Rise of the Living Forge - Chapters 237-238 (Patreon)

Thunder roared within the Infernal Armory. Arwin’s hammer rose and fell in conjunction with the throbbing beats of the heart in the walls of the smithy, every strike sending a crashing shockwave tearing through the room.

The metal-covered head of the modified Verdant Inferno crackled with fire and lava dripped along its shaft, sizzling as it fell to the stone. [Soul Flame] wreathed Arwin’s hands to protect him from the heat rising off the hammer.

Cracks had spread throughout the ground centered around the large anvil before him, formed by the immense force of the strikes he’d been raining down on the nearly flattened piece of scale that had once been a pile before him.

Ripples passed through the stone as it continued to shift between every strike. Red smoke continued to pour into the ground, pulling supports from within it to continue aiding Arwin wield the enormous hammer.

It had been no more than five minutes since Arwin had started smithing. It felt like it was hours. For once, it wasn’t his energy that had gone first. Arwin still had magical reserves abound, but his physical strength had been sapped harder than it had ever been before.

Even with [Scourge], the hammer was heavy. Impossibly heavy. The weight it carried was far more than the metal making it up should have been able to manage.

Every single muscle in his body ached. Every movement felt like were trying to heave an entire house, but the Infernal Armory bore the hammer together with him. Power thrummed in the black lines connecting both him and Verdant Inferno to the teeming black mass in the wall, pulsating to the beat of the heart.

Arwin finally let the hammer lower. The metal covering it sloughed away like rushing water, turning molten and pouring into the cracks in the ground before vanishing. He dismissed Verdant Inferno and reached down to inspect the results of his efforts.

The air around it was still hazy. He could smell the heat in the air and his lips were dry, the excess moisture in his body and the room alike all having been burned away. The pile of scales had been more than just flattened.

They’d been merged. There were still ripples in the flat piece where Arwin could make out the edges of the individual scale, but it was completely smooth to the touch. It was glassy, like a sand struck by lightning.

The material was smooth and seamless to the touch. Once craggy scales had taken on a dark sheen. Flickers of molten orange burned deep within it, almost as if he’d hammered [Soul Flame] permanently into the scales.

Arwin tried to pick it up, but the plate wouldn’t budge. He blinked, then frowned. A divot formed in the anvil at the edge of the plate. He slipped his hand into it, heaving the plate vertical with a grunt.

“An impressive result,” the voice of the red smoke whispered. “The scales have melted together. Heat and force. An adequate utilization of our powers in conjunction.”

“So it is,” Arwin agreed. “But it’s too heavy. I need to make it smaller, and I don’t think I’ll be able to rip something this dense and strong apart, even with Scourge. You got a saw in there?”

There was a moment of hesitation. Steps moved away from Arwin through the crimson smoke before the voice responded again, this time from his other ear. “One sharp enough to cut this in a meaningful amount of time? No. I need better material. I cannot create what I do not possess. If you feed me the rest of the beast—”

“No,” Arwin said. “That’s Lillia’s don’t touch it. Can you just make me a strong metal spike?”

A metal spire rose up over the edge of the anvil and curved over, forming a flat end with a heavy spike protruding down from it directly above the center of the metal. Arwin lifted Verdant Blaze and reared back, swinging the hammer down with all his [Scourge] empowered might.

It slammed down on the flat piece of metal, slamming the spike down into the scale plate. The spike drove into it with a crack. Arwin hung the hammer three more times, sending the spike slightly deeper with every blow.

On the fourth, a crack split through the plate. It finally snapped on the next blow, splitting apart into two rough pieces, one considerably larger than the other. Arwin gathered the larger piece and moved it to the ground.

The stone split open and swallowed the piece whole before sealing back over as if nothing had happened. Arwin stared at the floor for a second before straightening back up and picking up the smaller plate.

  “I’m going to need more than my normal [Soul Flame] if I’m going to work with this,” Arwin said, but the smithy was already changing.

Red smoke poured into the cracks in the ground. The anvil sank beneath the cobblestone and a black metal tube arose in its place, about the width of Arwin’s chest. It came up to just below his neck before grinding to a halt.

There was an opening in the center of the tube just large enough for him to stick both of his hands through. A dull orange glow emanated from within it, steadily growing brighter. Heat rolled out from within the tube and into Arwin’s face, making him blink and squint.

A small spark of fire curled at the base of the hole. It intensified as a bed of [Soul Flame] crackled to life. It shifted from orange to blue to white, and the air around it turned hazy. Arwin smiled. He wreathed his arms in [Soul Flame] once more before placing the piece of scale plate within the flame.

