Rise of the Living Forge - Chapters 439-440 (Patreon)

Heya guys!

There's a big creatives event happening in Tokyo tomorrow that I'll be attending, doing some recruitment for the comics/manga arm of Aethon. I don't know how long it'll last, so there's a chance there won't be chapters Friday. I'll follow up on it as soon as I know (AKA once I get home from the event).

Thanks for your patience!

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Thoughts blurred through Arwin’s head in rapid succession as he did a remarkable job of keeping his expression perfectly flat — a fact that he deeply hoped Rodrick would have been proud of. 

The dwarf wasn’t trying to challenge him at all. She was after Wallace. Or, at least, interested in him. He didn’t know for certain that Wallace was actually in trouble. Arwin wasn’t optimistic about his chances. What he knew about the way dwarves handled themselves didn’t paint a very pretty picture. 

And she’s pretty damn accusatory. But Rodrick definitely would have warned me this was going on if he knew what she was up to. That means this dwarf kept her goals completely to herself and literally waited here every day, just to get a chance to eventually see me.

That isn’t the move of someone just doing some petty snooping. There’s something a whole lot bigger going on. Shit.

This really wasn’t the type of issue that Arwin had much training dealing with. Playing games like this was Art and Rodrick’s domain. But they weren’t here — and if Arwin backpedaled hard or went for help, it would immediately become obvious that he was hiding something. A lack of an answer was going to be just as damning as a bad one. 

Screw it.

“What are you implying?” Arwin asked sharply. “Spit it out. All you’ve done is shown me a sub-par magical item and then gone spouting nonsense. If you’ve got an accusation, then lay it on the table.”

“You want to skip bandying words? I’ll oblige.” The dwarf’s lips pulled into a cold sneer. “Where’s the dwarf that’s been teaching you, boy? He has not obtained permission from the Council to create some… bastardized version of a dwarven smith. And if you know what’s best for you, you’ll—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Arwin said with a booming laugh. He raised his hands defensively as the dwarf’s features tightened in anger. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude… but are you really implying that I need someone to teach me my craft? I am Ifrit. My teams just crushed one of the most competent smiths in the Proving Grounds — and even Necrohammer acknowledged my talent. What do I care about some idiots claiming their methods are better than mine?”

“Idiots?” The anger on the woman’s features turned to raw fury. “You dare insult the quality of a Dwarven Smith’s work? I wouldn’t expect a human to understand how to sing to metal. But your fool of a master should have taught you that we far eclipse anything that some pathetic human smith could ever create.”

“You think this little piece of crap is proof of that?” Arwin asked, plucking the hammer from the smith’s grasp with a small burst of power from [Scourge]. It was slightly harder than Arwin had been expecting. The dwarf was strong. Unfortunately for her, she was nowhere near as strong as he was. 

The dwarf’s eyes widened slightly. She definitely hadn’t been expecting that. 

“Your words do not align with the truth. That is the hammer of a master smith. One that I am quite certain you have seen before,” the dwarf spat.

Arwin’s lips thinned. They were getting too much attention from the crowd. Even if he managed to shut the dwarf down, it wasn’t going to matter if things got too out of hand. He had to handle this quickly… or get out of the public eye. 

“This little piece of trash is barely worth using as a coal pusher. It would probably shatter if I swung it at my anvil once,” Arwin said. He extended his free hand to the side and summoned Caldera with a thought. The massive warhammer snapped into existence with a thrum and Arwin drove its butt down into the street beside him. “This is a hammer.”

“It is an unwieldy piece of trash,” the dwarf hissed. “You dare insult our sacred tools? Your teacher truly is a fool. The hammer you hold is worth more than anything you have ever made. It can withstand the very core of a volcano.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I tested it?” Arwin asked, arching an eyebrow. “I’d be willing to wager I could shatter this garbage in one move.”

The dwarf burst into laughter. “You think I’d ever let you swing—”

“Then a bet. Between a real smith and a garbage one.” Arwin’s lips pulled into an arrogant sneer. “One that decides which of us is which. If I fail to do as I said, then I will do whatever you ask. Answer any questions you have. You may consider me your lesser. But if I am right, then I will confiscate every piece of trash you dared to bring to my street and use them as scrap metal. You will never do business in Milten again. I can’t have people showing up on my doorstep to insult my work and challenge me.”

