The forge doors burst open with a metallic groan from the other end. Guildmaster Verran rushed in first, followed by half a dozen senior guild members, their boots clanking loudly on the stone and weapons drawn either out of instinct or fear. The moment Verran saw David, he froze completely.

  David stood still at his workbench, blood-slicked, bruised, only half steady. Gore streaked his coat, face, and even his hair. Bits of armor and flesh clung to the stones around his feet. One boot rested beside a severed arm. Emberline, still faintly humming with residual heat, hung at his side.

  Verran’s gaze moved past him. Three bodies, what remained of them, lay scattered across the forge floor in ruins of cloth, steel, and burnt flesh. Among them sat an anvil, split perfectly in two like an offering left for judgment.

  He crossed the floor quickly but without panic, his voice low, strained. “Are you okay?”

  I didn’t look up right away. My fingers were still clenched tight around Emberline’s hilt, blood drying against my knuckles. My chest rose with shallow, steady breaths.

  “I’m fine,” I said. My voice came out rough. Not angry. Just tired.

  Verran’s eyes scanned me, my torn coat, the bruises along my ribs, the dark splatter across my face, then flicked back to the wreckage behind me. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t press the question.

  That was when the smashed back doors gave a final groan, and the Royal Guard rushed in, weapons at the ready. Their crimson-and-gold armor caught the forge light as they fanned out, taking in the scene.

  A pause fell. The air was thick with blood, heat, and disbelief. The surviving blacksmiths, many limping, several tending to the fallen, looked up, faces drawn and soot-streaked. A few still gripped tools, knuckles white.

  One of the officers broke away from the formation, a woman in Royal Guard armor, polished and spotless, somehow unaffected by the ash still thick in the air. She moved with the authority of someone accustomed to command, each step sharp, deliberate, and conclusive. Not quickly controlled. As if she didn’t need to hurry to be dangerous.

  Allira Dennes

  Title: Captain

  Age: 23

  Class: Magic Swordsman

  Skills:

  Pain Tolerance Lv. 5

  Unarmed Combat Lv. 5

  Sword Fighting Lv. 22

  Stick Combat Lv. 10

  Equipment:

  Royal Guard Plate Armor (+5 defense)

  Steel Arming Sword

  Her short dark hair framed a face shaped by discipline: sharp jawline, unreadable eyes, and not a trace of softness. She didn’t even blink at the blood or the bodies, simply walking through it all as if it were scenery, not consequences. Then she stopped in front of me. Didn’t speak. Just looked me over, assessing. Like I might be a threat, a complication, or both. But there was something else.

  Beneath that iron posture and commanding presence, something flickered barely perceptible. Not warmth, not quite. But intention. It seemed like she was holding back more than just orders. As if there was a mind behind the armor, watching me as intently as I was watching her. And for some reason, I couldn’t look away.

  She straightened and snapped a crisp, precise salute. “My lord Earl,” she said. Her voice was steady, firm, but carried a thread of respect that didn’t feel rehearsed. It wasn’t the title that caught me, though it was the eyes.

  I turned fully to face her. Sharp uniform, polished insignia, posture like carved stone, and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Clear, focused, but not cold. There was intelligence there. Depth. Maybe even something unspoken.

  “I’m okay,” I said, still watching her. “Bruised.” I nodded toward the blood adorning my clothes. “It’s not mine.” Then the chill hit me. I scanned the forge, scattered tools, fallen bodies, broken stone, but not her.

  “Where’s Seraphina?” My voice cut sharper than I intended. “She left earlier. Said she was heading to the Quartermaster.”

  “My lord,” Verran said quickly, stepping closer. He noticed the change in my stance, how my hand drifted toward Emberline, still resting on the bench. “David, wait.”

  I looked at him.

  “She’s fine,” he said. “She’s in the common room. With what’s his name, Vaktar. When the fighting started, I told them to stay where they were. I came here.”

  I exhaled, tension unspooling from my shoulders, but not all of it. The blood on me was still warm. I nodded once. “Good.”

