Rise of the Living Forge

Even though the fight had ended, Arwin’s hands were still tight at his sides. He’d risen to his feet at some point during it and never gotten a chance to sit back down. The whole of his attention had been completely focused on the arena.

There had been several moments where he’d been completely convinced that Art was dead. Nothing he knew about the boy had implied he’d have been able to fight a mage as powerful as the one from Starforge, and that had been before he’d revealed his armor had powerful enchantments on it.

“Damn,” Reya said from beside Arwin. “I think Art was kind of holding back on what he can do. Did he just steal the other guy’s magic?”

“Looks like it,” Arwin said. He’d seen similar magics before during the war, but not often. Copy mages were highly specialized and very rarely had a reason to be on the front lines. They were only called out when the Monster Horde had a caster so powerful that normal mages couldn’t easily get close to them.

After all, the easiest way to deal with someone slinging around impossibly powerful magic was to sling that exact magic back at them. There were a number of variants of copy mages that Arwin had seen in actions, but he hadn’t seen any that worked the way Art’s magic did.

Trapping magic in the cards, huh? That’s pretty interesting. Most of the copy mages I knew were only capable of stealing magic, though. They couldn’t cast anything on their own. So how does this align to Art’s information gathering ability? That’s what I though this cards were for… so I must be missing something. Maybe the information ability was also something he copied?

In the end, it didn’t matter. Art’s team had won the fight handily. And, now that it was over and Arwin could breathe normally again, his attention was given a chance to turn to the reason Art’s team had nearly lost in the first place.

“So that was another Dwarf Smith’s equipment, huh?” Arwin mused. He knew he should have been relieved — this was the smith that Selen had warned him about. His team had been knocked out of the tournament without any major incidents or issues.

It felt too easy.

“I think the white-armored guy said his name was Necrohammer,” Reya said. “Definitely sounds like a smith. A spooky one.”

“Definitely a spooky one,” Arwin agreed absentmindedly. The win really did feel strange. This Necrohammer smith had clearly been competent. Arwin didn’t even have the faintest clue how to start making some of the enchantments his armor had posessed — and yet, the armor had barely done anything beyond that.

It’s almost like it was a showpiece rather than something actually meant to be used. What’s up with that?

“Is something wrong?” Reya asked, catching the frown on Arwin’s lips. “We won! Or did we want Kien’s team to lose?”

“No, no. I definitely wanted them to win,” Arwin said hurriedly. “It’s not that. I’m just a little confused. Necrohammer seems like a really good smith. So why would he make armor that barely even works as armor? I mean, it was very impressive, but nobody’s going to go out and buy that stuff when it couldn’t even stop a considerably weaker opponent from beating the one wielding it.”

Reya scratched her chin. “Huh. Yeah, that’s a good point. The lady Kien was fighting folded like a pancake when he hit her. Her armor definitely looked really cool… but it didn’t do much of anything. Maybe it was just bad?”

“It’s possible, but it was made by a master Dwarven Smith. I somehow doubt they’d make terrible armor unless it was on purpose.”

The two of them fell silent for a few moments, but there was more than enough noise in the air to make up for it. Kraven was calling guild names out as two new teams took the stage and readied themselves for the next fight. Neither of them were of any interest to Arwin, so he paid the stage and the crowd little attention.

“What if that was the point?” Reya asked.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Arwin glanced to her. “What do you mean?”

“What if the armor was meant to be shit because it wasn’t even armor in the first place?”

Arwin’s brow furrowed. “I think you’ve lost me. Keep going.”

“I mean, you’re right. The armor was really cool, but it kind of sucked at being armor. It was more like a showcase. Somebody going ‘hey, look what my cool thing can do’. And the armor did that. You don’t need to win the tournament to show off your really cool weapon if you don’t care if your team makes it.”

“You’re suggesting Necrohammer had the capability to make something considerably better but actively chose not to?” Arwin raised an eyebrow. “Why? What would the point of going through the effort be? You’d get way more attention if your work actually won.”