The dwarf sneered at him. “You think talking big game will scare me? Come then, Ifrit. But you should know who you challenge. I am Ida, apprentice-daughter to Indrana of the Dwarven Council, and I am a Dwarven Master Smith.”

Excited murmurs passed through the crowd. Arwin was pretty sure they didn’t actually give a shit which of them won. People were just excited about the drama. That was just human nature. Nobody was going to object to a show getting put on for them.

Unfortunately for the crowd, the show wasn’t going to last long.

“Why would I care?” Arwin asked.

“I suppose it was remiss to expect a human to understand dwarven customs,” Ida said in disgust. “Whoever taught you needs to be put imprisoned. Your lack of understanding shames them worse than I ever could have realized. It is customary for Dwarven Smiths to introduce themselves before a challenge.”

“But you already know who I am. I don’t need an introduction.” Arwin’s lips twitched in amusement. “I am Ifrit. And that is all that matters. Now, allow me to add a title to your list.”

“Come, then. Let us see your anvil,” Ida said. “I will enjoy watching you fail.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Arwin said, barely able to hide the dark amusement in his tone.

 He opened his mouth. Then he raised the hammer up to it, sticking the tool’s head into his mouth. 

Confusion and disgust passed over the Dwarven Smith’s features. “You ape! Get that out of your—”

Arwin bit down. There was an instant of resistance as the magic within the hammer fought back against him. But it wasn’t enough. His jaw clenched. 

The hammer shattered.

A tsunami of power flowed down his throat and into his body. The tool had been powerful. It slammed into Arwin’s gut like a physical blow, nearly knocking him off his feet. Every single scrap of will he had went into keeping from doubling over — but the look on Ida’s face might as well have been a reinforcing spell.

Ohh, that hit the spot. The Hungering Maw is going to love this one. It’s practically a three course meal. Haven’t eaten like that in a while. Delicious. 

Ida’s mouth hung open in disbelief. She stared in horror at the stump of her hammer. She reached up toward it, the fingers of her hand twitching as her mind battled with what her eyes had seen.

“This wasn’t even worth using as a toothpick,” Arwin said, dropping the remains of the hammer on the ground. It struck the cobblestone with a resounding clang, clattering to a stop before Ida. “I don’t suppose you brought a second one of those? I almost feel bad winning so easily.”

The Dwarven Smith fell to her knees before the hammer and scooped it up like a fallen child. For several seconds, the smith said nothing. She stared at the useless piece of metal in her hands. All the magical power within it was gone.

“How?” she whispered. “What have you done? This is impossible. That hammer… it was older than you are. It was stronger than you. How could you do that?”

She couldn’t even finish the sentence. The horror and stunned disbelief enveloping her features simply wouldn’t let her speak another word. In all fairness, it was probably pretty difficult to watch what should have been an object nearing the power of an artifact to get chomped in half like a crunchy banana. 

Don’t worry, Ida. The hammer didn’t go to waste. It was really tasty. 

“I did as I said I would,” Arwin said flatly. “Arrogance must be earned. Yours was not. I have a great deal of respect for Dwarven Smiths — other than yourself, of course. But I am no mere Dwarven Smith. You should have taken a different approach. My techniques are not what you believed them to be. They are far, far older.  You have paid the price to discover that. I hope it was worth it.”

“What are you?” Ida whispered. “You ate metal. That—”

“A party trick,” Arwin said with a laugh. “And a magician doesn’t reveal his secrets. In truth, I just snapped the head of your hammer off with just my jaw. But I’d say it makes for a good show, doesn’t it?”

The crowd jostled. Murmurs rolled through it as the adventurers started to chuckle. Not one of them had the faintest idea as to how powerful Ida’s hammer had actually been. They had absolutely no reason not to believe Arwin’s words. 

“Get out of here!” an adventurer called. “That was pathetic! He ate your hammer! Seriously, how do you recover from that?”

 “Maybe she can get it back when he shits it out,” another one said with a chuckle. “No way I’m buying anything from her, though. Goddamn. If a barbarian had done that, I might have been impressed. But a smith? Ifrit’s stuff is impressive but come on. He doesn’t have the jaw strength to bite a whole ass hammer in half. That thing must have been a piece of crap.”

Ida’s hands clenched into balls. Her gaze raised to meet Arwin’s again. 

In turn, he arched an eyebrow. 

“Leave the cart on your way out, unless you want to waste time taking all that crap off it while the crowd laughs at you,” Arwin said. “Feel free to go tell your mother who you lost to. Maybe she’ll send someone politer next time. I’d be happy to deal with them again. I can always use more scrap metal.”

