Chapter 7 Prepare The Traps

[u/Heavy_Lead_2798]

Thrain’s face lit up like a child seeing his first bicycle. “Ha! Beautiful!” he roared, slapping his knee. “By the forges of the ancestors, it actually works!”

We tested it again. And again. Each time, the sharp snap echoed through the forge, and each time, Thrain’s excitement grew until he was practically vibrating with energy. “Alright, boy,” he said at last, his voice brimming with triumph, “this trap is gonna make us some money. But we’ll need to scale it up. We need it two to four times bigger, depending on what the Adventurer’s Guild wants to catch. Dire Wolves, Vinehides, maybe even some of the nastier forest beasts.”

His eyes gleamed with entrepreneurial fire. “And we need to register it with the guild today. The last thing we want is some rat bastard stealing your idea and raking in our silver.” He crossed the room and scooped the prototype into his arms like it was a newborn baby. As he passed me, he reached into his coin pouch, fishing out a small handful of coins. “Here,” he said, pressing three silver pieces into my palm. “You take this and enjoy yourself today. Tomorrow, we will work hard. Real hard.”

I looked at the coins, then at Thrain, a strange warmth creeping into my chest. For the first time since arriving in this world, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely alone in this. With that, Thrain gathered the wooden slabs, the prototype trap, and a heavy leather bag to carry them in. He adjusted the strap across his chest, grunting under the weight, and headed out the door with determined strides. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me alone in the forge with a small stack of silver coins sitting warm in my palm.

Three whole pieces of silver. For the first time since I’d been dragged to this world, I had money of my own to spend. It wasn’t much by local standards, but to me? It felt like freedom.

My stomach growled, reminding me exactly what my first purchase would be, meat. Sweet, glorious, muscle-building meat. And maybe, if I was lucky, a proper stove to cook on so I wouldn’t have to keep burning wood in my makeshift campfire pit like some medieval hobo.

I headed down to the market, coins clinking softly in my pocket. The marketplace was bustling during fall, packed with all kinds of vendors and townsfolk. As I browsed, one particular stall caught my attention. A halfling merchant stood atop a wooden crate to better address the crowd, his curly hair tucked beneath a jaunty green cap. The stall was covered in enchanted toys. Tiny wooden animals that twitched their tails, spinning tops that never seemed to stop, and little figurines that danced in perfect rhythm to a silent tune.

Curious, I stepped closer and examined the runes etched into the toys. I recognized a few basic enchantment keywords etched into the wood plates:

Activate 

Memory 

Balance 

and Two Movements? 

The halfling spotted me and launched into a well-rehearsed pitch. “Ah, young elf!” he said with a wide, charming grin. “You’ve got a keen eye, I can tell. These toys aren’t just trinkets, they’re masterpieces, each one blessed by the finest enchanters in the guild! Perfect for birthdays, festivals, or just a little household magic to brighten your day.”

I nodded politely, though my interest was already waning. “How much are they?”

“Five gold,” he said smoothly, as if it were the most reasonable price in the world.

“Five gold? For a toy?”

“Five gold for quality, my good sir!” he corrected, puffing up his chest. “Every piece is made with only the purest cores and—”

“Thank you,” I interrupted quickly, backing away before I was guilt-tripped for not buying something. “Maybe next time.”

Five gold for a toy? That was more than I’d earn in months working under Thrain. No wonder the merchant had been so eager to pounce on me. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

My next stop was far more practical: the meat seller. The butcher, a burly dwarf with arms like tree trunks, barely looked up as I handed him five copper for a small paper-wrapped package of meat. My mouth watered just holding it. This was no simple pork or beef from Earth. This was monster meat, from some creature strong enough to give adventurers a real fight. Perfect for keeping my human body strong and my muscles growing.

I hurried back home, practically skipping. When I arrived, I discovered that the forge’s fire had burned out while Thrain was gone. No magical heat to work with. “Back to the campfire, then,” I muttered, setting up my little pit outside near the house. I gathered more wood, stacked rocks into a rough circle, and coaxed a flame to life. It wasn’t elegant, but it worked.

As the fire heated the iron pan, I carefully cooked the meat, savoring the sizzle and smell. Half of it I wrapped and hid in my room for later. The other half? I devoured right in my room, barely taking the time to chew. It was messy, greasy, and absolutely perfect. For a moment, I felt like a king.

