Rise of the Living Forge - Chapters 473-474 (Patreon)

Mask dashed forward in a zig-zagging pattern, holding his dagger in a reverse grip as he advanced toward Arwin. He was much faster than he’d

Mask dashed forward in a zig-zagging pattern, holding his dagger in a reverse grip as he advanced toward Arwin. He was much faster than he’d been a moment ago. Arwin’s eyes tracked the man’s movement, flicking across the field at a dizzying speed.

Definitely fast, but good footwork as well. He’s trained. This isn’t the same situation as Hein. I don’t know if Mask is using stolen power… but whatever he’s got, he knows how to use it.

 Mask leapt forward, bringing his dagger streaking down toward Arwin in a streak of red light. Shadows of crimson red peeled away from his body in his wake as if the world couldn’t quite keep up with his speed.

Arwin activated [Scourge]. Power ignited in his right leg as he kicked off his foot, spinning out of the way of the strike. He didn’t have anywhere near Mask’s speed, but explosive movements could mimic it.

The dagger streaked through the air beside him, but Arwin didn’t wait for Mask to attack again. He shifted his momentum into Caldera. With a roar, he brought the huge hammer crashing down toward the other man.

Mask vaulted out of the way. Caldera passed through the red shadow that followed the man, crashing into the ground where his feet had been with a deep crunch. The earth beneath Arwin trembled slightly.

He raised the hammer again, but Mask was already moving. The dagger had already made it halfway to Arwin’s neck. He dodged back, but not fast enough. Arwin only managed to shift his position just enough to move his neck out of the way.

A ringing clang echoed out as the dagger struck his shoulder plate — and bounced off harmlessly. Mask staggered a step back, his teeth gritting as vibrations traveled down his entire arm. He definitely hadn’t held back. That strike had been a full force one.

The dagger, notably, also hadn’t been damaged. Even though Mask had just brought it down right on solid metal, there wasn’t even a nick in the blade.

That’s magic, all right. Pretty strong too. Even a normal magic dagger might have had some trouble hitting Gehenna.

Armory, were you affected by getting hit? Are you injured?

No. I am not physically present here. Only my mind and magic. That dagger cannot affect me through the armor.

A grin spread across Arwin’s lips even as caution built in Mask’s eyes. They’d both came to the same conclusion at the same time. Arwin’s armor wasn’t going to give out. It wasn’t weak enough to be brute forced through — which meant Mask was going to have to look for a gap so he could hit Arwin directly.

“Something wrong?” Arwin asked as he stepped forward and swung Caldera. “I thought you were getting annoyed with me running away. Now you’re the one who stopped attacking.”

Mask leapt over the path of the weapon, easily clearing it. A ripple of red passed through the air behind him. He launched himself off it, using the magic like a springboard to re-direct himself midair.

There was no time to dodge in time. Arwin braced himself, trying to predict where the dagger would connect so he could make sure it didn’t land anywhere it could do real damage.

He never got a chance to react.

The Infernal Armory beat him to it.

A wave of heat rolled across the back of his neck. Arwin felt his hair prickle as tendril of metal roared out over his shoulder. It was rough and black like pitted coal, bubbling with patches of molten red magma all along its length.

The tendril flashed into Mask’s path. There was a flash of pitch-black fire. A resounding clang echoed out — and Mask streaked back down through the air in a red blur.

He crashed into the ground with a meaty thud. Snarling in pain, Mask rolled over and thrust himself back to his feet. He batted a coil of flame off his burnt shirt and wiped a thin river of blood away from his mouth with the back of a hand.

“Shit,” Mask snarled. “What…”

Then his eyes went wide. He stared up at the black metal tendril coiling to loom just over Arwin. Or, more accurately, he looked at the shield that it was clutching. His dagger lowered.

“What is that?” Mask breathed.  

He wasn’t the only one surprised. Arwin blinked. He looked up at the extention of his own armor. Then his smile started to grow even wider.

No way. You can’t be serious.

Clutched within the Infernal Armory’s grip was the Wyrm’s Revenge. The Armory had access to [Arsenal]. And, judging by the black flames sputtering along the surface of the shield, it had more than just access.

It could actually use his bonded weapons.

I need more power. At the moment, this is the extent of my abilities. I can only wield a single weapon… and not the Prism’s Reach. Making more than one tendril is still beyond me. Still, I suspect this will be enough for scum like this. Now feed me. I hunger.

