Rise of the Living Forge

Art’s blood slammed in his ears as he stared at Hein’s corpse. Even as the Secret Eye healers drew on their magic and bathed him in golden energy, he knew that it would do nothing. There were few that knew the abilities of healers more than he and his sister.

Every single one of any note had been called to Thornhelm in attempts to cure him and Vix. But healers had limits. Even Anna, who could cure rot itself, had her limits. And death was that limit.

There was no healer that could cure death — and Hein was dead. He laid in a growing puddle of his own blood, his eyes still wide in terror and disbelief.

Kien stood over him, behind the teeming mass of healers, blood still dripping from his hand. The former hero stared at his fallen brother with an expression unlike any that Art had ever seen. It was agony and exhaustion, relief and pain. It was something that Art couldn’t even comprehend.

The former hero’s hands were so tight at his sides. His arms trembled as he stood, the lone point of stillness in a sea of roaring confusion.

Art’s throat tightened.

If that was Vix… I don’t think I could have done it. Even if I had the physical strength to beat her in a fight, even if it was the only way forward, there’s no way I could have killed her. I think it would have killed me too.

And perhaps Kien was no different. His eyes stared straight ahead, passing through the wall and the crowd beyond. Kien’s mind wasn’t in this place. Perhaps it was in the past, where his brother had still lived. Where his brother hadn’t yet become a monster.

But this was my plan. In the end, even though Kien knew what was going to be required of him, I was the hand that wielded the sword. But I didn’t plan on killing Hein after the fight. It was supposed to happen during the fight.

The thump of blood in Art’s ears started to slow. His mind spun faster and faster as he forced through his thoughts to get to the heart of the matter. This changed things. It changed a lot of things.

Killing Hein in the middle of the fight would have been no problem at all. The Secret Eye had made that clear enough. But killing him after the fight was an entirely different story. They’d basically just spat right in the Secret Eye’s face, not to mention the Adventurer’s Guild themselves.

Even if the two cloaked figures that had accompanied Hein had yet to act about his death, it didn’t change the facts of whose guild they were in. An execution like this was practically a direct challenge.

Shit. This isn’t something that the Secret Eye can ignore. And it isn’t just the three of us responsible. We were representing both Thornhelm and the Menagerie, not to mention the Montibeau family. They helped fund our armor… which means that was practically a declaration of challenge.

Not quite war, but not far from it either. The Secret Eye can’t ignore this. They’ll have to act. And the most logical response to a killing blow outside the combat, directly in the view of all these important pricks sitting in the audience…

The back of Art’s neck prickled. He knew what he would have done — and that meant he had a pretty damn good idea of what action the Secret Eye would do as well.

An eye for an eye. It’s the only move they can make. Going so brazenly against the established rules is not something that can be overlooked.

They need a life for the life. Something that makes sure nobody tries this again. Kien will definitely be killed. Not just to punish him, but to impact our group. The Secret Eye won’t remove us from the tournament on their own, though.

There’s too much money in it. Screwing up their Finals would be a huge blow. Bigger than offing Hein… which means they won’t kill all of us unless they have no choice.

They’ll kill Kien and let me and Vix continue.

Kien’s eyes shifted. The motion was slight, so faint that it may as well not have even happened. But happen it did — and his gaze locked with Art’s. The faintest smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

And just like that, Art realized that Kien knew.

A pit formed in his stomach. Every single thought that had just passed through his own head had probably passed through Kien’s. The former hero was no fool. He’d acted alone, and if Art and Vix reinforced that, then they would likely be able to continue through the tournament.

He realized the only way to accomplish both his and our goals was for him to die here. Hein’s dead, we get a chance to keep advancing and ask about how to cure Vix. There wasn’t another way forward for all three of us. Not one where we have a chance of winning the tournament.

Art’s nails dug into his palms.

This was not how it was meant to go. There should have been other ways. A different route forward. One where they’d all fought together. Where all of them had survived. Not just Vix. Not just Kien. All of them.

But there was no such path. The way forward through the tournament could only be bought at the cost of a life.

“Art,” Vix whispered.

She was no fool. When it came to matters of the fight, Vix knew them more than almost anyone else. She knew people— and she knew the expression on Art’s face. But still she looked to him, desperation crossing her features.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

The crowd thundered around them. Whether it was bloodlust or anger, Art couldn’t tell. He didn’t care.

“A cold blooded murder!” Kraven screamed. “Right on the Proving Grounds arena! Unbelievable! Are you seeing this, folks? I’d wager there are going to be a few pretty unhappy people about this — Hein most of all!”

“There’s no other path,” Art said to Vix.

“No,” Vix shook her head firmly. “This is not the path I want, Art. Change it. That’s what you’ve always done. Find a different one.”

Blood dripped from Art’s palms where his fingernails dug into them. There wasn’t another path. Kraven’s yelling drove into his ears like spikes. The screams of the crowd thundered all around him.

Art’s brain churned faster still.

It didn’t matter.

The world was slipping through his clenched fingers. Not a single thing he could think of would let them somehow squeeze their way through this. Kien had accomplished his duty. Now he was sacrificing himself to let Art and Vix do the same.

Interfering would only ruin what Kien was doing for them. They couldn’t back his actions up and hope to stay in the tournament.

“Art,” Vix said. Her voice was as taut as a bowstring. “I will not live a life bought with another. He doesn’t deserve this. Fix it. I know you can. Don’t let this happen.”

