Rise of the Living Forge - Chapters 141-142 (Patreon)

Olive crept away from the treeline and toward the mixture of Wyrmlings and Iron Hounds in the center of the clearing, using the cloak of darkness that hung around Lillia as cover. And, with every step she took, her mind could only echo the same thought over and over.

How did I end up here?

The journey to Milten wasn’t one that she cared to remember, and her time after arriving at the city had somehow been nearly as bad. Just thinking about it made her stomach clench with anger – but it was nothing she hadn’t expected.

Adventurers with open groups had never been the most respectable folks. The only things they cared about was money and power. All the good ones joined the popular guilds or started their own, and they were careful with who they let in.

The people that were left over only let others join their party to fill in the empty spaces and hope that they would hold the attention of a monster long enough for them to escape if things went poorly.

She’d known that, but she’d still come to Milten with hopes of finding something more. The city was at the farthest reaches of the Kingdom. It was away from all the major guilds. It was away from the best dungeons and the strongest roaming monsters. There was no reason to come here – except for the fact that it was also away from all the things she wanted to leave behind.

Even still, it should have been easy enough to make a living out here. It should have been.

Olive’s jaw clenched as memories ground at her nerves. Muted laughter rang in the back of her head and her missing arm tingled, as if to remind her of just how much she’d lost. She ground out the noise and shoved it to the back of her mind.

The last thing she’d expected to find in Milten was anything even remotely interesting. But, as she grew closer to the Iron Hounds and their horde following the plans of a woman dressed up like a demon and a smith who hit men more than metal, she couldn’t help but wonder where things had gone wrong.

Or did they go wrong at all? What would I have done if I didn’t run into this lot? Just hide somewhere in the slums and let the months waste away? I’ve never fancied myself as a hero. I’ll leave that to people with more bravery than brain. But bringing a guild killing their own members crashing down… well, I’d do worse things for the amount they paid me. A whole magic item, all to myself. I can’t believe it.

Olive couldn’t help but grin to herself. It wasn’t the first magic item she’d had, but it was the first one she’d fought to earn – and it was the only one she had left. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her new blade.

I don’t know why they were so willing to let someone new to their group have a magical item for such a low price, but I repay what I’ve been given. If they need me to kill a few assholes and help cause chaos, then I’ll do my part.

The dark started to recede, and Olive squinted through it to make her surroundings out better. They’d arrived at the very edge of the crowd, in a gap between the torches. The time for contemplation was over.

Olive stepped away from the cloak of shadows, the loud mutters and yells coming from the center of the clearing obscuring her movements. She didn’t try to sneak up or avoid anyone’s attention.

She was already in the midst of the Iron Hounds. They weren’t looking for assassins inside their own group. Nobody was going to suspect a person just casually walking alongside them.

Olive drew her sword and came up behind a large man in heavy armor who was watching another warrior put up a pathetic fight against a Wyrmling. Energy coursed through her arms and she activated [Tenfold Blade].

Her weapon traced through the air casually, as if she were just studying the way the firelight reflected off its surface. It met the man’s neck and slipped through it effortlessly. Even though the strike wasn’t moving quickly, it was far from a crawl – and the blade was sharp enough that she had a moment before he even noticed what was happening.

The warrior started to turn. If Olive had used a slower skill, he likely would have been able to move out of the way in time.

She hadn’t.

He didn’t.

Her sword slipped out the other side of his neck. The man stumbled, then pitched forward as his head rolled back, bouncing off his heels before hitting the ground and rolling to a stop. At the same time, a tendril of shadow whipped out and grabbed a nearby woman, yanking her off her feet.

She hit the grass with a surprised cry before getting yanked into the darkness at the edge of the campsite. An instant later, an imp burst from the shadows, its red skin rippling as it let out a scream and threw itself into the crowd.

For a monster made out of shadow, that thing is really damn realistic.

It only took seconds for chaos to break out. Screams rang out all around Olive as people spun in search of the source. Some spotted the decapitated man, but she’d already moved deeper into the crowd, sheathing her sword once more.

The panic grew. Wyrmlings roared and guild officers hurried to try and figure out what was going on. Olive stuck her foot out, tripping a man in the chaos. He hit the ground with a pained grunt, only for her sword to drive through his ear and into his skull.

Lillia had been right about the Iron Hounds being completely incompetent. They may have had power, but they had no idea how to use it.

“Infiltrators!” A man screamed, drawing an axe from his back. Shimmering motes of green light swirled off his hands as he charged toward her.

Guess it was too much to hope that I’d keep going unnoticed.