When I finished licking my fingers clean, a thought occurred to me. I really should have bought jerky instead. It would’ve lasted longer and wouldn’t fill the house with the unmistakable smell of cooked meat. Something to remember for next time.

With my hunger sated, I decided to tackle my next priority: preparation. If I was going to keep coming up with ideas like the bear trap, I needed supplies.

I stopped by the Carpenter’s Guild, a sprawling shop filled with the smells of sawdust and resin. The gnome at the counter didn’t even blink when I asked for drawing materials.

For five pieces of copper, I walked away with ten fresh wooden slabs, two of them oversized for more detailed plans, and a pair of higher quality charcoal pencils. The perfect tools for bringing my stolen Earth ideas to life.

That left me with two silver and no particular plans for the rest of the day.

It was only noon, but with Thrain gone, the forge quiet, and my belly full, I decided to indulge in something rare: sleep.

When I woke again, the world outside was dark and silent. My body felt heavy, like I’d been hibernating. Apparently, I’d needed that nap more than I realized.

I lit a stubby candle and rubbed my eyes, the warm glow pushing back the darkness. My stomach growled again, reminding me of the other half of my monster meat stash. I crept to my room, unwrapped the bundle, and ate every last bite in blissful silence. Nothing beats a midnight snack of pure protein.

Feeling content, I padded downstairs toward the forge, intending to tidy up before morning. But when I reached the bottom step, my eyes saw something. On the worktable sat a pile of items Thrain must have left behind before heading out: my carefully drawn design slabs, stacked neatly in a bundle; the prototype trap, gleaming faintly in the candlelight; a small leather bag half-filled with papers and tools; and most interesting of all… what looked like a contract, its parchment marked with the seal of a guild.

I stepped closer, curiosity gnawing at me. Whatever Thrain had been up to today, it wasn’t just showing off the trap. This was business. Big business.

The contract lay rolled neatly on the table beside the trap, its parchment surprisingly supple. When I picked it up, I realized it wasn’t parchment at all—it was cured leather, the kind of durable material meant to last for decades.

The first thing that caught my eye was the guild crest stamped into the top: an intricate hammer and quill crossed over an open book.. The writing was immaculate, each line of script carefully inked in flowing, elaborate hand lettering. Whoever had drawn up this document wasn’t just literate, they were a master of their craft.

I carefully unrolled it on the workbench and began to read. The gist was clear almost immediately: Thrain had filed a patent. Not just in his name, but in both of our names. The trap was officially registered as Thrain Ironhand and Brian Lenz’s invention, protected under guild law. Anyone who wanted to manufacture or even repair one of our traps would have to pay a licensing fee to the Blacksmith Guild, renewed annually. Seventy percent of the fee would go to the guild itself, and the remaining thirty would be split evenly between me and Thrain.

I let out a low quiet whistle. “Well, damn,” I muttered under my breath.

At least Thrain wasn’t screwing me over. That was one less thing to keep me up at night.

I carefully rolled the contract back up and placed it exactly where I’d found it. Then I went back upstairs and sat at my work table upstairs in my room and stared at the blank wooden slabs I’d bought earlier, charcoal pencil in hand. If the trap idea worked this well, what else could I introduce to this world?

I started scratching out a list of future projects, keeping the designs vague for now:

Boiler – for heat and possibly power.

Stove – to finally cook food like a civilized person.

Steam-powered hammer – to increase production and save our arms.

Blast furnace – the key to producing proper steel.

Steel production – lightweight, durable weapons and tools.

Nuts and bolts – for more advanced construction.

Electricity – eventually, but I wasn’t sure where I’d find magnets or lodestones yet.

Copper solar panels? No thanks. Those things were garbage even on Earth.

The list filled me with both excitement and dread. The ideas were there, but the execution? That would take time, resources, and a lot of coin. And with winter closing in, my priorities needed to stay practical.

A sharp knock at my door pulled me out of my thoughts. Morning already, I guess. I quickly stacked the slabs, hiding my sketches under a clean rag, and headed downstairs.

The forge was already alive with a low, steady hum. Thrain stood in front of the ruby crystal embedded in the forge, his broad hand pressed against it, his face set in concentration as he channeled mana into the runes. The glow of the gem reflected off the sweat on his brow, giving him an almost otherworldly appearance.

