Rise of the Living Forge - Chapters 459-460 (Patreon)

Eleven’s eyes tracked Arwin as he made his way into the Devil’s Den. Wallace walked into the inn just a moment after him, followed just shortly by a man with long, scraggy white hair and piercing blue eyes.

Every eye in the tavern turned toward them. Much of the conversation sputtered out as all the adventurers stared at Arwin. That was hardly a surprise, given his construct had just completely slaughtered a rather powerful Dwarven Warrior and hadn’t even gotten dented in the process.

What was a surprise was that Arwin didn’t even seem to notice. He set a course right for the kitchen, but paused shortly before he reached it. He seemed to think for a moment before turning toward a table at the corner of the room.

Several shadow imps danced through the darkness, flinging themselves to clear the remaining plates off it. Another set of them hurried over with a large plate of food and drink. Arwin hoisted the plate from their hands and set it down on the table, giving them an appreciative nod before sitting down alongside his companions.

It was one thing to dismantle an enemy trying to take you out. That was just one’s right. But to do it without even coming out of your smithy, then show up a little while later and sit down for dinner as if nothing had happened…

That’s a power play. How did he even manage to trounce a Dwarven Warrior so easily, anyway? They’re not exactly known for being pushovers, and that one had some solid armor to top everything off.

And on top of everything else, the deathly aura was still seeping out from Arwin like the gaze of some eldritch monster. She could feel it boring into the back of her mind — and unless Arwin was a far better actor than she’d initially pegged him to be — he wasn’t even doing it intentionally.  

Eleven shuddered. She wasn’t sure if it was because of all the thoughts her poor, tired mind was now being subjected to or if it was because something was seriously wrong with the Menagerie.

Maybe Arwin had made a deal with a devil. Maybe he was the devil. Perhaps the entirety of the Menagerie were.

At this point, she didn’t care. She’d already been racking her brain to decide what the best way to go about getting to the bottom of all of this was. Most of the options involved her doing considerably more work than she wanted to. Or, worse, they involved an upfront conversation.

That sounded almost as bad as having to wake up before sunrise.

Fortunately for her, a solution was heading toward the Menagerie. The solution came in the form of a woman who was actually only about ten minutes away. Slightly less fortunately, she’d been about ten minutes away for the last thirty minutes. And even more unfortunately — Rodrick had spotted the solution two hours ago.

Eleven wasn’t even entirely sure the woman was still alive. She’d still been breathing the last time she’d checked, and she’d left a hair back to keep an eye on the situation, but Rodrick was no pushover.

The man might not have been at her level in terms of the Mesh, but Eleven was willing to swear up and down he had eyes literally everywhere in the city. And not some fancy information network. He learned things too fast for that to be all he relied on. At this point, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had literal eyes in the walls.

What a shitshow. This much excitement is bad for my circadian rhythm. How am I supposed to get the right amount of rest when I’m all tensed up like this? Hm. Maybe the Menagerie has a massage specialist. That would loosen me right—

The door flew open with a bang.

Eleven nearly leapt straight out of her chair in surprise. Arwin’s aura had her on even more of an edge than she’d previously thought. And, somehow, standing in the door was the very solution that she’d been thinking of a moment ago.

A large woman, her lean body knit with ropey muscle, stepped into the inn. She had a massive saw-like blade strapped to her back and wore haggard pieces of beat up armor over her vitals, leaving the rest of her body exposed. What clothes she did wear were made of scrap leather that hung like a tattered cape around her, never getting quite long enough to interfere with her movements.

It was the very same solution that should have been ten minutes away thirty minutes ago — and the one that she could have sworn was still nowhere near the Devil’s Den. A moment later, Eleven realized why.

She couldn’t sense her hair anywhere on the woman.

Damn it. Rodrick must have moved it. That sly bastard. When did he get close enough?

“Where is Ifrit?” The woman boomed, her voice surprisingly high for her deadly form. It sounded more like — well — a woman of Eleven’s stature was speaking rather than a warrior.

