Chapter 241: A Good Deal
Unlike before, the forge was different.
A year ago, the place had looked like it was waiting to die, windows stuffed with rotten planks, a door that didn’t quite shut, and grime layered so thick it felt like part of the stone. Kael had cleaned the inside back then, sure, but even he hadn’t been able to fix the feeling of it. That sour, neglected stench. The kind of place that made you check over your shoulder, not because you expected a monster, but because you expected a man desperate enough to be one.
Now, the street itself seemed to acknowledge the change.
The outside still wasn’t pretty, no flowers, no clean paving stones, no polite little lanterns hanging by the door. It still looked like a corner the city forgot. A place a homeless person would think twice before sleeping next to. But the structure had teeth again.
No more broken windows with wooden frames covering them. The glass panes sat intact, dull with age but unshattered. The entrance wasn’t patched with mismatched boards anymore; it was a proper door with a proper latch. Even the sign, old iron, curved like a hook, looked almost new, the lettering sharp enough to catch the light.
The only thing that didn’t match the improvement was the forge itself.
No glow under the door. No smoke breathing out of the chimney. No faint clang of metal to tell you the place was awake. It sat quiet, like it was holding its breath.
Kael approached anyway, boots scraping lightly against the stone, and knocked on the door.
"Ye deaf or what? Forge ain’t open fer business!" he heard, the gruff sound of the old man.
Kael’s mouth twitched. Same voice. Same attitude. It was almost comforting, in the way a punch to the ribs was comforting when you expected a knife.
"It’s me, old man, open up."
A pause followed, just long enough for Kael to imagine Andre squinting at the door like the wood itself offended him.
The door creaked a bit, and from underneath the handle an eye peeked at Kael from inside.
The slit widened slightly, then froze, like Andre’s brain needed a second to accept what it was seeing.
"By the nine forges... what in blazes has he been feedin’ ye?" the dwarf opened the door for Kael.
Kael stepped into the doorway and had to duck on instinct, even though the frame wasn’t that low. Habit. The mountain had trained him into always respecting overhead space.
"Don’t even mention it, sup old man," Kael said as he looked at the state of the forge from inside.
The interior hit him like a before-and-after picture.
Neatly packed racks. Actual racks, straight, bolted, organized. Swords that looked sharpened, not forgotten. Plates of armor hung by size and type instead of being tossed into a corner like scrap. Tools were where tools were supposed to be. Hammer heads lined in a row. Tongs hung on hooks. Even the floor looked like it had been swept within this century.
It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t rich. But it was alive.
Kael’s gaze drifted across the room, taking in the order like it was a strange kind of threat. Clean workshops meant a man had purpose again. Purpose meant he was dangerous again.
"Looks like you did some renovation."
"Aye, quit gawkin’ and get in already." the dwarf soon closed the door once Kael walked in, hunching a bit to make it inside the smithy.
The door shut with a solid click. Not a loose rattle. Not a wheeze of rotten hinges. A clean, final sound that made the place feel sealed off from the city.
"Grab yerself a seat," he said as he walked on his two prosthetic legs toward what looked like a cupboard.
Kael picked a chair that didn’t look like it would betray him and sat carefully. Even the chair felt sturdier than what he remembered. His weight sank into it, but it held. The wood complained, but it didn’t threaten to split.
Andre reached the cupboard, opened it, and pulled out a bottle like he was dragging an old debt from hiding. Then he grabbed two glasses that looked like they could use a bit more cleaning and slapped them onto the table with the casual force of someone who didn’t fear breaking them.
He then picked one of the few cleaner rags next to the table where Kael sat and wiped one of the cups and pushed it toward Kael while he didn’t bother cleaning his own as he poured both of them a cup each.
The liquid inside wasn’t just "alcohol." It looked thick. Like it had weight. The smell alone made Kael’s eyes narrow, sharp, hot, and almost metallic, like the air right before something catches fire.
Kael’s mind reached back instantly.
"I remember that bottle..."
"Aye, same one that old bastard brought a year ago. Barely touched it. Mind yerself, it bites."
Kael smiled, because he didn’t know how to be polite about warnings anymore. He lifted the glass, took a small sip, and immediately regretted that he had lungs.
The burn didn’t crawl down his throat.
It punched down his throat.
His chest tightened for half a second, and his eyes watered before he could stop them. He forced the swallow anyway, because refusing to swallow would’ve been worse.
"Ah, deserves the name Dragon Breath," Kael said as he almost coughed from the heat.
Andre made a satisfied sound that might’ve been laughter if he wasn’t Andre. He leaned back slightly, sipping his own drink like it was normal water.
"So then, what’s new with ye, lad? Ye look like ye’ve crawled through hell and back."
