Rise of the Living Forge

Another week slipped by, and Arwin spent his time nearly split straight down the middle. Half of it went toward researching how the strange metal that Twelve’s weapons were made out of worked, and the other half went toward preparing for Olive’s upcoming tournament.

The Menagerie had gathered a number of materials for him to work with between Olive and Rodrick’s dungeon runs, and he’d spent a fair amount of time sifting through everything to determine what the best pieces would be.

It got to the point where further preparation would only deliver middling improvements, and Arwin knew they didn’t have forever. Even though the Secret Eye had yet to swing by to tell them exactly what day the Proving Grounds would be held, he knew it was soon.

Rodrick had kept them all updated on just about every rumor that had been spreading around town — and there had been a lot of them. Arwin hadn’t realized quite how much attention was on the Secret Eye’s tournament until he’d been walking through town and overheard to elderly women gossiping over the participants.

This was the time to act. He didn’t want to have to rush through finishing everyone’s armor in the last few days. It was better to have something workable now and to spend any extra time simply polishing it up or making some bonus equipment.

But before Arwin could jump right into making armor, he wanted to see just how Olive, Elias, and Maeve actually fought. It would give him the best insight into what his armor could do for them. After all, there was no point making something that made someone as fast as a bounding cheetah if they could already move like the wind.

And that was how he found himself standing a dungeon for what felt like the first time in months, even though it had truly only been a few weeks since he and the rest of the Menagerie had gone through another dungeon together with Yonas.

But this time, the rest of the Menagerie wasn’t here. He stood in a spacious cave awash in light from rivers of flowing golden veins running through the walls. The only ones with him were Olive, Elias, and Maeve.

Well, them and all the monsters they were killing in the Adept Ranked dungeon.

This room had already been cleared. The corpses of monsters that had been a cross between a lizard and some sort of chittering insect littered the ground all around them. They’d been roughly mid-Journeyman Tier. Olive’s team had mowed through them without the slightest difficulty.

As he’d watched them fight, Arwin had been forced to admit that there was a part of him that missed doing this. There was a camaraderie that came only from shared combat experience and couldn’t be replaced by anything else.

Olive hadn’t quite gotten to that spot with Elias and Maeve yet, but that was little surprise. It took months to build a bond and years to strengthen it. They only had weeks — and for weeks, they were doing great.

There hadn’t been any significant gaps in any portion of their execution. The three of them made a good team. If Arwin had to pick one specific issue, it would have been that they didn’t actually have anyone to properly fill up the frontline.

They relied on Elias’ slippery movement and the magical boons that Maeve bestowed on all of them to stay out of danger, but if a monster ever managed to land a good blow upon any of them, Arwin suspected they would have been in trouble.

Not exactly something I can completely fix with armor, though. It would change the way they fight. They’re more like skirmishers rather than a normal dungeon party with a designated person to keep the focus of the monsters.

That’s an interesting strategy. By focusing speed and not getting hit they save a lot of energy and don’t have to rely on a healer. It’s very effective against weaker monsters, but I don’t know how it’ll hold up against a more powerful enemy or people in the arena.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re intense?” Elias asked as he wiped greenish-black blood from one of his daggers and slid it back into the sheath at his side. “You’ve been staring at me for a whole minute.”

Arwin blinked, then shook his head. “Sorry. I was just thinking about your fighting techniques and how they would translate to the tournament.”

Maeve tilted her head to the side in clear question.

“You don’t fight like a normal party,” Arwin explained. “But I don’t think I should go into any detail yet. I want to see how you all handle the boss of the dungeon before I start spouting off anything that might change what you normally do.”

“Nothing wrong though, right?” Olive asked.

“Not that I’ve seen. Quite effective, actually.”

“Not to be rude… but what do you even know about dungeon delving?” Elias asked as he crouched beside one of the fallen monsters and examined its corpse in search of something. Maeve shot him a glare and he held his hands up defensively. “I really did mean I’m not trying to be rude. I’m actually curious, not challenging you.”

