Rise of the Living Forge

And, with that revelation, Koyu vanished.

It may have been more accurate to say that he walked through the wall of the Infernal Armory, muttering something about needing a drink. Arwin barely noticed. Several minutes had already passed by the time he realized the Lich had left. He’d been staring at the Soul Guardian, half waiting for it to lurch to life.

A child? This is a child?

Logically, Arwin was pretty sure that Koyu had been exaggerating. He highly doubted he’d made a child in the literal sense of the world. He might have spent the majority of his teenage years at war, but he wasn’t that out of touch.

The whole purpose of the core had been to give the materials a way to fully manifest their desires in the world. It was the heart and soul of whatever it was put into. In this case, that was a [Soul Guardian].

If Koyu’s words were right… then this was the next logical step beyond that. He hadn’t just given the armor a way to influence the world. He had pulled out the desires themselves and formed them into one, coherent being.

It was an amalgamation of energy from his soul and the will of his components. And, if he understood everything correctly, then the [Soul Guardian] was really more akin to a very estranged cousin than a child.

Arwin let his hand rest on the breastplate of the armor. Warm heat met his touch. It was… strange. He could feel something almost familiar, as if it were his own hand he was feeling, but at the same time, it was something else entirely.

And there was something else there too.

Deep within the [Soul Guardian], Arwin could feel its Core. It thrummed with power like an alien heart, concealed from the world by the armor surrounding it. A faint connection drifted between his palm and the segmented metal ball.

And within that connection came knowledge.

His lips parted in wonder.

The core was impossibly complex. Layer upon layer of will. Of desire and of information. It was like a miniature library, recording every single thing it had witnessed deep within itself.

Not all of the information made any sense to Arwin. It felt like the core was a book written in a language he only vaguely understood, but a book that he’d already read once before. Parts of it were familiar to him. Others were so foreign that he couldn’t have ever even guessed where they’d come from.

This connection… it’s because of my class specialization change to Forbidden Soulmancy. It has to be. I’ve been able to speak to and communicate with materials before, but never like this. Something about the Core is more than just a material or a magical object.

Arwin couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh in disbelief or simply continue staring in wonder. He could tell innately that by upgrading his Class, he’d gotten the ability to make even more Cores.

They might not be as powerful as this one on his first try, but he knew how to make them. He knew how to improve. An entirely new form of crafting had been ripped straight from the Mesh’s hands, and it had rewarded him for it.

I wonder if it was peeved about that. Koyu… he said it had an agenda. What is that agenda? And am I working with it or against it?

There was a knock on the door. Arwin blinked, tearing his gaze away from the armor to look over his shoulder.

Red mist twisted up from the ground, swirling around an invisible figure as the Infernal Armory made itself known.

“Olive is here,” the mist said. “As is Reya and the monsters. Are you prepared for me to let them in? I can conceal the [Soul Guardian] to ensure nobody gets a look at what they should not witness.”

“It’s fine,” Arwin said. “They won’t see anything but armor. Nobody will. You can… hold on. When did you find out that the members of Phoenix Circle are monsters?”

There was a pause, as if the Infernal Armory were trying to gather its thoughts. Then the invisible figure — which Arwin was willing to bet did not have a voice box — cleared its throat.

“I have been communicating with the Den.”

“The Den?” Arwin blinked. “You can speak with Lillia’s building?”

“You forged both of us, and our senses grow with our power. Lillia has been feeding the Den a great number of delicious special meals, and there are many that feed her with their presence. She grows powerful. We have been able to connect, and she shares some of the passings that happen within her walls with me.”

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“That’s sweet,” Arwin said. He briefly considered asking exactly what a special meal was before deciding he didn’t want to know. Lillia would tell him if he needed to be in the loop, and there were people waiting on him. “Get ready to work. We’ve got some armor to make… among other things.”

He extended a hand and Verdant Inferno slammed into his grip. The weapon shuddered, a mixture of a purr and a warning growl. Arwin patted the hammer on its head.

“Don’t you worry. Your Core is coming right up. I’m finally ready to make it… but I have to get our good friend Olive taken care of before the tournament. You don’t mind, do you?”

A flicker of emotion that carried something between a middle-finger and an accepting pat on the head passed from the hammer to him. It was disturbingly vivid. For a moment, Arwin could have sworn he felt a hand touching his hair.

Then it was gone.

He shook himself off. “Right. Let them in.”

