Draith
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Chapter 111 - Into The Fire
🕑 Added 2025-05-26 14:00:13 +0000 UTCThe door shimmered in greeting. Calbern and I stepped through it together.
We arrived alone.
Wasn't a surprise. The books had indicated we'd be separated. Stepping through the door had been similar to the painting Nexxa and I had passed into back when we'd visited the real Althon, though there was a bit of a difference.
For one, most of the details in the door didn't transfer inside. I was standing in a forge that looked quite different from the one that'd been depicted on the door.
The other thing that was different was the oppressiveness of the heat. Visiting Althon had been pleasant. The trial of Fire wasn't. Was probably part of the point.
"Forge a sword to destroy your opponent!" Conflict's voice shook the space, though the being itself wasn't present.
As the words rattled the air, the far wall fell away. On the other side was the creature from the right side of the door. It was stalking back and forth, occasionally stopping to let out a roar. Molten metal dripped from its mouth whenever it stopped, sizzling on the floor.
A metal devil, according to Keeper.
I flexed my hand, and attempted to draw upon my mana. But even in its simplest form, it wasn't available. The books hadn't lied.
"Fun," I grumbled before setting to work. I wasn't going to be making anything fancy for my main weapon. Actually, I supposed, in a way I was. Was just going to make a fancy club. That's all most swords were anyway, fancy clubs.
Fancy clubs with sharp edges for cutting people open.
Considering the nature of my opponent, cutting edges didn't seem particularly useful. So I simply took the largest chunk of metal I could reasonably swing and set to work making it into a 'blade'. I only put the barest amounts of effort into shaping it, a few dozen whacks to take the worst of the burrs off. Didn't need a hilt or pommel either. The last thing I did to the blade was use a punch to put holes through for the grip.
Most of my effort went into the grip, mostly to ensure I wouldn’t hurt myself with my own weapon. I'd had plenty of experience making grips, though most had been on motorcycles or bicycles. Had done one for a baseball bat once. Hadn't been allowed to actually take it out to play with it but I'd spent a few nights swinging it around before the old man had confiscated it for ‘safety related reasons’.
Pretty sure he hadn’t wanted me getting ideas. Least he'd never beaten me with it.
Making a grip could be complicated, or it could be as simple as wrapping something around the core and calling it a day. Giving the materials we'd been provided some consideration, I found a pair of wooden pieces then cut them down to roughly the right shape. Then I rounded them off further, using a grinding wheel meant for the blade. It had a tendency to grab, and using pedals to power it instead of electric took a bit of adjusting, but it wasn't too different from the grinding wheel in my shop.
I did slice one of the blocks in half however. When I went to get a new one, I discovered the supplies had been refilled. Interesting.
Once I had the pieces sufficiently rounded, I secured them to the bottom section of the blade with three pins, which I'd learned from Inertia was called a tang. The bottom section of the steel that would go inside the handle, not the pins.
After sliding the trio of steel pins in place, I tapped the ends with a rounded hammer, causing a rough bloom that'd hold the wood in place. I smiled at the simple rough circle. Was already improving. The first time I'd attempted it in Inertia's workshop, I'd barely gotten the one side to catch and had managed to deform the pin so bad Inertia had simply grabbed a new one instead of trying to fix it.
With the wood secured, I started wrapping the grip with the provided cord. Inertia had several other materials she assured made better grips and I'd used everything from duct tape to electrical wire back home. The cord was on the better end of the spectrum, at least for a mundane material. I wrapped it tight, making sure there weren't any loose spots to pinch my hand. Then I gave the blade a test swing.
It felt like swinging a baseball bat.
Perfect.
Since I hadn't received notice that my sword was completed, I took a little more time to pretty up the blade. Only after I'd caved and given it more of an edge did I hear Conflict's voice once more.
"You have assembled a suitable weapon. Continue to refine it, or step forth and prove yourself."
A set of stairs thunked into existence at the far side of the forge, leading out into what I knew would be an open area that would look more like a junkyard than the arena it was.
The arena was exactly as I'd read, a cage of scrap metal that reached up over our heads. The scraps were a mix of things like busted up rollerbugs and weapons that looked like they belonged back in medieval Europe. There was also something that looked a bit like a train car running along one side. Would’ve loved to get a closer look at it.
Instead of doing either of the things Conflict suggested, I moved back towards the forge and all the tools available. It had said that what we did during the trial was the start of our path.
I didn’t want to be the sort of guy who bludgeoned things in his way. Unless it was the best solution. So, I set the fancy club to the side. I'd still bring it with me, cause at the moment, it seemed like the best solution. But if I thought of something better, I’d got with that instead.
Outside, I saw the metal devil pacing around the arena, stopping and turning over the metal that was scattered around, half buried in the sand. Seemed the books had been right about the doors to the forging area being invisible.
Before we'd come, I'd already been thinking about what I'd want to build at a forge to represent me. The fancy club was… well, it was a good representative of who I'd been before I came to Ro'an.