Olive stepped out of the way of his first swing. It carved through the air and slammed into the ground with enough force to drive a foot into the dirt, but the man pulled it free with such ease that it looked like he’d barely hit anything at all.

“To me!” He roared, bracing to block Olive’s next attack. “There’s–”

A shimmer of blue energy wrapped around his body. He locked in place and Olive slammed her sword through one of his eyes, ripping it out even as the light faded and he toppled to the ground, dead.

He couldn’t have been much higher in rank than me, even if he was physically strong. Apprentice six, maybe? Depends on how many Achievements or Titles he had.

There was no time to ruminate on it. Reya had bailed her out from somewhere, but there were several people and a Wyrmling closing in on her. She’d been thoroughly spotted. She backed up, holding her sword before her as the screams continued to ring out throughout the camp.

“Who in the Nine Underlands are you?” a woman asked, summoning a ball of spinning wind to her palms and holding it before her. “What guild are you with?”

An imp leapt from the darkness, latching onto the woman’s face. She only had time to let out a terrified scream before it started ripping into her flesh, tearing away large gory chunks and hurling them across the clearing.

A man ran to help her and swung his sword at the imp. It dropped at the last second and his blade slammed into her arm, severing it and cutting into her side. The woman let out an agonized cry while her ally spun in search of the imp, which had retreated back to the thick patch of darkness growing closer to them.

Another man ran at Olive. She knocked his sword to the side and darted forward, using the moment of the others distraction to close the distance between herself and the mage.

“Look,” Olive said as the mage clutched at the stump of her arm. Her sword fell, putting the woman out of her misery. “We match.”

“You bitch!” the man behind her yelled. “I’ll–”

The rest of his sentence was lost in a strangled scream as a shadow shot out, wrapping around his neck and dragging him into the dark. Olive spun, preparing to face her next opponent. There was nobody there.

All the Iron Hounds had backed away from her, making room for a tall man to approach. He bore a jagged sword in each hand and wore leather, battle-scarred armor. It only took one look at his gait to see that he knew how to carry himself. Olive’s eyes narrowed.

Easy to forget that the majority of this guild was just cannon fodder. This guy is different.

He didn’t waste any words on Olive. The moment they were close, the dual-wielder lunged forward. His blades flashed, sending two arcs of wind hurtling toward her. Olive dropped to the ground, letting them pass overhead, then brought her sword up just in time to block a pair of overhead slashes.

They slammed down with immense force, driving her arm out of the way. She threw herself to the side and the blades scraped against her armor, failing to find purchase in her skin. Hitting the ground in a roll, Olive shot to her feet – and was forced to dive once more as a Wyrmling snapped at her.

Its jaws slammed shut above her head and its hot breath washed over her back. She rolled to the side as a clawed paw smashed into the ground where she’d been seconds before. Olive scrambled to her feet, retreating toward the darkness and making sure the Wyrmling and the new man couldn’t flank her.

“You know how to fight,” the man said. “Who sent you?”

“The last one asked me that too,” Olive said, taking the instant of reprieve to catch her breath.

I think I might have bit off a bit more than I can chew. The Iron Hounds had several people that already showed they could fight as well as this guy.

Lillia wasn’t in a position to help her. Several Wyrmlings and more than ten people had surrounded the patch of darkness. Many of them were firing spells blindly into it. Even with the imps jumping out and attacking them, they were going to land a lucky blow eventually.

A blur of movement was the only warning Olive got to raise her sword. One of the dual-wielding man’s swords slammed against hers and she staggered, trying to keep her balance. The other one shot out from the opposite direction on a direct course for her gut.

Olive jumped to the side, but she wasn’t fast enough to keep the sword from cutting into her armor once more. The man grinned at her and spun his blades as he advanced.

“Eyes over here, sweetheart. I’ll ask one more time. Who are you with? Either tell me now or tell me while I make you scream.” He flicked two more blades of wind at Olive again. She rolled to the side, but one to cut into the top of her thigh.

Olive repressed the flash of pain and shot to her feet, not letting anything show on her features. The cut was relatively deep, but it wasn’t life threatening. Olive tested her leg and winced. Putting pressure on it would be difficult.

What in the Nine Underlands is Reya doing? I could really use some help.

“Screaming it is,” the man said with a lecherous smile. Wind coursed down the length of his blades. “Fine with me. I like it better that way.”

He flashed forward – and a wave of blue energy slammed into him. He locked in place, but only for a fraction of a second. Before Olive could even try to take advantage of his delay, he slid back into motion, only mildly disoriented.

