the Hafrad’s face. Now, there were only the dwarf’s wide, sunken eyes staring back at Jack in horror and disbelief.