The Living Steel: Soul of the Smith

Chapter 5: The Mercenary's Burden

The square remained paralyzed, the air still thick with the residue of the shattered sword’s scream. Jarev Vorn stood trembling, his hand white-knuckled on the hilt of the weapon Kaedron had forged him a year ago. The red light bleeding from the scabbard didn't just illuminate the dirt; it seemed to stain it.

"Its father?" Kaedron repeated, the words feeling like lead in his mouth. "Jarev, what the hell are you talking about? It’s a sword. I made it out of carbon steel and a bit of hope. It doesn't have a father."

Jarev let out a jagged, breathless laugh. "You think I’m crazy. I can see it in your eyes, Kaedron. You think I’ve been out in the sun too long. But tell me—does a normal sword hum when you’re trying to sleep? Does a normal sword show you the inside of people’s throats while you’re closing your eyes?"

"Show you what?" Kaedron stepped forward, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "Jarev, sit down. You look like you’re about to collapse."

"I haven't slept in four days, Kaedron. Every time I drift off, it starts. It’s not a voice—not exactly. It’s a feeling. Like a cold wire being pulled through my brain. It shows me things. It shows me the guards at the pass. It shows me the way their armor has gaps at the joints. It tells me how easy it would be to just... slide in. To feel the warmth."

Rhovan moved closer, his hand resting cautiously on Kaedron’s shoulder. "Kid, get back. He’s not right."

"No, Rhovan, stay back," Kaedron snapped, his eyes locked on the glowing hilt. "Jarev, give it to me. Let me see it."

"I can't," Jarev whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "It won't let go. My hand... I can't open my fingers."

Kaedron didn't hesitate. He reached out and wrapped his hand over Jarev’s. The moment his skin touched the steel of the crossguard, the world tilted.

It wasn't a hum. It was a roar. A feral, starving cry that echoed not in his ears, but in the marrow of his bones. He felt a pulse—a wet, heavy thump-thump—vibrating through the metal.

"Oh, god," Kaedron gasped, pulling back as if burned. "It has a heartbeat."

"You felt it," Jarev said, a terrifying sense of relief washing over his face. "Thank the Gods. I thought I was losing my mind. You felt it, didn't you? It’s alive, Kaedron. You gave it life, and now it’s hungry."

"I didn't mean to," Kaedron whispered, looking at his bloodied palms. "I just wanted to make something that wouldn't break. I just wanted to be a good smith."

"You were too good," Jarev said, finally managing to uncurl his fingers as the blade’s glow dimmed slightly. He practically dropped the sword onto the dirt. "Take it. Please. Fix it. Kill it. I don't care what you do, just make it stop talking to me."

Kaedron looked down at the weapon. The villagers had all retreated to the edges of the square, watching with wide, fearful eyes. He picked up the blade. It felt heavier than it should have—dense with a weight that wasn't physical.

"Rhovan, help him into the forge," Kaedron commanded, his voice regaining some of its steel. "Get him some water. And some of that strong ale from the cellar."

"What are you going to do with that thing?" Rhovan asked, eyeing the sword as if it were a venomous snake.

"I’m going to do what I should have done with the very first one," Kaedron said, turning toward his workshop. "I’m going to unmake it."

Inside the forge, the heat was a comfort, but the atmosphere was suffocating. Kaedron laid the blade, which Jarev had named 'Silversword,' onto the anvil. Beside it, his own hammer, Iron-Heart, sat pulsing with a low, violet light.

Huu... huu...

"Shut up," Kaedron hissed at the hammer. "You’re not helping."

Jarev sat on a stool in the corner, his head in his hands, shaking. "It’s angry now, Kaedron. I can feel it. It knows what you’re planning."

"It’s a piece of metal, Jarev," Kaedron said, though his own voice lacked conviction. He grabbed his heavy tongs and thrust the blade into the heart of the forge. "I’ll heat it back up to the critical point, lose the temper, and beat it back into a bar. The resonance will break. It has to."

He pumped the bellows with a manic energy. The fire roared, turning from orange to a blinding white. But the sword didn't change color. It stayed that dull, bruised grey, the red light in its center pulsing faster.

"Why isn't it glowing?" Kaedron muttered, sweat dripping from his chin. "It should be molten by now."

"It doesn't want to die," Jarev whispered from the shadows. "It likes being what it is."