The entire room turned to look back at her.

Not one person said a single word.

They just stared.

The woman strode over to a nearby table and grabbed a man by the collar, hoisting him into the air. His hands didn’t even leave his bowl of soup. They bore it up into the air with him, careful not to spill a single drop.

“You!” the woman said, pressing her forehead against his. “Tell me where Ifrit is. Now. That or I beat it out of you. I’ll also accept the location of any member of the Menagerie. Oh —  no dogs. No pets of any kind. I need a person who can speak. No mutes either. Unless they know how to write. In that case, they’re fine.”

  “No thanks,” the man said, entirely nonplussed by the face pressed into his so hard that their noses were smushing together. His voice, however, did come out slightly nasally. “I would suggest you set me down.”

“Is that a threat?” the woman asked.  “You going to fight back? Please. Do it. I’m bored. I’ve been walking in circles for ages. A good warm-up is exactly what I need.”  

“Fight back?” The man let out a laugh. “No way. Do you not realize where we are? This is the Devil’s Den, woman.”

“What does that matter?” the woman asked, confusion creasing her brow. She pulled her head back and glanced around the room. “Have none of you ever heard of a good old-fashioned bar fight? Why is nobody moving?”

“Because we already saw one warrior get torn limb from limb today,” another adventurer said. “I’ll pass on disrupting the peace. Especially if you’re doing it inside the Devil’s Den.”

“Why?” the woman genuinely sounded confused. “What are you all scared of?”

A green hand fell on her shoulder. It tightened, an orc’s claws digging into the armor on the female warrior’s shoulder.

“It isn’t me,” Monica said, her eyes thin as paper slits, “but Lillia’s making a new recipe right now and doesn’t want to be disturbed, so I’ll have to actually do my job for once. Put the man down. Step out of the tavern. Do that — and you won’t get hurt.”

To Eleven’s surprise, the woman dropped her captive without an instant of hesitation.

Monica’s other hand shot out and grabbed the bowl of soup before it could meet a tragic fate on the ground. The soup’s owner was considerably less lucky. He hit the floor with a grunt. Monica plopped the soup back on the table and gave him a small nod.

“Thanks,” the man said, rising to his feet and brushing his backside off. He then sat right back down in his chair, ignoring the two of them entirely as he set back about his meal.

“I am Vanessa of the Shimmering Shield,” the intruding woman said, her eyes boring into Monica’s. “Are you Ifrit?”

“I — what?” Monica blinked in surprise. “No. Of course not. Why would you think I was — oh, forget it. Get out of here, Vanessa. First, you cut the line. Second, you threatened someone in the Devil’s Den. That’s two checks. Get a third one and you won’t like what happens.”

Vanessa leaned forward, her forehead pressing up against Monica’s. She really seemed to like doing that.

“You’re strong,” Vanessa said, her lips pulling back in an excited grin. “Come back to my bed with me after I’m done here.”

Eleven choked on her own saliva.

What?

“Absolutely not,” Monica said in a tone that made it clear this wasn’t the first time she’d gotten a similar offer. “I’m happily married.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” the man at the table said, pausing his battle against the soup.

Vanessa looked down at him. Then she shrugged. “Acceptable. Save your stamina. You will need it.”

Eleven rubbed at her eyes. A part of her wondered if she’d somehow managed to fall asleep, but the exhaustion of the day still gripped at her. Her dreams were the one place she was free of that horrid thing — which meant this was somehow real life.

What is going on?

“Well, glad you got what you were looking for. Are you done here?” Monica asked, arching an eyebrow. “Or am I going to have to throw you out?”

“I will leave once I have found Ifrit and no sooner,” Vanessa said firmly. She paused, then frowned. “Well, unless it gets too late. I have other plans for the night. But I’ll wait until then.”

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Monica asked.

