Blacksmith vs. the System

After all, there might be a perfectly reasonable explanation for someone sneaking into my forge while I was busy, holding what was most likely a dagger.

I spent a second glancing toward him, and was barely able to catch some kind of outline. The mana fog didn\'t cover it despite overlapping, because despite the way my mind interpreted it, it wasn\'t exactly a visual object.

Once I caught that outline, the figure of a bearded man became visible, like it was one of those pictures with a visual illusion. Some kind of camouflage spell that I would have never caught without Essence helping me.

And, even with Essence, I would have missed it if the camp hadn\'t been in a mana-dead location. The fog of mana that clung to him was weak enough to mix with the background, had the background not been clean.

I barely held back a gulp as I started going through my options. There were only two. I could raise an alarm and hope that the reinforcements would arrive faster than he could kill me, or wait for five seconds, and deliver the first blow.

The first option, I might have chosen if it wasn\'t for one fact: Hammer of Might was a style that was designed for overwhelming offense. Good at fighting against monsters, but not as good at fighting against another man who might be stronger than me.

No, I had no choice but to go with the second option. That was where my advantage lay. He was walking directly toward me, with no attempt to stick close to the walls or otherwise avoid me. Clearly, he had no fear of being detected. Not a bad assumption, considering only a chain of flukes allowed me to detect him in the first place.

He was walking slowly, whether it was the limitation of the spell he used or his arrogance, I didn\'t know, but either way, it meant I would have the chance to deliver one free blow. One that was too valuable to pass.

Even as my mind churned those options, my body was moving under the control of my skill, maintaining the illusion that everything was going well. The only exception was my heartbeat, getting faster and faster as I realized that I had to kill.

Again.

One of the worst things about the post-Cataclysm world was that murder had turned far more acceptable. I had to kill twice, both against muggers thinking to make a quick buck over my corpse … before the discovery of the repair spell ruined my business and I was one of the richer people of the town. Both times, I hated the feeling.

But, I didn\'t hate it enough to let someone assassinate me.

My hammer repeatedly landed on the surface of the sword as he closed in the distance. He was one step away from me when I flicked my wrist and threw the sword toward him. It was a very effective distraction, as the sword was hot enough to glow red.

Even with the System, it was nearly impossible to avoid a point-blank attack, particularly if the target didn\'t expect it. He still made a valiant effort to lean to the side sharply, his movement ruining the spell protecting him.

I didn\'t even wait until I used my work hammer to attack him. Unbalanced, he wasn\'t able to dodge, and the attack landed on his head.

And, killed him before he could even make a sound, unlike his head, which shattered loudly. I shivered even as he collapsed to the floor.

Health cured a lot of things, but a destroyed head was not one of them. I started shivering even as I looked at the door, waiting for the guards to arrive, but they did not. I breathed hard, trying to process the fact that I had just killed someone else.

I hated the feeling.

A minute passed, and the trembling of my hands subsided. Still, there were no guards. For a moment, my mind went in a conspiratorial direction, wondering if the guards had been a part of the issue. Then, a simpler possibility occurred.

They probably ignored the sound. The forge already had good noise isolation, and the constant sound of crashing was easy to ignore.

I was about to shout when I finally paid attention to the bearded man\'s outfit. It had the sigil of a griffin, like the ones the guards had been wearing before Thomas took all of them away. Worse, it was more complicated than what the guards had, and similar to what Eleanor had been wearing. Not exactly the same, but both included enough silver.

That couldn\'t be good news, I realized even as I changed my clothes before walking to the door. One that I couldn\'t handle alone.

When I opened the door, I found the assigned guards squatted in a corner, playing dice.

As much as I wanted to curse them for their lack of vigilance, I did not. If someone wanted to enter the forge while invisible, they would, and their lack of vigilance only made them more confident. "Yes, sir," the guard said, looking panicked.

"There\'s a small issue with the forge. Please go and get Eleanor. Tell her that it\'s very urgent."

"Are you sure?" the guard said. I nodded. "Your funeral," he said, then looked at me. "It\'s not about … this, right?" he asked, looking at the dice game they were playing. His partner looked equally scared.

"I don\'t know what you are talking about," I said with a wink. They looked relaxed.

I returned, the ordinary discussion calming me down somewhat. I didn\'t touch the crime scene but tried to come up with a story to tell. The general events had no problem. Ultimately, I didn\'t need to explain why I killed someone who had snuck up on me invisibly.

But, I couldn\'t tell her that I had noticed the mana.

"The steam," I muttered. It was a good excuse, one that could explain the timing. Quenching a sword created a thick cloud, and claiming that it was a lucky shot came from panic was enough. It just changed the facts slightly, turning into an accident rather than an intentional choice. I actually let some of the steam appear, in case she would be careful enough to check that.

I doubted it, as Eleanor wasn\'t that attentive, but it was better safe than sorry. After it saved my life, I was even more reluctant to reveal my ability to use mana.

I waited in the corridor, ready to block anyone but Eleanor. Luckily, at this point, she trusted me enough to arrive herself. She looked harried and exhausted. "I don\'t know how you heard it already, but yes, there won\'t be any new ingots for a while. You have to stop experimenting for a while."

At any other time, that statement would have earned a bigger reaction. "It\'s not that, and we\'ll talk about it later. Follow me," I said as I walked to the main forge. She saw the body and tensed. The sharp aura was back.

"Explain," she ordered.

"It was an accident," I started.

"An accident?" she asked. "How? And, why was the steward here talking with you when he was supposed to be gone already?"

"I don\'t know," I said. "He was invisible when he entered."

Her eyes widened, showing that she understood the implication. "Traitor," she growled. It was a scary word, even when her gaze was firmly on the corpse as she said that. It was scarier when she started looking at me. "Invisible, or camouflaged."

I shrugged. "I have no idea. I just noticed some kind of weird movement in the steam when I quenched the sword and slammed down my hammer. The aim was … an accident."

She looked at me for a moment, before she walked to the corpse, and started to examine the body. "A nice blow," she said, which was not exactly what I was expecting for killing a member of their house, but I was glad to take it. A tasteless compliment was much better than being turned into a scapegoat.

Her compliment showed that she had accepted my version of the story. I was glad that I didn\'t touch the body, which made my version much more credible.

"Don\'t tell anyone what has happened!" she warned as she crouched down, and started to go through his belongings.

"Of course," I replied. At this point, it was clear that the success of the dungeon operation was linked to some kind of internal political battle, the kind that made assassination and bribery the first tools to be used.

I wasn\'t necessarily happy that I was a part of it, but the moment I killed him, I had become too involved. Now, even if I managed to convince Eleanor to terminate my contract — which was not a given — I couldn\'t get away. Not after killing one of their members.

For better or worse, I was a part of the conflict.