“I am not some squabbling child who runs to her mother at the first sign of defeat,” Ida hissed, pushing herself to her feet. 

“Is that so?” Arwin tilted his head to the side. “Then get the hell off my street. This challenge is over. You lose.”

Chapter 440

Arwin was halfway through turning on his heel to stride back into the Infernal Armory when he realized that, if the door opened, Ida could see inside. That normally wouldn’t have been a problem. The smithy had two rooms for a reason.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t work that Arwin was trying to hide from the dwarf. It was Wallace. And he’d left Wallace was standing right in the main room with Koyu. He couldn’t let Ida see them.

Damn it. Pain in the ass, this is. I could really use some backup from Rodrick or somebody. Has nobody noticed what’s going on yet?

 Fortunately for him, Ida was still too stricken by the remains of her hammer to observe Arwin’s hesitation. The crowd had already all but forgotten about her. Their entertainment had ended, and they were all either trying to yell to get Arwin’s attention or squeezing their way back into line for the Devil’s Den.

Arwin ignored them all. He wasn’t about to start taking on more commissions without letting someone vet them, but he couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. His eyes alighted on Ida’s wagon of metals. 

A grin pulled at his lips. At least something useful had come out of this. Despite his earlier claim, nothing about her equipment actually seemed particularly bad… and there was definitely nothing wrong with the materials that had gone into them.

This must have all cost a pretty penny. Don’t mind if I do. 

Arwin strode right over to the cart. The wheels were barely holding the wooden structure upright under the weight of all the equipment piled into it. Arwin didn’t even blink. He just crouched down, getting as good of a grasp on the cart as he could.

Then, with a grunt, he activated [Scourge] and stood.

Murmurs rolled through the crowd as Arwin hoisted the cart into the air, items and all. He paid them no mind as he ambled back over to the Infernal Armory. Arwin dropped the cart off in front of the door with a heavy thud, blocking it off completely. 

Fire hazard, yes. Also an effective way to make sure nobody comes out and gets spotted. Sorry, Wallace. Sit around for a little while. You’ll thank me for this later. Something tells me you don’t want the daughter of a dwarven councilmember spotting you in my smithy right after I told her off.

With his load deposited, Arwin strode through the crowd, pushing past the adventurers milling about the street as gently as he could, before arriving at the entrance of the Devil’s Den. 

It quickly became apparent why he hadn’t gotten any backup. Madiv stood outside, engaged in a heated discussion with several adventurers over the quality of Lillia’s food. Not one of them actually seemed to be disparaging her cooking — they just couldn’t seem to decide which part of it was the best.

Arwin suppressed the urge to sigh. He supposed it was good that there wasn’t an actual problem going on, but Madiv was possibly just a little bit too focused on Lillia. The vampire didn’t seem like he’d even noticed what had gone down in the crowd just moments before. 

In all fairness to Madiv, he probably would have overheard if an actual fight had started. Arwin didn’t bother bringing the topic up now. They could discuss it later. Really, his delay in reaction was the symptom of the problem they had rather than the cause.

We need more activities for people to do on the street. When they all just line up in a wall of flesh like this, it becomes borderline impossible to actually navigate things. Then again, it also provides me a very effective cover to abandon irate dwarves in the crowd.

Arwin slipped into the Devil’s Den. All too quickly, he realized his mistake. Every single one of the tables was taken. There was a reason Lillia had a massive line trailing through the street to get into her tavern in the middle of the evening. 

Ah, crap.

He didn’t want to just stride into the kitchen and bother Lillia while she was working. But it wasn’t like Arwin could turn and head back to the Infernal Armory either — he’d just blocked the entrance off to make sure Ida didn’t go snooping and Wallace didn’t mistakenly give himself away. 

Going back out in general felt like it would be less than ideal. Ida could still be hovering around, and even though the dwarf had been thoroughly trounced, Arwin had absolutely no desire to deal with her any further today. 

At least I’m pretty sure she’s going to leave by tomorrow. She was arrogant. People like that can’t handle getting humiliated… and I imagine she’s probably got to go whine to her mom that I broke her toy. Maybe they’ll bring me something better to confiscate.

That thought brought a small grin to Arwin’s lips. It, unfortunately, didn’t help him with his displacement issue. He was just about to think about squeezing through the kitchen to retire to bed early when he spotted a table near the corner of the room that didn’t look quite as busy as it should have.