“How did you know?” Vanessa sent her a surprised look. “And why are you all so scared? Is Ifrit not a smith?”

“I don’t care what he is,” an adventurer to her left said. “I saw his golem manhandle a guy in fancy-looking armor earlier today. Nobody lasts long after screwing with the Menagerie. If you wanted to kill Ifrit, you really shouldn’t have come here announcing your intentions.”

“Kill?” Vanessa frowned. “When did I ever say that? I’m not here to kill him. The Shining Shields don’t do assassin work. We’re thugs.”

“Should you really be proud of that?” Monica asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Vanessa flipped her hair back. “I get good pay, great hours, and get to beat people up for a living. I even have dental. Why wouldn’t I be proud?”

“Would you clarify that the reason you’re here is because… what, exactly?” Monica asked warily.

“To deliver a message to Ifrit, courtesy of some people he’s made very displeased,” Vanessa replied. “Do you know where he is?”

“Oh, enough of this.” Arwin’s voice cut through the room as he rose to his feet, rubbing his temple with one hand. He shook his head and started toward Vanessa. “I suppose I should have expected at least something odd today. I thought it was weird when nobody tried to distract me while I was working. It was too peaceful. Too… quiet.”

The adventurers in the inn exchanged a glance.

Eleven squinted at Arwin. Then her eyes went wide as a horrifying realization set in.

There’s no way… Does he not even realize his golem was manhandling a warrior just a few hours ago? I was certain he was controlling it remotely. If Arwin actually has a weapon that powerful that fights on its own…

I didn’t just slightly underestimate him. I was flat out wrong.  

How powerful has he become?

 “You’re Ifrit?” Vanessa asked, giving Arwin a once over.

“Yes,” Arwin said. “I am. Am I remiss in guessing that your message happens to involve that pointy piece of shit you call a sword on your back?”

“You know it,” Vanessa said with a grin.

Arwin sighed. Then he nodded to the door. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with. We’re not fighting inside the Devil’s Den.”

“Scared?” Vanessa asked, arching an eyebrow.

“No,” Arwin replied as he walked past her. He reached the door and sent a glance over his shoulder. “I just don’t want Lillia getting mad at me when I get your blood on her floor.”

Chapter 460

Arwin tried not to look too bored as he examined the woman standing in the street across from him. There was a small crowd of adventurers around them, not to mention all the people peering through the open door of the Devil’s Den to try and get a look at the fight.

Vanessa was going to get seriously embarrassed if he looked too bored while he defeated her. Arwin really didn’t want that on his consciousness. The woman, despite having broken into the Devil’s Den, and interrupted his dinner seemed fine enough.

There was a fine but very distinct line between abrasive and asshole. Some people just didn’t have the slightest bit of social decorum about them. Sure, Vanessa might have come here to attack him, but that was becoming such a common occurrence that it hardly felt like that big of a deal. At least she’d been pretty straight forward about it.

“Right,” Arwin said, fighting back a yawn. “I’m here. What was it you wanted, again? Is this just a fight to first blood? Or are you trying to kill me?”

“I already said I wasn’t an assassin,” Vanessa said, affronted. She drew the long sword from her back and readied it before herself with both hands. “I’m just here to give you a good thumping.”

“Right,” Arwin said. “First blood? Or a little farther?”

“Tap out,” Vanessa said. “I think that should work. I have to say, you’re way more reasonable than my normal targets. You’re making this really easy for me. Have you considered being a target more often? Maybe pissing off a few more people?”

“Working on it,” Arwin replied. He rolled his neck and rubbed at a kink in his shoulder with one hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a form sitting on the top of a roof. He almost did a double take before he realized it was Rodrick.

Anna stood beside him, a small crossbow in her hands. She had the weapon readied but not raised. They both gave him a slight nod.

Looks like they’ve been aware of Vanessa’s approach for a while. Guess she’s not too big of a threat if they didn’t act before she got here. Not really a surprise, but good to know.

