Unlike the suffocating silence of last night’s dinner, the room buzzed with the sharp, rhythmic clink of silverware and the even sharper voice of Viscountess Sylvia.
“...Unacceptable, Roderick. Simply unacceptable. I spoke with the Merchant Guild in the Capital before I left. Do you know what they call Ashborn's iron now? ‘Glass metal.’ They say it shatters like glass. The last shipment was returned. Returned, Roderick! You are paying carriage fees on scrap metal.”
Arthur sat at the end of the table, head down and focused on his soup—but his ears were wide open.
Glass metal, he noted mentally. High brittleness. Likely excess sulfur—or carbon content running too high during smelting.
“The ore is difficult, Sylvia,” Roderick sighed, rubbing his temples. He looked more exhausted than usual. “Garrick says the new vein is… cursed. It resists the heat. We burn through twice the coal for half the yield.”
“It is not cursed; it is incompetence,” Sylvia snapped. “You need a new blacksmith.”
“Garrick has served us for twenty years,” Cecilia interjected softly. “We cannot just turn him out.”
Arthur sipped water. The conversation was a treasure.
So the problem isn’t the mine. It's chemistry. The head blacksmith calls it a curse because he can’t explain it. My knowledge of metallurgy from Earth might actually help, Arthur thought.
Across from him, a soft snort broke his concentration. Elara watched him instead of eating. When their eyes met, she held his gaze for a second, then coolly returned to her meal.
Man, what’s wrong with her? He wondered, then refocused. Time to plan.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Objectives Updated
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Water: Redirected to an unknown location.
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Iron: Visit the smithy.
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Knowledge: Visit the library.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood.
“Where are you going?” Elara asked, raising an eyebrow. “Running off to play in the dirt again?”
“To the library,” Arthur said smoothly, grabbing his cane. “I have a book to return.”
“Hmph.” Elara snorted and resumed eating.
Arthur didn’t try to parse her. The rhythmic thud-click of his cane echoed down the empty hallway as he walked to the library.
He wasn’t going to read. In his few encounters with Old Marcus, Arthur had felt the man knew more than a regular guard should.
Marcus… who are you, and why are you hiding here? Arthur thought.
He pushed open the heavy double doors. The familiar smell of old paper and dust greeted him. Behind the main desk, the old guard sat like a statue, engrossed in a thick leather-bound tome.
“You’re late,” Marcus grunted. “I thought you’d be here an hour ago to boast about fixing the fountain.”
Arthur stopped in front of the desk. “I didn’t fix the fountain.”
Marcus turned a page. “Is that so? The mud on your boots suggests otherwise.”
“I opened it,” Arthur clarified. He reached into his pocket, produced a small jagged shard of metal he’d chipped from the valve, and placed it on Marcus’s book. “Scorch marks. Localized high-intensity heat.”
Marcus stopped reading and stared at the shard.
“Hypothetically, Marcus,” Arthur continued, casual but sharp, “if a mage wanted to fuse a two-inch iron plate without melting the copper inside, what level of control would that require?”
Marcus was silent for a long moment. The library’s air seemed to thicken. “Third Circle, minimum,” he said quietly. “He would need a Flare technique.”
“Exactly.” Arthur nodded. “And tell me, Marcus—how does a retired gate guard know the specific thermal properties of a Third Circle combat spell?”
Marcus slowly closed the book. Thud. For the first time, Arthur truly saw his eyes: a deep amber light swirling dangerously within the pupils.
The pressure in the room spiked. Arthur’s knees buckled as if gravity had doubled. Shelves rattled. The windows vibrated.
This wasn’t a guard—this was a walking beast.
“You are playing a dangerous game, boy,” Marcus said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it resonated in Arthur’s chest. “Curiosity kills more cats than poison does.”
Did I step on a land mine? Arthur thought, sweat trickling down his forehead. He leaned on his cane to stay upright.
It is too late to back down now. I have to give it my all, he decided, steeling himself.
“And silence,” Arthur wheezed against the crushing weight, “kills kingdoms.”
(To be continued …)
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