Rise of the Living Forge - Chapter 256 (Patreon)

Arwin’s eyes snapped open. He sucked in a breath, tasting ash and metal in the air. He was back in the Infernal Armory. A dull, throbbing presence had affixed itself to the back of his mind like a fishing line.

He could still feel the Wyrm scale on top of the anvil. Lingering memories of the shield in his vision lurked in his thoughts. The details were limited, but it was almost as if the weapon had already decided what it wanted to look like.

It was different from the guidance than the Mesh had given him in times before. There was no hint as to how he could make the shield, no glowing lights to tell him where to hit. It was more like the scale was a customer asking him for a commission.

Fortunately, there’s more than enough room in the request for me to put my own work in. Cursed weapons seem more like a partnership with the materials I’m working with than just making something entirely on my own. Interesting. I wonder how similar it is to what Lillia and I did. Will the Wyrm scale actually help me make the shield? Or did I already receive all the help I’m getting?

Suppose there’s only one way to find out.  

Arwin sat up. His clothes were covered in soot and dirt. There would be no saving them now, so he didn’t even bother trying to brush them clean. He just rose to his feet and braced his hands against the anvil as he studied the materials waiting before him. Brightsteel, Maristeel, and a single scale. That was it. He’d worked with this number of materials before, but he’d never worked with them like this.

“Let’s see what we can do,” Arwin said, interlocking his fingers and stretching his hands out. He cast his gaze around the armory in search of the red mist, but it was nowhere to be found. “Hey. You here?”

A curl of smoke rose up through the floor. It flitted past his feet and twisted into a pillar on the other side of the anvil before collapsing like a burst water balloon. Steps swept through the mist as it crawled across the floor.

“You called?” the Armory asked.

“We’ve got work to do,” Arwin said. “You ran off on me.”

“I do not have infinite energy. I cannot afford to maintain our connection when you are asleep.” A hint of irritation entered the invisible being’s voice. “Now that you are done napping, I am prepared to continue.”

Arwin snorted. He shook his arms out and nodded. “Then let’s get on with it. I’ve got an impatient customer, and I’m not feeling particularly lazy myself. I’ve got some work to do.”

A distant laugh echoed through the armory. Black tendrils twisted out of the walls and slithered across the ground. They followed the lines interlacing over the floor before reaching Arwin.

He grit his teeth in discomfort as the tendrils punched into his flesh. No matter how small the tendrils were, getting stabbed wasn’t particularly enjoyable. He also didn’t miss that the Infernal Armory was able to penetrate his skin even through [Indomitable Bulwark]. Granted, it didn’t actually do much damage, but it didn’t seem to be trying to hurt him either.

How much is this building actually capable of?

A rush of energy ran down the lines and into Arwin’s body. His thoughts slammed to a halt. The connection between himself and the Infernal Armory intensified as their power mixed. Energy lit the smithy’s veins with a muted, shadowy glow.  

“What are we waiting for?” the Armory asked, its voice echoing around Arwin. Smoke twisted past his arms and curled over the surface of the anvil. “I feel the item. It speaks with you.”

Arwin extended a hand. Verdant Inferno materialized in his grip and a purr rolled across his mind, followed by a flicker of irritation. The hammer was angry. It hadn’t gotten to be part of the fight against the Wyrm.

He had absolutely no idea how the hammer had managed to figure that out, but he did his best to send reassuring thoughts in its direction. It wasn’t like it had been his choice to avoid using it. Arwin would have been more than happy to have a little help — but that just wasn’t how the vision had worked.

In a way, it makes sense. Can’t really test someone when they’ve got all their abilities and skills and items to rely on. You’ve got to get down to the real parts of who they are.

Fire prickled against his hand. Another wave of annoyance rolled from Verdant Blaze. Arwin chuckled.

“Sorry, sorry. I promise I’ll use you as much as I possibly can, okay? I’m not cheating on you, I swear.” Arwin hesitated. Then he frowned. “Wait. Scratch that. We’re not in that kind of relationship. I’m with Lillia. I’m not cheating on you with another crafting weapon.”

“Would you stop arguing with your damn hammer?” the Armory asked, exasperated. “I am waiting!”

“Oh, stuff it,” Arwin said. “I’ll ask Lillia to make you some food soon.”

“Can I have—”

“No,” Arwin replied. He adjusted his grip on Verdant Inferno. Waves of amusement rolled off it and into his mind as [Soul Flame] poured out of his hands and raced into the hammer’s haft. Its head erupted in flame. “Now let’s get to work. Give me another work surface and some heat. I need to prepare some metal.”

“As you command,” the Infernal Armory replied, and the two of them got to work.