Kael stared into the glass for a moment, watching the surface ripple faintly. He could’ve lied. Could’ve brushed it off. But Andre had seen him at his worst before. Pretending with this dwarf felt like trying to lie to a hammer.
"Believe me, I did." Kael sighed, "He was... not like I expected."
Andre’s eyes didn’t soften, but something about his posture loosened, like the topic wasn’t surprising, just inevitable.
"He’s rough as broken stone, that one. But he’s a good man."
Kael exhaled through his nose. Good man or not, the old bastard’s training had been a personal war.
"I’m sure he is, no one is that adamant on making another person... survive."
Andre took another sip, then set the glass down with a dull thud.
"What’d ye come here fer?" the dwarf, as rude as ever asked.
Kael’s gaze dropped briefly to his forearms, to the subtle outlines under his sleeves. The rings weren’t visible yet, but he could feel them, the constant drag, the constant reminder.
"Ah, just needed to do some small tweaks and changes to the fists we made."
Andre’s brows lifted.
"Eh? Ye break ’em already?"
"No, never even got to use them there."
Andre’s eyes narrowed again, suspicious by nature, but also irritated by wasted work.
"Then why d’ye need changin’?" the dwarf asked.
Kael rolled his shoulders once, like he could shake off the last year through a simple movement. It didn’t work.
"Well," Kael flexed his arms, "I gues they need a size increase.
Andre’s face pinched like he had bitten a nail.
"Ye fool, they’ve already got that built in. They adjust t’ yer size."
Kael didn’t argue the point immediately. He just tugged the hem of his jacket up, exposing the rings in full, heavy and dark against his skin, sitting on him like they were part of his bones now.
"Wasn’t only talking about the size," Kael pulled out the hem of his jacket revealing the large rings.
Andre went still for a breath, eyes locked on the metal like it offended him personally.
"Ah... that bastard’s still makin’ folk wear those, is he? How heavy are they?" Andre asked.
Kael lifted one forearm slightly, and the motion alone made the rings shift with a slow, dense pull.
"Twenty kilos? Last I heard from master, he said that was how much each of them weigh."
Andre didn’t even pretend to believe it. He snorted.
"That’s nonsense." Andre shook his head.
"I know, but that’s what he said. "Though they do feel slightly heavier than twenty kilos each..."
Andre leaned forward, eyes sharp, as if he could tell the weight by looking at the way the metal swallowed light.
"Those are at least fifty... each ring."
Kael barked a short laugh, immediate rejection.
"Nah," Kael shook his head, "That’s not humanly possible. You’re telling me I’m carrying two hundred kilos and walking normally?"
Andre’s gaze slid down to the floor like he’d been waiting for that line.
"Normally? Ye daft bastard, ye near tore through my floorboards walkin’ in. Look there, left a footprint and didn’t even notice." the dwarf said as he pointed.
Kael turned his head and saw it.
A dent in the wood. Not huge, but clear, an impression where his boot had pressed down hard enough to leave a lasting mark. The kind of mark that came from weight, not carelessness.
Kael’s expression tightened. He hadn’t even felt it.
He swallowed the instinctive irritation that rose in him. The mountain made him forget he wasn’t just "a guy" anymore.
Kael looked at it and apologized, "Sorry, didn’t know, for real. How are they this heavy?"
Andre’s fingers tapped the table once, thinking.
"Somethin’ about that steel. Murim steel, that’s what he calls it. Black Iron. Heavy stuff. Gets heavier and stronger the more mana it eats..."
Kael’s brows pulled together.
"I don’t have mana though..." Kael said.
Andre stared at him like Kael had just pointed out the sky was blue.
"And that’s the only reason yer arms are still attached. That internal energy o’ yers, what Fist calls it, is different. Thicker. Slower. Won’t make ’em heavy all at once... but give it time, and they’ll get worse." He said.
Kael’s jaw shifted. The words settled into him with that familiar unpleasantness of truth, like cold water down the spine.
"I see."
Andre nodded once, then dragged the conversation back onto metal and function where it belonged.
"So... ye want me t’ fuse yer gauntlets with those?"
Kael’s first instinct was an immediate no. Fusing meant permanent. Permanent meant trapped. And if the tower had taught him anything, it was that anything you couldn’t remove would eventually get you killed.
"No, I’d rather not do that, in case I needed to remove the gauntlets, the rings must stay."
Andre gave a grunt that sounded like approval disguised as annoyance.
"Hrmph. Hand ’em over then. I’ll sort somethin’ out."
Kael nodded and called the weapons out from his inventory.
