Chapter 45: Death Whinny

TRISTAN

The problem was that he wasn't just hearing the rhythmic pounding of metal on metal. It was also the whistling. The melody of the song was unmistakable.

His father’s song. His father’s rhythm.

For a moment, Tristan looked back over his shoulder toward the path that led all the way back to the cemetery gate. He could admit to himself that he was afraid of what might lay ahead in this crypt. He was tackling this dungeon on his own, after all, and it was getting late. If he just went back to mine the Quarry and then left, who would know?

He shook his head. I would know.

While it might not matter to others, he would be ashamed to just quit right now. Yes, he’d accomplished a lot already, but could he forgive himself if he didn’t even go inside and look? To just walk away without so much as glimpsing the final boss--? Tristan couldn’t do that.

Besides, even for himself, he had a title to live up to now. He was a {Student of Jamal}, and a {Student of Jamal} wouldn’t run.

Bracing himself, he turned forward again, drew his [Oozebane Greatsword] once more, and walked cautiously into the darkness.

The ringing of an anvil beckoned him down the straight stone hallway, as did the slight reddish light that now peeked out from the far end. Despite the devilish hue it cast across everything, it was familiar, as was the gradual increase in temperature as he approached. These were things he knew intimately, markers that told Tristan that somehow he was walking into a forge and not just a nightmare. Gripping his sword a little bit tighter, he allowed the familiar sensations to calm him as they usually did, regardless of who or what was tending that fire at the end of the hall.

The hallway ended in a giant stone arch that opened up into a circular room. A massive forge was positioned directly in its center. It would have normally been much too large for anyone to work it alone, but it was not too large for the one tending it now. Even some of his features were horribly familiar.

A giant, taller than even Bernhardt had been after the potion, loomed beside the forge with his back turned. He was hammering at something on the gargantuan anvil, and the way he was positioned left no way for him to see the archway beside which Tristan stood in shock. The enormous smith was nearly as broad as it was tall, with rippling muscles all across his body that were ill-concealed by a dark apron. It was all too clear who this giant was modeled after: it looked just like his father--only huge.

“Are you going to stay out there all night, or are you coming in?”

The voice was his father's too, but deeper and more rumbling. When Tristan didn't respond immediately, the giant turned around and leveled his massive hammer squarely at Tristan. It was literally dripping blood.

“You put in an awful lot of work just to stand there and be scared.”

Tristan gripped his sword a little tighter and brought it up before him. “What are you?”

The hammer continued to drip blood on the floor where a pool was slowly forming. “What do I look like?” the giant asked.

“You’re not my father,” Tristan said, sliding his front foot forward into a more aggressive stance. He used [Identify] on the giant to see what type of monster he was up against.

[The Horrible Armorsmith, level 15]

{{Crypt Boss of the Rockmoor Cemetery}}

He tried to also scan the hammer, but it didn’t register as anything more than a part of the Horrible Armorsmith.

The giant tossed his head back and began to make an awful, high pitched sound that almost sounded like a horse’s whinny. If that horse was dying and in agony. Soon after, his jaw unhinged, only further breaking the illusion that this was Marrik Hammerson. But Tristan had already known that. There was no way his father could ever be this monster.

As the pretender smiled, an elongated, forked tongue remained sticking out from between its teeth. “Are you so sure? Is that why you’re still out there while I’m in here?”

Tristan shook his head. “Oh, I’m sure. First, you don’t know how to hold a hammer properly, so I’m not sure how you even managed to swing it to my father’s tempo. Secondly, my father would never use something that hideous. It’s clearly meant to destroy, not to create. Not his style at all.”

In response, the giant tossed the hammer into the air and caught it with reckless ease as another death whinny split the air.

Tristan continued by lifting his sword and pointing it at the monster’s throat. “Third, that may be the most unfortunate sound I’ve ever heard anything ever make. And I mean ever. I’ll be doing the whole blessed realm a service when I silence it.”

“My laugh is fantastic! It’s memorable! You’ve gotta have an evil laugh. It would haunt you, but you won’t live--"

Tristan cut him off as he approached the edge of the archway, feeling fairly sure that as soon as he passed through it, the fight would begin. “Enough! While you look a bit like my father, you’re obviously blind to his greatest strengths, which never came from his body at all. His spirit, his kindness, and his heart are what define him. No matter how much you look like him, you’re nothing but a pale imitation.” Tristan stared up into the face that could never have been his father’s at all and locked eyes with the fake. “But I swear, you’re going to regret taking his form.”

The Horrible Armorsmith raised his hammer as he whinnied again. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Come on, little swordsmith. Show me what you’ve learned!”