He wanted to scream back at her. Vix’s faith in him was like a noose tightening around his neck. There wasn’t even the slightest amount of doubt in her voice… but there wasn’t anything he could do.

Nothing but —

Art’s eyes shot wide.

Vix smiled. She didn’t know what he was planning, but she didn’t need to. “Do it.”

Art threw his hands into the air. “We concede! Thornhelm’s team withdraws from the tournament in atonement for the actions of our ally.”

His words cut through the arena and left a single second of silence in their wake. Then the yells started again, even louder this time than they had been before.

Kien spun toward him. “You fool! What are you doing?”

“That,” Art replied, his jaw clenching, “Is none of your concern. You do not make decisions for us. I am the team leader. The burden for all choices made by this team is mine, not yours.”

Kraven’s platform lowered him toward the stage. Confusion passed over his features as he swung closer to Art.

“What are you on about, boy?” Kraven demanded. “You think you can just—”

“You think you can withdraw so easily?” One of the cloaked men that had been part of Hein’s team strode toward Art, extending a hand. A massive executioner’s axe made of glistening silver metal hummed into being within his grip. “You’ve killed a member of the Adventurer’s Guild. Such a price will be paid for in blood. If you think we’ll let you off so easily, you’re sorely mistaken. There will be a price for Hein’s murder.”

“Murder is a strong word,” Art said. “Certain warriors can find themselves lost in the battle haze. We have seen just how dangerous Hein was. It is little surprise that Kien would be fully focused on the fight. The death was not intentional. It was an accident. All responsibility for such a thing falls on the leader of his team, and I withdraw from the tournament. We will provide proper repercussions for our actions to the family of the deceased.”

The guildsmans’ grip tightened on his axe. And, even though Art couldn’t see his face, he knew that the man was well aware of who Kien was. He knew Hein was his brother.

They were planning something here. Did they know Kien had survived? Or do they just need him dead? Whatever the reason… it isn’t happening. The bastards aren’t getting him today.

I promised Vix I would find a different path.

“Then you will pay in your own blood,” the guildsman snarled. “If you hold no sanction for the Secret Eye’s rules, then I will subject you to your own choices.”

He exploded into motion, his axe raising into the sky in a flash of silver. Art didn’t even have a moment to be surprised. The man was impossibly fast. Far faster than anyone they’d faced so far.

There was no time for Art to dodge. His magical energy was spent. There was nothing he could do to stop the axe’s path.

Art only had a moment to process a keen wail screaming through the air behind him.

Then the ground between him and the axe-wielding man exploded with a deafening crash. Fragments of stone tore through the air and skittered across the ground of the Proving Grounds as a wave of heat slammed into Art’s face like a physical blow.

Everyone staggered back, raising their hands defensively.

Lodged in the center of the arena, directly in the cloaked man’s path, was a massive warhammer.

Black lava poured from its head to form a sweltering pool in the crater it had formed, and a thick heat haze warped the air around it.

It was Caldera.

The form of a large man leapt from the viewing boxes just below the stands. He landed on crouched legs beside the hammer with a heavy thud.

He rose to his full height and strode forward until he stood at the edge of the bubbling pool of black lava. A cloak was wrapped around his face like a large scarf, blocking everything but his eyes.

“It seems you are hard of hearing.” Arwin drew Caldera free from the ground. His voice was as cold as ice, a sharp contrast to the molten heat pouring off his body. “So let me do you a favor. They surrendered. Team Thornhelm is no longer in this tournament. And if you have issue with that — you can take it up directly with me.”

“And who do you think you are?” the guildsman demanded. “What gives you the right to interfere?”

“I am Ifrit, guild leader of the Menagerie.” He swung the hammer back and let it rest on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing more than a favor. “I have a number of people that can vouch for my abilities. The Secret Eye would not have invited my teams here otherwise, and I would dare say I know more about magical weaponry than you do.”

“This has nothing to do with magical weapons,” the cloaked man snarled. “Out of my way, smith. I demand retribution.”

“It has everything to do with magical weapons,” Arwin corrected. “The one that killed your team member was not Kien. It was the very dagger he wielded. The weapon was cursed. Did you not see that massive pillar of black smoke that arose from it when it shattered? A tiny amount of it influenced Kien’s mind, forcing him to strike and kill its very own owner.”

Confusion racked Art for a split instant. None of that made sense. He was pretty sure the smoke hadn’t entered Kien at all. Sure, there was a chance that he’d missed something, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t what the dark energy the daggers had released had been.

Then his eyes widened.

Arwin was full of shit. The smith was lying through his teeth in attempt to save them.

“Liar,” the guildsman spat. “You attempt to protect your wretched allies, but we are not fools. Those daggers were not crafted by you, Ifrit. No matter how many things you try to take credit for, it is nothing but deceit. That dagger was made—”

“—By me.” A new voice boomed through the arena.

Art raised his eyes toward it. Then he blinked.

Standing at the edge of his viewing box was none other than a short man covered in heavy armor. The very same man that had made the daggers that now laid in a fragmented pile in the arena.

Necrohammer pounded a fist against his chest. He then ripped his left gauntlet off, raising a rough hand to the sky. Two fingers were missing from his hand. “I created those daggers. They were some of the strongest pieces I ever made, and all power comes at a cost. And I can tell you, as the smith whose very fingers were sacrificed for the creation of those daggers, that Ifrit speaks the truth. Kien’s actions were not his own. He is innocent.”