Chapter 280: Chapter 280
The song of Verdant Inferno echoed through the armory. It was encased in a thick layer of metal that more than doubled its weight. Molten lines of magma ran along its head, pulsating with every strike. Black veins, connected to both Arwin and the hammer, swayed with every strike he made.
A pile of rounded balls and metal rods laid on the work table to his side. They were the results of the past hour, all made through Dwarven Forging. And, as Arwin finally let Verdant Inferno lower and allowed his muscles to relax, he looked down at the final rod he would need.
The black veins pulled free of his hammer and Arwin dismissed it with a thought. He lifted the final rod of Brightsteel from the anvil and examined it intensely for any defects or mistakes he might have missed.
The rod was about the length of half-a-finger and no thicker than a pencil. Each of its ends had been tapered to a razor sharp point. The entire piece of metal was smoothed and about as perfectly cylindrical as he could get it to be.
There were no problems. It was ready.
Arwin gathered up the wooden components of the arm and got about to the second to last step of its creation. Piece by piece, he used the rods to connect the wooden components. He pressed the metal into the wood using [Scourge] to ensure they slid in smoothly, then applied the next wooden piece to the other end of the makeshift skeleton.
His head throbbed in pain. He’d been drawing a ridiculous amount of magic for this piece. If it hadn’t been for the Infernal Armory backing him up, he would have run out of resources a long time ago.
But his time was limited. Even with the energy flowing from his building, Arwin only had so much left to work with. He could feel the power flooding his body receding and starting to pull back.
It whipped forward. Arwin launched through the air like a human cannonball, hurtling back toward the ground with such speed that he barely even got a chance to see it approaching before it had arrived.
He managed to curl himself into a ball an instant before he made impact. Loud snaps and a sickening crunch echoed out as one. Agony slammed into Arwin with an intensity that he’d never felt before. The difference between a Journeyman crafter class without its abilities and an Adept level boss monster was immense.
Arwin’s next breath gurgled and sent even more pain spiking through his body with such intensity that his vision flashed black. His bones — he wasn’t even sure which ones at this point, but he was willing to bet the answer was ‘most’ — were broken.
A rib had definitely gone through his lung. He was pretty sure the only reason he hadn’t passed out instantly from the extent of the damage was because this was a vision. At its core, a vision was battle of wills.
The Ashleaf Tree might have been far more powerful than him, but his will hadn’t given out yet.
Arwin’s teeth gritted as he fought to stand. His body stubbornly refused him.
Fortunately, a root was there to help him.
It wrapped around Arwin’s neck and lifted him into the air before the tree.
Then it started to tighten.
“Give in,” the Ashleaf Tree demanded. “Accept your end. You cannot defeat me. This was always your fate, smith. Time and time again, you have been arrogant without compare. I have witnessed your life. You defy the most powerful organization in your land, one so strong that it could quash you like a bug if it knew you still existed. You kept the Dungeon Heart instead of completing your deal, and yet you lack the power to even dream of defeating the one that comes for it. Everything you do is a lie. You are an arrogant, hypocritical fool that will get his entire guild killed because he believes he is greater than he is. They will be better off with you dead.”
Arwin’s jaw clenched. He fought desperately to fight back. To move. To do anything.
His body resisted all of it. He hadn’t won over the materials enough to convince them to lend him any amount of power. The rough wood around his neck tightened further and he wheezed, sending even more pain pulsing through his form.
Arwin pushed harder still. He reached for his magic. For his equipment. Even though he knew it was inaccessible within —
A flicker of power met him at the back of his mind. It was a smoldering spark in an empty, gray field of ash.
He latched onto it with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to a plank of wood. Magical energy coursed through his body and vanished in a flash, disappearing before he could even tell what had happened.
“No answer,” the Ashleaf Tree said. “I should have expected as much. What is coward to add to your list of titles?”
Arwin’s eyes fluttered and he wheezed, his body falling limp.
A roar split the clearing.
Green scales flashed before Arwin, followed by a loud snap. He dropped to the ground and crumpled to his knees. His fist slammed into the dirt and he stopped himself from falling prone. Groaning in agony, Arwin dragged his gaze upward.
I could have sworn I just saw a —
Standing above Arwin, its enormous form coated in glistening green scales, was a Wyrm in its prime.
For a second, Arwin and the Ashleaf Tree were alike in stunned silence. Neither of them could muster a word. Arwin stared at the monster above him in disbelief. It was impossible. There was no way that the Wyrm could be here, much less helping him.
A disbelieving, pained laugh slipped out of Arwin’s mouth before he could stop it. Perhaps there was a single skill that he could use within the confines of a Cursed vision. One that was specifically related to Cursed items.
[Unleash] – A master of cursed items never fights alone. Meld your power with that of an item bearing a soul, allowing it to temporarily manifest itself. The effects and duration of this ability depend on the strength of the targeted item. Stronger items will require increased amounts of magical energy to maintain their bond, and this ability is ineffective on items whose requirements exceed the magical energy you can supply.
Energy prickled within Arwin. His jaw tightened.
The pain shooting through him was not real.
His bones were not broken. His body was not destroyed. He was not defeated.
The Wyrm stepped to the side, giving Arwin to room to rise.
“Your existence is a plague on all that know you,” the Ashleaf Tree roared. “You killed your men. You killed Blake, and you will kill the rest of your guild. You press ahead without thought or calculation. You are a hypocrite, a fool, and a plague on all that know you, Arwin Tyrr.”
“You’re not entirely wrong,” Arwin said, spitting blood onto the ground and baring his teeth. “I’m an idiot. I’m not a planner, and I don’t think many of my decisions through. Guess I never got the practice when I had the Adventurer’s Guild’s hands up my ass and using me as a puppet.”
“Be silent!” Arwin roared. “I will not be talked down to by a goddamn tree. You aren’t wrong, but I will do everything I can to honor my guild, both living and dead. If I can avoid it, I will not dishonor Zeke by gifting the ally of his killer with anything that I have ever held. Our plan is dangerous, but we have not killed ourselves. You’re conveniently passing over the agreement to return the Dungeon Heart to the Dawnseekers should we decide we cannot handle Twelve.”
“You cannot defeat Twelve,” the Ashleaf Tree said, a derisive laugh echoing through the clearing. “You will—”
“I told you to shut up,” Arwin snarled. “We don’t know what we’re capable of until we try. We will put every scrap of power we have into victory — and then, only then, will I decide if we are capable of fighting Twelve. If we are not, then I will protect the living. If we are, then I will honor the dead.”
“You won’t be there to find out,” Arwin said, his fists tightening at his side. Pain still pulsed in his mind, but it had started to recede. He wasn’t sure if that was because the materials in the arm were giving way or if he was just too pissed off to notice it.
“You think you can defeat me? I am an Adept Tier!”
“Yeah?” Through a force of will, Arwin forced his right arm into the air and held it horizontally at his side. “Well, I’ve got a fucking Wyrm.”
The Wyrm’s claw flashed.
Not toward the tree, but toward Arwin’s arm.
Hot agony screamed in Arwin’s mind as his right arm was severed, ripped apart at the shoulder. His expression didn’t so much as twitch.