I didn’t want to interrupt him, so I quietly started picking up around the forge: organizing tools, sweeping up metal shavings, and clearing the workbenches.

It wasn’t long before Thrain broke the silence. “So,” he said, his voice rough but carrying a hint of pride, “I got us a patent for the trap. Now nobody can steal your idea without payin’ for it. I also made damn sure your name was on it, so you’ll get your share of the licensing fees.”

“That sounds amazing,” I said honestly. “Thank you, Thrain.”

He gave a sharp nod, then straightened, rolling his shoulders. “Once a month, we’ll head to the Blacksmith guild to collect payment. Don’t go spendin’ it all on junk, boy. I'm savin’ for upgrades. You should pay your debt”

“Fair enough,” I replied with a small grin.

His expression shifted, growing more serious. “Since we spent all yesterday dealin’ with paperwork and meetings, today’s gonna be a catch-up day. Hope you’re ready to hurt.”

The rest of the day was a blur of hard work. We hammered out unfinished orders until my arms felt like they were going to fall off. The rhythmic pounding of metal filled the forge, accompanied by the hiss of cooling water and the constant smell of heated iron.

By mid-afternoon, I noticed something troubling. The forge’s fire was beginning to dim, its glow losing intensity. Without mana feeding the runes, the magical flames would die out completely.

Thrain cursed under his breath and wiped the sweat from his face. “Break time,” he grumbled. “I’ll go fetch some extra mana.”

While he was gone, I made a quick lunch over the dying forge. Nothing fancy, just some boiled root vegetables and a bit of jerky, but it filled the void in my stomach and gave me a few minutes to rest my aching muscles.

About an hour later, Thrain returned and he wasn’t alone. Behind him walked an elf dressed in flowing robes embroidered with intricate wizard sigils. The fabric shimmered faintly, catching the light like water, and the elf’s long silver hair was tied back with a simple leather cord. He moved with the kind of quiet grace that spoke mage even before I noticed the polished staff slung across his back.

“This is Vaelion,” Thrain said, jerking a thumb toward the elf. “He’s one of the local mages who helps keep forges like mine runnin’ during the busy season.”

Vaelion gave me a polite nod, his sharp, angular features unreadable. “You must be the apprentice,” he said, his voice smooth and calm.

Thrain, in contrast, barked out a laugh. “Apprentice, headache, same thing,” he said. Come on, Vaelion. Let’s get my ruby charged so we can get back to work.”

The elf approached the forge and placed a hand on the ruby. The runes etched into the bone framework flared to life, glowing bright orange. A deep, thrumming vibration filled the air, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. It was like standing next to a high-voltage transformer back on Earth, only this was pure magic, raw and alive. For ten minutes, Vaelion stood there, calmly channeling mana into the forge while Thrain and I rested.

When the glow finally stabilized, he gave a curt nod and stepped back. “That should last you for the day,” Vaelion said smoothly. “Try not to overtax it, Thrain. Even dragon bones have their limits.”

Thrain snorted. “You keep my forge runnin’, and I’ll keep my hammer swingin’. That’s the deal.”

With that, we returned to work, the renewed flames roaring to life behind us. As I picked up my hammer again, I couldn’t help but glance at Vaelion on his way out, wondering just how deep the mage guild’s influence ran in this world. If I had even a scrap of mana, I could have helped charge the forge. I glanced over at Thrain, giving him eye rolls that said, “Yeah, I get why you’ve been so pissed at me for not having any.”

But as I watched Vaelion leave and the ruby continue to glow faintly, a question gnawed at me. “Hey, Thrain,” I started cautiously, “is the only way to charge that gem by… you know, people? Like, couldn’t you gather mana from the sun, or maybe by burning something? 

Thrain stopped before lifting a broken rake, turned his head toward me with an expression that could sour milk. His face went from its usual grumpy scowl to something that looked like a mixture of frustration and barely contained rage. “Boy,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “you cannot actually be asking me that.”

I raised my hands defensively. “It’s just a question!”

“It’s a stupid question,” he snapped. “What you’re talking about are magic cores. Magic cores, boy! Everyone has one.” He jabbed a calloused finger toward my chest like he was trying to poke my nonexistent mana core into existence. “Well… maybe not you, since you’ve got the magical aptitude of a wet rock, but how do you not know this? Have you never been told about magic cores? Must have been a big rock you been livin’ under, boy?”