The man’s blades finished their movement. Two huge blades of wind ripped out, heading straight for Olive. She tried to jump away from them, but the wound on her leg flared in pain and her lunge turned into a stumble.

The twin arcs of magic hurtled straight toward her, each large enough to split her from head to toe, and there wasn’t nearly enough time to dodge out of the way.

Shit.

A shimmer of silver and blue whipped past Olive. Particles of moisture pattered against her face. Rodrick skidded past her, streams of water swirling away from his armor as he arrived, arms braced before his face.

The water swirled before him, absorbing the arcs of wind that had been on a collision path for Olive. They still cut into his armor, but the damage they left behind was minimal. Rodrick dropped back into a sprint, drawing his sword.

“Another one? Come on then.” The dual-wielder smirked and moved to meet Rodrick’s charge.

The Wyrmling moved beside him, preparing to snap at whoever drew near it. The monster wasn’t anywhere near as aggressive as Olive had expected it to be, but that was likely due to being mind controlled.

Water swirled around Rodrick’s blade as he brought it up beside him with a roar. The dual-wielder crossed his swords to block the strike, only for Rodrick’s blow to rip both of them out of his hands and send them tumbling to the floor.

His eyes opened, but Rodrick didn’t waste the momentum of his charge. He drove his shoulder into the other man’s chest, hurling him to the ground. The Wyrm lunged at Rodrick, but a wave of shimmering blue energy wrapped around the monster, locking it in place and buying him time to jump out of the way.

Rodrick brought his sword down on the man as he tried to rise, pinning his head to the ground before ripping his blade free. He pointed it across the clearing at Jessen, who hadn’t moved once from his spot beside the two fully grown Wyrms.

“Hey, asshole!” Rodrick called, flicking the blood from his sword. “Come over here so I can stick my sword up where it doesn’t shine!”

Jessen tilted his head to the side. He looked more annoyed than anything else, as if the deaths of his men was nothing but a mild inconvenience. It struck Olive that an inconvenience was probably exactly how Jessen saw this.

If he was feeding all these idiots to his Wyrms and we kill them, then get fed to the Wyrms anyway, there’s almost no difference. We’ll be worth a lot more energy because we can put up a fight.

For an instant, it looked like he was about to say something. The firelight illuminated his cruel face as his mouth opened and his attention fully fell on Rodrick.

And, in that instant, a streak of green light flashed through the night. An earsplitting crack rang out in the light’s wake as it streaked through the air like a falling star. Jessen twisted his body, but not nearly fast enough.

At the head of the shimmering light was a massive metal arrow. It drove into Jessen’s shoulder and pierced into him with such force that he spun in place. He staggered to keep his balance, his eyes wide in shock – and his concentration broke.

Roars split the air as every single Wyrm and Wyrmling screamed as one. At the same time, a dark blur passed above Olive’s head. Her eyes widened as Arwin passed above her, slamming down on top of an Iron Hound that had been near Jessen.

The man didn’t even get a chance to scream. Arwin’s momentum and weight crushed him instantly. His helmet ignited with burning red light and a wave of roiling energy rolled off his body. Even at the distance that Olive stood at, a shiver ran down her spine as Arwin raised his hammer and pointed it at Jessen.

“Four,” Arwin said.

Olive had no idea what Arwin meant, but it sounded like a promise.

Chapter 142

“Ifrit,” Jessen snarled, grabbing the arrow jutting out of his shoulder with his left hand and ripping it free. He hissed as blood poured out of the wound, throwing the arrow down to his side. “I did not think you would come to play again so soon.”

“I got impatient,” Arwin said. Screams rose up from all around the camp as the Wyrmlings and Iron Hounds clashed with each other. The Wyrms behind Jessen both blinked wearily as they attempted to throw off the last remnants of his control.

Jessen clenched a hand, his jaw tightening. The Wyrms both shuddered and a flash of pink energy lit behind their eyes, fading like a snuffed candle as they both settled back down. He’d brought them back under his control already – but judging from the sounds all around him, the Wyrmlings were a different story.

“This has not changed anything,” Jessen said. “A mere wound will not be enough to bring me down. All you have done is accelerate what I would have already done.”

“Then you should be grateful to me. If you wanted to show appreciation, I wouldn’t mind if you killed yourself.”

Jessen bared his teeth in a smile. He reached up to his back and drew the huge black sword, holding it at his side as if it weighed nothing. “Bold words, but no power to back them up. If you are so eager to die at my blade, then I will not deny you that right.”