And when I thought of who I wanted to be, now that I was here. Well, it was a good thing I'd gotten tips from Inertia.
Not having a limit on materials… that changed things. One of the benefits of the trials was that time spent inside was heavily distorted. Hours could pass in seconds. Was pretty sure it wasn’t actual time magic though, from what I’d read. At least, not just time magic.
That meant that I had plenty of time to test and prototype things. Sure, the tools were a little lacking, and the materials were restricted to steel, wood and a bunch of cord.
But there was a lot you could do with that supposedly limited selection.
The first thing I did was fashion some armor. Didn't have a clue what I was doing when I started, but that wasn't important. I'd already seen that if I messed up, the materials would be replenished. Not something that had been noted in the books, but it would definitely be useful.
It took me a while to bang together a full suit of armor. After putting it on and testing it, I set it to the side. I wouldn't be wearing it out. That hadn't been the point. Making it had.
The next item on my list was a hammer. Not a weapon, just a simple carpenter's hammer. Working the head required actually firing up the forge for the first time, heating it and pounding it into shape. It took me a dozen attempts to get it right.
Didn't matter.
Eventually, I produced a proper carpenter's hammer. Well, the head for one. Punching the hole for the handle was surprisingly difficult, and resulted in me having to forge three more heads before I figured out the trick to it. Just had to do it while the metal was still hot.
And not add the wooden handle until after the head had cooled. That was important too.
I continued making tools for quite a while. The screwdriver was rather easy compared to the carpenter's hammer, though I only made a flat head. The chisel was similarly easy, as were the punch, ball pin hammer and sledge. Garden tools presented a few complications, but none were as challenging as the carpenter's hammer. Partially cause I'd improved in skill, but mostly because they were simpler.
Except the damn rake. Less said about that, the better.
By the time I was done, I'd made every single tool I could think of, including one of those fancy things for popping corks out of the bottle and a springy grabber hand that could be used for reaching down narrow pipes to… well, grab things.
That one had been especially tricky since I'd had to use the leather cord instead of steel cable, which had a tendency to get bunched up.
With a veritable pile of tools at my disposal, I was almost ready. This was who I wanted to be, what I wanted to represent my path.
But there was only last thing I needed to make. I took several slats of wood, the longest ones in my supplies, and started boring the ends. Then I took a couple lengths of steel and used them to cap the slats, binding them tightly together. Finally, I used the pins to secure everything in place. Next, I took the cord, using shaped pieces of wood as bracing, and created straps for my arm.
When I was done, I had a shield I could barely lift, that would give me cover from head to toe, with a single brace along the back that could be planted quickly.
Wasn't for me though. The tools had been for me. They were what I wanted.
The shield… it was for everyone else.
Strapping it to my arm, I hefted it, taking a couple steps. I could barely move with the damn thing attached. Felt appropriate, considering what it represented to me. Unlike that burden, it was easy to set down. Easy to leave behind.
With a couple test swings of my fancy club from behind the shield, I nodded to myself. Hefting the fancy club on my shoulder, I checked the cord for the sledge strapped to my back before pulling up the shield with my other arm. Then I grabbed the wheelbarrow full of tools. Only then did I step out into the light.
The metal devil had been released when the stairs had appeared. By not stepping foot outside immediately, I'd given it time to explore the arena without me. It had eventually grown bored, and was on the far side, poking at yet another scrap of metal littering the arena.
Which meant I didn't have it biting down on my face the second I stepped out. Both the invisible doors were right next to each other. Which seemed like a strange design for an arena.
Unless you wanted people to come out swinging.
To my surprise, it didn't notice me right away, seemingly content to kick at anything that tickled its fancy.
Perfect. I dumped the tools on the ground, turning the area between us into a chaotic mess. Not enough to hurt it, but hopefully it’d be slowed down. It was possible I was getting a little too metaphorical with my attempt.
Despite the clattering, it still hadn’t noticed me.
"Ahem," I said after setting the tower shield in place, clearing my throat as I hefted the fancy club on my shoulder.
It spun around, then started lurching towards me.
It was an instant transformation, as it lurched towards me. Then it stepped on the damn rake, snapping it in half. It barely stumbled. If it wasn't dripping molten metal onto the ground while gnashing its teeth in my direction, and if it didn't have foot long claws at the end of its arms, I might've felt a bit bad about what happened next.
Those were some big ifs.
Instead, I felt a surprising sense of satisfaction as I swung the fancy club around and caught it solidly in the face as it continued to stumble over the scattered tools. There was a crunch, kinda similar to the sort of crunch a hood makes when you smack it with a hammer, though deeper, and with a lot more guttural screaming alongside.
Then its body caught up with the motion of its head, and the metal devil spun to the side, collapsing to the tool-littered sand.
