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Chapter 132: Silence walks the streets

After working for a few more minutes, Arwin brushed the flecks of grime away and held the newly polished Maristeel up to the light of the hearth. Blue ripples swirled across its surface in greeting.

It was ready to use and it was about time. He’d spent a lot more time than he’d thought yesterday working on Rodrick’s greaves, and he hadn’t had a chance to make himself any food. The time was getting a little tight before he had to make something else.

I know I can make some bracelets with no problem, so that shouldn’t be a big problem yet. I can make two if I really need to. That’ll come after I make the chestpiece, then. I think I should be able to get it done today before nightfall since I already have a pretty good understanding of what I need to do.

It would follow a similar pattern to the greaves, focusing on light but effectively protected vital areas. He already had all the Brightsteel and Maristeel he needed. The leather was another story. There was almost none of it left.

He headed out, pausing as he spotted his old smithy. Ridley had been hard at work, and it was showing. The stone walls were already up to his head in height and the building was starting to look like, well, a building.

It seemed like it wouldn’t be long before the mason was done. Arwin continued on to the tavern, his mood considerably heightened. He stepped through the door to the clink of cutlery and was pleased to find Reya and Rodrick eating breakfast.

“You’re back early,” Rodrick said. “What happened? Don’t tell me you burned down your smithy.”

“No, though it’s definitely far from the ideal working environment,” Arwin admitted. “I realized I was out of leather and came looking for Reya.”

“Oh, I can get you some more,” Reya said. “When do you need it by?”

“Anytime in the evening would be fine.”

“Great,” Reya said. “That’s no problem.”

“Thank you.” Arwin went to turn but paused. “Where is Anna?”

“Oh, she’s out shopping for Lillia with Olive. They’re looking for some specific ingredients for Lillia in the market. They should be back soon enough.”

“Ah,” Arwin said, keeping the surprise from his voice and suppressing a laugh. He’d somehow forgotten that Olive had joined their guild, if only for the time being. “Right. That makes sense. I’ll be in the smithy, then.”

He headed out of the tavern and across the street to his workshop, where he tossed his [Soul Flame] into his hearth. His heart ached for his real smithy.

Arwin could hardly wait, but it wasn’t like he had a choice in the matter. The smithy would be done in a few days. It could be his reward for dealing with the Wyrm horde… assuming they managed to pull it off. If not, then it could be his consolation prize.

He chuckled to himself and shook his head. Those weren’t the kind of thoughts he could afford right now. They had a plan to deal with the Wyrms. It was as good of a plan as they could get, and they were all getting rather powerful for their tier.

Between a new member, the gear he was making, and their other abilities, Arwin was confident they could handle the threat.

But, if they were going to do that, he needed to make this armor. He picked up the Maristeel and set it into the hearth to let it heat. He put in his last bar of Brightsteel along with it. The Brightsteel, as usual, drew up to temperature first.

Arwin removed the metal and brought it to the anvil, setting to work. It was a process he’d done many times before. He’d started to get quite used to working with Brightsteel and Verdant Blaze made short work of the process.

As usual, he broke it off into pieces once the impurities had been worked out of it. He tested each one to make sure he was only working with components that were interested in being a chestpiece, then set everything aside to work on the Maristeel.

He hammered it out and broke it off into pieces, testing each one. There really wasn’t a need. The blue metal was as open to suggestion as always. It was just happy to be used. That was a stark contrast to the vision that had struck Arwin when he’d been making the greaves.

I wonder at what point the Maristeel and Brightsteel both went from being easily workable to resistant. Is it because they were instantly Awoken because of my achievement, or was it because I upgraded the [Awaken] ability? Or maybe it’s that adding magic into materials can cause them to change… personalities? I’m not sure what else to call it.

He wasn’t going to get the answers sitting around and wondering. Arwin shook his head and got back to work. He cleared his anvil of the Maristeel and re-heated some Brightsteel before getting to work hammering it out.

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There was a lot of work left to handle before night fell.

***

A chill ran down the back of Rex’s spine as a cold wind blew through the alleyway and made his hair stand on end. Even though it was nearly midday, the clouds hung stubbornly in the sky and blocked out the sun, casting the world in dull gray hues. He sent a superstitious glance over his shoulder as he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Damn Jessen. I joined the Iron Hounds to hunt monsters and become powerful, not run errands and poke around a shitty ass street.

The curses remained within Rex’s mind. He wasn’t nearly stupid enough to consider voicing them. When Jessen told you to do something, you did it. If you didn’t, you were liable to meet a gruesome end at the end of a dungeon you were ill-prepared for.

Jessen had been even more maddening in recent days than Rex could recall. The man’s ire had been at an all-time high. It didn’t take a genius to tell that it was a result of the guild’s co-leader and two other members all going missing on the same day.

Rex shook his head and continued down the street. It wasn’t a surprise that they’d picked up enemies, but Jessen had never cared this much about death before. They’d gone through three co-leads in the time he’d been in the guild.

Who gives a shit about them? Erik was an asshole anyway. We’re better off without that idiot. It won’t be long before we can finally get out of this shithole city and move on. Just a few more days.