A part of Arwin still wondered if it had been a wise idea to port his bloodthirsty armory into a set of murderous armor… but it was a bit late to think about that now. Today, he was feeling rather inclined to give the Armory exactly what it wanted.

“Betraying everyone in the empire for this little power?” Arwin asked, clicking his tongue. “What a waste.”

He drew on [Scourge] and launched himself forward before Mask could respond. The guildmember snarled and leapt back, avoiding Caldera before it could crush his chest, and drove his dagger for Arwin’s armpit.

The Infernal Armory swung the Wyrm’s Revenge — but not at the dagger.

A loud, ringing clang echoed through the air as the armory brought the shield straight cross Mask’s face. He was launched backward through the air in a beautiful spinning arc that any acrobat would have been proud of.

  He landed on the ground with a crunch, his dagger spilling from his fingers and skidding across the dirt. Arwin couldn’t help but wince in sympathy. He’d felt the vibration from the force of the strike even through his armor. The Armory did not know the meaning of the word restraint.

Mask drove a fist into the ground. Blood dripped from the side of his face and rolled down his chin as he drew in ragged breaths. He grabbed his dagger and staggered up to his feet, swaying as he fought to keep his balance.

“How do you have this much power?” Mask demanded as he panted for breath. The whites of his eyes showed from a mixture of pain and fear. His teeth chattered as the pressure bearing down from Gehenna wore away his defenses incessantly, but still he stood. “How are you so strong? This is beyond the might of any sm—”

Arwin pumped his arms full of power from [Scourge]. Then he flung Caldera.

The massive hammer streaked through the air like a meteor, heading straight at Mask’s chest.

The man’s eyes went wide. He dove out of the side, hitting the ground in a roll just as Caldera passed him by — and headed straight for the crowd behind him. Mask came up running. He didn’t even glance back to see the fates of the nobles unfortunate enough to be in Caldera’s path. The Infernal Armory swung the Wyrm’s Revenge at him, but this time, Mask was ready.

He slipped under the strike and shot for Arwin, his eyes glinting as he sent the blade shooting up for his neck in a red streak — only to find Caldera back in Arwin’s hands and hurtling down.

Disbelief only had an instant to pass through Mask’s expression before the hammer slammed into him..

 A loud crunch echoed out from Mask’s shoulder. He let out a scream of pain as his bones cracked and gave way beneath Caldera. The hammer didn’t even seem to care that he was in its path.

Mask crumpled, his strike screeching harmlessly across Gehenna’s chestplate before the dagger spun from his grip for the second time. Mask fell to the ground in a mess of limbs, screaming and cursing in pain.

Arwin kicked the dagger away from Mask before he could grab it, then drove his other foot down onto the other man’s chest to pin him down to the ground. Mask stared up at him in fury, anger burning in his eyes and pain twisting his features.

“Who do you really work for?” Arwin demanded, raising his voice loud enough that nobody in the crowd could miss it. As he spoke, he flicked his left hand. A small hole opened in Gehenna’s gauntlets and a potion slid free from where it had been concealed. Arwin palmed it, snapping the top off between two fingers without taking his eyes off Mask. “Who’s your contact with the Horde? Tell me their name!”

“Idiot,” Mask said through a pained laugh. “You’ll never—”

Arwin swung Caldera. Masks’s let out a scream of panic and squeezed his eyes shut — but the hammer didn’t connect with his head. It slammed into the dirt just beside him. Dirt pelted the sides of Mask’s face.

But, before he could open his eyes again, Arwin reached down to grab him by the hair. He upended the vial with the same move. The shimmering blue contents within it spilled across Mask’s face. It absorbed into his skin within an instant, vanishing without leaving a trace.

The man sputtered in surprise. His eyes snapped open. Then they bulged. Mask let out a ragged wheeze. He grasped at his neck with his one still-functional hand. His fingers clawed against his throat.

“What did you do?” Mask rasped, his voice barely more than a strangled whisper.

Then his eyes rolled back in his head. His arm flopped down to his side and he fell still, the perfect image of death.

Arwin hoisted the man’s body into the air before him. He didn’t have to fake the disgust in his expression.

“Coward,” Arwin spat. “He killed himself.”

He threw Mask to the ground in front of the horde of nobles. They all backed up, staring down at him in both interest and horror. Murmurs rolled through the crowd — but it was hard to deny Arwin’s claim.

