Rise of the Living Forge

Eleven would have bust out laughing if the mere idea of that didn’t seem like an enormous hassle. Instead, all she managed to do was raise an eyebrow.

“A smith?” Eleven repeated. “You think a smith killed Twelve? I’m far from Twelve’s biggest fan, but he wasn’t that incompetent. And how would a smith have known he needed such a powerful poison to take him out? This feels like the job of a very experienced enemy, not some random crafter.”

“I would hesitate to call Ifrit a random crafter,” One said slowly. The black light from his magic danced across his pensive features as he spoke. “He is the guildmaster of the Menagerie.”

Eleven stared at him. “Right. The Menagerie. Of course.”

“You don’t know who they are, do you?” One asked dryly.

“I have been… busy. Very busy.”

“Asleep,” One surmised. “No matter. They are a crafting guild. One who have accomplished some fairly impressive feats as of late — and they will be participating in the Proving Grounds.”

“A crafting guild? Why?”

“They have partnered with another guild at the Secret Eye’s behest. It is not uncommon… but there are more reasons that cause me to pay them attention. One of Twelve’s clones was in Milten, their hometown, when he died.”

One nodded slowly. “So it is. No matter. This is your task. You will investigate Ifrit. Be cautious. Not just of him, but his entire guild. I strongly suspect there is more to them than you expect.”

The solemn tone in One’s words was not lost on Eleven. That said, its impact was slightly weakened by the fact that One’s tone was always solemn. The man needed to go outside and sit in the sun a little more.

Eleven didn’t miss the irony of her being the one to think that thought.

“I will do as you ask,” Eleven said. “Don’t worry. I won’t be caught.”

“Good,” One said. “I will not lose another of my herd. I cannot. Return to me, Eleven. Your life is more important than this task. Take no risks. Your target should be in the Devil’s Den — a Tavern — or the Infernal Armory, his smithy. They are near each other, on the same street. Is this understood?”

She nodded.

Then, without another word, she stepped through the churning black portal.

***

Far away, in Milten, a shadow shifted.

A drunkard passed out in the alley beside it grunted and rolled over to look in its direction. He squinted into the darkness.

“Hullo?” His words were heavily slurred and he barely even managed to lift his head up from the ground enough to focus his gaze. “Anyone there?”

There was no response. The man shrugged and let himself flop back. It probably wasn’t the first time he’d seen things while he was lying around, and Eleven highly doubted he had anything worth worrying about being stolen.

She stepped over his body, completely invisible to the naked eye. Strands of her hair trailed along the ground, nothing more than shadows wrapping her entire body as she stepped out of the alley.

One’s magic was never inaccurate. He’d deposited her exactly where she needed to be — or at the very least, as close to it as possible as he could get without giving her away. The fact that he hadn’t popped her out directly on the Menagerie’s hideout spoke volumes.

He thinks they’re strong enough to detect his powers? One’s magic is pretty difficult to spot. It’s so fast and powerful that most people won’t even notice it in time. Why would he be so concerned about a crafting guild?

Eleven slipped down the streets, passing right by several people. They didn’t so much as glance in her direction. Her steps made no sound. Her body had no smell. Her passing left no trace. She was nothing more than a shadow in a sea of darkness.

It didn’t take her long to find the buildings that One had singled out. The street they stood on may have been one of the most wholly unimpressive ones that she’d ever found herself upon. It was run down and in shambles. Dozens of buildings sat in various states of disrepair around her.

And yet, in spite of that, two rose in spite of it. The Infernal Armory was a stout stone building that stood directly across from the Devil’s Den, a several story tavern that — for some impossible reason — had a massive line of people lined up outside it.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Why are there so many people waiting in such a crappy area just to go to an inn? That makes no sense. Milten is backwater, but it surely has at least one more place to get drunk. For a crowd of this size… there has to be something worthwhile going on.

Eleven made her way toward the tavern. She was tempted to slip straight through the door and take a look around, but One’s warning rang in her ears. It had been a long time since he’d been this serious about a job.

I guess I have to treat this like a highly ranked guild. They might have defenses against people in stealth. What a pain in the ass.

Closing her eyes, Eleven extended her hands. The strands of shadowed hair that ran from her head expanded, slithering across the ground like a freed den of snakes. Nobody so much as glanced in her direction as her magic wormed its way into the ground and passed through the city.

Information flooded into Eleven as her magic crept further. She moved slowly, not letting herself mistakenly stumble into a defense and alert her opponents of her presence. It was tempting to rush through the task. A crafting guild set up in the middle of nowhere wasn’t going to have defenses against her… but she’d promised One that she’d be careful.

