Rise of the Living Forge

“I didn’t even realize he had a brother.” The potbellied vendor’s words were flat. He didn’t sound particularly interested in the conversation — his tone made it clear this was far from the first time that he’d been subjected to it.

The Secret Eye had been busy. They certainly had quite a bit of hype building up about their tournament. It seemed that half of the town was talking about the Proving Grounds. Arwin had absolutely no idea how everyone was actually going to see it.

Are they just going to send papers out talking about what happens? Or maybe a bunch of town criers will use magic to communicate with the Secret Eye and give people live updates. It would have to be something like that because there’s no way everyone that’s talking about the tournament will be able to make it.

For that matter, Arwin didn’t even know how Olive’s team was meant to make it to the tournament. He hadn’t heard a single word about the tournament from the Secret Eye yet. He imagined they’d be reaching out with information soon enough — or there wouldn’t be anyone at their tournament.

They made their way out of the market and continued through Milten. It wasn’t long before they’d arrived back on their street. A small line of adventurers was present at the entrance of the Devil’s Den, and the sound of clinking cutlery came from within.

Given how much Lillia’s magic muted every sound within the tavern, it was definitely a lively night.

The four of them cut the line and slipped through the door, drawing one or two muttered complaints from the crowd before people realized who they were.

Monica, who stood guard near the entrance of the room with a tankard of ale in one hand and a lantern in the other, raised both in greeting.

“Welcome back! How’d it go?”

“Poorly,” Elias said. “Our performance was less than exemplary, but I appreciate you asking. It’s nice to be thought of.”

“Ignore him,” Arwin said. “They did fine. Just a few kinks to iron out.”

“And unfortunately, not the fun kind,” Olive said through a sigh, but Arwin caught the faintest flicker of a grin on her lips before the darkness swallowed it.

Monica let out a loud bark of laughter, then nodded across the room. “Should probably tell you know that you’ve got someone waiting for you, Arwin.”

“I do?” Arwin squinted across the tavern, but the lighting with the addition of the bustling crowd made it impossible to tell who she was indicating.

Is the Secret Eye finally here to tell us about that the details of the tournament? It’s long overdue at this point.

“Yeah. There were a bunch of people looking for you to heal them.”

“I see.” Arwin grimaced. That had been inevitable. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help people — he just didn’t have enough time to help everyone. Every item he made took hours, which was an expense he couldn’t afford right before the tournament.

But can I really turn people away that need my help?

“Anna handled a lot of it,” Monica said, catching Arwin’s thoughts and giving him a grin. “She’s incredible. Most of them didn’t really need your services. They were just treating you like another healer, but she managed to pull off some pretty impressive work. I think we’re going to have to open a house for her to work out of near the Tavern if you don’t want to get swarmed. We’ve had easily thirty people come by in the last few hours looking for her rather than you. Word spreads fast. You should probably make her start charging for her work, though. If you don’t, this place is going to get swamped.”

“Noted,” Arwin said. That was good news. A steady stream of wounds meant Anna would have a great way to start advancing faster — and it would keep some of the focus off him. “What about the person looking to meet me? They’re not in urgent condition, are they?”

“Nothing like that. He’s the skinny little kid sitting at the table across from Rodrick,” Monica said. “Rodrick said that his name was important, but he didn’t have time to fill me in on why. The kid is called Art.”

It took Arwin a split instant to remember why that name was relevant. Art was the name of the child that Rodrick had said was his biggest threat in the tournament.

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What’s he doing here?

“Elias, Maeve, head up to your room,” Arwin said, his eyes sweeping back over the room. Now that he knew what he was looking for, it only took him a few moments to locate Rodrick sitting across from a young man with white hair. They were situated beneath a lantern, but the boy had been positioned so that his back was to the door. He couldn’t see them yet.

“Is something wrong?” Elias asked.

“I don’t know,” Arwin replied. “But Art is from one of the competing teams. I don’t want to give him any information about you two. For that matter, Olive, you go back to your room as well. Art could be doing reconnaissance on our abilities.”

“He doesn’t really seem that threatening,” Olive said. “I didn’t realize he was actually that young. He’s like half my age.”

“That’s an exaggeration. Are you even in your mid-twenties yet?”

“No,” Olive admitted. “What do I look like to you? Old and withered?”

“Just go to your room,” Arwin said, rolling his eyes. “You’re making me feel like someone’s grandfather and I’m just a few years older than you are. If Rodrick said this kid is the real deal, then I trust him.”

