Rise of the Living Forge

“I thought you said you secured the perimeter!” Alcard hissed.

“That was before you brought enemies inside!” one of the Falling Blades snapped back. “Be silent, lest your throat be the next thing we cut.”

“I don’t reckon you’ll be cutting much of anything else today, actually,” the man said with an easygoing chuckle. “Pulling shit like this on the Ardent Guild’s territory? Really? Did you underestimate our spies that badly?”

“Your spies are incompetent,” a Falling Blade spat. “Back out of this, merchant guildsman. It is not your blood we seek on this day. You will not get the offer twice.”

“Oh, lucky me. That’ll save us a whole lot of time. I won’t have to refuse twice,” the man said. “I have to say, your dedication to the job is impressive. If you were smart, you’d already be running. You’ve been getting your asses handed to you.”

“The Falling Blades do not fail. The girl will die. You will too, if you wish to join her.”

“No.” the armored man let out a hearty chuckle. “I don’t think I will.”

He tilted his head to the side. A dagger blurred from the shadows of the alley that he’d come from. It streaked mere inches by his head and carved through the air before cutting across one of the assassin’s shoulder’s, leaving behind a superficial wound.

The Falling Blade instantly let out a hiss and shoved his hand into a hidden pocket. He grabbed a vial and brought it to his mouth, draining the entire thing.

The injured assassin let out a snort of laughter. “Poison is no stranger to us. We—”

“Take micro-doses of poison to develop an immunity to it, yes. I’m quite aware. The Falling Blades do enjoy their poisons. Several in particular. But drinking all that poison alters your blood chemistry. Turns out, if you’re real immune to a few poisons and someone happens to know which ones they are…”

The assassin’s eyes widened and he choked, blood bubbling up from his lips. He doubled over, hacking, then clawed desperately at his throat.

“Who are you?” a Falling Blade member asked, staring into the alley behind the man. “Why is the Ardent Guild getting involved in this?”

“We just love sticking our dicks in beehives,” the man replied. “And we also hate you. And small children. Puppies as well. Everything beautiful in life. Well, aside from you. You’re right shitstains, but I think you get the idea.”

Melissa stared at the man, her sword dipping toward the ground as her grip slackened in disbelief. It almost sounded as if he was trying to shit-talk his own guild. Almost as if he had read her thoughts, the man glanced in her direction.

“You there. What are you waiting for? Leave the toilet-paper mummies to us. I think you’ve got someone else to deal with.”

Melissa’s eyes flicked to Alcard. She didn’t need to be told twice, and she wasn’t one to question fate. She burst into motion. The tall man paled and spun. One of the black-robed assassins hurled a dagger. It sailed through the air before striking him in the back of the head hilt-first. Alcard tumbled to the ground with a cry.

He rolled over in an attempt to rise back to his feet, but Melissa’s foot slammed into his chest and drove him back into the ground. Her sword flicked to the bottom of his chin and she locked eyes with him, her lips pulling back in a snarl as she pressed the tip of her blade to his flesh.

“You killed my father,” Melissa snarled. “Are you ready to die?”

“I—”

Melissa drove the blade home, sliding it up through Alcard’s jaw and into his brain, silencing him.

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“May your last words die with you. You can share them with the rest of your Coalition when I come for them as well,” Melissa hissed. She ripped the blade free and turned back toward the remaining three Falling Blades. Her heart felt like it had been twisted into knots. She couldn’t decide if she was relieved, exhausted, or angry. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let herself be anything but prepared until the fight was done.

“Well then,” the Ardent Guildsman said. “It appears ten have become three. We outnumber you and your employer is dead. Who wants to die next? Show of hands.”

Nobody moved.

Melissa couldn’t see the man’s face, but something told her that he was smiling.

“That’s what I thought. Then perhaps we can come to a deal, eh?”

“Talk,” one of the Falling Blades said.

“Oh, lucky me.” The man chuckled. This time around, there was no doubt in Melissa’s mind. He was definitely smiling. The warrior leaned against his sword. “I love talking. Especially about the terms of your surrender.”