I didn't let it get its wits about it. I pushed the shield atop it, pinning it in place. Then I brought my fancy club down on its exposed back with all the force I could muster. After all the storm dancing with Calbern and the regular climbing of the nets around Tetherfall, that turned out to be a fair bit.
Just about went straight through what served as the devil's spine.
As I dropped my fancy club, reaching for the sledge at my back, the entire world around me started to blur as I prepared to make sure it wouldn’t get back up. A second later, I was back outside the door, my hand laid across its surface, much like it'd been before I stepped inside.
Beside me, Calbern was standing with his eyes distant, his hand still on the door.
Had I… had I seriously finished before him? After all my time messing around with tools?
Before I could consider it further, a spark of pain bloomed at the base of my spine. It swept up my back, then shot through my skull, reaching forward and setting every part of my brain on fire. It felt as though every second was being stretched and twisted, warped beyond anything I'd ever known.
Much like the trial itself, I’d realize later.
And then, as suddenly as it had started, everything snapped back to normal.
I took a deep breath, pushing to my feet. Calbern was on the ground beside me, still clutching at his head.
"Well done, little ingot," Conflict said, his voice hissing out from just behind me. I spun, only to find the being less than a foot from my face.
I thudded against the door, almost wishing it would suck me back into the trial for the second it took to remember Conflict wasn't likely to strike me down.
A low chuckle issued forth from Conflict as it straightened out, pulling back. "It is always gratifying to startle your kind. Shall we discuss your favor, or shall we wait for your companion to recover?"
"What's wrong with him?" I asked, not sure if I should reach down and heal him or not.
"When an ingot is poorly forged, it takes a great deal more effort to fix it than to start anew."
Was pretty sure at this point that you didn't forge ingots, but I didn't mention that as Calbern finally stilled. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes and pushed unsteadily to his feet.
I stepped forward, putting his arm over my shoulder. "Hey, careful there," I said, supporting him.
"I… Master Perth, it would seem I'm a little out of sorts at the moment," Calbern said, his eyes unable to focus.
"Just take your time," I said, my attention moving back to Conflict. "How long until he's better?"
"That is not my domain," Conflict replied, waving his hand dismissively. "His reforging is complete. Now he simply needs time to… set."
I nodded as my heartbeat calmed. Honestly, the most terrifying part of the trial had been Calbern writhing on the ground. Sure, the mindfire had sucked, but it'd been too sudden for me to be afraid. That said, not sure I wanted to go through it again. It didn't feel like it'd actually done anything other than hurt both of us.
Yet… Conflict’s rewards meant I’d do it for those alone. "Fine, then let's talk favors.”
And so, I settled into a discussion with Conflict about what exactly a favor could entail. Something I'd already gotten a general idea of, thanks to Keeper. A single hour's worth of production in the assembly line was the most basic trade. Which was… a lot.
Conflict wouldn't design things for us, though he would review our designs, offering suggestions or improvements… again for the cost of a favor. And if we wanted him to build anything we designed, instead of rollerbugs we couldn't even use, he'd have to review the designs first. Which meant that anything we wanted built by him essentially cost a minimum of two favors.
Halfway through my conversation, Calbern came back to himself enough to stand on his own. He still wasn't up for conversation, but every moment he seemed more capable of following along.
"For ten lesser favors, or one greater, I will destroy any being or fortification within your domain, no matter how far your boundaries expand. I shall only offer this service once, so choose your target wisely, fresh ingot," Conflict said, tapping his fingers together with a booming thud to emphasize his point.
"Right. I'll… keep that in mind," I said. "Does that mean we can hire out your bots to attack something without a guarantee they’ll destroy it. Or to do work for us for a while?"
"That is within reason. For a lesser favor such as you've earned today, I can direct a single day's worth of their harvest to your own stores, or sacrifice the same in… bots, as you call them."
"That…" I tried not to let my jaw drop. That was an incredible amount of resources. Sure, it'd probably be mostly mundane materials, but from what I could see, that would be tonnes upon tonnes. "Would directing where they gathered those materials from be part of the same favor?"
Conflict chuckled, shaking its head, the chains sliding past rattling against each other. "No. Clearing an area is a separate request, with a separate cost."
"Yeah, that tracks," I said, though I wasn't quite disappointed. I looked over towards Calbern. "You feeling okay? Have any questions for the big guy?"
"I am well enough, master Perth," Calbern said, his posture recovered enough I almost believed him. "I do have one question for the gentle-being, however."
"Oh, and what question do you wish to pose, reforged one?" Conflict asked, its head dropping low as the orange fire in its eyes seemed to crackle.
"When shall we be allowed to take the next trial?"
Comments
Druid
Obviously Calbern sees value in the reforging, no matter how painful it was for him. That says a lot even without knowing he he went through.
Julkur
Does this reforging refine his body like in Cultivation novels? Will it help Calbern advance his path as Knight?
ThoMiCroN
wheel barrel->wheelbarrow*