“Guess that means you aren’t killing yourself. Fine with me,” Arwin said. “I much prefer to kill you myself.”

A member of the Iron Hounds lunged at Arwin, aiming to put a dagger into an unprotected part of his body, but Arwin spotted him out of the corner of his eye. He spun, bringing Verdant Blaze around and empowering his blow with a hint of power from [Scourge].

The man’s head transformed into a fine mist of blood and his body hit the ground, rolling to a stop at Arwin’s feet. Energy pumped through his armor as the oppressive aura pouring out of his helm intensified.

It raced through his greaves and pumped into his muscles.

“Come, then,” Jessen said. “Try your hand.”

“Wait your turn,” Arwin replied with a smirk. He turned and sprinted for the nearest Iron Hound member. The woman was locked in a fight with a Wyrmling, and it didn’t look like she had the upper hand.

Verdant Blaze ended the question of who would win by claiming the kill for itself. Energy howled through the weapon as Arwin brought it down on the woman’s head before she even realized he was there.

A faint red mist swirled out from his armor and he felt himself speed up once more as [Dread Momentum] intensified. He’d gotten two consecutive kills with two blows. It wasn’t a massive boost, but every single bit would count.

The back of Arwin’s neck prickled and he threw himself to the side. A black line carved through the ground where he’d been standing, ripping through several Iron Hound members and a Wyrmling. They all crumpled to the ground, dead before they hit it.

“Running, Ifrit?” Jessen called. “Killing my men makes you no better than what you claim to hate.”

I don’t think Jessen is going to let me run around farming kills any longer, but that’s fine. It would only last for one blow anyway. This is enough.

Arwin sprinted toward Jessen. The guildmaster brought his sword down once more, releasing another thick blade of black energy. Arwin threw himself to the ground, rolling beneath it before coming up across from Jessen and swinging Verdant Blaze.

The hammer streaked through the air, flame curling off its head, and Jessen shifted back to dodge out of the way. He was strong, but nobody in their right mind was going to take a strike from a massive hammer.

“You’re right,” Arwin growled, taking the momentum from his missed swing and turning in a full circle to whip the hammer at Jessen’s injured side.

Jessen brought his sword around, and their weapons clashed with a resounding explosion. [Scourge] empowered muscles fought against Jessen’s higher Tier body and concentrated [Soul Flame] erupted into a sea of black energy.

Both of them staggered back. Vibrations hummed down the hammer’s haft and into Arwin’s arms, threatening to shake it free of his grip. Jessen sprinted toward Arwin, black energy curling up his body.

Arwin braced himself to meet the man’s charge. Jessen swung his sword – and vanished. Only years of experience gave Arwin enough warning to throw himself to the ground. A loud whoomp assaulted his ears as a gust of wind passed overhead.

Rolling to the side, Arwin swept his leg out and empowered it with [Scourge]. It slammed into Jessen’s feet and the man staggered, nearly falling but managing to keep his footing. He drove his sword down and Arwin rolled to the side before he could be impaled.

Jessen thrust his hand forward and sent a black spike into Arwin’s chest. It struck his armor before he could react. Arwin hissed in pain. A victorious smile passed over Jessen’s face, only to freeze when he realized that the spike had just barely driven into the armor and had failed to penetrate more than scratch Arwin’s skin.

The gem at the center of Arwin’s armor hummed with black energy that it absorbed from the spell and Arwin lunged, slamming into Jessen’s legs and empowering his whole body with [Scourge].

Black energy tried to rise up and envelop Jessen’s body, but it sputtered and failed. The two of them hit the ground with a heavy crash, and a roar rang out from behind Arwin. It sounded like at least one of the Wyrms had freed itself from Jessen’s control again, but he didn’t have any time to look.

He threw himself to the side, rolling to his feet and bringing Verdant Blaze down on another member of the Iron Hounds that happened to be unfortunate enough to be in range. More energy pumped through his body and the oppressive aura pouring out of him grew even thicker.

“You’re right,” Arwin repeated, charging Jessen and bringing Verdant Blaze down for the man as he rose.

Jessen’s sword whipped up and he rose, blocking the blow moments before it could collide with his head. If it hadn’t been for [Scourge], the hammer would have gone flying from Arwin’s hands. Instead, their weapons locked as they both strained to overpower the other.

“Killing your men brings me down to your level,” Arwin snarled into Jessen’s face. “But mercy is for the strong.”