Blemishes of oily color washed across the plate’s surface as it heated. The faint stench of burnt hair and coal mixed with the smell of sulfur hanging in the air. Flickers of fire danced out from within the tube and slipped by the protective [Soul Flame] covering Arwin.

It brushed across his skin, but failed to burn him. He wasn’t sure if that was because the [Soul Flame] was somehow an extension of his own powers or if the Infernal Armory had a way to control it.  That did little to make the fire much more bearable. The heat was so intense that Arwin had to fight for every breath he drew in. His eyes hurt from even trying to look in the direction of the blindingly hot furnace.

Arwin averted his gaze down to the pieces of metal he’d left on the ground. A section of the stone rose up, bearing the metal up to him. He took the steel first and stilled his thoughts, stilling his mind so he could hear the metal’s desires.

Visions flickered through his mind of the metal’s past. It was nothing that he hadn’t seen before. That didn’t make it any less important. The more he understood his materials, the better he could forge them.

He was unsurprised to find that the metal bore desires to be a blade. A dagger, a sword, all were fine with it. None would do. Arwin did not seek to make a weapon, and this metal had never truly considered anything else — but its desires weren’t so strong that he was convinced they couldn’t be changed.

“You could be that,” Arwin murmured. “You’d make a good blade. I could do that. I could turn you into a weapon. One that rips and kills. One that takes. Or I could make you into something more. Something that is looked upon with awe and desire. Something that is remembered. Your choice.”

He envisioned the dream he had for the metal, pushing it back through their tenuous bond. The visions slowed. It would have been wrong to say the metal was considering Arwin’s offer. It didn’t have that level of intelligence. It didn’t truly consider. But, after a few moments, there was a new vision.

Arwin smiled.

He set the prepared metal down on the protruding stone tendril to swap it out for the bar of Mithril. But, when he extended his senses to try and read the Mithril’s desire, there was nothing.

He could feel something deep within the metal. It didn’t lack desire. He simply couldn’t detect it. Arwin’s brow furrowed and he tried to pry deeper, but nothing came. The Mithril was unreadable.

So be it. You’ll just have to work as is, then.

Arwin set the Mithril to the side and returned his attention to the scale plate that he still held within the furnace. He grit his teeth and squinted, giving the piece of scale plate a test squeeze with [Scourge] empowered fingers now that the flame had a little bit to work its way in. It gave. Not much, but enough.

He grabbed the steel from where it sat in wait and brought it into the furnace, letting it heat. Arwin set the scale plate to the side for a few moments to roll the steel out between his palms like a piece of dough. He then pressed it against the scale plate. Arwin pinched their ends, squeezing scale and metal together in the intense heat.

The Mithril came next. He rolled it out as well, surprised to find how easily the metal let him shape it. It was like working with putty. In just moments, he had it prepared. Arwin pressed it together with the other two components and started to braid them over each other.

With every movement, he poured magical energy from his body into the trio of metals and scale. He’d expecting making something with Mithril to be a long, laborious process. A major test like this felt like it should have taken hours.

It didn’t. Within minutes, Arwin had wrapped the metal tightly and run it through his hands, removing any irregularities and smoothing out small bumps. A bracelet, far too small to fit his own wrist, rested hidden from even his own eyes within the flames of the forge.

Magic tingled like a raging river beneath Arwin’s fingers. The bracelet would be finished the moment he pulled his hand free of the flame.

“Remove it,” the voice whispered, eager steps pattering behind Arwin. “Reveal our first creation.”

Wallace watched from the side of the smithy, his bearded face once again unreadable and a hand gripping his hammer in a tight knuckled grip. He was waiting, just as Arwin and the voice were.

I’m not so sure I want to finish without double checking my work or something. I didn’t feel the Mithril doing anything fancy. It’s just a bracelet. A nice one, I hope, but a bracelet. But if I don’t wrap this up, Lillia could show back up before I’m done. There’s no way nobody heard all the sound I was making in here, so it’s just a matter of time. 

Arwin’s jaw set. There was only one thing left to do.

He pulled the bracelet free.

Chapter 238

Wallace felt like he’d swallowed a chunk of coal, and there wasn’t nearly enough room for two crazed rock-eating idiots in one smithy. A droplet of sweat rolled down his back as his grip on his hammer tightened.

The heart in the walls thumped and black veins pulsed with energy. A sickening, thrumming bass that tickled the inside of his skull in all the wrong ways. It was unnatural. Vile. Thoughts twisted in Wallace’s mind like rising smoke, and none of them were good.

There was more to it than just the biological components buried within the building. He hadn’t lived this long without learning how to learn how to read the signals his body sent him before his eyes could pick them up, and there was something deeply wrong with the Infernal Armory.

Chills traveled down Wallace’s arms and left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t feel anything. And yet, there was something else present. Wallace was so certain of it that he’d bet his hammer or his mother — though not both.