A lone woman sat at it, hands crossed and a single plate of half-finished food sitting before her. There were two mugs of ale on the table. One sat before her, but the other had been positioned in wait for a companion. 

Long black hair hung around the woman’s face. It was so thick that making out any details of her features was like trying to pool into the ocean during the darkest night. Fortunately for Arwin, he didn’t need a single feature to recognize who it was. There was only one person with hair like that.

Arwin wove through the tables, doing his best not to knock too many people’s cups over or trample over the shadow imps scurrying around the tavern and delivering food to people. The cacophony of rancorous adventurers rang in his ears as he drew up to the table to stand before Eleven.

It had been a short while since the Setting Sun had last paid the Menagerie a visit. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He did know that Eleven wouldn’t show up here without any purpose. She wanted something.

“Hello, Ifrit,” Eleven said. “It’s been a little while, hasn’t it? Has your guild been faring well?”

“Well enough,” Arwin replied. He nodded to the mug across from Eleven. “Waiting on someone?” 

“Yes,” Eleven replied. “You.”

Arwin grunted. He pulled a chair out and sat down across from the strange woman. Odd or not, she was dangerous. Eleven was probably the only one able of passing through the Devil’s Den without notifying Lillia, and he still wasn’t completely convinced that the Setting Sun were their allies.

“That’s not ominous in the slightest,” Arwin said. “Care to say why you were just sitting around waiting for me to show up? Do you think I frequently just wander the tavern aimlessly?”

“Sorry. I’m trying to save words today,” Eleven said with a sigh. She massaged the sides of her temples like she had a headache. “Spoke too much yesterday. Now I’m tired. And now I’m wasting even more words. Don’t tell Two about this. He always tells me this is how it’ll end up.”

Arwin stared at her for a few moments. Then he mustered up the sum of what he’d learned from their conversation thus far. 

“What?”

“Forget it,” Eleven sighed again. “I’ll give up on my hopes of a restful day. I was waiting for anyone from the Menagerie. It didn’t have to be you. Worked out, though. So, you want to tell me what you did with Twelve’s body?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Eleven brushed her hair back, but the effort was futile. It fell back over her faces so quickly that her features barely even got a second to be exposed to the dim light of the Devil’s Den.

“Worth a try,” Eleven said. “What about the Dungeon Heart? Use it yet?”

“Still debating on the best use.”

“Smart. One will be glad to hear that. He hates rash people,” Eleven said. “Then let’s cut to business. You remember that offer we gave you a while back?”

“To give us missions in exchange for materials?” Arwin leaned forward slightly. Even though he’d had a bunch of commissions, they were never not going to need access to some more good stuff to work with. “Yes. Do you have one?”

“We do,” Eleven said. “And I think it should suit your team quite well. It’s an infiltration mission.”

Arwin paused. “Wait, what? I thought these were going to be dungeons and the like.”

Eleven leveled a flat stare at him. At least, Arwin suspected that was what she was doing. It was a bit hard to be certain with her hair completely blocking out her face. 

“Do you really think we exclusively need help with just dungeons?” Eleven asked. “Fighting is amongst the least of our concerns. Nobody in our guild has any shortcoming there. This is the kind of job that needs a far subtler hand. It needs someone stealthy. Intelligent. Capable.”

Arwin tilted his head to the side. Then his eyes narrowed. 

“Is… this a mission that One gave you? That you don’t want to do yourself?”

Eleven stiffened. Then she cleared her throat. “Let’s avoid semantics. Who cares who originally got assigned the mission? What matters is that I’ve brought it here. But, hypothetically, does your tavern have any spare rooms that I could use while I wait for you to handle this? Ones with heavy curtains. Dim windows. No windows would be even better, actually.”

She’s definitely pawning this off on us because she doesn’t want to do it herself. I think she sounds more excited about the idea of getting to sleep than she does about the job. 

Arwin couldn’t tell if he was more amused or annoyed at that. At least it probably meant that the job was legitimate. He’d never met someone who had bemoaned their job quite as much as Eleven had. She definitely just wanted a break.

“We might be able to figure something out,” Arwin said with a small laugh. “It depends. What’s the pay and what exactly is it that you want us to do?”

“Well, that depends.” Eleven leaned forward. “There’s someone we’re investigating. Have you heard of House Blacktongue?”