Rise of the Living Forge

Arnold’s hands were slick with sweat. He gripped the hilt of his sword, keeping the smile plastered on his face as the old woman’s words rang through his head like a ringing gong.

Years of training had led to this moment. To the point where he could join the Striking Hermits, a low-ranked combat guild. To where he worked his way through the ranks, training every free moment he had, just to get selected to represent the guild.

His teammates were no different. He knew that well. Alyssa had been trained by her father since birth. She knew her way around a dagger like nobody else, and she could read enemy attacks as if they were a book.

Gerald was just as skilled in his own way. The large man’s class let him absorb blows like they were nothing. He might not have been the strongest hitter, but Arnold had yet to see anyone ever make Gerald so much as stagger. There was no need for him to hit hard. He just had to soak up attention until Arnold and Alyssa cleaned everything up.

At least, that had been their plan going into the tournament. It hadn’t taken long for things to start falling apart. They’d been through a number of practice fights and dungeons, but fighting other people for real? That was different.

Things had only gotten worse when the old woman showed up at his door and told him that he was going to die. Arnold would have laughed her off as some other team’s attempt of intimidating them if they were even worth intimidating.

But nobody really knew who the Striking Hermits were. The guild wasn’t so bad to be noteworthy, nor were they good enough to draw attention. They may as well have been invisible. Another few faces in a sea of them.

No, the woman hadn’t been lying. She’d been completely serious. Arnold could tell that from just a single look into her eyes. Like two black gates leading straight to the afterlife itself, they’d bored into him and refused to be denied.

Arnold’s hand tightened even further around the hilt of his sword. His knuckles were white, now. The old woman had told him exactly what would happen… and he’d refused to drop out of the tournament anyway.

I might not be the best warrior here. Godspit, I might be the worst. Alyssa is faster and deadlier than I am. Gerald is tougher than me. Just about every fight up until now has been full of some of the best warriors I’ve ever seen.

Maybe I don’t deserve to stand among them. But I’ll be damned if I give up like this. There are healers. I’ll make it if things go bad. If I can’t be the strongest or the fastest or the toughest, at the damn bare minimum, at least I won’t be a coward.

He’d said as much to the old woman. He’d expected her to laugh in his face. She’d asked him if he believed her words, and he’d said he did. That he didn’t see a reason why she would have lied, but his plans hadn’t changed.

And then — only then — did she laugh.

The old woman had reached into her bag and pulled out a sword. Given it to him and told him to leave it at his waist. That it would help, one way or another, but he was never to draw it.

She’d given him one last piece of advice. Perhaps it was warning.

Power does not come without cost.

Then, before he could even ask why she was bothering helping him, she’d left. She hadn’t even asked him to pay for the weapon.

That very weapon still hung on Arnold’s waist. It felt like a millstone, dragging his attention down to it constantly. The weapon seemed plain enough, albeit considerably heavier than a normal sword, but that was that.

He didn’t really know why he’d kept it on his waist, but he also couldn’t say why he’d somehow stumbled and tripped his way to victory in the last fight. It had been like an invisible force had been tugging him along.

And so the sword stayed on. Perhaps it was a good luck charm.

“Arnold,” Alyssa said. “Snap out of it, man. The fight’s about to start and you’re staring the wall down like it owes you money.”

He blinked, then shook his head. “Shit. Sorry. I’m with you.”

“Doubt it, but if you do whatever bullshit you did during the last fight, then I think we’ll be in a good spot,” Gerald rumbled, a wide grin splitting his square face. “Come on, guys. Chin up. We’ve already made it farther than we thought. If we go kaptuz, who cares? It’ll only hurt for a bit. Then the healers will patch us up and we go home victorious. Remember this. We already won.”

“Maybe you did,” Alyssa said through a snort. “But I’m not done here. I want to go to the top. Are you really satisfied with mediocrity?”

“The other teams have been practicing for longer than we have. We’ve only just hit Adept, and not exactly in the most optimal way,” Gerald pointed out. “I’m happy with my lot in life. I just want to keep plugging along.”

“Well, I want to go for the stars. I’m not stopping until I can’t do anything else, and then in the next tournament, I’ll go even farther than that. That’s how you get stronger,” Alyssa said. She cracked her neck and lowered her stance, turning back to the other team taking the field across from them.

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Their opponents had clearly been in a number of fights. A knight stood at their lead, clad in silvered armor ground down by weather and carved with deep gouges from fights past. He carried a serrated sword at his side. The edges of the blade were still stained with blood from a previous fight.

Standing directly alongside the knight was a bare-chested man that bore a twin-headed axe in each hand. He had a ragged beard and a wild glint in his eyes that sang the love of war. Behind them was a slender man with a wooden staff that curved at its top like a shepard’s crook.

Arnold’s jaw tightened as he sized up the opposing team. He wasn’t much a fan of the knight’s sword. Part of an adventurer’s duty was taking care of their equipment. Leaving your sword covered with blood was a great way to ruin it.

“Let’s get ready to get things moving!” Kraven roared from above. “Our teams have taken their spots in the arena! Are you all ready for a good fight?”

Arnold’s heart began to thump faster in his chest. His head felt light; his nerves felt like they were winding up and encircling his neck in a noose. A tremor shook the sword at his side — though perhaps it was just his own legs shaking in the roar of the crowd.