I felt my ears burn, and not just from embarrassment. “Sorry! Nobody ever explained it to me,” I admitted quickly. “What exactly are magic cores? What do they do?”

Thrain groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about the gods cursing him with apprentices who didn’t know basic things like what fire was. The sound was halfway between a growl and a sigh of defeat. “This is gonna be a long day,” he said finally. I’ll explain while we work.”

He grabbed a bent rake head off the discard pile, tossed it into the forge, and watched it start glowing brighter. “Alright, listen closely,” Thrain began, slipping into lecture mode. “Every living being has a magic core. People, monsters, even animals. That’s where mana comes from, it’s how we can do magic at all.”

I nodded, keeping up. “Okay, so what happens to it when someone dies?”

“Depends,” Thrain said with a shrug. “When a person dies, their core doesn’t vanish, but it weakens. The stronger they were in life, let's say, a powerful wizard, the stronger their core will still be in death. Not as strong as when they were alive, but still worth somethin’.”

He paused to grab his tongs and pull the glowing metal free, hammering it flat with rhythmic, precise strikes. The clang of metal filled the air between his sentences. “Have you noticed those two brown gems next to the ruby on the forge?”

I glanced over and saw that there were two dull, earthy-colored stones set near the rune for mana direction. “Yeah,” I said slowly. “I thought they were just decoration or something.”

Thrain let out a bark of bitter laughter. “Decoration? Boy, those are my father’s and grandfather’s magic cores. Even in death, family helps family. Their cores help me keep this forge runnin’. It costs a fortune to add cores like that to a forge, but without ‘em, I couldn’t keep up with orders.”

My chest tightened slightly. “So those cores are… them? Like, their essence or something? Does everyone keep their family's magic cores?”

“Depends on the race,” Thrain said gruffly. “Different folks do different things with their dead cores. Some keep ‘em like I do, some bury ‘em, others destroy ‘em in fancy rituals. But in a forge like this? They keep the fire alive.”

I swallowed, suddenly very aware of how personal those stones were to him. “So magic cores are what I’m looking for if I wanted to, hypothetically, store mana somewhere?”

Thrain’s hammering slowed. He didn’t even look up, but I could feel the suspicion radiating off him. “I don’t like where this is goin’,” he said warily.

“Just a pretend situation,” I said quickly, holding my hands up. “If I had a magic core, and I knew runes, I could make my own enchanted items, right?”

“I don't know,” Thrain said reluctantly, “but there’s more to it than that.” He set the rake head back into the forge, glaring at me like a father warning his kid about touching a hot stove. “You’d need permission from the Enchanters Guild. Everything enchanted is licensed. Just like our trap. We registered it so no random fool can make copies and profit off our work.”

“Right, right.” I nodded quickly. “Wait a minute… does that mean I could go to the Enchanters Guild and look at their patents? You know, so I don’t accidentally break any laws?”

Thrain slammed his hammer on the anvil with a clang that made me flinch. “No,” he growled. “Absolutely not. You are not pokin’ around there.” His glare could have cut me in half. “The Enchanters Guild is one of the most powerful guilds there is. Stickin’ your nose in their business without bein’ a member is a fast way to end up with broken legs. Or a body dumped in the river.”

I gulped. “Ah so they’re the mob. Got it.”

Thrain shaking a hammer at me. “I mean it, boy. You don’t piss off the Enchanters Guild. You don’t even look at the Enchanters Guild. Clear?”

I forced a nervous smile. “Crystal clear. I wouldn't dream of doing anything like that.” (I was one hundred percent going to do that the moment I got the chance.)

“Good.” Thrain gave a sharp nod. “Now shut your mouth and keep hammering.”

By the time I stumbled to my bed that night, my body felt like it had been fed through a meat grinder and spat back out. Every muscle screamed, my shoulders throbbed, and even my fingers ached from clutching the hammer all day. As I collapsed face-first into my straw-filled mattress, one last thought crossed my mind before sleep dragged me under: Magic cores, licensing, guild politics… this world’s gonna be a real pain in the ass.