  I sat on what remained of the anvil, half-cleaved, still warm, surrounded by what used to be three armed zealots. Blood pooled at my boots. Emberline now resting across my knees, its edge still humming low, like it hadn’t decided whether the fight was over.

  I exhaled slowly. “Who were they? They never even introduced themselves. Just straight to killing.”

  The officer moved closer as the shock began to wear off, her boots crunching on broken stone and bloodied chainmail. She nudged one of the armored bodies with her foot, revealing a crest partly melted into the breastplate.

  “I believe that was Inquisitor Hermmons,” she said. “From Eldros. The robes fit. The bearing too. The other two,” She looked at the bisected remains of the knights, her mouth tight. “His escort, most likely. I don’t know their names. But this armor…”

  She crouched down and tapped a vambrace with her knuckle. It rang like hammered silver. “This is a divine-forged plate. Blessed. Resistant to both blades and magic. You’re not supposed to be able to well.” Her gaze traveled to me, then to the sword. “How the hell did you do this?”

  Before I could answer, one of the smiths behind us, still bleeding from the shoulder, spoke up. “I… I think I saw the Inquisitor glow. Right before he charged Master David, he was bathed in light. Golden, like the sun coming through a temple roof.”

  The officer’s face went pale. “That’s divine shielding. Very possible a full invocation. Nothing can pierce that while it holds. Nothing.”

  I looked down at the blade in my lap, wiped a smear of blood off with a rag, and shrugged. “I’ve got a good sword.”

  Silence followed. The kind that sticks.

  Verran stepped forward, wiping his hands on a cloth already ruined with soot and blood. His eyes scanned the carnage again: the ruined armor, the split anvil, the divine bodies. He looked at me like he’d never quite seen me before.

  Then he muttered, mostly to himself: “What in the hells did you make, David?”

  “Remember that bound sword?” I said, my voice flat as I nudged Emberline with my fingers. “This is it.”

  The officer’s brow furrowed. “Soul-bound weapons are a myth.”

  “Maybe,” I replied, “but if they weren’t, this is what one would look like.”

  She stared at the katana, the forge light tracing fire along its edge. “If that’s true, then what I just saw makes sense. It shouldn’t. But it does.”

  Verran stepped forward, voice low but steady. “It would be possible,” he said, “if the blacksmith was skilled or insane enough to forge Orichalcum and Mithril together into a single weapon.”

  She snapped her gaze to him. “Wait, that’s what this is?”

  He gestured toward the carnage. “You saw what it did.”

  She looked back at the katana, a flicker of unease behind her eyes. “Gods.”

  Verran turned to her. “Officer, what was your name?”

  She straightened reflexively. “Captain Allira Dennes, Royal Guard.”

  “Well, Captain Dennes,” Verran said with a tight, dry smile, “Now you’ve met our Earl Robertson.”

  Captain Dennes stepped back from the blood-slick stone and exhaled hard through her nose. “I’ll return shortly. My men will get the wounded to healers and post watch on the doors.” She turned crisply to her remaining squad. “Secure the entrance. No one in or out without my word.”

  As she strode off, Verran turned in place, eyes scanning the scorched chaos and blackened walls. “I’ll get Seraphina,” he muttered. He’d only taken a few steps before the door burst open.

  “David!” Seraphina’s voice rang out ahead of her.

  She stormed into the forge hall, Mira trailing behind, shouting, “Wait! We don’t know if it’s safe yet!”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Vaktar followed, tense and wide-eyed, with his hand on the hilt of his sword but clearly already knowing the fight was over.

  Seraphina dropped to her knees in front of me, uncaring of the blood, the broken anvil, or the thick smell of smoke. I sat still, Emberline in my lap, my hands smeared with soot and gore. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me fiercely, fiercely enough to banish doubt.

  “I’m fine,” I whispered, resting my forehead against hers. “Just tired.” The truth was, I could still feel every hit those knights landed, deep bruises blooming beneath the surface. Out of habit, I blinked my HUD to life, checking my status.

