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Apocalypse Healer - B3 Chapter 4
🕑 Added 2025-04-28 10:00:19 +0000 UTCHe arrived at the Artificer’s workshop and listened in silence to the ringing of metal. His gaze drifted toward the two-story building, which looked more extravagant than the last time he’d been there, and he swallowed the last bites of the unidentifiable buns with a smile.
“Looks like it’s time to retrieve my Sacred Beast,” David muttered as he ascended the short flight of stairs to reach the metal door.
He pressed his hands firmly against the door, only for it to swing open as he touched it.
An automatic door? Impressive.
David channeled Blood into his eyes, but he couldn’t discern anything. Whatever he was supposed to see was a blur of Aether.
He stepped inside, his eyes lingering on the metal door as it closed behind him, revealing countless scribbled lines surrounding a small crystal—a Power Fragment. The scribbles, if he could call them that, were oddly precise, forming a pattern David couldn’t quite interpret.
“Enchantments empowered by a Power Fragment?” He cocked his head to the side, letting his imagination run wild, only to come to a simple conclusion.
What a waste of resources.
While most struggled to acquire Magical Armaments, the Artificer and Blacksmith deemed it more valuable to install a magical door using a Power Fragment rather than create more equipment to prevent incidents like the Great Horde’s attack.
Then again, that was not his problem. His only issue was with the Artificers using his goods for their products.
David’s gaze drifted through the workshop, which resembled a glorified junkyard—except the ‘junk’ was more or less precious materials.
He may not have known a lot about materials used by Blacksmiths and Artificers, but he remembered the signals of the Mythical Electra—energy and life. It was not hard to tell these precious resources apart from the rest, especially since they were the only materials of such a high level.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” a young woman greeted them. Her lips parted to say more when she met David’s eyes. They sealed shut at once, and she backpedaled.
“Welcome, Sir.” She nodded vigorously, nearly hitting the pile of materials beside her.
“Do I know you?” David asked, squinting at her.
He was certain they were unfamiliar with each other, yet the young-looking woman—a human—broke into a cold sweat. Her face drained of all color and she hurriedly shook her head.
“You do not know me, Sir. But I know you. I’ve heard all about you,” she answered hurriedly.
“I see.” David chose not to mind the young woman. He was not here for her, anyway. “If you know me, you probably know why I’m here.”
The way she looked at him made it clear she hadn’t the faintest clue.
“The Sacred Beast. I heard it was taken without my permission.” David glanced at the massive fangs and piles of... scales, and returned to look at the poor woman with a stoic expression.
“I thought... we...”
“I think it would be best if you bring the owners.”
He didn’t have to use anything to amplify his words. The woman immediately grasped the seriousness of the situation and turned away to dash into another room. The sound of metal being shaped was both melodic and brutal. It was loud and ringing, yet there was a sense of calm he couldn’t quite ignore.
But it was not long until the sound ceased. Several life signals moved around, and loud, hoarse voices rang out, thick with displeasure. It wasn’t long before David saw the Dwarven Blacksmith, the Tirac Artificer, and a few more people he had never seen before.
There were traces of anger and frustration on the Artificer and Blacksmith’s faces, but it took only a second—a single glance in his direction—to change that.
“Our Savior!” the Blacksmith said in a hurry, stepping closer, arms wide open.
David remained silent as he regarded the people. The Tirac Artificer and the Dwarven Blacksmith looked distressed, their life signals telling him everything he had to know. They had not taken the Sacred Beast’s carcass by chance. Their actions were deliberate.
But something was odd. While they looked distressed, there was also a sense of... confidence.
How are you guys going to spin the tale? He wondered, letting a trace of Bloodlust seep into the air.
The Blacksmith came to a screeching halt, and the workers with the weakest wills backpedaled instinctively. The young human woman even collapsed to the ground, her legs buckling under the sudden exposure to Bloodlust. Someone helped her up, but David looked at the Blacksmith.
“You took what’s mine,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone as his Bloodlust receded.
However, it looked like his words were more lethal than the Bloodlust. The Tirac Artificer broke into a cold sweat while the Blacksmith winced, struggling to keep control of his body. Though that failed—his legs were shivering like he’d been thrown into freezing water.
When nobody said anything, David had to control his raging emotions.
“Someone better explain the situation, or this workshop—and everyone in it—will cease to exist.”
The threat was probably not required, but it achieved the desired result. The Tirac Artificer told the workers to return to work before pointing to another door.
“This requires a more private setting,” she said, her voice regaining some steadiness as she added, “Nobody shall hear what we are about to tell you.”
That sounded mythic, but David complied. He may not have known the Tirac Artificer well, but she hadn’t been dishonest before. It was rather surprising that she took his spoils of war for her own selfish reasons.