"I don't care what it likes!" Kaedron shouted. He grabbed the blade with the tongs—it felt freezing cold despite being in the center of the white-hot coals—and slammed it onto the anvil.

He picked up a heavy rounding hammer. Not Iron-Heart, but a standard, soulless tool.

"I’m sorry, Jarev," Kaedron said, lifting the hammer high. "But this ends now."

He swung with every ounce of [Spiteful Heat] he could muster.

The moment the hammer struck the blade, the forge was filled with a sound that would haunt Kaedron for the rest of his life.

It wasn't a clang. It was a scream.

A high-pitched, shrill, agonizing wail of a child being struck. The sound ripped through the air, shattering the clay mugs on the workbench and causing Jarev to scream in sympathy, clutching his ears.

NOOOOOO!

The word didn't come through the air; it slammed into Kaedron’s mind like a physical blow. He fell back, the hammer flying from his hand.

"Did you hear that?" Kaedron gasped, crawling away from the anvil. "It spoke! It actually spoke!"

"It didn't just speak," Jarev sobbed, blood beginning to leak from his ears. "It begged! It asked why you were hurting it! It called you 'Father'!"

Kaedron looked at the blade. It was still there, perfectly cold, perfectly grey. But now, a thin crack had appeared near the hilt, and from that crack, a dark, viscous fluid was seeping. It looked like oil, but it smelled like copper and old graves.

"I'm a murderer," Kaedron whispered, his hands shaking so hard he couldn't push himself up. "I’m not a smith. I’m a monster-maker."

Huu... huu... Iron-Heart purred, the violet light from the hammer's head reaching out like a tongue to lick the dark fluid seeping from the broken sword.

"Kaedron!"

The door to the forge burst open. Rhovan ran in, his face pale, gasping for air.

"Kaedron, stop! You have to stop!"

"I already stopped, Rhovan," Kaedron said, his voice hollow. "I can't break it. It won't let me."

"Forget the sword!" Rhovan shouted, grabbing Kaedron by the shoulders and hauling him to his feet. "The scouts just came back from the ridge. We have a problem. A big one."

Kaedron blinked, trying to clear the ringing in his head. "What? What is it?"

"The King didn't just send a merchant and a fancy smith," Rhovan said, his grip tightening. "They were just the scouts. There’s a dust cloud on the horizon the size of a mountain. The banners are crimson and gold."

Kaedron’s blood went cold. "Solmar?"

"Worse," Rhovan said. "It’s the Iron Legion. General Mavren Kald is leading them. They’ll be at the village gates by nightfall."

Kaedron looked at the broken, bleeding sword on his anvil, then at the sentient hammer that seemed to be enjoying the carnage, and finally at the terrified warrior in the corner.

"The General?" Kaedron asked. "The one who broke the siege of the Iron Peaks?"

"The same," Rhovan nodded. "And he’s not coming for a commission, Kaedron. He’s coming to seize the 'Hero' and every 'Resonant' scrap in this valley. He’s coming to put you back in that cage, kid. Permanently."

Kaedron looked back at 'Silversword.' The dark fluid was still weeping from the crack. The scream was gone, replaced by a low, rhythmic sobbing that vibrated through the stone floor.

He felt a cold, hard resolve settle in his gut. The [Spiteful Heat] wasn't flickering anymore; it was a steady, burning coal.

"He wants my work?" Kaedron said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. He reached out and grabbed Iron-Heart. The hammer pulsed, its sorrow replaced by a sharp, jagged eagerness.

"He wants the 'Hero'?" Kaedron looked at Rhovan, his eyes glowing with a faint, purple light. "Fine. Let him come. But tell the villagers to move to the cellars. If the General wants to see what I can build, I’m going to show him exactly what a 'failure' is capable of."

"Kaedron, there are hundreds of them," Rhovan warned. "You can't fight an army with a hammer."

"I'm not going to fight them, Rhovan," Kaedron said, turning back to the forge and picking up the bleeding blade. "I'm going to give them exactly what they asked for. I’m going to give them a reason to be afraid of the dark."

He thrust the sobbing sword back into the fire, and this time, the flames didn't just roar. They turned a deep, obsidian black.

[Unique Skill: Basic Blacksmithing] Level 4.

[New Trait Unlocked: Soul-Binding (Cursed Type)]

[Warning: You are no longer making tools. You are making mistakes.]

"Let them come," Kaedron whispered as the black fire reflected in his eyes. "I've got plenty of spite left to go around."