Mask wasn’t breathing.

“How did you know he was working for the Horde?” one of the nobles asked, looking at Arwin nervously. “How do we know he wasn’t the one telling the truth?”

“Do you really think someone this pathetic would truly be working for the Adventurer’s Guild?” Arwin asked with a scoff. “They’re the top of the line. The very best this kingdom has to offer. It doesn’t matter how good my equipment is. I’d never have been able to take out one of their operatives. The fact a mere smith was able to push him this far should be all the proof needed.”

A few nods passed through the crowd. Nobles already weren’t particularly well acquainted with fighting. But the ones here were far from the prime of the crop. These nobles were the ones that had to suck up to the Blacktongues in hopes of furthering their position.

To people like this, the idea of a smith somehow defeating a proper Adventurer’s Guild member was, of course, ludicrous. They already knew nothing about real power or fighting beyond what they’d witnessed in arenas. All they had was the knowledge was adventurers was meant to be strong — and crafting classes were not.

Arwin strode through the crowd, who parted before him, and grabbed a cloth from a nearby table. People looked at him in confusion as he walked back over to Mask’s body, activating [Dragon’s Greed] in the process.

He wasn’t surprised to find that there wasn’t a single interesting thing within Mask’s possession beyond his dagger. The man had been traveling light, but that served him just fine.

Arwin knelt beside Mask. Then, without a word, he tore the man’s clothes off him. Nobles cursed and spun to cover their wives’ eyes, but Arwin paid them no mind. He stripped Mask, then draped the tablecloth over his body and shoved the body to the side.

“This should be investigated. I suspect he took them off a real adventurer,” Arwin said, nodding to the clothes. “I’ll dispose of the body. It’s beneath all of you.”

Not one noble protested at that. And, as Arwin slung the cloth-wrapped man over his shoulder and strode away, not one of them noticed a shadow twisting up to grab the dagger and drag it out of view.

Arwin made his way right over to Esmerelda.

“You,” Arwin said. “Dispose of this trash, would you?”

Esmerelda smiled in response. She reached into her robes, pulling out a large leather bag. She pulled its mouth open until it was wide enough for Arwin to slide the whole body right into it. Strangely enough, when Esmerelda closed the bag again, it didn’t look even slightly larger. It was as if the body had just vanished.

No trace of Mask remained.

Behind Gehenna’s mask, Arwin smiled.

Not one person in the party had any reason to suspect Mask still lived.

After all, there was no way we could question Mask while he was still here. That’s one more part of the plan accomplished. My part here is done. It’s time to get somewhere quiet and finally get some damn answers.

Chapter 474

Captain Adan of the Scarred Hand blew out an annoyed sigh. Cold stone pressed against his back and rubble poked through his pants. He didn’t even bother to suppress the irritation pulling his lips down into a frown. This was possibly the biggest pain in the ass of a mission his team had been given — and that was being quite literal.

He shifted his position to brush the broken stones away from beneath him for the dozenth time. The Menagerie’s street was a mess, and the side streets and alleys around it were no better. He failed to see how any guild of any relevance could possibly debase themselves to live in a place like this.

And yet… they nearly won the Proving Grounds. Taking second only to the Setting Sun is a damn impressive feat. Being in the Adept bracket doesn’t change that in the slightest. Any real adventurer knows just how little ranks can matter when taken out of context.

Adan’s lips pressed thin and he drummed his fingers against his knee. This really wasn’t the kind of job his team liked taking. Their focus was dealing with troublesome guilds that were causing too much trouble in a city, not staking out around a bunch of crafters.

But the Blacktongues paid so handsomely that it had been impossible to say anything but yes. For a job this simple, he’d have been a fool to turn it down. It was practically free money. They didn’t even have to do any fighting.

They just had to take a peek through the Menagerie’s belongings and locate a certain object they’d stolen from an Expert Tier dungeon. That was it. They didn’t even have to steal it. This was a purely information gathering focused mission.

Even against an odd guild like the Menagerie, something like this should have been nothing. But Adan had taken precautions anyways. Nobody made it that far in the Proving Grounds without having at least some skill to their name, and crafters couldn’t be underestimated when they were on their home ground.

He’d heard the rumors of the golem that guarded the Infernal Armory. Of the quality of the armor that Ifrit made and how Lillia the Innkeeper was capable of controlling shadows and people alike.

