Rise of the Living Forge

Chapter 68: Helm

As it always did, the morning eventually came. Arwin had no clue how Lillia knew, but she stirred from her spot beside him, quietly rising to her feet. Blinking himself out of the trance state that stood between sleep and awareness, Arwin stood as well. He took careful to move slowly, not wanting to accidentally headbutt Lillia on the way up.

“Are you going to need help on anything today?” Lillia asked.

Arwin shook his head. “No. It’ll probably take me the whole day to make my helmet, and that’s something I’m best off doing alone. Maybe keep Reya occupied somehow so she doesn’t feel like she’s just wasting time?”

“I can do that,” Lillia said. “Just don’t forget to bring me in to help when it’s time for my own armor. I don’t like sitting around and doing nothing any more than she does – and right now, unless we go hunting, I’m not going to have a whole lot I can do other than sit.”

“I won’t forget,” Arwin promised. He found the wall with a hand, using it to guide himself out through the kitchen and out into the dining room. Lillia followed behind him, lighting the lanterns to bring some light into the building.

A glance out the doorway told Arwin that the morning was still young, so he crept up the stairs to avoid waking anyone on his way to retrieve the burnt helmet. Armed with what he needed, Arwin headed back down and out the door, nodding to Lillia as he left.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about the previous night, or if he was allowed to feel anything at all. For the time being, his feelings didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was outfitting himself and his allies.

Setting out into the street, Arwin glanced around to make sure he couldn’t see anyone lying in wait before stepping out. He kept to the darkness that hid from the rising sun by the edges of buildings, making his way across the street and into his temporary forge.

Someone had brought a barrel into it. He walked up, peering inside, to find it full of water. A sad smile passed over his features. He’d finally gotten a proper quenching station, but Zeke wasn’t around to see it.

Arwin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, centering himself. His makeshift hearth and anvil waited for him, along with all the metal that he’d managed to salvage. He ran a hand along the stone, feeling the grout. It still wasn’t completely set, but it would be enough. He didn’t have the patience to wait any longer.

Summoning a ball of [Soul Flame] to his hand, Arwin tossed it into the hearth. Without any wood to burn, he had to use considerably more than he normally did, filling the mouth of the hearth with crackling, hungry flame.

He stared into the depths of the fire, then drew in a deep breath. As he exhaled, he sat down on the edge of his anvil and set the helm in his lap. Arwin ran his fingers along its rough, charred surface, letting himself sink into a reverie.

“I’m listening,” Arwin whispered.

And, as it had the previous day, the helm replied. A whisper of wind danced across his arms and crawled up his back, followed shortly thereafter by the growing crackle of fire. This time, though, Arwin didn’t shy from it.

He remained still in rapt attention as the flame spread through his mind, growing until it swallowed his view of the room entirely. His own body faded until the only thing that remained was the helm in a sea of flame.

The helm – and its desires. They slammed into Arwin like a crashing tsunami, nearly overwhelming his mind in a deluge of information.

Not all of it was useful. There were flashes of hunger and the intense feeling of burning mixed in with a deep-sated conviction. The helmet wanted to be greater than it was, and he was just the vessel through which it could make its wants manifest.

Arwin had been expecting the helm to give him some form of indication as to it shape or how to make it, but what he received instead was knowledge of the helm itself. He learned of the metal that had been used to make it.

How it had been mined from a local quarry and stolen by a bandit on the way over to Milten, only to be confiscated by a corrupt guard who sold it to the very smith who had originally bought it.

He saw himself forging it into a helm and felt the metal’s disappointment that it would not become what it sought to be. And then he saw Zeke. The excited nervousness burning in the boy’s eyes as he worked through the night, attaching the horns to the helm – but not just that. His passion was like fuel, flooding into the metal and infusing its very being.

It wasn’t a work of art, but Zeke had given it the desire to be one. And, in that burgeoning joy, right in the middle of the promise that Zeke had been making to the helm, there was an inferno.

The helm’s future had been stolen from it. It burned away in the fire that scorched and warped its form, and the helm felt rage. The promise had been ripped away. The emotion was so intense that Arwin could feel it bubbling within his own chest like an overflowing cauldron.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

There was no doubt in Arwin’s mind that the helm was just a piece of metal. It was not sentient or sapient, but it had picked up on the environments it had passed through. It carried with it the desires and stories of everyone who had worked with it, and it was from those that its desires were born.

And, through him, they would become reality.

Arwin drew in a sharp breath and his eyes snapped open, the vision vanishing. He sat in the center of the room once more, cold sweat streaking down his back and his muscles tensed. Arwin’s hand ran along the helmet, but he didn’t need to hear it speak again.