Where is it? What the Nine Underlands lives in this building?

Wallace couldn’t find it. Arwin was busy studying the results of his work, but the dwarf was a little preoccupied to look in the other smith’s direction. It wasn’t like Arwin could even deny the presence. He’d been speaking to it.

Well, I suppose he could have been speakin’ to himself. I do that a bit when the going gets real rough. But it certainly didn’t sound like he was just having a solo conversation. There’s something here, and it ain’t all that happy about me.

The dwarf’s certainty did absolutely nothing to reveal the target of his woes. An uneasy air hung over him like a blade as he scanned the smithy for the umpteenth time and found nothing for his troubles. Nothing was truly invisible, but whatever this thing was, it was doing a damn good job of hiding.

No amount of hiding could conceal the sickness within it. The hatred and anger burned brighter than any forge. A hunger for blood so intense that, even as the presence faded to remnants and then to nothing, Wallace could still feel it on his skin like a layer of slime.

Energy pooled in Wallace’s body. It trickled into the handle of his hammer but he kept it from traveling too far and lighting up its head. Arwin didn’t seem like the type of lad to start messing with vile forces, but his gut didn’t lie. One didn’t have to be evil themselves to make a deal with a wretched force. Wallace would be damned if anyone like that left his presence in one piece — and much less with the knowledge of Dwarven Smith, no matter how junior.

But even with the immense unease hung over his shoulders like a cloak, Wallace couldn’t completely keep the awe from taking root. He’d seen a number of different smithing methods in his lifetime.

There were dwarves that wove metal like grass. Smiths that sang objects into existence with their voice and the raw materials alone. He had witnessed hundreds of different and completely unique crafting methods.

Wallace had never seen anything like this. It wasn’t that Arwin’s method was unbelievably impressive. He hadn’t been a thousand times more efficient than a dwarven master. Arwin hadn’t been efficient at all, for that matter. It had taken him a little longer than Wallace would have expected from an average apprentice.

Arwin wasn’t better than any of the smith’s he’d trained. In fact, he was worse than the majority of them. He’d gotten help — and therein laid Wallace’s disbelief. The Infernal Armory had done more than passively offer Arwin a few tools.

It had been working alongside him, and that should have been impossible. The epitome of Dwarven Smithing was establishing a perfect link between a smith and their artwork. The harmonization of two songs — not three.

Trying to add an extra voice in should have broken everything. Wallace might have been able to believe it if the feat had been done by two master smiths pushing to their absolute limits and weathered by hundreds of years of experience. Even if they’d pulled it off, he doubted the result would have been anything worthwhile. An extra voice just added confusion. It broke the connection.

And yet, the lad’s smithing technique stands in polar opposite to all of that. A complete antithesis of the Dwarven race. I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with me own eyes. Imagine that. A smith that works at his best when in conjunction with another.

Unfortunately, Wallace was pretty sure that other would have loved nothing more than to rip his throat out on the spot. In the end, there was only one way to find out. He glanced over at Arwin. The other hadn’t said a word since he’d pulled his object from within the furnace the smithy had made him. There was a bracelet cupped within his hands, mostly concealed from Wallace’s gaze.

“Well?” Wallace asked, finally breaking the silence and taking a step forward. He kept a good grip on his hammer, ready to burst into motion. Arwin shouldn’t have been much of a threat, but the intensity of the presence in the building had set him on edge. “Show me what you’ve got, boy.”

There’s much I don’t know. Arrogance will not blind me to danger.

Arwin looked up. His features were unreadable. For a moment, it looked like he was going to try to do… something. Run. Fight. Wallace wasn’t sure. He already had his hammer at the ready. If Arwin did anything but show him the object, the result would be the same. They would fight. The human would die.

A second passed. Wallace’s grip tightened. Then Arwin blew out a slow sigh and pulled his hands apart, revealing the bracelet. Three bands of material wove into a delicate band that was far too small to fit on Arwin’s wrist. The metal wasn’t exactly perfect, but there was something about it that just… fit. It glistened faintly in the light, complete in its ruggedness. Wallace’s eyes tingled as the Mesh acknowledged the item before him. He activated [Soulsight] before any letters could even try to trace themselves into the air.

The skill washed across the bracelet and enveloped it with a faint light visible only to the dwarf’s eyes. Every magical item had an aura. It had a story, and one that told of more than just its constituents. The aura was a window into the materials and their crafter alike.

Wallace steeled himself. Anything made by the presence he had felt, so laden with hatred and evil, could be nothing but—

Beautiful?

His eyes widened. A delicate gold glimmer enveloped the band, akin to the shimmer of the Mesh but as gentle as a lover’s touch. The band was full of love and compassion so resolute that nobody bearing witness could deny it.