  HP: 245 / 320

  It had been at 145 not long ago, a smooth 100-point recovery, faster than usual. Interesting. Pain still flared in my ribs and shoulder, but the numbers didn’t lie, I was bouncing back quicker than I had any right to. I saved that thought and the other notifications for later. For now, I closed my eyes and focused on her breath, steady against mine.

  Mira stood frozen a few feet away, her hand over her mouth. “What in the hells…”

  Vaktar’s voice cut the silence like a steadying hand. “Nothing gets between those two. Not steel. Not fire.”

  Verran nodded once, quietly stepping aside as attention turned to the door. From the broken frame came the clatter of boots and armor.

  Captain Dennes and her guards stood stiffly and raised their fists to their chests in salute.

  Through the ruined doorway, First Prince Kaelen entered, his golden cloak brushing the ash-covered stones. Next to him, Duke Alaric, in his deep blue house colors, was both silent, their gaze sharp. The room changed. What was once chaos and blood now shimmered with power, nobility, and judgment.

  Seraphina held onto me tightly, tears starting to flow down her soot-streaked cheeks as her last bit of fear broke free. Her breath hitched once before she buried her face in my shoulder. I kept her close, still too exhausted to do anything but be there, but that was enough.

  Over her shoulder, I heard Captain Dennes speaking in a low, clear voice to the First Prince and the Duke. “Sire, Duke Alaric. What I believe we witnessed was an extermination squad. Based on the armor insignia, their methods, and the limited information available, they were affiliated with the more radical sects of the Divine Path. They came here to eliminate the Earl.”

  The silence that followed was thick and sharp.

  She continued, voice steady, “Several blacksmiths intervened. They tried to stop them. Two priests were struck down. But the Earl killed the last two knights and a man, I believe, was Inquisitor Hermmons.”

  The Prince’s gaze narrowed. “Hermmons? I thought he was killed five years ago.”

  “Yes, the reports were that he was killed,” Dennes said coldly. “It seems that the reports were not correct.”

  Kaelen exchanged a glance with the Duke, then sharply nodded to one of the guards. “Summon a senior priest from the Church. Now.”

  Then both royal men stepped forward, boots softly clinking on blood-slick stone. They moved slowly, eyes fixed on the wreckage, the mangled remains, the split anvil, the forge still glowing from the orichalcum ingot left unattended. They stopped just feet from me.

  Captain Dennes pointed toward the bodies, her tone turning clinical. “The first knight was cut completely in half, clean through the enchanted plate, and the second, bisected from shoulder to hip, same result. The Inquisitor, it looks like a divine shield was shattered, then he was eviscerated. His staff and spine were both split open."

  The Prince’s mouth moved once before any words came out. “He cleaved an anvil…?”

  The Duke exhaled slowly. “No ordinary weapons could do this.”

  Just then, another set of footsteps echoed quietly through the hall, softer, lighter, with accompanying gasps. From the far door, a priest in full robes entered, followed by someone we both hadn’t expected to see. Seraphina spun around at the noise, her breath catching. “Anne?”

  The priestess stood just inside the hall, her white robes covered in dust from the city’s roads, her eyes wide with disbelief as she took in the ruin and me. She whispered, “What did you do, David?”

  Seraphina moved first, wrapping her arms around the priestess before she could even finish crossing the floor.

  “I wanted us to see you again,” Seraphina whispered, voice trembling, “but not like this. Not with blood on the floor.”

  Anne returned the embrace with gentle firmness, brushing Seraphina’s hair back with a motherly hand. “My child, you haven’t changed. Still carrying others before yourself.”

  Seraphina let out a soft, wet laugh, but it caught in her throat. I reached out and rested a hand gently on her back. Just that small contact. The grounding weight of it steadied her. Steadied me, too.

  Behind us, the Prince’s voice rose, sharp with frustration. “Why was this Inquisitor here at all?” he demanded, speaking to the priest beside the Duke. The man stood with his head bowed, clearly wishing he could disappear into his robes.