“It’s fine,” Arwin said through a chuckle. “I used to be an adventurer before I took up smithing.”

Elias’ eyes widened. “Really? So your class—”

“I’m a smith.”

“Godspit,” Elias said, rising back to his feet as his eyes went wide. “A warrior smith. You must have been something else if you were actually delving dungeons with a non-combat class. I can see why Olive is interested in your feedback, then. I hope I didn’t offend.”

“It takes a lot more than that to offend me. We can go into more detail about my thoughts once I’ve actually seen you lot deal with something you can’t kick into the dirt without any effort.”

Maeve nodded to the pathway leading from the glowing room and winding deeper into the earth. She tilted her head to the side and went still, then raised a single finger into the air a second later.

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“We’re one floor away from the end of the dungeon, so you’re about to get your chance,” Elias said. He glanced to Olive. “You ready to keep moving? Arm all good?”

“Yeah,” Olive said with a firm nod.

“Arm?” Arwin frowned. “Is something wrong with it?”

“No, nothing like that.” Olive flexed her wooden fingers and gave him a grin. “It just gets a bit pushy at times. Wants to be used. As long as I do, it behaves pretty well. I think we’ve got an understanding going.”

Not the most reassuring thing I’ve ever heard, but if she’s fine with it, then I’ll stay out of the way.

“Well, let me know if it ever stops working properly,” Arwin said. “We’re going to be tight on time once the Secret Eye announces when the tournament is and once I get started on all of your armor, so better to catch it sooner rather than later.”

“I will,” Olive promised. “Though I don’t fancy the idea of pulling it off. I’ve used this thing to pick my nose, you know. That makes it part of me, good or bad.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” Arwin said through a grimace.

“Then you’d hate to hear what else—”

Maeve snapped her fingers. She pointed to the pathway and tapped a foot on the ground, impatience burning her eyes like sunlight.

Elias cleared his throat. “Let’s continue on, shall we? A proper demonstration awaits.”

***

Hazel flicked a leaf from her shoulder, grateful that the cloth mask on her face concealed her expression. Her clothes were soaked and covered with dirt, hair tangled beyond belief. She could have sworn that a passing squirrel had eyed her up she was ferrying a nest around on her head.

And the smell —

The smell sent a shudder down her back. Sweat and dirt and an acrid scent from a puddle of unknown fluid she’d stepped in an hour ago lingered around her like a fetid cloak. She was positively miserable.

Today was a horrible day.

Lucas had sworn up and down that it wouldn’t have been, but it was. He’d promised that they’d get a good mark, and that hiding in this shitty path would all be worth it once they got a few coins. Hazel was of half a mind to throw in the towel entirely and turn to a career that didn’t force her to lounge in dirt with insufferable morons for hours on end, but she couldn’t quite get over the feeling of sliding a blade between someone’s ribs.

There really just wasn’t anything like it.

The rush of blood pouring across her hand as she twisted the hilt of a sword, watching the life fade from an anguished face — it was like concentrated power. There was nothing better than the feeling of complete and utter control over someone else’s fate.

At least, that was the case when their mark actually had something that made them worth killing.

But when Hazel stared at Lucas’ chosen target of the day, she couldn’t help but feel a strong urge to run her blade through his back instead of the poor sod standing surrounded in the middle of the road.

The man wore ratty, bloodstained clothes. A mop of dirty, wet hair hung over his face, obscuring much of his face; gaunt and haunted eyes peered out from beneath, lifeless.

He didn’t have a bag or a weapon. For that matter, he didn’t seem to have anything worth taking. Not even a life.

“Empty your pockets,” Lucas said, looking down the tip of his sword at the man.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Hazel asked, thrusting her sword in the direction of the ratty man. He hadn’t so much as budged since they’d burst out around him. He just stood there, vacant-eyed. Staring. “He doesn’t have shit!”

