“Well, as I recall telling you, my goal was to participate at the arena in Baldera, rise through the ranks, and then head for other cities, yes?”
“I remember as much.”
“Well,” he said, clapping his hands, “First match is in about an hour! Fancy coming?”
“Wait, you’ve already arranged a match without your gear being finished?”
“Yup!” nodded Rothmund.
“Aren’t you relying too much on chance? I mean, what if I didn’t complete it?”
“On chance? No, my friend smith, not quite! I arranged the match as soon as your associate called me. Besides, I can see you are a trustworthy man. No chance that would fail, none at all! So, coming?”
Hephaestus turned around, locking gazes with Altara and his children. They all lifted their eyebrows, leaving the decision to him. “Well,” he said, “I do wish to see how the weapons behave, and I don’t think I’ve got anything else to do.”
“Fantastic! Meet you at the arena, then!”
“Wait!” Hephaestus called.
“Why did you wait until now to go there?”
“Ah,” Rothmund replied, “well, as I told you, my gear wasn’t precisely great—legendary though it was—and from Baldera onwards, well, usually you’ll find people who purchased premium items and gold.”
“Meaning?”
“They have expendable amounts of money in real life, and paid idiotic sums to have more gold and things in-game, wasting it on guild-crafted gear,” he shrugged, “at least the weapon and armor I had, I paid for myself through gameplay, not gold purchases.”
“I see. Hm, guess things aren’t so different in here, after all.”
“What do you mean, blacksmith?” Rothmund asked.
“Well, here, as on the outside, money does make you go far.”
“Hah! You have no idea!
***
One thing Ilmer couldn’t, for the life of him, understand is just who was the idiot somewhere in the Alterwelt development team who thought that emulating sweltering heat, sticky sweat, and human odors was a good idea, and yet, there he was: Living inside a virtual world, sitting right next to Liberath in the heat, sweating his ass off at yet another damn arena. Another thing he couldn’t understand was his liegelord’s obsession with that nobody Rothmund. No, thought he, not Rothmund, but the other one, the blacksmith.
Someone capable of producing uniques would, inevitably, catch Liberath’s attention, especially if said someone wasn’t under the lord’s control. Though Ilmer understood—in a way—Liberath’s intention of witnessing the smith’s gear in action, he wished there were other means to see it, preferably not involving smelling the crowd despite being on a balcony.
The henchman sighed, turning towards the younger one sitting by him: “Lord Liberath, I must ask again, is this truly necessary? Can we not watch the match being replayed somewhere more... amenable, than the arena itself?”
The youth sighed dramatically—an affectation left over from his real self, no doubt, before lazily turning towards Ilmer. “And as always I must reply by asking, where is your sense of realism? Your need for the thrill of combat?”
“The thrill of combat,” Ilmer replied, “isn’t precisely found watching two armored men whacking each other to death.” Hastily, he added “Sire.”
Liberath shrugged, “All the same, I’d rather see how the smith’s items behave, especially considering that Rothmund is a rookie in Baldera. Call it just a bit of healthy curiosity.”
So, his lordling’s mind was made. Let him enjoy his match then, he acquiesced, saying nothing more. Patience was a virtue, he well knew, though his? He chuckled, his was growing perilously low.
***
Baldera as a city was far different from Arken. Where Arken had been lavish, lustrous, imposing in its show of wealth, Baldera was comparatively grimy and undecorated. Though it remained ponderous, even beautiful in its own stark way, the feeling of the city was oppressive and clustered, compared to Arken’s.
Hephaestus, Altara, Talwar, and Falcata made their way to the arena, a larger edifice than the one at Arken. It made sense, however, as the city itself seemed bigger. The four of them made their way into the sitting rows, trying to find a place where they had a good view; though larger, the arena seemed emptier nonetheless. “More people prefer to go out killin’ stuff, rather than one ‘nother,” Altara explained, “Makes for a fun gameplay loop either way.”
“I still wonder what we are doing here,” Falcata interposed, “we could have just waited for Rothmund to return.”
“We’re coming with dad, that’s what matters,” added Talwar.