  I gave Seraphina a quiet nod, then glanced at Anne. Her face was calm, unreadable, hands folded like a noblewoman at court. Still, I could see the questions flickering behind her eyes.

  Without a word, I stepped aside and motioned for her to follow. She did, and we moved together toward a quieter corner near one of the quenching barrels, away from the heat of the forge, and the weight of watching eyes.

  “I’m glad you came,” he said. “Even if it’s under these circumstances.”

  Anne looked up at him with sharp, patient eyes. “What happened here, David?”

  He glanced back toward Seraphina before answering, voice low and careful. “Five came in through the forge doors. No names. No orders read aloud. Just priests and knights with weapons drawn. They weren’t here to talk.”

  Anne’s brow furrowed slightly.

  “One blacksmith, Halden, stood up to them. He’s down. Others followed. I tried to defend myself, but…” I shook my head. “They didn’t give me a choice.”

  “You fought them?”

  “I killed them,” I said flatly. “Two knights. One Inquisitor. They attacked first.”

  Anne’s gaze lingered on me for a long moment before shifting to Seraphina, who stood nearby with her arms crossed tightly over her chest like she was trying to hold herself together.

  “David,” Anne said gently, “what you describe is rare. Unheard of, even, when divine protections are involved.”

  “I didn’t have time to care about the odds,” I replied. “I just didn’t want to die. Or see her hurt.”

  Seraphina stepped beside me, her voice barely above a whisper. “They came for you like you were already guilty. Like none of it mattered.”

  I pulled her close again, wrapping my arms around her. She felt small in that moment. Fragile. But steady.

  “It’s over,” I whispered. “For now.”

  Behind us, Vaktar stood like a statue, one hand on the pommel of his short blade, the other clenched tight as he scanned the hall, jaw tight. Always watching. Always ready.

  Anne glanced back toward the prince and duke, still deep in conversation with the priest. Her eyes narrowed just a fraction.

  “Perhaps not over,” she murmured. “But not lost. Not yet.”

  She reached out, her hand settling softly on Seraphina’s arm. “You and David, you’re marked for something. I don’t know what it is yet, and that frightens me more than I want to admit.”

  Seraphina met her eyes, looking for comfort. I could see it, and I could see that she didn’t quite find it.

  “You thought we’d be safe here,” Seraphina said.

  “I did,” Anne admitted, her voice heavy. “But I underestimated how quickly the world would start noticing you. David’s title. His work. The King’s sword. All of it pushes you closer to the center of something that hasn’t shown its face yet.”

  I glanced at the shattered anvil, the deep gouges in the stone floor, and the blood still pooling around my boots. My hands were sticky with it, half-dried and still warm.

  “I didn’t ask for any of this,” I muttered.

  “No one ever does,” Anne said. “But some people walk into history whether they mean to or not. The gods move pieces, David. And sometimes, people like you and Seraphina end up on the board.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Then I want to know what the game is. I’m tired of reacting.”

  She gave a small nod. “That’s why I’m here. The libraries in the Cathedral District hold records the council hasn’t touched in years. I’ve already started digging.”

  I rubbed at my temple, smearing a line of blood across my skin. “Maybe we need to dig, too. The Mage’s Tower is supposedly home to older records. Ones the Church hasn’t filtered or buried.”

  Anne’s eyebrows lifted. “They’d let you in?”

  “Not sure,” I admitted. “But if they’ve seen the sword or heard what happened today, they might be curious enough to open a few doors.”

  Seraphina spoke then, voice tight. “We can go after we clean this up. I don’t want to leave the forge unguarded.”

  I nodded. “Agreed. But next time someone tries to come for us, I want to see it coming from a mile off.”

  Anne looked at both of us, something sharp and sad in her eyes. “Then it’s time we start gathering answers. Fast.”

  The prince and duke stepped across the scorched floor toward us, moving carefully through the blood and twisted armor. Their boots clicked against the stone, eyes still adjusting to the aftermath of what they were walking into.

  Seraphina stayed close, her fingers laced tightly with mine.

  “Earl Robertson,” Prince Kaelen said as he approached, his tone calm but pointed. “We’ve just spoken with the priest.”