And so Eleven’s awareness crawled forward, enveloping the entire street and wrapping the buildings without growing close enough to touch them. There were too many ways to ward locations for her to try poking her senses inside.

Then she settled down to wait. She would gather information before making a move. In the end, she was stuck in Milten until One made the portal back for her. There was no real need to barrel ahead. She could afford to spend some time sitting around.

Seconds ticked by. They turned to minutes, and minutes turned to an hour.

Eleven hated waiting.

Jobs like this are the worst. I could have slept through the last hour and nothing would have changed. Waiting is the worst. It’s like wasting time that I could be spending sleeping. I want easy jobs. Actually, I want none at all, but I’d settle for —

Two forms slipped out of the Devil’s Den. Eleven’s thoughts died as they passed across the net her shadows had woven across the street, and an image of them popped into her mind. A large man in oil and ash-stained clothes along with a purple-skinned woman in silver-blue armor.

Is she dressed up as a demon?

Eleven’s boredom faltered. She couldn’t read the information on any of the equipment the woman wore, and the man seemingly had nothing on him. Despite that, she could feel the prickle of magic against her shadows coming from both of them.

That’s the smith. Interesting. This is my chance. How convenient. I wonder where they’re headed. This seems like a good opportunity to get some information.

Eleven pulled her shadows back to her and followed after the two, indistinguishable from the city.

***

As it turned out, Ifrit and his companion were headed to a dungeon. That was already rather odd. Eleven didn’t have the slightest idea as to why a smith would be taking a trip to the dungeon.

She did, however, feel like a bit of a pervert.

Ifrit and the woman had linked hands as soon as they’d left Milten behind them. They didn’t have the slightest idea that there was someone traveling just a few paces behind them.

That wasn’t enough to dissuade Eleven. She followed them into the dungeon, still completely unsure as to what it was they were doing. The Dungeon was Journeyman Tier, which was definitely well above the capabilities of a crafting class.

Maybe his girlfriend is going to carry him through it so he can get some materials?

The two of them continued into the dungeon without a care in the world. Eleven followed after them, her confusion only growing with every step they took.

“So, how have things been for you?” the woman asked. “You’ve been working a lot.”

“I’d say they’ve gone quite well. You’re going to want to see this,” Ifrit replied, an excited undertone to his voice. “I’ve made a lot of progress. I’m going to have to give your equipment an upgrade when we get a chance... but that’ll probably have to be after the tournament.”

“Don’t push yourself so hard,” the woman said with a laugh. She nudged his shoulder with her own. “You need to take more breaks. Take a day or two off after we finish preparation for the tournament.”

“You’re one to talk. I haven’t ever seen you take a break from cooking.”

“I’ll have to, soon. I’ve asked Ridley to come by and upgrade the Devil’s Den again. It’s too small. I’ll have to take a few days off during the additions. They’re going to be pretty big.”

They continued into the first floor, entirely unaware of their surroundings. It almost felt like they hadn’t noticed that they’d walked straight into a dungeon.

Shouldn’t the two of you be a little more focused on your surroundings? Journeyman is hardly a huge threat, but for a smith…

Something in the corner of the room moved. Eleven’s back stiffened as a Journeyman 4 orc bust free from its hiding spot behind a large stone and sprinted for the two of them, a rusted cleaver clutched in its hands.

“Finally,” Ifrit said, his eyes calm as they took in the monster’s approach. “Take a look at this, Lillia.”

And then, instead of hiding behind his armored partner, he took a step toward the orc.

Eleven shifted in spite of herself.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

You idiot. Don’t show off for the girl. She already likes you! I hate watching people get killed!

Ifrit reared back and extended his hand.

The air around it crackled with fire, and an enormous Warhammer exploded into being, coils of molten energy rising up from its head like the breath from the mouth of a dragon.

Eleven’s eyes widened.

Ifrit twisted his body in the practiced swing of a warrior. The hammer streaked through the air like a comet. A path of black fire blazed in its wake, and coils of magma trailed behind it.

The hammer slammed into the orc with an earth-shaking crash. It roared as lava burst from its head in an explosion akin to that of an erupting volcano — and the orc evaporated on the spot.

The monster’s entire upper body had been completely melted away and turned to a splatter of slag on the floor behind where it had stood.

All that remained of it were its legs, which didn’t even get a chance to bleed. They’d been instantly cauterized shut by the heat of the hammer. With two soft thumps, they fell back to the scorched ground.

Eleven’s mouth fell open. Despite the immense heat radiating from the hammer in Ifrit’s hands, a wave of ice gripped her like the hand of death itself. That power could not belong to a mere smith. It wasn’t even in the realm of what an Adept tier warrior should have been able to do, much less a Journeyman.

Godspit.

He’s a monster.