“The Falling Blades do not surrender.”

Melissa’s hand tightened around the hilt of her stolen sword, but the warrior didn’t even seem slightly concerned. He just blew out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, I’m aware your group is a big fan of semantics. Bunch of hardasses. Very well. We’ll agree on the alteration of the contract. Your employer is dead, but I trust you’ve already been paid.”

“We have not been paid for the lives that were wasted.”

“Sounds like a miscalculation on your part.” The warrior shrugged. “You already lost a whole squad. Are you really going to lose another?”

“Even if you were able to kill all of us while we were running, more would come,” a Falling Blade said. “You are not part of the contract. Your attack on one of us is an attack on our entire organization.”

“Or so you say. You won’t actually enforce that. It’s a good threat, but there aren’t enough Falling Blades for you to waste that many bodies. 17 of your men are dead. Do you want to make it 20? Make your decision. Either give the girl immunity from the contract and back out or waste another group trying to kill her. It’s up to you.””

There were several moments of long silence. Sweat prickled at Melissa’s palm and rolled down her back.

“How do you know so much about us?” one of the other Falling Blades demanded.

“None of your concern,” the warrior replied. “The only thing keeping you here is pride. With no contractor to report to, the mission is over. You didn’t fail, but you didn’t succeed — and yet, you live. Hesitate for longer and I’ll rectify that.”

To Melissa’s surprise, the three remaining Falling Blades inclined their heads in acknowledgement. Shadows wrapped around them and they sank into the ground as one. Melissa readied her sword, but no attack came.

There’s no way. They actually just… left? Just like that?

“They’re gone,” the warrior said, reading the shock in Melissa’s posture. “The Falling Blades are killers for hire. They aren’t insane murderers, and they live be their own set of rules. You won’t be dealing with them again. By backing out today, their entire organization has agreed to never take a contract against you again. Now other assassins… that’s a whole different question.”

“Don’t look at us,” Leena said, picking at her tattered black robe and letting out a weary sigh. “I’m quitting. I hate this job. Don’t forget our deal, girl.”

“I… yeah,” Melissa muttered. She rubbed her brow as a headache started to build. “I won’t. But who are—”

Leena and her companion both vanished in swirls of shadow. Melissa’s gaze shifted over to the Ardent guildmember. Something about him almost felt familiar, but she couldn’t place what it was.

“Good luck,” the warrior said, raising a hand and giving her a sharp nod. “This isn’t over. The assassins were the tool, not the hand wielding it. You’ve got a lot of work ahead if you want to take what you lost back from the Kererus Coilition. The whiny bastard at your feet was only the closest of your enemies, not the strongest.”

“I — I know that. But why are you helping me? My family has no friendly dealings with the Ardent Guild.”

The man chuckled and turned on his heel, starting for the alley that he’d come from. He paused at the edge of the darkness. “And you’ll find it’ll stay that way. I acted alone. Don’t expect help again. Just treat today as a gift. Sometimes, things just work out in your favor. And remember, momentum is a powerful weapon. Don’t sit back and relax. Move quickly and strike hard. Regain your foothold in Milten. If you give the Kererus Coalition time to fight back, the next fight against them will not go nearly as well as this one did.”

“I… okay,” Melissa said. She glanced at Alina. The maid still stood on the other side of the gates, her eyes as round as saucers with disbelief. It didn’t seem she had any idea who the man was either.

“Who made that armor of yours, by the way?” the man asked.

Oh. That’s right. Ifrit wanted me to make sure people knew who made the armor.

“A — a smith. Ifrit, down at the Infernal Armory.”

“I see,” the warrior said. “Good to know.”

With that, he strode into the darkness and left Melissa standing alone in a street covered with dead assassins. And, as the sun slowly dipped behind the buildings and cast the world into shadow, she couldn’t shake one last question from her mind.

If he acted alone, who threw that poisoned dagger?