But Lillia wans’t here. She — along with all the strongest members of the Menagerie — were off at the Blacktongue’s party. That was bold of them. Showing up right after functionally stealing the first clear of a dungeon was something else.

But that wasn’t Adan’s concern. All he cared about was getting the information he’d been paid to collect… and getting his team out of here before the actual relevant members of the Menagerie got back.

And that meant they had to finish scouting the Devil’s Den within the hour. With any luck, their target would be within the tavern. Adan didn’t much love the idea of going head to head with a golem.

If the rumors had been right, that golem was at the level of a Dwarven warrior in fully enchanted gear. That was beyond the level of opponent that Adan had any desire to get drawn into a fight with.

Not because he didn’t feel he couldn’t win the fight.

Because he hadn’t been paid to.

Blood was expensive, after all, and the Scarred Hand did not like accruing costs they hadn’t been compensated for. Optimization was king. It was the way fortunes were made. A fight meant attention. It meant injuries or damage to armor. Not only did that mean potential costs with a healer or a smith, but it would impact their reputation. That meant angry clients and fewer jobs.

And Adan couldn’t have that. It was of utmost importance that missions — especially ones as cheap and simple as this one — went without hitch.

Perhaps that was why he was so irritated.

Niles is late. He went into the Devil’s Den ten minutes ago. That’s more than enough time for a seasoned Thief to scout the entire place and come out with a full map of it. What’s holding him up?

Adan’s lips thinned even further. He didn’t believe for a second that Niles could have been caught. The man was an early Expert Tier Thief equipped with a Ring of Invisibility and abilities that hid everything from the sound of his footsteps to his smell.

“It’s coming up on the deadline,” Betsy, the Scarred Hand’s mage, whispered into Adan’s ear. “If Niles isn’t back in 5 minutes, then we have to assume he got caught. He may have triggered a trap.”

“What kind of trap catches him?” Adan asked. “The best members of the Menagerie aren’t anywhere near the street. All they’ve got is a skeleton crew.”

“Dunno,” Betsy replied. Stones crunched beneath her boots as she crouched beside Adan. “But I don’t ever remember Niles being anything but early, and now he’s just about to be late. I think it’s fine. It’s not like he’s alone. Pete is with him.”

Adan’s jaw clenched. Betsy wasn’t wrong. Their strongest fighter wasn’t in this alley. He’d gone to a more optimal position to back Niles up. If there was even the slightest sound of a fight, Pete would have moved already.

Adan refused to believe that he wouldn’t have heard the sounds of a fight if Pete had gotten into one. The Blade Dancer was one of the best warriors he’d ever met, and he’d been equipped with the best items their team had. He should have been more than able to handle the Menagerie could throw at him with their best members missing.

But if Niles was actually in trouble, sitting around in this alley was just making things worse. They had to move fast. But if the man was just delayed, then moving now would just completely blow their cover.

“Shit,” Adan said. “This is infuriating. Do you think Niles got distracted by some fancy magic and is just screwing around?”

“He seemed pretty focused today, but you know how he is,” Betsy replied. “It’s possible. I don’t know. Up to you, boss.”

Adan suppressed a sigh. He trusted his team… but he’d been on edge ever since they’d gotten to the Menagerie’s street. Something was just off about this place. It wasn’t just the rumors about their abilities. There was something else going on here.

They might have contracts with some powerful guild that haven’t been exposed. I know they’ve got connections to some merchant guilds. Is it possible they brought another player in through those?

“Shit,” Adan said. He pushed himself up to his feet. “We need to check on him. I don’t think he could have gotten caught, but he might be distracted. Niles is functionally a ghost—”

“So what better to find him than another one?”

Both Adan and Betsy spun.

Standing in the alley behind them was an old man with long white hair. He had eyes of piercing blue ice that poked out from beneath his bushy eyebrows, so sharp that it almost felt like they were cutting into Adan’s very soul.

When did he get there?

“Who are you?” Adan asked, lowering his stance instantly. “How did you—”

The man vanished.

A warning scream borne of years of experience rang out in Adan’s mind. His senses kicked into overdrive in an instant. He grabbed Betsy, pressing her to the wall as she let out a surprised yelp. Adan placed himself before her, summoning his magic forth and reinforcing his body with [Unrelenting Wall] as he braced for an attack.