“Either way,” Hephaestus said, “I want to see that gear in action. I’d rather not provide useless junk, you know?”
Falcata shrugged. “Whatever you say, da.” A pause, and then “Look, it’s starting.”
“Good evening, people of Baldera!” the announcer called. Even he sounds less enthused, Hephaestus mused, “Today, we have a treat for you: The champion of Arken, come to try and keep his title! Give a roaring welcome to ROTHMUND MORDENFAUST!”
Despite the smaller number of attendants, and the comparatively mellow announcer, the resulting roar was deafening. Hephaestus realized, the arena wasn’t emptier, rather, it was too large for the crowd to be as noticeable. The announcer continued: “Good, good, show him your cheer people, for he will need it as he faces against an old favorite BURAI WINTERLIED!” The roar was, perhaps, even louder than before; Hephaestus couldn’t notice, as he reviewed the opponent’s items.
NAME
BURAI WINTERLIED
LEVEL
26
CLASS
GLADIATOR
RANK
CELEBRITY
ATTRIBUTES
STR – 90 (40+50)
END – 25
FIN - 5
INT – 5
RHE – 5
LUK – 5
HP – 1,750
MP – 175
EQUIPMENT
Vifernnis (Greatsword – green hue)
Lord’s Visage (Helmet – purple hue)
General’s Carapace (Armor – purple hue)
Warmonger’s Pads (Pauldrons – purple hue)
Engraved Legacy (Pendant – green hue)
Nomad’s Shroud (Cape – green hue)
Pugilist’s Fisticuffs (Gloves – purple hue)
Bladedancer’s Chausses (Greaves – purple hue)
Longstriders (Boots – purple hue)
Royal Seal (Ring – blue hue)
Heirloom Band (Ring – blue hue)
STATUS
FINE
“Full gear,” noted Altara.
“Mhm, and only one stat has bonuses,” Talwar added. “Doesn’t bode well.”
“Why so?” wondered Hephaestus.
“He’s likely focused on damage and damage reduction, da,” Falcata replied, “There’s a cap alright, but it’s still gonna give him an edge.”
“Don’t be so sure ‘bout that, lassie,” Altara added, “Rothmund’s gone with full health, bastard’s an outright tank if I ever saw one. Even without rings and whatnot, Rothmund might be better equipped.”
“Besides,” Talwar said, “He’s got uniques, that ought to help, no?”
“Mhm, more and better bonuses,” the woman said, leaning back on her chair. “Ain’t gonna lie though, that Burai fella? He might be a handful; it’ll be Rothmund’s duty not to get ‘is arse kicked.”
“Hm.” Hephaestus turned towards Rothmund’s character display:
NAME
ROTHMUND MORDENFAUST
LEVEL
23
CLASS
CUSTOM - MURDERFIST
RANK
CHAMPION (Arken) NEWCOMER (Baldera)
ATTRIBUTES
STR – 129 (54 + 75)
FIN - 5
INT - 5
RHE – 5
LUK – 5
HP – 7,700 (3,200 + 3,500)
MP - 370
EQUIPMENT
Ironblue (Axe – golden hue)
Heavy Barbute (Helm – golden hue)
Plated Shoulders (Pauldrons – golden hue)
Plated Chestguard (Breastplate – golden hue)
Gladiator’s Cestus (Gauntlets – golden hue)
Plated Greaves (golden hue)
Plated Boots (golden hue)
STATUS
FINE
“Hmm, but are the bonuses enough?” asked Hephaestus, remembering his defeat at Arken.
Altara shrugged, “Rothmund knows what he’s doin’, Hephy. He chose his bonuses on his own, so even if he gets pulped, well, ain’t your fault.
‘Sides, that fella Burai would get his gear – either way, you get a shoutout.”
“Still,” grunted the blacksmith, “I’d prefer it if he wins.”
“Why so?”
“Because he clearly enjoys what he does. Fighting at the arena seems important to him.”
“So?” asked Altara.
“Well, if it’s his passion, well, it sucks not being good at it.” Talwar and Falcata shared a look, saying nothing. Hephaestus noticed, however, wondering if they understood his underlying intention.
