Rise of the Living Forge

“You remember the strategy, yes?” Art asked, leaning heavily on his crutch as his eyes darted around the teams surrounding them on the stone arena.

“Relax, Art,” Vix said. “You’ve already gone over it half a dozen times. I think we’ll be fine. Besides, you said there wasn’t anyone to worry about in the melee, right? You checked all the teams, did you not?”

“I did,” Art admitted. He shifted his weight and rifled through the deck of cards in his hands again, fingers moving so fast that they were practically a blur. “But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t have missed something. My powers are not absolute.”

“Good thing, that,” Kien said. His voice was partially muffled by the mask covering his face, but if there was one word that Art could have used to describe the former hero, it would have been bored. It wasn’t exactly disinterest that radiated from him as much as it was the feeling that he’d done this so many times that he simply didn’t care anymore.

“Why is that a good thing?” Vix asked.

“Because I don’t fancy all my secrets getting plucked from my heads like tasty little grapes,” Kien replied. “All power has limits. If someone could just know everything about someone else through magic alone, it would be terribly unfair. Information is the greatest weapon.”

“I’d say a massive fireball is probably the greatest weapon,” Art muttered.

“Only if you know where to throw the fireball,” Kien replied. He brushed at the ground with his broom, pushing some dust and debris away. “Relax, boy. This is your first time fighting in front of such a big crowd, isn’t it?”

Art blinked. “Yes. Am I that obvious?”

The announcer roared something overhead and the crowd cheered in response. His words passed right by Art’s ears like the river flowing past a rock. The only thing he was listening for was the start of the melee round. Everything else was just worthless chatter to get the crowd hyped up even further.

“You don’t strike me as the type that participates in tournaments often,” Kien said dryly. “And yes. It’s that obvious. You’re shaking like a twig in a hurricane.”

“I’m not scared.”

“I never said you were scared,” Kien replied. “You’re nervous. There’s a difference. Don’t think there’s any real cure for that. Your type always get nervous.”

Art’s brow furrowed as a frown crossed his features. “My type? What’s that meant to mean?”

“Planners. Manipulators,” Kien replied with an arbitrary wave of his hand. “The ones that want to control everything. Deadly effective, but always overthinking. That’s your talent, after all. You can’t turn your brain off. The only thing you can do to still it is to gather the experience to silence your worries.”

“Have you known a lot of people like Art?” Vix asked, her head tilting slightly to the side.

“You meet all sorts in my field. Used to work with a number of his type. Only the really good ones stick around. The others break. Can’t take the pressure when their plan doesn’t hold up. So if you want my real advice — stay flexible. Don’t get fixated on one path.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Art said. “And—”

“Oh,” Kien said, holding a finger up. “And one more thing. Stop spending so much time worrying about what our opponents are capable of. Focus on us instead. The variables you can control are much better to base strategies off than the ones you can’t.”

Art’s eyes narrowed. “You seem to know a lot about this sort of thing. Did you work with a team a lot?”

Kien’s laughter died against his mask. “No. I prefer to work alone. But there was a time when I didn’t.”

The crowd roared again, and Kien tapped his broom against the ground pointedly.

“Combatants, it’s time!” Kraven boomed. “There are only four melee rounds left in this stage of the tournament, so let’s make sure to make them good ones! May the best group win! Begin!”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The arena exploded into motion. Some charged for each other while others bunched up to wait out the initial violence and clean up the survivors.

And, unsurprisingly, three teams charged right for Art’s. That was the one thing he’d been absolutely certain would happen. All the other competitors were burly adventurers and deadly looking mages.

His team was a cripple, a girl with no obvious weapon, and a man with a broom. They didn’t exactly strike a particularly intimidating silhouette.

Art shifted back behind Kien. He was mostly certain that there was no threat from any of the people attacking them, but he was no fighter. There weren’t any delusions in his mind about his chances of victory in hand-to-hand combat against any of the people in the tournament.