It never came.

The old man appeared where he had been a moment before, his eyes still boring into Adan’s like blades.

“You have not yet earned death,” the man said. “Come.”

Adan stared at him, his heart slamming in his chest. “What?”

The old man walked past them, not even bothering to glance in their direction. He came to a stop at the end of the alley. “I told you to come. Your team members are waiting for you. But they will not be waiting long. We do not take kindly to people intruding upon our land. Two choices. Retrieve your litter or you will find them feeding the soil.  

The hair on the back of Adan’s neck stood on end. They’d found both Pete and Niles. The old man had specified members, plural.

Anger flashed across Betsy’s face. “Why, you—”  

 Adan clapped a hand over her mouth.

“We’re coming,” Adan said flatly. The purpose of this mission had changed. He didn’t give a rats ass about the pay if it meant coming out without half his men. The Blacktongues information had been wrong. If Pete had been captured… the Menagerie hadn’t sent their best members to the party at all. They’d been expecting an attack. He clenched his teeth. “They’re alive?”

“For the time being,” the old man said.

And that was all he had to say. Adan released Betsy’s mouth. She swallowed back her anger. And, with no other option, the two of them followed after the old man. He led them up to the front entrance of the Devil’s Den.

The door swung open entirely of its own volition to reveal a dimly lit dining room beyond. A lone orange lantern flickered from a beam in the center of the room, just barely managing to illuminate an empty table beneath it.

Adan’s unease built, but he could do nothing but follow after the old man. His eyes darted around in the darkness in preparation for an ambush. But just as before, no attack came. They continued unimpeded through the common room and into a room in the back, where they descended into a cellar below.

Light greeted Adan’s eyes again.

He almost wished that it hadn’t.

Niles and Pete were bound before him, held aloft by the roots of a pitch black tree covered with crimson red leaves that shimmered like rubies. The tree nearly filled the cellar entirely, only a few feet away from reaching the ceiling above it.

The roots bound around both of the men’s mouths, preventing them from speaking. All of their weapons and armor were in a pile on the ground in front of them. They were flanked by two members of the Menagerie.

Adan recognized them immediately. His hands clenched in anger. The Blacktongue’s information really had been wrong. The Menagerie had left behind Olive and Kien, two of the strongest fighters in the Proving Grounds.

He didn’t miss the fact that the rest of the Menagerie were nowhere to be seen. Given the fact nobody looked particularly angry, it wasn’t because Pete had killed anyone.

They only sent two people to deal with us because we weren’t worth any more attention.

“Ah. You found them,” Olive said.

“Of course I did,” the old man said. “This is my street.”

“Our street,” Olive corrected.

“Semantics,” the old man said. “I’m done here. Deal with the situation as you will.”

With that, he vanished as if he’d never even been there.

Olive shook her head and blew out a sigh. “Who are you, and why are you here? And please keep in mind, I’ve already asked both of your allies the same question. If your story differs from theirs in the slightest, we’re all going to have a very bad time.”

“But it is better to have a mess now than later,” Kien provided, leaning against his broom and arching an eyebrow. “After all, it’s better to clean up once.”

“We’re the Scarred Hand,” Adan said immediately. Any loyalty he might have had went right out the window when the Blacktongues had lied to him about the Menagerie’s forces. “We were hired by the Blacktongue family to investigate your guild in search for an artifact you took from their dungeon.”

Was Olive the one that defeated Pete? Is she really that skilled? He’s a Tier up on her… but I didn’t even hear a fight. There’s no way he was outclassed that badly, is there?

Olive nodded slowly. “That matches up. It’s bullshit, but I suppose you’re just repeating what they told you.”

“We’ll leave immediately,” Adan said. “The Blacktongues gave us false information, but our task was only to scout for an item you have. Nothing else. We aren’t here to fight you.”

Olive glanced at Pete. Then she shrugged. “That may be the case… but you can’t expect us to just let you leave after you broke into our building, do you?”

“You implied there was a way out of this without a fight. What is it?” Adan asked. “Any information you want about the job is yours. I have no need to cover for employers that feed us lies.”

The corners of Olive’s mouth pulled up. Her wooden arm twitched, almost as if in displeasure, but she crossed her arms behind her back to pull it out of sight.

“Then let’s talk the terms of your surrender. Tell me everything you know about the Blacktongues and why they want this item we supposedly have.”