Arwin drove his knee up into Jessen’s chest. His greaves slammed into the other man’s armor and they both stumbled back a step. Magic swirled around Jessen. The magic oppression from Zeke’s helm was significantly slowing it, but he was strong enough to use it regardless.

Blades of black energy shot out toward for Arwin. Instead of trying to dodge back, he threw himself forward. It would have surprised a lesser opponent. Jessen wasn’t a lesser opponent.

The guildmaster brought his sword down for Arwin’s back as he rolled across the ground. It struck his armor with a clang, leaving a deep scar in it and ringing off. A whip of [Soul Flame] curled off Arwin’s chestpiece and slammed into Jessen, forcing him to raise his hands to protect his face.

Arwin shot to his feet and shoved Jessen a step back before swinging Verdant Blaze. The hammer sang as it passed through the air and drove into the side of Jessen’s chest. Metal rang against metal and Jessen drove a foot into the ground, refusing to budge an inch.

Verdant Blaze had left a large dent in his armor, but it hadn’t penetrated it. Jessen bared his teeth and lunged at Arwin. His fist slammed into the side of Arwin’s head, ringing it like a bell. The world spun, but Arwin reacted on instinct rather than sight.

He brought his elbow around, pumping it full of energy from [Scourge], and was rewarded with a satisfying crunch as it connected with Jessen’s nose. The two men staggered back from each other.

Arwin’s ears rang and Jessen’s form re-focused before his eyes. The guildmaster wiped the blood trickling down from his nose with the back of a hand and spat on the ground.

“You are no mere smith.” Jessen lifted his sword and lunged, driving the blade for Arwin’s chest. He twisted and it scraped along his armor. With a grunt, Arwin drove his shoulder into Jessen to send him stumbling back and then swung Verdant Blaze once more. He poured power from [Scourge] into the blow, pulling his reserves dangerously low.

Jessen blocked the strike with the flat of his blade, skidding a foot across the ground. Someone ran at Arwin from the side and he turned, but a shadow wrapped around their ankle and yanked them screaming into Rodrick’s sword.

The sounds of battle had started to recede. There were still Wyrms screaming, but between the Iron Hounds defending themselves and Lillia’s group tearing through both parties, their numbers were dwindling.

Jessen realized it too. Arwin could see it in his eyes, but he still didn’t look particularly concerned. There was no panic or worry in his features. That was a problem. If Jessen wasn’t worried about his horde dying, then they were missing something major.

If it isn’t the horde he cares about, then what –

Arwin’s eyes caught on the controlled Wyrms. Jessen hadn’t been planning on stopping after he fed the Wyrm horde. He – or the Wyrms – were going to kill all the survivors. Feeding an entire horde was borderline impossible, but forcing his Wyrms to kill a bunch of their own power boosted Wyrmlings would only leave him with two mouths to feed.

Hell, he might just kill the Wyrms too. Consolidate all that power he’s made and take it for himself. That’s why he doesn’t give a shit how many people die. He might lose a bit of energy in the conversion, but who cares when you’ve got so much waiting to be harvested? As long as he’s the one that kills the most powerful ones at the end, he comes out ahead. If that’s the case, the reason he hasn’t used the Wyrms yet isn’t because he can’t. He’s just waiting for enough people to die that he doesn’t have to worry about them getting injured.

Jessen’s lips pulled back in a smile as another Iron Hound fell. There were still several of them fighting both the Wyrmlings and Arwin’s group, but the only combatants left now were his more talented warriors and the strongest of the Wyrmlings.

“Times up,” Jessen said, holding a hand out to the Wyrms behind him. “You weren’t a bad fighter – for a smith. I look forward to seeing just what kind of equipment you’ve got. It’ll look good on my walls.”

The Wyrms roared as one. Arwin staggered, dropping Verdant Blaze and clapping his hands over his ears as a wave of pain slammed into him and his brain spun. Blue energy shattered around his body and the effect faded, letting him draw in a sharp breath.

One of the Wyrms rose to its feet, its lips pulling back in a savage snarl and pink energy swirling behind its eyes. The other one, however, remained in place. Jessen looked back at it, his brow tightening.

“Go, you lazy piece of shit,” Jessen snarled. “Get up! ”

Pink magic flared in his eyes. The Wyrm hissed and its body trembled. It forced itself upright, trembling. Then it charged – not at Arwin, but past him and toward his allies. Arwin called out a warning, but he couldn’t risk turning to try to interfere.

The other Wyrm crept toward him, its tongue flicking out to taste the air. Jessen watched with a cold smile, making no move to get closer. He didn’t need to.

“Kill him,” Jessen said.