  I turned slightly, the dried blood on my sleeve cracking. “And?”

  Duke Alaric responded. “He had no idea this group had arrived. He was informed only this morning that a delegation from the Church of Eldros was en route. But they never reported to the cathedral. They never even sent word.”

  My stomach twisted. My jaw locked.

  “So,” I said, “the Church is against me now?”

  The priest, still nearby, stepped forward quickly. “No, no, my lord. Please, don’t misunderstand. The Church officially does not quarrel with you, quite the opposite. Once word spread of your forging ability, mithril, specifically our archivists began compiling artifacts in need of restoration. Several repair requests were submitted to the Guild just this morning.”

  Verran raised his hand from where he stood nearby, one eye still on the scorched edge of the forge. “We received them,” he said. “Seraphina was sorting through the orders right as this all started.”

  Seraphina gave a tired nod, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I left them outside at the receptionist counter.”

  I believe the priest knows more than he’s revealing. Something doesn’t feel right.

  The priest gave a shallow bow. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Priestess Anne and I will return to the cathedral. I intend to contact Eldros directly and learn exactly who authorized this interaction.”

  Anne nodded once to Seraphina and me before following the priest out through the wide, broken doors.

  As the room finally settled, the Prince glanced at the corpses, then turned back toward me.

  “Is there anything you need, Earl Robertson?”

  I wiped a streak of blood off my cheek with the back of my knuckle and exhaled slowly. “A place to wash. And some sleep. That’s about all.”

  The Guildmaster chuckled softly. “We’ll have the forges back in shape in a couple of days. Give it that long and they’ll be running hotter than ever.”

  The Duke looked to Captain Dennes, who was standing nearby, still evaluating the forge with an experienced eye. “Captain. Your new orders: protect the Earl.”

  I started to speak, half-gesturing toward Vaktar, who stood like a statue by the entry, silent and alert. But I hesitated. I caught Seraphina’s glance, then nodded. “Understood.”

  Captain Dennes saluted sharply. “It will be done.”

  I turned to her as she ordered her guards to secure the perimeter. “Captain, I’ve got a few things I need to finish here before we head back to the Copper Candle. We’ll join you shortly.”

  She gave a brisk nod. “I’ll post two guards near the forge entrance and another pair at the inn, my lord.”

  Once she left, Seraphina, Vaktar, and I entered the office and closed the heavy door behind us. The forge’s chaos faded into a distant hum.

  Lowering my voice, I looked back toward the door. “Vaktar. I didn’t have much choice with the Captain. I needed to accept her protection, but only to keep your connection to Eldros quiet.”

  He gave a rare, thin smile. “I saw it. You were about to speak, then shifted. I figured you didn’t want my allegiance to become public.”

  I nodded. “The fewer people who know the truth, the better. For now. Your King might have information we need. No need to end our relationship. Vaktar, you protected Seraphina; for that alone, I’m grateful.”

  Vaktar nodded, accepting the thanks with quiet pride.

  Seraphina chuckled, leaning against the desk with her arms crossed. “You two and your shadow games. So. What’s next?”

  I looked down at my bloodstained hands and exhaled. “We clean up, go back to the inn, eat something that isn’t stressful or some old goat. And tomorrow,” I met her eyes, “we go to the Mage’s Tower.”

  Vaktar’s voice was calm but firm. “I’ll need to report this to King Theran. They’ll want the full truth about what happened.”

  I nodded at him. “Of course. Do what you need to do.”

  Seraphina smiled softly. “Tomorrow, then. More magic and mysteries.”

  When we reentered the forge, the late sunlight filtered through the tall windows, catching the smoke and dust hanging in the air like a frozen storm. I walked to the workbench and picked up the katana—cleaned, sheathed, and ready. I strapped it to my back with a motion that felt almost automatic.

  Behind me, Seraphina murmured, “I guess we’ll need to talk to the innkeeper again about another room for the Captain.”

  I offered her a tired smile. “Copper Candle’s going to be crowded soon.”