“I’ve got a question in response to that,” Reya said slowly. “Are we sure he only supplied gear to one team? Because if I was super arrogant and thought I was selling some really awesome armor, I’d distribute a bunch of pieces to different teams. Not because I cared if any of them won…”

Arwin’s eyes widened as he realized what Reya was getting at.

“…but because Necrohammer feels like giving someone a full set of his armor wouldn’t actually let the equipment show off what it’s capable of on its own. You’re saying you think he’s basically saying that a complete set of his work would make someone invincible in the tournament?”

Reya gave him a grim nod. “That’s what I would have done, I think. But the arrogance you’d need to have to actually go for something like that…”

“Or confidence,” Arwin said with a frown. He looked down on the arena as the next fight played out, but his attention was anywhere but.

Did Selen underestimate us? Is that why she warned us about the dwarven smith working with Soulforge? Or is Reya right? Is this Necrohammer so good that he’s actively choosing to weaken his representatives so his equipment can shine better?

They were silent for a few moments.

“If I’m right… where would Olive stand?” Reya asked nervously.

“What do you mean?” Arwin asked, blinking and pulling himself back to the present.

“What if Necrohammer has someone completely outfitted in his gear? Like a last resort if his other teams fail? To ensure he both shows off what he can do and win as well? What would happen if Olive went up against someone like that? Is her armor strong enough?”

Arwin’s frown deepened and he turned his gaze back to the arena. It was several long seconds before he answered.

“I don’t know.”

***

Esmerelda was starting to suspect she’d eaten a few too many sausages. Everyone knew that dealers were never meant to partake in their own supply, but she’d been starting to get bored selling things to the idiots in the stands.

Now there was a pit forming in her stomach that wouldn’t seem to go away no matter how hard she tried to get rid of it. Her anti-nausea potion had done absolutely nothing to deal with it, and all of her fancier potions were back in the shop.

She was left with no choice but to sit and stare near the edge of the stands, looking down at the arena in search of anything to distract her from the feeling in her insides. It was like a twisting, sinking millstone lodged directly in her gut.

Blasted annoying, this is. I’m never going anywhere without a cure-all again. There isn’t even anything to keep my attention. All these little brats fighting… worthless. I’ve never been interested in combat prowess. It’s a waste of time to posture. The true power is in the one that controls everything.

But right now, I’d settle for a good fight. There hasn’t been one since that former hero’s team went up. The Secret Eye is really dropping the ball, here. These fights are just boring.

The crowd around her definitely seemed to disagree. They roared in approval and delight as another pair of teams tore into each other in a violent, impressive show of skill. The adventurers definitely knew what they were doing. The fight came down to the two last men, one of whom just barely managed to strike the other one down moments before falling himself.

Perhaps even more impressive, not a single person who had participated in the evenly matched fight died. Healers gathered everyone up, reattaching any missing limbs, and escorted the groups off the stage to thunderous applause.

Esmerelda rolled her eyes. They were too easily amused. Then again, that was the reason she’d made an absolute killing scamming everyone around her with overpriced food. There was no reason to disapprove of idiocy when she was the one benefiting from it. There was a sucker born every minute, and those suckers tended to procreate to make even bigger ones.

I just need to find a way to distract myself from this damn food poisoning. Honestly, I thought I was immune to most poisons. I haven’t been poisoned in years, and I’ve drank everything I’ve ever made. That’s the best way to test for quality, after all. I’ll have to study these sausages. Not a single thing has left a scratch on me. I can’t believe there’s something that can bring even—

“…so put your hands together!” Kraven roared, the first half of his sentence lost to Esmerelda’s thoughts.

But she didn’t care about his words. Her eyes locked onto the arena in a snap, and the pit in her stomach abruptly doubled in weight.

Striding onto the stage flanked by his team, a confident, naive grin splitting his features, was Arnold.