Without a doubt, Wallace could tell that the man before him was more than willing to lay his life down to protect the lives of the ones he cared about. Oddly enough, he had. There was death in the aura, swirls of gentle darkness that were no stranger to Arwin.

It had been dozens of years since Wallace had last witnessed the darkness. There were a scant few that had passed from this realm and into the next, only to return. Their presence was a sign of great power and respect. They were cause for question, not distrust.

But that was not the extent of it.

Wallace’s throat tightened as he peered deeper into the aura. He took an involuntary step back. The Mithril in the band had absorbed the essence of Arwin’s soul to saturation. Within it, he saw a monster in the form of a man. Legions of living beings, dead at his hands. An ocean of blood that could fill valleys. The weight of countless lives weighed upon Arwin like shackles trying to drag him to the Underlands.

And, as if it had been waiting for him to finish taking in the sight before him, the Mesh finally bloomed forth in the air before Wallace in letters as red as blood.

The Band Three [Cursed]

[Mithril Soul]: This item was forged of the legendary material Mithril and has revealed its maker’s true self.

[The Dead]: The Path of the Butcher.

[The Protector]: The Path of the Martyr.

[The Promise]: The Path of the Lover.

[The Band Three]: Three paths lay before the wearer of The Band Three. It will observe its bearer until it understands their desires, empowering the path that fits them best and permanently locking the other two. Once donned, this item cannot be removed until its path has been selected.  

“Nine Underlands,” Wallace breathed, his grip on his hammer slackening slightly as he stared at the ruddy crimson words. A cursed item. There couldn’t have possibly been a worse result.

“Am I remiss in hoping you’re just impressed?” Arwin sounded weary.

Everything Wallace had ever learned told him to strike before the human even knew what happened. To end the battle before it could begin. Any being whose true soul revealed a cursed item was vile beyond comprehension.

And yet, Wallace hesitated. There was more than just evil in the lad. His soul had darkness, but it also had light. If both truly existed, then purging the evil would come at the cost of killing the good.

There are men whose place it is to judge such things, but I do not know if I am one of them. I do not want to be one of them. But if I do nothing, will I not be responsible for the legions that may fall because of my inaction?

This was about more than just Arwin. Even his bracelet made no sense. A cursed item hadn’t been something he’d had the misfortune of dealing with before, but only one of the three paths described by the band seemed truly evil.

The duality in Arwin’s soul was immense. He was savior and murderer, both the extended hand and the blade that severed it. Seconds ground by. The two of them stood in silence, their gazes locked. Wallace’s grip on his hammer tightened. 

My questions run as deep as the earth, but my time does not. I may be lowered to nothing more than filth, but I could not live with myself if I loosed an evil of this magnitude upon the world. May the gods forgive me.

His stance shifted. Then the front door of the smithy creaked open.

“Wallace?” Lillia’s voice came as she stepped into the building. “I’m not late, am I? I got caught up cooking.”

Arwin’s eyes broke away instantly, leaving himself completely open without a second of hesitation as he turned toward Lillia. Wallace’s eyes flicked down to the bracelet — sized too small for the man’s hands, but perfectly for hers.

“Hold on,” Arwin called. “Don’t come in yet!”

“Arwin?” Lillia’s voice lit up. “How did it go? You were supposed to wait for me to get back! Did you pass?”

“I don’t know yet. Sorry — we kind of got a bit ahead of ourselves. Would you mind waiting outside for a bit longer, please? Wallace is still deciding on my results. The old bastard’s eyes are about to pop out of his head because of how we’re breaking all his traditions.”

“Wallace is here too?” A flicker of disapproval passed through Lillia’s tone. “I hope he knows he’s never touching so much as a droplet of my drinks if he even thinks about trying to attack us.”

“I figure he’s well aware, but I’ll pass it along.” Arwin’s eyes returned to Wallace’s, his gaze serious.

Lillia harrumphed. Her footsteps led back to the outer door and it closed a few seconds later, leaving the two of them alone again.

She said ‘us’. Girl doesn’t consider the chance of him fighting on his own, and he stopped paying attention to me the moment she arrived. Could someone who killed in such number truly form such a connection with another living being?

Arwin’s hand closed around the bracelet and his arm lowered. “Not exactly what I was aiming to make.”

“That’s how Mithril works, lad.”

“I suppose so.” Arwin was silent for a second. “What did it tell you? What kind of person am I?”

Wallace stared at the human. Deep down, people who had accomplished anything knew who they were. They either regretted or took pride in their actions, but they knew. Arwin was different. There was genuine confusion in his voice. He genuinely meant his question — and Wallace was starting to realize he might not be able to give it an answer.