Tristan finally stepped into the room, and the fight began in earnest.

The giant began to lumber forward, cocking his hammer arm back, clearly readying for a strike once he got into range. But as Tristan had learned from fighting Bernhardt, giants usually had to make sacrifices for their enormous sizes. The Horrible Armorsmith was no exception. Though he was huge, he was also incredibly slow. Tristan, on the other hand, had worked on his agility and footwork extensively with Jamal. He’d even managed to finish a spar with the swordmaster without being struck. This giant didn’t stand a chance of hitting him with his obviously telegraphed hammer swings.

Unfortunately for Tristan, the swings weren’t the only danger in this fight. Every time the hammer hit the floor, it left behind splatters of blood. Tristan originally didn’t think anything of them, despite the constant addition of reddish pools filling the space. But he still got cornered once and was forced to roll into one as he dodged, and the instant he touched the blood, it burned his skin with a volcanic, flesh-melting fire. Tristan felt every single crimson droplet as it either burrowed into his shoulder or dripped back to the floor.

An agonizing moment later, Tristan saw that his shoulder was a raw, bubbling mess. All from the briefest contact with the stuff. Tristan looked around the room with new understanding, his eyes opened to the real danger of this fight: there were already so many puddles of blood all over the place, and the fight had only just begun.

Tristan realized that this boss was going to be similar to the Splitting Ooze all the way back in his first dungeon: if the fight went too long, Tristan would lose simply because there would be nowhere safe to stand. But unlike the ooze’s pools, these weren’t slowly expanding. They were more disorderly, appearing every single time the giant’s hammer struck, wherever Tristan had just been. And that meant that even the monster’s misses were still dangerous.

For a brief moment, Tristan considered whether he could control where they were with more strategic positioning, but that felt like a whole new level of difficulty. He wasn’t sure he had the skill to pull off anything significantly better than what he was already doing. Instead, he decided to bank on the boss’s lower health pool from it being a solo dungeon, and he went to work doing as much damage as he could. He had a new skill to test out that could help with just that, after all.

He wove between two more pools of blood, charging directly for the giant’s legs, and began hacking at them. He was able to deal a lot of damage before the giant started swatting at him with his empty hand ineffectively. The giant tried to backpedal to create space, but Tristan stayed so close that the monster’s only recourse was to move into the blood puddles himself. Based on the lack of any reaction whatsoever, Tristan could tell that the blood didn’t burn the giant like it did him... But it did do something else unexpected.

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Where previously the Horrible Armorsmith’s boots had been resting in the burning blood, now there were cloven hooves instead. Above the backward-seeming ankle, the illusion remained unbroken. But apparently the blood could--at least partially--dispel the magic that cloaked this monster in Tristan’s father’s form.

Tristan took the opportunity to pull back well out of reach, into a part of the crypt where there hadn’t been any fighting yet and thus there were no blood pools. Now that he had a moment to think about it, he realized they were apparently environmental hazards, even though he thought they should be counted as damage over time effects, and thus negated by his sword.

He had noticed that the monster was trying to keep him at measure, but it was too slow to keep up with Tristan’s more nimble movements. By pulling this far back, he could wait for the giant’s approach, then spring just under its descending attacks and strike freely. To make matters worse for the monster, Tristan was always targeting its legs. The giant was getting slower blow by blow.

Tristan smiled, seeing a glimmer of hope at last. He activated [Blade Echo] and parried the hammer’s next blow in the hope that [Riposte] would allow him to find an even better striking angle. He forced himself to ignore the splattering blood that burned straight through his clothes and into his flesh. The resulting counterattack, doubled by [Blade Echo], slipped under the giant’s guard and connected with its knee.

The Armorsmith bellowed with pain and rage. Tristan came at the monster again and his [Piercing Thrust] was also echoed as it drove into the monster’s leg. As he carved another set of echoed attacks into the boss, he saw that his assault hadn’t only splattered himself. Apparently some of the blood had flown back onto the Horrible Armorsmith too. Its face was now a splotchy, bloody mess, more like a ripped mask than a clean illusion. What shone through beneath it looked every bit like the demon that Tristan had read was supposed to be the final boss of this dungeon.

“Ah, now I see the real you,” Tristan said with a grim smile. “Just as ugly as I expected.”

The monster screamed again, jerking its free hand up to its face, and ripped the facade off, revealing a reddish snout complete with a jaw that was much too long, and started way too far down its neck. Contorted with rage and pain, the demonic maw opened wider than should be possible, allowing its serpentine tongue to lash the air.