Unless she didn’t.
He was led to a small office and slumped into a seat, looking at the Artificer and Blacksmith without a care in the world.
“Are you not afraid we’re going to attack you to silence—...” the Blacksmith asked, swallowing the last bit when David threw him a look.
“You can always try, but be aware that you will pay with your life. Make a mistake and I will end you.”
The Blacksmith flinched and backed away, whereas the Tirac Artificer patted his shoulder. Yet, while trying to reassure her friend, the Tirac’s scales clattered nervously.
“How about we calm down a little bit?” she asked.
“I am.”
“Alright.” The Artificer squirmed and took a seat opposite David.
“We received a revelation from our Patron Gods. A revelation that concerns you and something you own.”
David had to suppress a groan.
Really? More nosy gods trying to mess with me? he nearly shouted aloud. Why were gods so nosy in the first place? They hadn’t bothered with me—as much—before. Were they suddenly interested in me because I killed Electra?
“What did they tell you about me? To steal the Sacred Beast for my sake?” he snorted.
The Dwarven Blacksmith growled at that and uttered something in the dwarven tongue, but David disregarded the man. The Tirac Artificer’s actions and reasoning were the only ones of interest to him.
“This…” the Artificer’s scales clattered louder, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. “Can we focus on the revelation for a moment and push the rest aside?”
He wasn’t going to leave it at that but gestured to the Artificer to go on.
“The revelation provided us with crucial information you want to hear. I am certain about it,” she said in a hurry and continued when David didn’t make a move to interrupt her. “This is about Deryadus’ Arm—the Relic you’re wielding.”
‘Wielding’ didn’t seem like the right term, but David sat up straight nonetheless. His ears perked up and he listened more intently.
“Our Patrons began researching your arm after our first encounter. I’m unsure what they did—and I’m not one to question their actions—but they discovered something. Something I’d consider invaluable.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“My friend,” she pointed at the Dwarven Blacksmith, “was told to inform you about the special properties of your Relic. To reward your actions against the Great Horde and Electra with knowledge of an Antique Relic that hadn’t been used for eons to come.”
Rewards were always appreciated, especially knowledge.
“Deryadus’ Arm is special. Incredibly so. From what we were told, it can devour ores and minerals to grow. The Relic can shift—whatever that means—alter all kinds of energies as long as it is given enough time and, most importantly, Deryadus’ Arm is the masterpiece of a Fallen. A perished God. It is a masterpiece the Fallen had used for centuries in the Old Age. And, at this point, it should be filled with power, imbued with the Essence of Pheros, the Great Father of Artisans and Transmutation.”
The Artificer took a deep breath, her reptilian eyes never diverting from his.
“While you may not be able to use a Fallen’s Essence, you may utilize it to devour any kind of material if you use the Relic properly. If you research the materials properly—to identify their properties and learn how to distinguish beneficial and adverse effects. Choosing the right material may transform the Ancient Relic into something you may need in the future. Or, if a mistake is made, you will fall—just like Pheros.”
That was their Patron Gods’ revelation? A guide for him to use Deryadus’ Arm?
If so, his initial assumption of their Patron Gods had been wrong. They might be nosy, but they didn’t appear as useless as other gods had been.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to use the Relic, but it might come in handy. It’s definitely better than keeping it as it is.
There hadn’t really been a need for him to use the Relic much before. In the first place, David had struggled to find more uses for the Relic’s power—a reason to keep it rather than tearing it out to restore the arm he’d lost.
And now he had found the reason.
Researching the right materials—figuring out how he wanted to improve the Relic in the first place—would take time and effort, but it was definitely worth a try.
He made a mental note on his seemingly never-ending list of tasks.
“Noted. Your Patron Gods wanted to tell me about the Grandfather of all Artisans, who created the Ancient Relic I’m wielding. And since I’m misusing the masterpiece of their great ancestor—or whatever he is—your Patrons are annoyed. So now they used their influence on the Earthen Union to send a ‘revelation’ to y’all to lecture me, telling me to use Deryadus’ Arm properly,” David summarized, grinning when the Dwarven Blacksmith turned red.
His head looked like it was on the verge of bursting, but he turned to the Artificer, who glared at him.
“That was a joke—somewhat, at least. Tell your Patrons that I’m thankful for their revelation. I will make use of the Relic,” David said, though one thing was still unclear. “But why is it called Deryadus’ Arm if the Fallen is called Pheros? Did he make the arm for someone else?”
The Tirac’s scales clattered as she shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He’d waited for that answer.
“But you surely know why you took the Sacred Beast, don’t you?” he switched smoothly, smiling wolfishly at the Artificer and Blacksmith.
