The Guardian gods

Chapter 401: 401

Rattan waved his hand dismissively. "It was nothing," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "You would have done the same for me."

Chief’s smile widened. He looked at the gauntlet on the crate, then back at Rattan. "I saw you studying that. It seems you have an interest in our technology."

Rattan’s eyes lit up. "It’s... amazing," he breathed, his voice filled with awe. "I’ve never seen anything like it. I was just wondering where to even begin to understand how it works."

Chief rose to his feet, though he still moved with a slight limp. He walked over to the crate and picked up the gauntlet, turning it over in his large hands. "It’s not as complicated as it looks," he said, his voice warm and encouraging. "Though it does take some getting used to."

He began to explain the basic principles of the steam tech, pointing out the different components of the gauntlet and explaining their functions. He showed Rattan how the internal mechanisms worked, how the steam generated by the small furnace was channeled through pipes and valves to power the device. Rattan listened intently, his eyes wide with fascination, absorbing every word.

As Chief spoke, Rattan began to see the logic behind the intricate design. He started to understand how the different parts worked together, how the steam provided the power, how the gears translated that power into movement. It was like a puzzle, and with Chief’s guidance, the pieces were starting to fall into place.

"The key," Chief explained, pointing to a small valve on the gauntlet’s forearm, "is the pressure. Too much, and it could explode. Too little, and it won’t function properly. It requires careful balance and precise control."

Rattan reached out and tentatively touched the valve, his fingers tracing its delicate curves. He felt a surge of excitement. He was actually beginning to understand. This wasn’t just some magical artifact; it was a machine, built on principles he could grasp.

"Thank you, Chief," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "For showing me this."

Chief placed a large hand on Rattan’s shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie. "You have a good eye, Rattan," he said. "And a quick mind. I think you’ll learn quickly." He paused, his expression turning serious. "This technology... it’s more than just machines and steam. It’s the future of our people. It’s what will allow us to break free from our chains."

Rattan was about to reply, a spark of hope igniting within him, when a sharp pain shot through his shoulder where Chief’s hand rested. He winced, momentarily distracted.

"Or so I thought," Chief said, his voice suddenly laced with bitterness, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a cold, hard glint. "Our proud work, our tech... it’s nothing but toys and tools to those above." The shift in his demeanor was so abrupt that it left Rattan reeling.

Rattan’s face creased with confusion. Just moments ago, Chief had been encouraging, hopeful. Now, he seemed consumed by a deep resentment. Before Rattan could ask what had caused this sudden change, Chief asked, "Have you heard news of the happenings in the city of Gurnak?"

Rattan, his mind still trying to catch up with Chief’s sudden mood swing, decided to answer the question first. "There have been words spread by the new residents," he replied, "that the city may have fallen to the great enemy of the empire."

A flicker of pride touched Rattan’s features as he added, "Rumors from the servants in my lord’s mansion say that our people in that city helped, and bravely fought against the empire’s enemy." But the pride quickly faded, replaced by a deep sadness. "Sadly," he continued, his voice dropping, "the rumors also state that a large number of our people sided with the enemy to fight against the empire, discrediting the hard work of those who chose to fight."

Upon hearing this, Chief’s body began to convulse with laughter. He doubled over, the movement tearing at his wounds, causing fresh blood to seep through the bandages. He didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps didn’t care, as he continued to laugh, the sound harsh and unsettling.

Rattan, startled and alarmed, instinctively placed his hand over Chief’s mouth, trying to muffle the loud laughter. "Chief! Please!" he whispered urgently, his voice filled with panic. "You’ll hurt yourself! You need to stay calm!"

But then, Rattan’s eyes widened in shock. Tears were streaming down Chief’s face, a stark contrast to his loud, almost manic laughter. The sight was deeply unsettling, a bizarre mixture of joy and sorrow.

"How... how great of them," Chief choked out between gasps of laughter, the tears continuing to flow, "to put in the... the good words of our people’s bravery." He looked at Rattan, his eyes filled with a strange, feverish intensity. "I am guessing the underground ratmen of this city are also... bravely fighting against the empire’s enemy?"

Rattan nodded hesitantly, unsure of how to respond to Chief’s erratic behavior. Chief’s laughter erupted again, even louder this time. "Preaching of our bravery," he managed to say through his laughter, "yet... easily discrediting it at the same time... is a great play, won’t you say, boy? A great... distraction from one questioning their own hands in things."

Rattan, thoroughly confused and increasingly worried, finally asked the question that had been burning in his mind. "What are you talking about, Chief?"

But Chief didn’t answer. He simply lay back down on his hay bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, the tears still streaming down his face, a twisted smile plastered across his lips. The laughter had subsided, leaving only the unsettling image of a broken man lost in his own private torment.

The initial excitement of Chief’s awakening quickly dissipated, replaced by a heavy silence. Rattan sat quietly, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. He felt lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. He couldn’t quite grasp the full meaning of Chief’s cryptic words, but he understood one thing: he had been naive. He had viewed the world through a simplistic lens, and now that lens was shattering.

It was a strange and unsettling feeling, this burgeoning doubt. He had always accepted the word of his masters as truth. They were powerful, they were in control, and they were the only source of information he had ever known. To suddenly question their authority, to consider the possibility that they might be lying, was a radical shift in his thinking.

"But why lie?" he thought, his brow furrowed in confusion. "They already control everything. They have the goblin mages, the ogres. What need do they have to lie about... about oppressed people?" The question echoed in his mind, unanswered and unsettling.

For the rest of the week, these questions plagued him. He tried to discuss his confusion with Chief, but the larger ratman remained unresponsive, locked in his own world of silent contemplation. The only time Chief showed any sign of life was during meals, when a faint, almost feverish glow would appear in his eyes as he ate.

Frustrated by Chief’s silence, Rattan decided to take matters into his own hands. He began to subtly question the information he received from the lord’s servants and within the manor. He was careful, of course, phrasing his questions in a way that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. To his surprise, he discovered that most of the general information was accurate. The servants spoke truthfully about the lord’s affairs, the state of the city, and even events happening in other parts of the empire. But whenever the topic shifted to ratmen, the information became vague, contradictory, or outright dismissive.

He even noticed subtle changes in the way the servants interacted with him. There were furtive glances, hushed whispers, and a general air of unease whenever he brought up the subject of his own people. The subtle shift in their behavior was enough to frighten Rattan. He quickly realized that his inquiries had not gone unnoticed. Fearful of the consequences, he ceased his questioning and returned to his usual, unassuming demeanor.

But the seed of doubt had been planted, and it continued to grow within him. He had confirmed, at least to his own satisfaction, that the information he had received about his people was, at best, incomplete and, at worst, deliberately misleading. This realization brought with it a new, even more troubling question: "Why should I care about the wrongdoings done to other ratmen?" he asked himself, his voice barely a whisper. "I have a decent life, compared to most. I don’t have to hide in the shadows, to live underground. My life... it should be the envy of most ratmen. So why should I care?" The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of self-preservation and the burgeoning stirrings of a conscience he had never known he possessed.

Rattan’s internal struggle, his self-doubt and the agonizing question of whether he should even care about the plight of other ratmen, did not go unnoticed. Deep within his core, Phantom observed the change. The unraveling of the seals that bound him, which had been accelerating rapidly, abruptly halted. The energy that had been steadily dissipating now held steady, as if a switch had been flipped.