“He’s got pockets, and I see a bulge in them. There’s nothing wrong with an easy target,” Lucas replied. He thrust his sword again. “Out with the pockets, scruffy. Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

The man stared at him. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Lucas repeated, arching an eyebrow and looking to the two large bandits behind the scruffy man.

Joe and Joe — those were actually their names — stepped forward and raised their clubs in unison. The brutes were twins, and had presumably had two different names at one point. Unfortunately, they were so stupid that one had forgotten his and just stolen the name of the other.

“One last warning,” Lucas said. He waved his sword around, trying to look intimidating but coming off more like he was trying to swat a fly. “Empty your pockets, and we’ll let you leave with a beating. Don’t, and I let Hazel here play with you for a little while — and I can promise you won’t enjoy it.”

“I don’t even want to kill this idiot,” Hazel said. “I’m about half a step from stabbing you, though. You made us lie in wait for this? An ugly, smelly, homeless vagrant?”

“I’ve heard there’s a healer in this direction,” the vagrant said. “Is that true?”

“He not a healer. He a smith. It’s bullshit,” Joe said.

“Yeah. He just a smith,” Joe agreed.

Hazel’s eye twitched. “Fuck this. I’m going to go take a shower — and dump my dirty clothes on your bed. Pick someone worth stabbing next time, Lucas. This raggedy doll isn’t even worth me having to clean my blade.”

She turned on her heel and strode away.

“No more warnings,” Lucas said behind her. She heard a boot scuff against the ground as he stepped forward. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Joe, Joe — part him with his coin.”

He doesn’t have any coin, you daft moron.

There were two loud crunches. Hazel would have winced if she could have been bothered to have any sympathy. It sounded like Joe and Joe had landed their attacks at the same time. At least the vagrant wouldn’t have to suffer. He was probably already —

A scream rang out — a voice she recognized.

Hazel spun.

The second Joe fell beside the first, joining his brother in a howl of pain. They both clutched at their knees, gasping and crying in pain.

“Where’s the healer?” the vagrant asked. His voice hadn’t changed in the slightest.

“You bastard!” Lucas roared.

“Wait!” Hazel yelled, grabbing her own sword and pulling it free. “How did he—”

Lucas blurred, blue magic enveloping his body as he activated his abilities and leapt through the air, streaking down toward the vagrant in a blur, his sword aimed straight for the ratty man’s neck.

The wet thud of a blade meeting flesh rolled across the clearing.

Hazel’s shoulders started to relax, but she froze before even an instant had passed.

Lucas’ blade hadn’t met the vagrant’s neck. It had slammed into the man’s riven palm and driven straight through his hand, but the vagrant hadn’t even flinched. His fingers wrapped around Lucas’ hand in a vice grip.

The bandit’s eyes widened in fear, but it was too late.

With a roar, the vagrant twisted his entire body, throwing his whole weight into a punch. It slammed into Lucas’ cheek with a crunch.

Lucas’ head snapped up. He took a step back — as far as he could move while the vagrant still clasped his sword and fist alike — but he didn’t look too injured. The strike hadn’t been as powerful as Hazel had —

Another crack rang out. Then another. Over and over, the vagrant’s fist slammed down. Lucas’ nose shattered. His cheekbones caved in, and his blood splattered across the ground to join the teeth flying from his mouth.

By the time Hazel remembered she was also armed, Lucas had fallen to his knees, his face a bloodied mess.

The vagrant ripped the blade from his hand and spun it around, driving it down through one of Lucas’ eye in a practiced blow. A wheeze of death slipped from between Lucas’ lips and the bandit collapsed to the ground.

Hazel couldn’t bring herself to care overmuch. She hadn’t been a big fan of Lucas as of late. The vagrant wasn’t that much of a threat. He’d barely managed to kill Lucas without crippling one of his hands.

Maybe I can have a little fun with him after all.

The vagrant’s sunken eyes turned to Hazel. He didn’t seem to notice the blood dripping from the gaping wound in his palm or hear the screams of the men behind him. He only asked a single question in that same, flat, monotone voice.

“Where’s the healer?”

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