Three teams is a lot for our first real test. But there’s no way the other combatants will ignore this. Of the three, I’d be willing to bet that—

A huge barbarian charged across the arena floor, plowing right into one of the teams that had been running toward Art. The three warriors it had been composed of scattered like a herd of startled cats.

There we go. Left themselves wide open. Idiots.

“I’ll make sure nobody gets too close to you,” Vix promised as she shimmered and faded from view. She was still there — the sunlight was far too bright and there were no shadows for her to hide in, but making her camouflaged form out in the middle of a chaotic fight like this was going to be next to impossible for most people.

“You won’t have to worry about that,” Kien said. “They won’t.”

The first of the groups arrived at him. It was two warriors, both of which were clad in heavy armor, and a female ice mage. The mage skidded to a stop as his allies rushed Kien as one, taking aim with the staff she held at her side.

Kien exploded into motion. His broom snapped out, somehow finding its way in between the first warrior’s legs. He stumbled over the broom and Kien whipped it up, sweeping the man’s feet out from under him.

The second man lunged with his sword and let out a roar as he brought it down for Kien’s shoulder. Kien slipped to the side, extracting his broom from the fallen man. He kept the remaining warrior between himself and the frost mage, much to her growing annoyance.

And then the second group was upon them. A single, slender warrior that bore two swords and two casters. They were the bigger of the two threats in Art’s eyes — and they’d timed their approach well.

By showing up right as Art’s team and the other group were caught in the middle of a fight, the newcomers had a massive advantage. Art’s hand tightened on the handle of his crutch.

Both of the newly arrived casters called on their magic while the thin man raced right for Art. He’d identified the weak link of the team handily. It wasn’t exactly a difficult conjecture to make.

Kien needs to finish the first team off so he can back us up. Vix can’t hold two casters off at once, and I don’t want to reveal too much of what we’re capable of—

A body sailed through the air.

Art’s eyes widened as the second warrior that Kien had been fighting slammed right into the two casters with a loud crunch. The three of them all tumbled off the edge of the arena in a bundle of flailing limbs.

By the time Art had turned back to Kien, the former hero had moved to intercept the sleek, dual-wielding man from the second team. Kien brought his broom up and caught both of the swords on its handle with a ringing clang.

The warrior staggered back, his eyes going wide. “What is that broom made out of?”

“Wood,” Kien replied. He whipped the broom in a blur. Its hilt slammed into the warrior’s head with a resounding thunk and the man dropped on the spot. The attack had been so fast that he hadn’t even had a chance to dodge.

Kien’s gaze turned to the lone frost mage, the only surviving member of the two teams.

She finally had nothing left to block her shot. Her lips pulled back in a desperate snarl and she thrust her staff forward with a cry. The air crackled as ice materialized before the head of her staff, forming into a pointed blade and leaping free.

Kien stepped into the path of the attack. His broom moved almost lazily as he flicked it up, brushing the attack away like it was a speck of dirt on the ground. Then he flowed forward and closed the distance between himself and the mage before even Art had realized what was going on.

The mage’s eyes went wide in surprise. She tried to move — either to run or to attack again. She didn’t get the chance to do either. Kien’s palm slammed into her chin and her head snapped back.

The mage collapsed.

Two teams had been wiped out in the span of seconds — and Art wasn’t certain Kien had even used any magic in the process. He’d literally just used sheer strength to plow through them.

“Holy shit,” Art said.

“Why are you surprised? You already knew their general abilities. It would take a hundred such people to take me out,” Kien said. There was no arrogance in his voice. Only cold, calculated truth. He wasn’t bragging. He was simply that confident in his abilities.

“Right,” Art said, mentally adjusting a few things. He’d never seen Kien get serious in a fight — but it seemed they had a better chance than he’d thought before. A much better chance.

Even if he doesn’t have his former class, a former hero is terrifying.

A thought struck Art and a cold chill ran down his back. Kien was powerful, but he was nothing compared to what the Hero of Lian should have been. They were entirely different tiers of warrior.

If this is what Kien is capable of… just how powerful is Arwin?

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!