***

Verdant Inferno’s song was indistinguishable from Arwin’s. The clang of metal echoed through the smith. Firelight danced across the walls, flashing as the hammer rose and fell, striking like the marching feet of an army.

Arwin worked the metals, forming them into plates. The materials almost seemed eager to reach their promised form. Every strike melted them into place as if it had been three. Each adjustment worked out just right, and the Wyrm scale hummed along with Arwin in his mind.

He formed the internal portion of the shield from Brightsteel, sticking to the form that he’d received back in his vision. A roughly triangular shape that could cover just about half of his body, largely unadorned on the side that he would hold.

The shield’s face took shape from Maristeel, as did the horns at its top. The Wyrm Scale went right in its center, sandwiched between the two metals. It remained equally as unadorned for the time being, the design being left for last.

Intent and magic poured from Arwin with every strike he made. It bonded the metals together, drew from his desires and those of the scale, and was amplified by the Infernal Armory. Arwin worked like no human smith ever could have hoped to.

His arms didn’t grow tired. His intent was ironclad, held in place not only by his own mind but also by the smithy and the scale. His magical reserves drew from the Infernal Armory and refused to run out.

“Oil,” Arwin called.

A basin rose from the ground at his side, full of black liquid. He plunged the shield into it and flames roared across its surface. The basin sank back into the ground and Arwin pulled the quenched shield free, bringing it back to the anvil.

Strike by strike, more of the shield took form. Energy prickled at Arwin’s fingertips whenever they touched the smoothing metal. The connection between himself and the scale began to shift.

It wasn’t just a bond to a magical material anymore.

It was a bond to a burgeoning shield.

Sweat rolled down Arwin’s brow and flew from him with every strike. The temperature in the smithy had risen past sweltering and he could have sworn he smelled brimstone in the distance. He didn’t let himself consider it for long. He couldn’t let his attention stray from his work.

The base form of the shield was done, now. It looked exactly as it had in the vision — but Arwin was not satisfied. He refused to stop now. This was the minimum. Not the goal.

“Chisel,” Arwin called.

“You have not given me a suitable chisel. Anything I can make will shatter against the materials you work with.”

Arwin cursed under his breath, then dismissed Verdant Inferno. A flicker of disappointment passed from the hammer into him, but it understood that its job was done. It probably helped that he didn’t actually have another tool to replace it yet.

Fortunately, Arwin was perfectly fine working with his hands.

“Heat,” Arwin requested.

Bricks rippled to his side and a furnace lifted itself from the floor. Black veins ran up its sides and poured lava into its center, doubtlessly stolen from Wallace. Arwin grinned. [Soul Flame] encased his hands and he brought the shield to the furnace, heating it and using [Scourge] to empower a finger and carve designs into its face.

Arwin had never been trained as an artist. He’d had some practice on previous items, but this was the most ambitious design he’d ever tried for. It was fortunate he was far from working alone. What remained of the scale guided his hand and the Infernal Armory seemed to understand as well. Arwin felt his mind sharpen. His fingertip’s movement grew precise and controlled, acting exactly as he desired it to.

Line by line, a snarling maw of a Wyrm took form within the shield. Arwin shaped the Maristeel, forming the monster’s features in three dimensions to the absolute best of his abilities. This was an item made from one of the strongest opponents he and the Menagerie had faced since his arrival in Milten. The monster had been under Jessen’s control, but before it had fallen, it had commanded respect.

  He saw no reason as to why that would no longer hold true. Arwin’s coalition of workers pulled the Wyrm’s essence forth, drawing on every memory he had of the immense creature to do its visage justice.

The energy flowing to him started to peter out. He felt the black strands connecting him to the Infernal Armory slip out of his shoulders and slap to the ground, but still, he didn’t stop working.

A throbbing ache swallowed his muscles and a blanket of weariness threatened to swallow him. His arms burned and his magical reserves dwindled. Arwin could feel the strength leaving his body in real time, but he didn’t let himself slow. He’d worked through worse. His hand started to tremble. There was no sign of the red mist anymore. The Armory was completely out of strength.

Arwin wasn’t. Not yet.

His teeth gritted — he pressed on.

And then, finally, his hand dropped. His finger felt like it had gotten caught between two gears. Tremors of exhaustion shook his arm, but he was done.

A snap of static energy ripped through the room. Power rushed past Arwin, a vortex of churning magic and intent, and the Mesh roared forth from within to carve crimson letters into the air.

[The Wyrm’s Revenge: Cursed] has been forged. Forging a cursed item has granted you a significant amount of magical energy.

A weary grin split Arwin’s face. “Ah. There we go.”

Then he pitched back, landing in a pair of soft arms that shouldn’t have been there. Darkness rose up from below his vision and swallowed him whole, and he knew no more.