The Infernal Armory obliged.

***

“What do we do?” Vix asked.

She sat on the dusty bed across from Art, who leaned against the back of the uncomfortable wooden chair he’d spun around to face her.

Art wished he had the answer. His fingers drummed against the wood and dull pangs rose up from his bad leg, as they always did whenever he started to think a little too hard.

This was not how he’d been expecting the visit to Milten to go. Every card had been in his favor. He should have been the one in control.

Now, he couldn’t tell if he ever had been.

Rodrick’s threat about their father had been correct. He’d put word in with the assassin’s guild in search of information and had received it a day later. Everything the man had said was true. There had been a hit out for Duke Aleric — a hit that had been called off due to an increased threat to the assassins bringing the threat level of the job above what had been paid for.

Art’s jaw clenched.

It had been easy to get the information. Too easy.

I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t be surprised if Rodrick himself was the one that put the hit out for my father. This is too clean. Too neatly wrapped up… and he’s good enough to have covered his tracks better if he’d wanted to.

This was a message.

But why wouldn’t he ask for anything more? He completely outplayed me. We were so overextended that he could have asked for anything he wanted and we’d have been forced to give it to him. He knew we wouldn’t sacrifice dad. We could have been forced to drop out of the Proving Grounds… but all he wants us to do is keep Arwin’s identity a secret?

Art blew out a heavy breath and slumped over the back of the chair. “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure out what Rodrick’s motive is, but I’m drawing a blank. I don’t know what he’s playing at.”

“Could he just be being honest?” Vix asked. “What if he really just doesn’t want Arwin’s identity getting out there? I mean…”

“Why wouldn’t they want to reveal that?” Art demanded. “It doesn’t make any sense. Sure, it would be embarrassing for the Guild for them to admit that the former Hero isn’t actually so former, but it should be a celebration! People would flock to him. The war needs him. The kingdom—”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be in the war.”

Art blinked. “He’s the Hero.”

“Heroes get tired,” Vix said quietly. “Everyone does, eventually. Maybe he got fed up having to fight for his life every day and never seeing anything come from it. We haven’t gained a damn inch of land since the war started. Who can blame him for wanting to retire?”

Art’s brow furrowed and he looked down at his hands through the slats on the back of the chair. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m working with a broken mirror and only seeing half the reflection.”

“That’s not how mirrors work, Arty.”

Art rolled his eyes. “Whatever. And don’t call me Arty. That’s even worse than what father came up with, and he already butchered my name for life.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“I suppose it could be worse,” Art admitted. He tapped his good foot on the ground and let out what must have been the hundredth sigh that day. “What do you think?”

“Me? I’m just a killer, Art. I don’t think. I do.”

“Bullshit. You’re not an idiot.”

“I’m a sword,” Vix said. “You’re the hand. Wield me.”

“You’re lazy is what you are.”

The corner of Vix’s lip quirked up in amusement. “Maybe a bit. Thinking takes a lot of energy, and I don’t have much of that left to spare.”

Art’s foot stopped tapping. “Are you—”

“I’m fine, Art.” Vix raised her hands. “Don’t jump on me. I didn’t mean I was dying already. I’m alive. I’m just tired. That’s all.”

He squinted suspiciously at her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” Vix’s words were firm. Possibly too firm. She glared at him and shook her head. “If you want my opinion that bad, then I say Rodrick was honest. I don’t think he’s trying to play us. He meant everything he said — including the part where we got invited to dinner.”

“To poison us,” Art muttered.

“Possibly,” Vix agreed with a grin. “There isn’t a poison that’ll be able to get past me, though.”

“No,” Art agreed thoughtfully. “There isn’t. That’s true. Perhaps I’m approaching this wrong. We need more information.”

“You want me to spy on them?”

“Do you think that would go well?”

“No. I would get caught. They’ve got some form of magic that lets them detect me. I don’t know if that stretches outside their inn, though. It might be a localized spell.”

Art shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want you to spy. That avenue was already lost to us. As I said, we need a different approach. Even if Rodrick was honest with us… we can’t win the tournament like this. Something has to change.”

“So what do we do?”

“Hopefully, something unexpected.” Art smiled and rose from his chair, leaning against it to avoid putting any weight on his bad leg. He grabbed the deck of cards from the ratty desk beside him and shoved it into his pocket. “Go get changed. We have a dinner to prepare for.”