“Be careful,” Arnold said. “These guys seem pretty strong.”

“Why don’t you use that fancy sword the old lady gave you during your private chat?” Alyssa asked. “I’ve been dying to see what it does. It has to be something good, right?”

“No,” Arnold said with a shake of his head. “That’s not what it’s for.”

Alyssa grunted. “Whatever. I respect not using the fancy weapon. Just don’t hold out on us, okay? We have to give this our best shot no matter what.”

He gave her a curt nod, but his heart only beat faster still. It was like his body was screaming at him to run away. It wasn’t even that he wanted to avoid the fight. Arnold liked proving himself even when it was nerve-wracking.

Maybe it was because of the old woman’s warning, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Maybe it’s the other team’s equipment? Is enchanted with something that I’m subconsciously picking up on?

There was no time to tell any more. Kraven clapped his hands together with a resounding bang.

“Begin!” the announcer roared.

The teams burst into motion. Arnold’s feet pounded against the ground before he’d even consciously realized he was moving. Gerald ran alongside him as they charged toward their opponents. That was their job. He and Gerald would keep the enemy team’s attention while Alyssa looked for an opportunity to take out their support or back them up.

“I’ll deal with the barbarian. You get the knight,” Gerald grunted.

Arnold didn’t waste any breath on a response. He split away from his companion, angling for the knight. Magic pooled within him and poured into his sword. Electrical energy crackled down its blade as he lunged, driving it for a gap in the knight’s armor.

The other man watched him approach. A moment before the blade was upon him, his own sword flashed into motion. It slammed into Arnold’s blade. His grip tightened on the hilt of the blade, but it was like trying to resist nature itself.

Arnold’s sword was torn from his grip. It flew thorugh the air and clattered across the arena, skittering to a stop several feet away.

“You don’t belong here,” the knight said, his cold voice muffled by his helm. “Children playing a men’s game.”

Arnold spun and sprinted for his sword. He dove for it, hitting the ground in a roll and shooting back to his feet — only to find the knight hadn’t budged from his spot. Embarrassment heated his cheeks.

“Everyone in this tournament deserves to be here,” Arnold said as he burst back into a charge. If he couldn’t block the knight’s blows, then he’d just have to dodge them.

“No. Some of you are here to make the rest of us look better. It’s a spectacle, and you’re the sacrifice,” the knight said.

“We’ll see about that,” Arnold snarled. He lunged for the knight.

The other man’s sword flashed up.

Energy crackled at Arnold’s feet as lightning infused his body. The world jerked around him. Lightning cracked and snapped. He blurred to the side. The attack sliced past him harmlessly.

Arnold brought his blade carving down for the knight’s side, at one of the deepest gouges in the other man’s armor.

Got you—

A sabaton crashed into his chest.

The wind exploded from Arnold’s lungs as the world shifted around him. The sky took the place of the walls as his back slammed into the ground with a pained grunt. His sword skittered to the side, knocked from his grip.

“Pathetic. I’m honestly offended that you thought this would get you anywhere. You don’t even belong here as a sacrifice,” the man said, grinding his foot against Arnold’s ribcage. “A sacrifice needs to at least put on a good show, but you aren’t suited to doing anything other than clearing out low level dungeons.”

Arnold twisted, trying to buck the other man off him. It was like trying to fight back against a mountain. His teeth gritted in desperation. He couldn’t lose like this.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Gerald. His skin had hardened to stone, but for once, instead of absorbing attacks like nothing, the large man was retreating. Large chunks of his body had been carved out.

The barbarian bore down on him, his twin axes taking bites out of Gerald with every swing. It was a miracle the large man was still standing. He should have tapped out already — the damage to his body was already at the point where it would be near fatal when Gerald’s magic ran out.

“See that?” the knight asked, leaning farther onto Arnold’s chest and squeezing a pained hiss from him. “Nothing. The girl is already almost down. Our healer is beating the snot out of her.”

“I don’t care,” Arnold snarled. He thrust his hand to the side, just barely managing to grab the hilt of the weapon. With a roar, he brought it up into the knight’s thigh.

It rang off harmlessly.

“Idiot,” the knight said. He grabbed the sword from Arnold’s hand and flung it to the side. “Your whole team reeks of naive inexperience. All three of you are going to get killed — and you’re so arrogant that you won’t even draw the magical sword at your side. Just surrender. Be done with it.”

From the corner of Arnold’s eye, he saw Gerald nearing the edge of the arena. He was losing more and more ground — but he hadn’t fallen.

“I’m not done yet,” Arnold hissed. “And neither are they. I won’t give up on them.”

“Then perhaps you all need a wake-up call. You can use your life to save theirs. Doesn’t that sound noble? I’d imagine your death will bring them back to the real world.”

The sword at Arnold’s side rattled. His hand twitched as the urge to grab the weapon slammed into him — but the old woman’s words rung in his head. She’d told him not to draw it, no matter what.

A grim laugh echoed from beneath the knight’s helm. “What better to remind the weak their place than to die under their own blade?” the knight said. “Just remember, you chose this.”

He reached down for the sword. Arnold tried to move, but the man’s foot slammed down on his arm, grinding it into the ground. Arnold could do nothing but watch, teeth gritted in desperation, as a gauntleted hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword.

No!

The knight pulled the weapon free.