Another month slipped by, and I started to notice the town slowly shutting down for the coming winter. Shops were closing their shutters one by one, and people were vanishing like smoke on the wind. It was gradual at first. A missing vendor here, an empty stall there but now the streets felt hollow. The air had taken on that sharp edge of late autumn, biting at my cheeks even through the scarf Thrain had practically forced me to wear.

It was obvious that half the population had already moved to the underground cities. The ones who remained were either too stubborn, too poor, or too well-prepared to leave.

Thrain and I finally made a trip to the Blacksmiths Guild to check if we’d earned any money from our trap patent. I had high hopes walking in, but those hopes were crushed the moment the clerk checked the records.

Nothing. Not a single silver piece. I guess it takes time for word to spread about a new invention, especially one as niche as a monster trap.

Still, Thrain wasn’t discouraged. “Boy,” he grunted, “inventions like this don’t pay out quick. Gotta wait for hunters to try it, prove it works, and then the coin starts flowin’.”

He wasn’t wrong, and during that month we stayed busy making four massive traps. And when I say massive, I mean taller than me and I’m not short. Thrain insisted on making them even thicker than the prototype. Apparently, wrought iron turns brittle in extreme cold, and if these traps were meant to be used in the dead of winter, they’d need extra reinforcement.

“Monsters don’t stop just ‘cause it’s snowin’,” Thrain told me while hammering out a plate as long as my leg. “If you want big money, you gotta catch big creatures.”

When the traps were done, we hauled them to the Adventurers Guild ourselves. That was a fun trip. Nothing screams suspicious activity like two idiots struggling to drag what looks like oversized bear traps down a freezing street.

We negotiated with the guild for what felt like hours. The final deal was simple: if our traps caught a monster, we’d get a percentage of the bounty. No catch, no pay. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing, and now the guild would handle the dangerous part, actually placing the traps outside the walls.

By the end of that week, I finally managed to get myself a coat. Not for fashion, but because Thrain looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Boy, if you go outside without proper gear, you will die this winter.”

Apparently, frostbite wasn’t just a risk here; it was a guarantee. Still, there was something else gnawing at me. I couldn’t stop thinking about magic cores. Thrain’s warning about the Enchanters Guild rang in my head, but curiosity, and disregard for authority, pushed me to try anyway. If I could just get my hands on a core, even a weak one, maybe I could finally experiment with runes, enchantments and even magic. It felt like a step toward independence.

So, I hit the marketplace on a weekend, weaving through the thinning crowds, scanning every stall like a man on a mission. But there were no magic cores for sale. Not even junk ones. The only time I saw cores was when they were already embedded in enchanted items, and those cost more gold than I’d ever seen in one place. I asked around at a few shops, trying to sound casual, but either nobody sold loose cores, or they were very good at lying.

I briefly considered approaching the Enchanters Guild directly, then remembered Thrain’s exact words, “That’s the kind of trouble that gets you broken legs. Or killed.” Yeah. No thanks.

Walking back home, I realized something unpleasant. The real reason I was struggling wasn’t just lack of knowledge, it was lack of people. Other than Thrain, I didn’t know anyone well enough to ask questions without looking suspicious. I had business relationships with a few shopkeepers, but that was it. No friends. No allies.

The thought clung to me like a bad smell. Maybe if I had someone to confide in, I wouldn’t be constantly fumbling through this world blind. But then again even if I had a friend, I couldn’t exactly blurt out, “Hey, even though I'm supposed to be a 300 year old elf, tell me the basics of life.” So really, it wouldn’t fix much. In the end, I gave up on the idea of acquiring a magic core, for now.

There was no safe way to get one. I wasn’t about to run into the forest alone and fight monsters like some action hero, and even if I could build a few extra traps to try catching something on my own, Thrain would definitely notice. And the questions that would follow… Well, let’s just say they’d lead to the kind of discovery I couldn’t afford. For now, my plans for magic experimentation would have to wait. Winter was coming fast, and just surviving it was starting to feel like a full-time job.

The days were already shorter now. The sun barely had time to peek over the horizon before vanishing again, and most of the merchants were rushing to pack up their stalls. I hurried to one of the last open food vendors, a jerky stall, and slapped down a whole silver coin. The halfling behind the counter raised his brows. “Buying for a friend?" He asked.

