Chapter 135: Flaring Tempers
"Something's wrong with the Thunderfire Furnace."
Yarpin had lost track of how many times he'd wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. Now, his only feeling was a crushing weight of regret. He cursed the moment he'd let the promise of owning his own forge cloud his judgment and lure him into this gods-forsaken wager.
He was supposed to be the one at the anvil, while the Thunderfire Furnace handled the victory. That had been the deal, hadn't it?
Fortunately or perhaps not the Blacksmiths' Guild had been operating for over fifty years, and there were plenty of "masters" present who had laid hands on a Thunderfire Furnace before. Their advice came thick and fast:
"Shut it down!"
"Drop the power!"
"Give it a kick!"
"No, you fool! Use a wrench and give it a proper whack!"
Seven or eight voices rose at once. The masters stroked their beards or knitted their brows, shouting entirely contradictory commands. Poor Yarpin had only one head and two hands; he stood frozen, not knowing where to reach first.
"Oi, if I were you, I'd kill the heat now that thing looks like it cost a pretty crown or two," Arthur called out.
Strictly speaking, these dwarves were here to ruin his day, and their well-being shouldn't have been his concern. However, the Thunderfire Furnace was a remarkable piece of engineering, capable of operating independently of a caster. Even as a rival, Arthur felt it would be a damn shame to see it reduced to scrap.
At Arthur's words, the fog in Yarpin's mind suddenly cleared.
If he lost the wager, the promised forge would simply vanish like smoke. But if these old fossils pinned the destruction of a guild relic on him…
Yarpin shuddered. He could already see himself rotting away in some sunless mine for a hundred winters, eventually dying a lonely, soot-covered death.
Once he saw where his interests lay, Yarpin didn't hesitate. It wasn't proper to thank an opponent mid-wager, so he merely shot Arthur a look of intense gratitude before lunging for the power lever.
"You wouldn't dare!" Tallon Zigrin bellowed, trying to surge forward to intervene, only to be intercepted by the City Hall officials maintaining order.
"Hey! You trying to blow the lad to bits?" Percival's voice piped up the moment Yarpin wavered.
The erratic noises from the furnace's core had shifted from a bip-pop to a sharp, ominous sizzle. Ignoring the Guildmaster's frantic roaring, Yarpin slammed the lever into the 'off' position.
Pssssshhhhhhh…
The furnace let out a sound like a long, escaping breath, and the mechanical screeching inside died instantly.
Yarpin slumped down, defeated. The chatter of his colleagues fell on deaf ears, sounding like nothing more than wind rustling through dead leaves.
"Don't take it to heart. At least you saved the furnace," Arthur offered a casual word of comfort as he began a low rhythmic chant, swirling the molten steel and mithril into a perfect, shimmering blend.
"Mr. Mayor, I protest! This human is using unprincipled methods to secure an advantage!"
Tallon was panicking now. He watched as Arthur began pouring the liquid mithril alloy into the mold. The magical components inside a Thunderfire Furnace were delicate and notoriously complex; once shut down, it required at least two hours of cooling before it could be safely restarted.
The dwarves had spent hours wheedling and haggling to set the time limit at eight hours. Under that constraint, the "Alloy Method" would have left them three hours to spare, while the "Skeleton Method" would have barely scraped by.
Who could have guessed that Arthur would counter with a bit of magical alchemy? He was using the Alloy Method himself, and now the dwarves' own furnace was stone cold.
Theoretically, they could still catch up, but the tightening window of time was a recipe for disaster. Mistakes were born of haste.
The Guildmaster hobbled toward Hackshaw, leaning heavily on his cane. Before he could even open his mouth, the Mayor thrust the notarized documents into the air.
"Guildmaster, the contract is quite explicit. Not a single clause forbids the participants from utilizing magic to smelt their metal. I am simply following the rules we agreed upon to the letter.
"Protest overruled. The wager proceeds!"
