Chapter 239: Chapter 239

Several minutes prior.

Wallace felt like he’d swallowed a chunk of coal, and there wasn’t nearly enough room for two crazed rock-eating idiots in one smithy. A droplet of sweat rolled down his back as his grip on his hammer tightened.

The heart in the walls thumped and black veins pulsed with energy. A sickening, thrumming bass that tickled the inside of his skull in all the wrong ways. It was unnatural. Vile. Thoughts twisted in Wallace’s mind like rising smoke, and none of them were good.

There was more to it than just the biological components buried within the building. He hadn’t lived this long without learning how to learn how to read the signals his body sent him before his eyes could pick them up, and there was something deeply wrong with the Infernal Armory.

Chills traveled down Wallace’s arms and left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t feel anything. And yet, there was something else present. Wallace was so certain of it that he’d bet his hammer or his mother — though not both.

Where is it? What the Nine Underlands lives in this building?

Wallace couldn’t find it. Arwin was busy studying the results of his work, but the dwarf was a little preoccupied to look in the other smith’s direction. It wasn’t like Arwin could even deny the presence. He’d been speaking to it.

Well, I suppose he could have been speakin’ to himself. I do that a bit when the going gets real rough. But it certainly didn’t sound like he was just having a solo conversation. There’s something here, and it ain’t all that happy about me.

The dwarf’s certainty did absolutely nothing to reveal the target of his woes. An uneasy air hung over him like a blade as he scanned the smithy for the umpteenth time and found nothing for his troubles. Nothing was truly invisible, but whatever this thing was, it was doing a damn good job of hiding.

Wallace’s throat tightened as he peered deeper into the aura. He took an involuntary step back. The Mithril in the band had absorbed the essence of Arwin’s soul to saturation. Within it, he saw a monster in the form of a man. Legions of living beings, dead at his hands. An ocean of blood that could fill valleys. The weight of countless lives weighed upon Arwin like shackles trying to drag him to the Underlands.

And, as if it had been waiting for him to finish taking in the sight before him, the Mesh finally bloomed forth in the air before Wallace in letters as red as blood.

The Band Three [Cursed]

[Mithril Soul]: This item was forged of the legendary material Mithril and has revealed its maker’s true self.

[The Dead]: The Path of the Butcher.

[The Protector]: The Path of the Martyr.

[The Promise]: The Path of the Lover.

[The Band Three]: Three paths lay before the wearer of The Band Three. It will observe its bearer until it understands their desires, empowering the path that fits them best and permanently locking the other two. Once donned, this item cannot be removed until its path has been selected.

“Nine Underlands,” Wallace breathed, his grip on his hammer slackening slightly as he stared at the ruddy crimson words. A cursed item. There couldn’t have possibly been a worse result.

“Am I remiss in hoping you’re just impressed?” Arwin sounded weary.

Everything Wallace had ever learned told him to strike before the human even knew what happened. To end the battle before it could begin. Any being whose true soul revealed a cursed item was vile beyond comprehension.

And yet, Wallace hesitated. There was more than just evil in the lad. His soul had darkness, but it also had light. If both truly existed, then purging the evil would come at the cost of killing the good.

There are men whose place it is to judge such things, but I do not know if I am one of them. I do not want to be one of them. But if I do nothing, will I not be responsible for the legions that may fall because of my inaction?

This was about more than just Arwin. Even his bracelet made no sense. A cursed item hadn’t been something he’d had the misfortune of dealing with before, but only one of the three paths described by the band seemed truly evil.

The duality in Arwin’s soul was immense. He was savior and murderer, both the extended hand and the blade that severed it. Seconds ground by. The two of them stood in silence, their gazes locked. Wallace’s grip on his hammer tightened.

My questions run as deep as the earth, but my time does not. I may be lowered to nothing more than filth, but I could not live with myself if I loosed an evil of this magnitude upon the world. What do I do?

His stance shifted. Then the front door of the smithy creaked open.

“Wallace?” Lillia’s voice came as she stepped into the building. “I’m not late, am I? I got caught up cooking.”

Arwin’s eyes broke away instantly, leaving himself completely open without a second of hesitation as he turned toward Lillia. Wallace’s eyes flicked down to the bracelet — sized too small for the man’s hands, but perfectly for hers.

“Hold on,” Arwin called. “Don’t come in yet!”

“Arwin?” Lillia’s voice lit up. “How did it go? You were supposed to wait for me to get back! Did you pass?”

“I don’t know yet. Sorry — we kind of got a bit ahead of ourselves. Would you mind waiting outside for a bit longer, please? Wallace is still deciding on my results. The old bastard’s eyes are about to pop out of his head because of how we’re breaking all his traditions.”

“Wallace is here too?” A flicker of disapproval passed through Lillia’s tone. “I hope he knows he’s never touching so much as a droplet of my drinks if he even thinks about trying to attack us.”

“I figure he’s well aware, but I’ll pass it along.” Arwin’s eyes returned to Wallace’s, his gaze serious.

Lillia harrumphed. Her footsteps led back to the outer door and it closed a few seconds later, leaving the two of them alone again.

Arwin’s hand closed around the bracelet and his arm lowered. “Not exactly what I was aiming to make.”

“That’s how Mithril works, lad.”

“I suppose so.” Arwin was silent for a second. “What did it tell you? What kind of person am I?”

Wallace stared at the human. Deep down, people who had accomplished anything knew who they were. They either regretted or took pride in their actions, but they knew. Arwin was different. There was genuine confusion in his voice. He genuinely meant his question — and Wallace was starting to realize he might not be able to give it an answer.