He knew what he had to do. Arwin summoned Verdant Blaze to his hands, then set the already-burnt helm into the awaiting maw of the [Soul Flame]. As it started to heat, Arwin infused Verdant Blaze with the same ability.

Taking out his mask, Arwin set it at the edge of the flames. He headed over to some of the warped scraps and took a piece of the ivory metal, placing it into the fire beside the helm. His fingers drummed against the side of his leg as he waited for the metal to get hot enough to work with.

Without a bellows, it took longer than Arwin would have liked. It probably wouldn’t have grown hot enough at all if he hadn’t been using the enhanced powers of his [Soul Flame]. But, soon enough, the metal turned from a cherry red to a deep golden orange.

Arwin took the warped metal out first, hammering it back into a sheet. Every blow of Verdant Blaze sent up a puff of [Soul Flame], driving the impurities from the metal. Black flakes fell away from the metal and he folded it in on itself, making sure it was as pure as he could get it.

Arwin then returned the plate to the fire for long enough to let it completely re-heat. He set his hammer down and, grabbing the metal with both hands, pulled it apart into two pieces. Setting one of them to the side, Arwin used his hands to start forming the metal into a horn.

He didn’t pay attention to the time as it passed and barely even paused to breath. His entire being was completely and utterly focused on executing the helmet’s desires. The first horn took form and a second one followed after it. Arwin put details into them by pressing his fingernails into the molten metal, creating a spiral that ran from the tip to the base.

With the horns complete, Arwin took the heated helm and hammered it flat, removing the impurities from it before forming it once more. He formed it with his own head, using his resistance to heat created by his own [Soul Flame] to his advantage.

Arwin attached the ivory horns he’d made to the top of the helm, then added another piece of ivory scrap to the flame. Once it had heated, he set the helm aside to hammer the new piece out.

When the impurities had been removed, Arwin ripped the metal apart with his bare hands, working it into thin strips. Those too went to the side and he turned his attention to his mask.

Arwin brought it to the helmet, using his hands to press the metal together. It was a slow, arduous process. He didn’t want to heat the mask so much that it lost any of its detail – for some reason, keeping it exactly as it was felt… right.

At the same time, he needed to make sure the metal was completely attached. He didn’t need it falling apart when a well-placed strike hit it at the wrong angle. It wasn’t long before his fingers started to ache, but Arwin was too caught up to slow down.

The tingle of the Mesh started to gather in the helm as he worked, but Arwin didn’t let it distract him. There was only one thing he was focused on right now, and it wasn’t the Mesh. It was making the helmet exactly what it wanted to be. All else took second place. His purpose was just to give the metal a voice.

When the mask was completely attached to the back of the helm, Arwin took the strips of metal and started to overlay them onto it, making the carved details pop with color. He didn’t want anyone who ever saw the mask to be able to mistake it for something else.

And, with every detail he finished, the Mesh grew stronger. Its buzzing became a dull roar, swirling into Arwin’s arms and dancing around the helm with such anticipation that the air felt like it was electrically charged.

Arwin worked the final strip of metal into place, smoothing it out and setting it in the flame. He took the metal out of the fire and plunged it into the water.

Steam erupted and water splashed over the edges of the barrel, splattering against the ground and hissing. Arwin waited until the roiling bubbles had calmed down before pulling the helm free. He wiped the scale away from it and the metal flaked as if it longed to free the helmet from its prison. Arwin held the finished helm up before his eyes. What stared back at him was the visage of a demon.

The dull red from the fading heat made its eyes burn with molten fury. The horns jutted out from the helmet’s sides, deadly sharp and sleek. It was done, and the Mesh knew it too.

Verdant Blaze hummed at his side as the item grew stronger, having aided in forming a magical item. Arwin didn’t have a chance to pay it any more attention as the Mesh’s golden words traced through the air before him.

[Use Your Head]has been consumed.

[Ivory Executioner’s Howl: Rare Quality] has been forged. Forging a magical item has granted you energy.

Achievement: [Setting up] has been earned.

[Setting up] – Awarded for forging an item of a Rare Quality set. Effects: Upgrade one of your existing skills. This achievement will be consumed immediately.

[Setting up]has been consumed.

For the first time, Arwin almost didn’t want to see the achievement. He was far more interested in seeing what he’d just created. He’d had Set items before, but never at such a low Tier. But, no matter the tier, they were always rare – and generally powerful.

But, before he could see his item, he had a skill to upgrade.

[Awaken] (Passive)

[Soul Flame]

[Arsenal]

Decisions, decisions. I’m pretty sure all three would be significant boosts to my power, and I don’t know when I’ll get my next skill upgrade. But… which one is the best right now?