The air shimmered briefly, and the gauntlets manifested into reality with a familiar weight, metal settling into his hands like an old friend that had been upgraded behind his back. He placed them on the table carefully, because Andre was the type to get offended if you treated craftsmanship like a blunt object.
The Dwarf took them and began unlatching some of their mechanism and changing things up a bit.
Kael watched for a moment, studying the way Andre’s hands worked. There was nothing flashy about it. No dramatic flourishes. Just practiced precision. Fingers moving like tools themselves. The prosthetic legs stayed planted while the upper body did the labor, every motion measured like Andre had spent centuries learning how to waste nothing.
The silence grew, filled only by soft metal clicks and the occasional scrape of a tool against a seam.
Kael, feeling a bit lonely, asked, "Been having costumers I see."
Andre didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.
"Somethin’ like that." the dwarf answered.
Kael leaned back slightly, letting his eyes wander over the workshop again. It was cleaner, sure, but also fuller. More work. More evidence that Andre had started living again, even if he refused to admit it.
"Good, I guess it’s better than staying cooped up in here."
Andre’s mouth twisted.
"Still cooped up in here. Just got work t’ keep me busy now... oh, right," he turned to Kael, "Weren’t ye bein’ chased by the Sun Clan? How’s that goin’?"
Kael’s expression went flat in an instant. The name still had teeth.
"I don’t know," Kael shrugged, "I just returned, maybe they think I’m dead or something."
Andre made a sound of agreement that wasn’t comforting.
"Then ye’ll need a way off this floor. Hope ye’ve got coin."
Kael exhaled, then lifted his glass for another careful sip, smaller this time.
"The bartender took care of that."
Andre’s hands paused mid-adjustment, just for a second. His eyes flicked up.
"Oh? Got ye a slip then? Didn’t take him fer the charitable sort."
Kael didn’t answer that part. He wasn’t sure the bartender was charitable either. But he wasn’t stupid enough to complain about help.
Andre went back to the gauntlets, fingers working again as he spoke.
"Don’t linger near the exit too long once ye get there. And buy yerself a Vanitas torch before ye head up."
Kael’s gaze sharpened again. Second time hearing it. Which meant it wasn’t just superstition.
"Yeah, this is the second time someone mentioned it, what’s that?"
Andre’s nostrils flared like Kael had asked him to explain the entire tower in one breath.
"Better ye see fer yerself than hear me ramble on about it. Just buy one afore ye leave. Cheap enough, but useful." he said as he assembled the gauntlets.
His hands moved faster near the end, final adjustments, small pressure tests, a twist here, a tap there. The kind of work you didn’t notice unless you knew what "wrong" felt like.
He then placed them on the table next to Kael.
Kael pulled them closer, turning them slightly, looking for the obvious change. The kind of change a newbie expected, bigger plates, wider openings, something dramatic.
"Oh, thanks old man, I see they got... well, nothing changed to be honest."
Andre’s eyes narrowed like he wanted to throw the glass at Kael for being blind.
"No, they’ll sit proper over them rings now. Try ’em on."
Kael didn’t argue. He slid his hands into them.
The difference hit instantly.
Before, the rings had always made anything worn over them feel wrong, pressure in the wrong spots, friction where there shouldn’t be, the sense that movement would either snag or grind. Now the gauntlets settled over the rings like they’d been designed around them from the start. No pinching. No awkward torque when he flexed.
Kael did as asked, and the gauntlets did in fact feel like they sat comfortably over the rings. He twisted his fists a bit and nodded to Andre.
Satisfied.
Not overly excited, Kael wasn’t built for big reactions anymore, but satisfied in that practical, survival-minded way that mattered more than praise.
"Before ye go," Andre said as he went to the same cupboard and pulled something from it.
Kael watched him move, the way Andre’s posture shifted like he was about to do something casual, but his tone carried weight. The cupboard opened again. Andre’s hand disappeared inside, rummaging briefly.
He then placed them on the table.
Three pentagonal shaped items.
They landed with soft, distinct taps, each one heavier than it looked. Each one shaped with that familiar geometry Kael’s eyes had learned to respect.
Kael frowned.
"Runes? Where did you get these? I looked all over the map... I mean place for any of them."
Andre’s mouth twitched, amused at Kael catching himself mid-sentence. He didn’t comment on it. He just answered like it was obvious.
"A few climbers came up short on stones fer payment. Paid me with these instead. Thought they were gettin’ the better deal."
Kael’s gaze locked onto the runes fully now, pupils narrowing, attention sharpening into something hungry. He didn’t touch them yet, but he didn’t need to. The shape, the cut, the way the surface caught light, it all screamed value.
"This is..." Kael looked at the runes and his eyes widened. "A really good fucking deal."