This is the last shitty assignment I’ll have to deal with. It’s all riches and women from here on out.

Rex drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Once they were all at the peak of Journeyman tier, they’d be strong enough to get a spot at the bottom of the Guild Rankings – and then they’d do everything again.

The wind picked up and a shingle fell from a house behind him, clattering to the ground. Rex spun toward it, his sword flying free of its sheath. He stared at the broken shingle, then let out a quiet laugh and sheathed the weapon again.

My nerves are shot. The street isn’t haunted. And, technically, I’m not even on the street. Jessen was really clear about that. Don’t go on the haunted street. It goes against the rules. Blah, blah, blah.

Rex worked his way through the alleys. His job was easy. All he had to do was find a house near the haunted street and head up to the roof to spend a day studying what the idiots squatting on it were doing.

As if a smith and a group of thieves would be doing literally anything of note. I swear he only gave me this job because I was late to a guild meeting. I’ve got half a mind to just head back now and say there wasn’t anything worth watching, but that crazed bastard would probably somehow figure me out.

Rex rubbed the back of his neck as a shiver ran down his spine. He wasn’t sure what it was about this area of the city, but the wind was damn cold. And, even if he wasn’t on the actual haunted street, it didn’t help that the entirety of this area felt completely abandoned.

He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of so much as a mouse in the last few minutes. Rex ground his teeth and pressed onward. He wasn’t far now. The street was just a block down, so any house nearby would be more than suitable for his purposes. He just had to –

Rex’s foot caught on something and he stumbled, taking several steps forward and letting out a slew of curses as his heart jumped in his chest. He spun, drawing his sword, only to find a drunkard slumped against a wall, his legs spewing into the alleyway and a half-full mug resting in an open hand.

“You idiot,” Rex growled. “Watch where you’re passing out.”

The drunkard’s head tilted up to meet Rex’s eyes. His eyes were watery and unfocused, swallowed by the haze of alcohol. The man hiccupped and lifted his mug, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

Rex’s lips curled in distaste. He’d gotten so lost in his own thoughts that he’d somehow missed a man passed out right in front of him.

I need to focus.

“Just screw off,” Rex said, turning and striding toward an alley. He was close enough to the street – he didn’t even give a shit what building he chose anymore. The sooner he could get out of here, the better.

Rex turned the corner and skidded to a stop. The drunkard was leaning against the wall in front of him and drinking from his tankard. The hair on Rex’s neck and arms stood on end.

“What in the Nine Underlands?” Rex asked, taking a step back and pointing his sword at the drunkard. “Who are you? What are you playing at?”

The man lowered the tankard, looking at Rex through furrowed eyebrows. “Me? You’re asking my name?”

“I’m asking what your game is,” Rex snarled. “Take one step toward me and I’ll slice you open.”

The drunkard took another drink from his tankard and let out a belch. “You’re the one that tripped over me, you know. You should pay more attention to your surroundings.”

Rex’s grip tightened on his sword. Something was off. “You just stay over there. I swear to any god that’s listening, I’ll run you through if I see you again.”

He took a step back, then slipped out of the alleyway. Rex could practically hear Jessen’s laughter mocking him in the back of his mind. Words echoed through his skull.

What, are you scared of a drunk? What’s he going to do, throw up on you?

Rex gritted his teeth and shoved Jessen’s voice out of his head. He must have been more tired than he’d thought if his guild leader’s voice was haunting him. Jessen didn’t give a shit about how things were done as long as they were accomplished.

I’ll just find another building.

He poked his head into the next alleyway over and was relieved to find that there was no trace of the drunkard. The man had gotten scared off by his warning. Rex couldn’t keep himself from throwing one last glance over his shoulder, but the street behind him was empty as well.

There’s nothing to be scared of.

Letting out a small sigh, Rex turned to step back into the alley – and found himself staring into two burning blue eyes, as deep as the ocean and as cold as ice. A spike of terror slammed into him despite his self-assurances. It drove into his chest with such intensity that his surprised cry came out as nothing more than a strangled squeak. The drunkard stood just inches before him.

There was a faint flash of silver, so fast that Rex barely even managed to pick up on it. Something jerked taut around his throat and dug into his skin. A garotte.

Rex thrust his sword forward to run the man through, but it passed clean through his body as if nothing was there.

Wisps of blue swirled away from the drunkard where the blade had struck him. Rex wheezed, dropping his blade and trying to grab at the thin wire choking the life out of him. He tried to bat the man’s hands away, but his arms passed through his body just as easily as the sword had.

The terror built into a storm in Rex’s stomach. The wire seemed to grow tighter by the instant, but he couldn’t so much as touch the man holding it.

“Ghost,” Rex wheezed, his eyes bulging.

The drunkard’s face was expressionless. His ghastly blue eyes bored into Rex’s as the world darkened around them until only they remained in a sea of endless black.

Rex’s body ached and screamed for air. He desperately fought to draw in a breath, his hands batting the air desperately to no avail.

A chill swallowed him. The blue lights blinked out, leaving only a sea of nothing.

Rex saw no more.