“COMBATANTS, ARE YOU READY!?”
Hephaestus was brought back into the arena as the announcer called for the fighters. He liked the looks of Rothmund’s armor—the blue sheen of azuraneum gave him an imposing presence. Burai, on the other hand, wore the standard, spiked monstrosities he had seen before: The sword he wielded was far too large, larger even than Rothmund’s old axe had been, while its handle was comparatively tiny; the blade itself wasn’t even a blade per-se, it looked more as a slab of metal with a single edge on one of its sides. His armor was ridiculous, as it consisted of two oversized, spiky pauldrons, a breastplate covering only his literal breast area, leaving his midriff exposed; his gloves were little more than rags wrapped around his fists, just as his boots, while his cape was but a piece of leather slung over his shoulders. The helmet itself was comparatively okay, as it was a closed, full-helm with a regal face carved in the front.
“Rothmund does win on the looks department.”
“You said somethin’ Hephy?”
“No, no. Just thinking out loud.”
“LET THE BATTLE BEGIN!”
The moment the announcer finished talking, Burai launched himself towards Rothmund, dragging his oversized weapon along the ground; he lifted it, pelting Rothmund with pieces of debris and dust. Rothmund recoiled, giving Burai an opening; his blade arched into a wicked downwards chop. Rothmund reacted by lifting his axe, taking the sword on the haft; Rothmund twisted his hands, enemy sword still against the shaft, connecting the morningstar at the bottom with Burai’s helmet. The crowd cheered as their local celebrity reeled backwards, blood trickling along his neck.
Rothmund proceeded with a flurry of strikes against Burai: Axe first, using the rebound to strike with the morningstar, twirling the weapon above his head, ending his combo with a chop against Burai’s chest. Burai took the strike head-on, slashing one-handed with his greatsword; a large amount of health was discounted from Rothmund as people screamed “Oooooh!” Burai’s attack continued, as he used the flat of his weapon to strike at Rothmund, staggering him; Burai proceeded by jumping, pirouetting mid-air, and slamming his metal slab against Rothmund, smashing him against the floor.
Before he was crushed, Rothmund rolled out of the way, jumping back onto his feet, and charging Burai; the sword blade tipping Rothmund’s bardiche pierced through Burai’s midriff, erupting from his back; using his impressive strength, Rothmund lifted Burai off his feet, holding him aloft as blood seeped from his wound, his health slowly trickling away.
“Gotta give it to ‘im,” yelled Altara over the crowd, “he’s skilled!”
“Burai?”
“Rothmund, ya dork!”
“He’s just swinging and slashing wily-nily, Altara, he has no technique, no poise no—”
“No, Hephy, Burai’s the one using the automatic system. Rothmund’s doing it manually.”
“Then,” mused Hephaestus, “he may just have a chance!”
“Precisely, look!”
The smith returned his attention to the arena in time to see Rothmund smashing Burai against the floor, dislodging his sword blade, and jamming the morningstar onto Burai’s unprotected abdomen. Burai screamed as the spiked ball connected, blood exploding out of his mouth; he rolled over, trying to stand up, but Rothmund was unrelenting, lodging his axe into Burai’s back, and dropping his health to a measly five hundred. Burai wasn’t done for, however, as he swung his weapon around, hitting Rothmund’s legs.
Rothmund fell onto his rump, his feet swept off under him, while Burai took the chance to scurry over and stab him with his greatsword. Rothmund’s health dropped to fifteen hundred, then fourteen, thirteen, twelve, as Burai stabbed him repeatedly.
“He’s in trouble!” yelled Falcata.
“Burai’s got him pinned down,” her brother added, “he’s going to finish him!”
Rothmund then did the unexpected. He let go of his weapon, and took Burai’s greatsword into his hands; though his health kept dropping, Rothmund managed to overpower his enemy, getting within distance of Burai, and smashing his head against Burai’s, sending him backwards. Unarmed, Rothmund aimed a jab at Burai’s stomach, making him double over as his guts were scrambled inside him; Rothmund kept jabbing, just as the crowd cheered him on; he smashed both fists onto the sides of Burai’s helmet, caving it in before shoving him backwards.