Olive nodded. She joined Elias and Maeve in slipping through the crowds and making for the stairwell at the edge of the tavern. Arwin gave Monica an appreciative nod for the information before making for Rodrick’s table.

Both Art and Rodrick noticed him coming before he was within ten feet of them. The two turned, nearly as one, to look straight at Arwin. For some reason, a shiver ran down Arwin’s back.

“You must be Ifrit,” Art said as Arwin came to a stop across from them.

This isn’t creepy at all.

“And you would be Art. Rodrick has told me about you. I didn’t expect that you’d be turning up at the Devil’s Den, though.”

“It was certainly a bold move,” Rodrick said. “Walking alone right into enemy territory is an act of either sheer idiocy or genius. Generally the former.”

That’s rich coming from Rodrick. He’s gone into enemy territory on his own more than anyone else in the guild. It’s practically his hobby at this point.

“The difference between an idiot and a genius is measured in success,” Art said. He rifled through a deck of cards that sat on the table, shuffling them together so fast that Arwin could barely follow the boy’s hands. “And coming here would only be stupid if I was at risk.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Arwin asked, tilting his head to the side. “We’re rivals in the tournament.”

“That’s not how you operate,” Art said. “I’ve looked into your guild quite extensively. You’ve never attacked anyone that hasn’t started the fight with you first… though that information only dates back to your creation. Half your guild has absolutely no history.”

“And you won’t be finding any more of it out today,” Rodrick said with a cool smile. “Art informed me that he was here for entirely personal reasons, and not due to the tournament. So long as that remains true, I don’t see why we should be enemies today.”

Art inclined his head. “Rodrick is correct. I have been told you may be able to heal a severely injured body part. Is that correct?”

“Heal probably isn’t the right word. I… might be able to replace one, though,” Arwin said. “It’s something I’ve only done once, but I can take a look at you and see what we can do. Is it your leg?”

Art blinked. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean, that’s it? I didn’t say it would be easy.”

“We’re enemies,” Art clarified. “We’ll be fighting each other in the arena.”

“Well, I won’t be in the arena myself.”

“Irrelevant. You’re willing to help a crippled opponent? Even though I’ll be up against your team?”

“It’s a tournament. Not a war,” Arwin said through a snort. “My people will carry their weight through skill and equipment. I’m not going to deny someone assistance because we’re competing.”

Art studied him for several long seconds. “You’re confident in your abilities.”

“I am,” Arwin said. “And their abilities as well. But it would be cruel for me to deny someone quality of life when I am capable of helping. I should just warn you it could take me some time. I can’t abandon my team to work on this.”

“Nor would I expect you to.” Art hesitated for a moment longer. “What about internal organs?”

Arwin blinked. “What?”

“Internal organs,” Art repeated. “Can you replace them as well?”

“I was under the impression it was your leg—”

“I am a greatly troubled individual.”

Rodrick’s head tilted to the side. He’d caught something in Art’s tone, and so had Arwin. He was trying to hide something.

“It’s… possible,” Arwin said. “I’ve never tried it. I genuinely don’t know the answer. It would probably depend on the organ. It would be exceedingly difficult, but I would be willing to do my best. That would probably have to happen after the tournament.”

“Because you don’t want to give us the advantage?”

Arwin snorted. “No. Because it would require an immense amount of preparation and research. If I screw up fixing a leg, I can make you a new leg. If I mess up with a heart, then you’re dead. I don’t want you dead.”

“I see,” Art said slowly. “Thank you. That’s all. You live up to your name, Arwin. It was a pleasure meeting you. I look forward to facing your team in the tournament.”

He rose to his feet, grabbed his cane, and limped out of the room without another word.

Arwin and Rodrick exchanged a glance.

“That was strange,” Arwin said.

“Strange is an understatement,” Rodrick said, tapping a finger on the table with a deep frown. “He’s one to keep an eye on. I can’t get a read on him at all. Don’t underestimate that kid. Did you see that deck of cards he had?”

“Only briefly. Why?”

“It had pictures of each of us on it,” Rodrick said grimly. “He’s got information that he shouldn’t have. Not all of it, but a lot.”

Arwin’s back stiffened. “Just how detailed?”

Rodrick moved a hand from the table, revealing a small card that he’d palmed.

It had a drawing of Arwin upon it, along with a single sentence scrawled beneath it. The blood rushed out of Arwin’s face as he read over it.

Impossible.

But the words were written right there, impossible for him to deny.

His gaze lifted.

Rodrick gave him a grim nod.

“Art knows who you are.”