Tallon Zigrin looked as though he wanted to tear the parchment from the Mayor's hand and swallow it whole, but looking at the still-wet wax seal, he had no choice but to choke down the indignity.
He let out a furious, guttural grunt and turned away, his cane clattering sharply against the stone.
Behind him, Hackshaw stretched his arms out with a satisfied yawn, looking up at the sky and sighing:
"A truly refreshing day, isn't it?"
Tallon spun around in a fury, lashing out at Arthur. "You scoundrel! What did you do to sabotage our furnace?"
"Hmm?"
Arthur's gaze turned cold as he looked at the white-haired Guildmaster. In his right palm, arcs of electricity flickered in and out of existence. "The wind was a bit loud just now, I didn't quite catch that. Would you care to repeat yourself?"
Gulp.
Tallon swallowed hard, his survival instincts overriding his temper. He pivoted instantly. "Ah… what I meant was, since you possess such profound magical expertise, perhaps you could assist us in diagnosing the furnace's malfunction once the wager concludes?"
Percival let out a mocking sneer. "Pah! And here I thought you were going to be a hard-ass to the bitter end. Turns out you're just another spineless coward. How boring."
Hearing the gnome's piercing ridicule, Tallon's face darkened, but he didn't offer a rebuttal.
Over the years, to maintain his monopoly over Cintra's blacksmithing trade, he had used every trick in the book bribery, intimidation, and political maneuvering. He had long ago exhausted whatever kinship remained between the gnomes and the dwarves. With defeat now looming, the fact that Percival was only seeking a few verbal jabs was practically an act of mercy.
Tramp. Tramp. Tramp.
The rhythmic thud of marching boots echoed from the distance. The squad of soldiers sent to the Guildhall had returned.
Tallon's aged eyes bulged as he stared fixedly at the longsword cradled in the lead soldier's arms. The exquisite patterns carved into the rosewood scabbard weren't merely decorative; they concealed minor magical runes designed to maintain the blade's environment, ensuring it required no maintenance for years.
The hilt was wrapped in black ray-skin, treated to absorb moisture from the air. Tallon remembered the first time he had gripped it it had felt strangely clammy, but within minutes, the sword had felt like a natural extension of his arm.
Glacier. The final masterpiece of the previous Guildmaster before his retirement.
For fifty years, it had hung in the center of the Guildhall, taken down with solemn reverence only during major festivals to showcase its beautiful, undulating wave-pattern blade to the world.
And now, it was being lugged around by a crude, boorish human soldier…
"Guildmaster! Calm yourself!"
"Gag him! Gag him! Don't let him bite his tongue!"
When Tallon finally regained a semblance of consciousness, he felt heavy, pinned down by seven or eight pairs of hands. Someone was frantically trying to shove something into his mouth.
"Let go of me…" he groaned, only then realizing he was sprawled on the cold ground. "What happened? Why am I down here?"
As his wits returned, several dwarves helped him to his feet. But when he asked about the preceding moments, everyone wore an expression like they'd been constipated for a week.
"You saw Glacier being brought out, and the shock... well, the blood rushed to your head and you fainted," one of the blacksmiths explained. They had pushed forward a fellow known for his gift of gab to do the talking, but Tallon didn't buy a word of it.
"Nonsense. How could I have just fainted? My entire body is aching."
At that moment, his eyes landed on Percival.
The gnome was standing atop a large wooden crate, theatrically clutching his face with both hands. His eyes were bugged out so far they looked ready to pop, and he was contorting his torso at such an extreme angle it looked like his spine might snap.
He let out a manic, high-pitched wail:
"My brain! It's trembling!"
.......
I want to take a moment to express my gratitude to those who support me on this journey. Your contribution make a real difference!
As a patron, you unlock:
Exclusive Access: Get advanced +120 chapters ahead of everyone else.
👉 Join now: P-a-treon/Chaos_God
(Just remove the- hyphen to access normally)
Thank You so much For your Support and for Reading!