“Great,” Vanessa said. Her gaze flicked to Arwin’s arms. “Say, what are you doing after this?”

“I’m good. I have a girlfriend already.”

“Ah. Nevermind,” Vanessa said with a disappointed click of her tongue. “I’ll stick with one, then. Momma always did say I was too hungry for my own good. Well then. Shall we?”

“Go ahead,” Arwin said with a nod. “You can attack first. I’ll wait here.”

“You sure?” Vanessa’s brow furrowed. “You know, being a smith and all. Seems a bit cheap for me to attack before you do. Only right to let you take the first move.”

“Aren’t you literally here to assault me because someone paid you to do just that? Why would you care who goes first?”

“Nobody said thugs have to be unreasonable,” Vanessa said. “I’m getting the job done either way.”

Somehow, I highly doubt that.

“I’m a bit tired from work today,” Arwin said. “You can have the first move.”

“Tired? Should I come back tomorrow?” Vanessa asked with a frown. “It seems like a right insult to do this if you’re not in proper shape—”

“Oh, just attack me already,” Arwin said, unsure if he was more amused or exasperated. “I have a dinner to get back to.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll make sure to avoid your face, then. Wouldn’t want to stop you from eating,” Vanessa said. She shifted her stance, lowering her center of mass as her eyes thinned. She pressed a hand to the ground and raised her sword to point its tip at Arwin’s chest.

Hm. How should I do this? I don’t want to kill her on accident. Using Caldera would be overkill. That armor of hers is so patchy that any good blow would pulp her organs like the inside of one of Lillia’s pies.

 I don’t think I want to reveal Gehenna here either. That’s a surprise I’m saving for the party. Oh, speaking of which, I’ve got to figure out what kind of gifts we should bring. Would be pretty rude to show up without one. Don’t want to step on any toes unintentionally. I’ll be stepping on enough of them on purpose, after all.

***

Vanessa had thumped a number of people in her time. She tended to consider herself an expert in the sport. There were a lot of ways to thump someone. Some were a hell of a lot more enjoyable than others.

A few of those methods always ended with blood staining her clothes, which was always a massive pain to clean. A few others ended up with her in someone’s bed. Sometimes they ended in both.

But she’d never had a target like this.

Vanessa had seen people run. She’d seen them fight or hide or try to bribe her— the lattermost of which she was particularly preferential to. But this was the first time she’d ever gotten a target that was bored.

Ifrit was a smith. And yet he didn’t even seem to care in the slightest about her readying to attack him. His eyes were distant, thoughts clearly in some other place. It was as if she wasn’t even there.

Bit hurtful, really. I’m a peak Adept Tier Thug. Even if nobody knows who I am in this small town, he should at least be a little worried about getting his noggin rung. Heck, I don’t even want to do this. They’re all so much more polite than my normal targets.

But a job was a job. Vanessa took great pleasure in a lot of the words used to describe her — and unreliable was not one of those words.

She did not give up on tasks before they were accomplished. Ifrit had a thumping with his name on it. She’d just have to make sure to direct it to the parts of his body he didn’t need too much for eating or smithing. That was the least she could do.

Vanessa drew on the magic within herself.

Then she activated [Bloodied Overdrive].

Red filled her vision. All the sound abruptly snuffed out, swallowed by the thundering drum of the blood in her ears. Her skin heated and her grip on her sword tightened as every one of her senses heightened. She could feel the wind against every individual hair on her head and arms, smell the warm bread and delicious meat within the Devil’s Den behind her.

Her lips pulled back into the snarl of a wolf —

And then she saw Ifrit.

Not with her eyes, but with the deepest, most primal senses she could bring to bear.

Gone was the bored, uninterested man.

In his place was a devil.

A sickly purple-black aura roiled around the man like a raging flame. Hazy armor flickered within the dancing fire. Its presence was so intense that it felt like a searing brand stamped right into her eyes.

