In response to that fiery speech, the man called the chanist shook his head frantically and imdiately began assuring them that he would never dream of upsetting such a respected man.
Alright, enough. I'd already heard more than enough.
Slipping through the shadows, I erged behind the backs of the envoys. One and a half seconds and four strikes—that was all it took to send the honorable gentlen off to rest.
"Ah? Uhh…"
"Good evening. I'm actually that very sa 'official,' and I have a number of questions for you. Assuming, of course, that you don't object." At the sa ti, I busied myself tying up Bohin's n. So the rope finally ca in handy. Not for climbing, admittedly, but details, details.
"Umm… Y-Yes, of course."
"Excellent. But surely we're not going to have this conversation out in the open?"
"Ah—right, yes, sorry… Co in."
Yeah, the man was badly shaken. The adrenaline in his system was probably sowhere around chin level by now, but that didn't change the fact that he was, fundantally, a peaceful man. A peaceful man who had just been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.
After stashing the bound n by the gates, I followed the chanist to his workshop, set up inside one of the temple's spacious old cells. Once we entered, the little man retreated toward his desk and froze there, clearly unsure what to do next. Sitting in my presence obviously terrified him, and addressing directly didn't seem any easier.
Yeah… initiative from his side clearly wasn't happening. Fine then, I'd handle things myself.
"I suppose introductions are in order first, since we haven't actually t. Commander Chan, Fire Herald."
"O-Oh… It's an honor… Uhh, people call the chanist, and I'm… well, a refugee."
He was seriously afraid of . Which, honestly, wasn't surprising.
"Please, calm yourself, Mister chanist. I'm only here to talk, and I have no intention of harming you or anyone around you. There are simply a few things I'd like to know…"
The engineer didn't crack imdiately, but when necessary, I can be extrely charming. As for the information I managed to get out of him…
It had all started several years ago, when a small town—the inventor's birthplace—had quite literally been washed away after a minor earthquake redirected the river's course. Overnight, the entire population found themselves reduced to penniless wanderers no one cared about. As for the chanist himself, he suddenly beca a single father with a crippled child on his hands — a collapsing beam had crushed his son's legs.
Several weeks of wandering in search of even the most miserable shelter eventually brought the destitute refugees to the abandoned temple, which they quickly began to settle and restore. The small patch of fertile land surrounding it was more than enough to feed the drifters who had found a new ho there, while the settlent's leader— who also happened to be the chanist — finally freed from a mountain of worries, decided to devote himself to his favorite hobby. At the sa ti, he wanted to give his son a chance to feel whole again, if not on the ground, then at least in the skies.
And the winds around the temple were practically made for flight. The air currents carried and lifted gliders almost on their own. The chanist had copied their basic design from Air Nomad gliders he'd discovered in one of the storage rooms, though he'd added more than enough innovations of his own. The final result looked suspiciously close to a modern hang glider from my past life. Better yet, actually losing control and smashing into the ground was surprisingly difficult there.
Still, the fact that the younger generation happily hurled themselves from half-kiloter heights into an endless aerial abyss, trusting nothing but a flimsy "wing," without so much as a basic parachute — or even the concept of one — really made wonder what kind of alloy their balls had been forged from. Yeah…
The idyll lasted a year. Then the honorable colonel dropped by and politely inquired what exactly the settlent was prepared to offer in exchange for him not burning the place and all its inhabitants to the ground.
Most likely, he'd simply wanted to squeeze so profit out of an unregistered settlent and line his pockets a bit. But the refugees, who had only just managed to get back on their feet, possessed neither gold nor stockpiles worth ntioning. Out of sheer desperation, the chanist offered his services instead.
Bohin might have been an idiot, but he was a cunning idiot. He imdiately realized how he could turn the engineer's talents to his own advantage. That was how the modernized tanks ca to be, along with a handful of smaller inventions not even worth ntioning.
Why was Bohin an idiot?
Because he was beating a goose that laid golden eggs with a stick in hopes of knocking out one or two extra "eggs."
Apparently, his plan was to gather as many useful inventions as possible, quietly dispose of the witnesses afterward, and head for the Capital carrying "his" brilliant designs—designs that would earn him a high-ranking post, prestige, and excellent financial opportunities. From the standpoint of personal gain, it was a fantastic plan. From the standpoint of actually benefiting the nation… well.
Hell, if he'd simply sent in the blueprints for a glider that could be operated by ordinary people rather than just airbenders, the chanist would've been shipped off to the Capital imdiately, surrounded with assistants and apprentices, and handed whatever resources he requested without hesitation.
And that wasn't even ntioning the tank.
The man had managed to design a model that cost at least half as much as the "standard" version while retaining the sa firepower and durability — maybe even surpassing the original in the latter category. And he'd done it practically in a workshop cobbled together from scraps, without proper tools or working conditions. Then he'd gone ahead and turned those blueprints into functioning prototypes by stripping a standard tank model of every unnecessary component and rebuilding the thing almost from scratch.
(End of Chapter)
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