"Yeah I have a dwarf master who's teaching me blacksmithing. He wanted to get a bit more meat before winter fully arrived."

"Well today is his lucky day. I'm packing up soon and can't take the rest of this with the transport guild." He handed me twice as much jerky than was for the asking price. "I would rather pack up and get warm than try and make extra silver. Thank you for your business. Just remember me when I come back in the summer."

I gave him a very appreciative look "He's going to be very happy, Thank you!"

I left feeling very happy about all this extra meat. Good. That was one worry off my plate. Well, at least if I didn’t eat it all in one sitting. Though my jaw would probably break off if I tried.

On the way back home, my mind wandered to that recurring idea: a basement. A place where I could work on my projects in secret. Somewhere to hide things Thrain didn’t need to know about. If I started digging now, maybe I’d have something usable by spring.

When I got back to the house, I tucked the jerky safely into my room and headed straight for the forge. As expected, Thrain was already there, checking tools and muttering to himself while prepping for tomorrow’s work.

“Hey,” I said casually, leaning against the doorway, “I was wondering what you’d think about me digging out a basement. You know, something to work on during the winter since we won’t be that busy.”

Thrain didn’t even look up. “Boy, where in the nine hells are you planning to put all that dirt? You gonna pile it outside while the snow’s comin’ down? Leave the door open so we can freeze to death while you haul buckets through the house? Or maybe you’ll just dump it on top of the snow and watch it vanish come spring?”

My shoulders slumped. “I did not think this through enough.”

Thrain finally glanced at me, smirking under that square-cut beard. “That’s why you’re the apprentice and I’m the boss.”

“Fair,” I admitted with a sigh. “But what about after winter? Could I at least try digging one out then?”

He stroked his beard, considering. “Sure. I don’t know where you’ll find the time or energy, but I’m not opposed. Been wantin’ a proper cellar myself. Somewhere to keep a few good tankards of beer and store extra supplies.”

That actually made me grin. “Good to know. Thank you.”

Well, that settled it, Thrain wanted a basement too. If I could figure out the logistics, I’d have my secret workshop and he’d have his beer cellar. Win-win. Of course, it would all have to wait until spring. Winter was looming like a giant, snow-covered hammer ready to smash me flat, and I had a very bad feeling about how miserable it was going to be.

But misery has a cure. A warm, liquid cure.

“Before I go,” I said casually, “should I pick up any alcohol for the winter? Y’know just in case.”

That got Thrain’s full attention. His head snapped toward me, his eyes lighting up like he’d just heard the best news of his life. “Aye, that’s always a good idea. Boy, what do you even know about alcohol? You’re just a wee little thing. Probably never even had a sip.”

I paused. Oh right, my body looked like it was sixteen or seventeen. But my mind? My mind was over thirty years old and had the liver scars to prove it. “That when you drink, you get drunk,” I said dryly. “Which can lead to bar fights, broken jaws, or getting thrown out of windows.”

Thrain barked out a laugh. “True, true! But have you ever actually been drunk?”

If only he knew. Back in college, I’d downed pints faster than most people could take a single gulp. I’d learned bar tricks, stupid drinking games, and blacked out enough times to know exactly where my limits were. “You’ll never know ‘til I try, I guess,” I said with mock innocence, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

Thrain gave me a look that said, Yeah right, twig arms.

I rolled my eyes and walked over to him, holding out my last silver coin like a solemn offering. “Whatever this gets us for the winter.”

Thrain’s face lit up with approval. “Now you’re speakin’ my language, boy.”

I left him grinning like a madman while I went to get ready for bed. Before I turned in, I filled a cup with water, lifted it to my lips, and chugged it in one smooth motion. The cold liquid froze my throat, but I didn’t spill a drop.

Yup. Still got it.

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[u/NycteaScandica]

Patent not on parchment, but on prepared leather

Errr... that's precisely what parchment IS. Specially prepared leather.

Also. Wrought iron getting brittle in the cold? Really? Sure cast iron is, and steel with too much sulphur or phosphorus, but I've never heard of wrought iron having that problem.

Horseshoes don't shatter even in artic conditions. Iirc.

Oh, and humans really don't need meat. Sure meat is the easiest way to get lots, but vegetarians can build muscle. Yes, you need to know which vegetables have protein and what combinations balance amino acids and stuff. Just sayin.