But that wasn’t all. There were other presences within the flame. The hazy eyes of a Wyrm seemed to watch her from Arwin’s left. To his right, the weight of a mountain pressed down on her shoulders — and a deep, insatiable hunger lurked behind it all like a coiled snake.

This was no smith.  

Vanessa’s mouth went dry as cotton. A deep, bone-chilling dread sawing through her like the blade in her hands had turned against her.

She shifted one foot forward.

Then she stopped. Her heart slammed in her chest. She could hear her blood pumping harder still in her ears. Goosebumps gathered along her back and trailed up toward her neck.

Never before had she hesitated during a job. But this fear was not natural. Her body rebelled against her mind. The mere idea of taking another step forward felt like it was no more possible than driving her own blade into her neck.

What is this? What’s happening?

Vanessa tried to swallow, but she was denied even that. Every single fiber of her being was simultaneously locked onto the presence before her and desperately trying to flee in the opposite direction.

The more she thought about trying to attack Ifrit, the more the feeling intensified. It was like she was staring into the face of death itself.

Some distant part of her mind noted that this had to be some manner of magical effect. There was nothing natural about her terror. But that part was small and distant, its words nothing but a baby’s blanket used in futile attempt to block out a storm.

I don’t give up midway through a job. That’s not the role of the Shining Shields. I was hired to be a thug, and that’s what I’ll damn do.

She raised a trembling foot. Then, slowly, ponderously, she inched it forward. It was like trying to fight against the very weight of the world. She could barely even hear her own thoughts anymore. There was nothing but a wordless scream to run.

But Vanessa defied it.

She raised her other foot and took another step.

And then another. And another.

An illusion would not stop her. No matter what kind of tricks Ifrit had at his disposal, he was still a smith.

Her heart strained under the pressure bearing down on her body. The only thought that kept her going was the knowledge that this would all fall away. As soon as she got close enough, Ifrit’s magic would falter. Illusions never held up when their target got close enough.

You think fear will stop me? I’m too damn stupid to get scared by an illusion! You should have used it on someone smarter!

Vanessa took one more step.

And then she stopped.

The rest of the world was no more. There was only Ifrit standing before her, the black aura curling up from him assaulting every one of her senses and sending a warning scream through her mind.

She spun her sword around in her hands as she let out a scream of her own, swinging the flat of the blade as hard as she could for Ifrit’s chest.

There was a flash of something dark. The twisting energy around Ifrit warped to her senses as something emerged within it. Vanessa’s sword struck him with a resounding clang — a clang, not a thunk — and bounced out of her hands. The blade skittered across the ground behind her before sliding to a stop against the wall of the Devil’s Den.

Ifrit stood before her, completely unharmed. Whatever had changed in his armor was gone. He stood, unmoved, uninterested.

Vanessa stared at him, disbelief pounding in her skull as a horrifying realization etched itself into her mind.

This was no illusion.

Ifrit’s face, shrouded by the aura enveloping him, filled her sight as the world swayed around her. The fear intensified further still until it drummed out any remaining thoughts.

Vanessa couldn’t beat this. She couldn’t even hurt him. Nobody else’s senses could pick the truth up. They weren’t sharp enough.

But Vanessa — she knew.

Ifrit was a monster in human flesh, hiding in broad daylight and pretending to be a smith. And she had been set up. This job was impossible. She’d been sent here to die. Any remaining thoughts of a fight evaporated like rain in a desert.

 And, in that moment, the world snapped back to normal. The aura enveloping Ifrit vanished, and all that remained before her was a smith.

“Was that it?” Ifrit asked, his brow furrowing. “Really?”

 Vanessa didn’t get a chance to respond. The abrupt release of pressure was too much. All the fear that had been plaguing her mind vanishing so quickly left a vacuum that no thought remained to fill.  

“I’m gonna need to use a sick day.” Vanessa swayed, then pitched back, unconscious well before she hit the ground.