Burai landed painfully on his back, his weapon falling out of his reach. Rothmund picked his axe, slowly walking towards Burai. Noticing Rothmund’s approach, Burai began scurrying backwards, trying to get out of his enemy’s reach. He managed to grab his weapon, swinging it uselessly, crying for Rothmund to stay back. Using Ironblue’s axe head, Rothmund swatted Burai’s blade aside, before smashing the morningstar into his exposed abdomen.
Burai emptied his innards by his side, making a pool of red around himself; Rothmund’s double-bladed bardiche fell against Burai’s legs, removing them from the rest of his body and causing him to spill his guts. Rothmund turned his weapon around, striking once, twice, thrice with the morningstar butt against Burai’s helmet, reducing it—and his head—to a shapeless mess. Only a hundred health remained in Burai before Rothmund dropped Ironblue to the side, taking the shapeless form of Burai’s head into his hands, before violently twisting to one side, twisting it again, and again, until he tore it from his neck, holding it aloft for the crowd to see.
People burst into applause and praise, as Rothmund paraded his enemy’s severed, misshapen head around, tossing it onto the ground before lifting his weapon in a flourish.
The announcer’s voice rumbled above the clamor, yelling “WHAT A BRUTAL DISPLAY OF VIOLENCE! ROTHMUND MORDENFAUST, YOU’VE WON YOURSELF A LEGION OF FANS!” As the announcer finished talking, emphasizing his point, the crowd cheered even louder. “NOW TELL US, HOW DO YOU FEEL!?”
“Well,” Rothmund said with unexpected calm, “I feel thankful, as my victory was made possible through superior gear.”
“That much we can see, don’t we, good people of Baldera!?” The announcer’s question elicited yet another roar from the crowd; he continued “Must have spent millions for your equipment, didn’t you!?”
“Not precisely. I got it thanks to a good friend of mine: Hephaestus the blacksmith! A true master of his craft, as you can see!”
“Hephaestus!?” the announcer asked, “Ain’t never heard of no Hephaestus, to which guild does he belong!?”
“That’s the best part,” replied Rothmund, “He’s absolutely freelance. No guild bullshit, no insane prices, and the
best interaction you can find!”
The arena gasped collectively as Rothmund stated Hephaestus’ freelance ways; afterwards, it all fell silent, prompting the announcer to ask “And... you are certain they are legitimate items, Rothmund?”
“I damn am! Saw the forging process myself, fully legit, fully impressive!”
“And where could he be ah, found, this Hephaestus?”
“At Arken, in Baratus’ old forge.” Once again the arena gasped as he mentioned Baratus, prompting Rothmund to say “Come on people! Y’all know Baratus was unfairly banned. There was never no proof of his misdoings! Give Hephaestus a chance, you won’t regret it!”
“Well, we will take you on that word, Rothmund, WON’T WE PEOPLE!?”
The announcer broke the spell as the crowd roared once more. Hephaestus turned towards Altara, seeing her shifting uneasily on her seat, he whispered in her ear “Hey, you okay?”
“We gotta go, Hephaestus.”
“Why?”
“Baratus is... A sore topic for many people. And Rothmund’s won, gone done right on his word too, gave you quite some promotion didn’t ‘e?”
“Hm, that he did.”
“See?” she added, “gotta make ready for the droves of people gonna go for your services.”
“Uhuh.” Hephaestus wasn’t about to call Altara’s bluff. Instead, he said “Alright then, Talwar, Falcata, should we leave?” His children nodded, standing up after him. Altara walked purposefully out of the arena, followed by Hephaestus and the siblings. She was right on an account however: he had to be at her forge to attend any potential customers who would arrive. First, however, he would get a much needed permit.
Chapter XII: Wicked Bureaucratics
“People assume that rules are the bane of fun, creative expression, life itself – what have you. To them, I would say they are sorely mistaken: Rules are the reason why fun exists in the first place, either by setting up clear guidelines to do things, or, well, to find creative ways to break them.”
True Smithing: A Crafting LitRPG Series Page 15