Tristan barely cared about the giant’s new appearance, however. If anything, the change removed the last real weapon the monster had held against him. As Tristan dodged and cut, parried and sliced, the giant became more and more demonic in appearance. Any resemblance between the monster and his father rapidly fell away. Now Tristan was free to deal with the boss properly. Without a single hesitation.

He knew that the burning crimson covered nearly every surface in the room, himself included, but at last, Tristan made a great feint, and the giant took the bait, leaving his right knee wholly exposed. Tristan swung his sword with all his might in a [Cleaving Slash], and watched as the attack cut straight through the thick joint.

The giant demon immediately collapsed under its own excessive weight. The bloody hammer slammed to the ground right beside it. With another deft stroke, Tristan separated the hand at the wrist. One more thrust of his blade, and the monster was no more.

Immediately, a golden halo surrounded him, and the sweet sound of a Ding! was accompanied by several triumphant notifications.

You have slain [The Horrible Armorsmith, level 15]

{{Crypt Boss of the Rockmoor Cemetery}}

You have gained the Lonely Dungeoneer Achievement!

You have gained the title: {Lonely Dungeoneer}.

Next stage of Achievement revealed:

Isolated Dungeoneer!

Requirements: Complete five different dungeons on your own.

Congratulations! You have reached LEVEL 14!

You have earned another skill selection.

Skill Selection:

You may learn one skill from the options provided. Any skill not selected now will still be available in subsequent level-up skill selections if you so choose.

Do you wish to proceed now?

Glancing down, he saw that he’d also gained a level in his swordsman Class, but he’d get to that in a moment. He didn’t want to delay getting something from his Primary Class, since it was always higher level and so usually added more power.

Not seeing any reason to wait, Tristan thought Yes, and the following options appeared for him.

[Quality Blades I] A passive skill that increases the minimum rarity of swords you craft to Uncommon.

[Quicken Blade] A passive skill that grants the user +5% attack speed with swords and +1% movement speed while wielding a sword.

He also saw both [Faster Craft] and [Swordcraft Efficiency] at the bottom of the list, still left over from his last skill selection at level 12.

Both of the new skills were promising, but one really stood out to him: [Quicken Blade]. While the first half of the ability was rather boring, as most basic stat increases seemed to be, getting an increase in base movespeed was amazing! He’d already gotten 2% from his [They Grow Up So Fast] achievement, and adding another 1% to it would just be that much better. It was a tremendous boon for any combat Class, but especially those that wanted to stay in melee.

He recognized how valuable [Quality Blades I] would have been for someone who wanted to sell their work to others, but due to his Core, he couldn’t. He only crafted for himself, by necessity, and typically he needed to craft a lot of items for EXP anyway. Raising the minimum rarity wouldn’t help nearly as much for him as it would others.

Honestly, it wasn’t a decision at all. He focused his intent on his selection, and a moment later, he has gained the [Quicken Blade] passive.

Tristan stepped back and sliced the air a few times, wondering if he'd be able to tell the difference, but of course he couldn't. Instead, he went to see what skill he’d gained from level 6 of swordsman.

[Blade Flurry] An attack ability that lets the user make four attacks in quick succession. 30 second cooldown.

Tristan was beside himself. He’d wanted the skill for so long that gaining it almost felt like a right of passage. It was a good thing after all that Jamal hadn’t wasted their time teaching it to him early. It pained him to admit it, but the man had been right yet again. That is, unless skills also got more powerful in the same way passives did when you got more than one instance of it. He’d have to ask Jamal.

It was kind of strange how, despite all the damage he’d taken and the terrors he’d encountered, Tristan had enjoyed this run. He hadn’t even seen what loot he’d earned yet! There was something about pushing through a difficult challenge that just felt good. It wasn’t quite the same as when he’d finally finished a good craft, but it was close. Had his father not felt the same way after going with the Brightshield into a dungeon all those years ago? He’d have to ask the man some more about it the next time he saw him.

Tristan watched as the monstrous devil's body and the surrounding pools of blood evaporated before his eyes. In their place, a golden chest remained, gleaming as though a permanent beam of sunlight shone on it and it alone.

Smart loot! Tristan cheered internally.

All things considered, this had never really been a fair fight. There had been plenty of trickery on the boss’s part, but no real challenge. Only its blood had done him any damage at all. Considering that he’d faced the boss all alone, Tristan couldn’t help but smile. He had handled it so easily.

Clearly, he had grown a lot in his time with Jamal.

Opening the chest, Tristan was delighted to hear the distinctive, golden chest music again, though his excitement waned slightly when he saw what awaited him within. Nestled down in the exact center of the mostly-empty space was a single, tiny vial of alarmingly purple liquid.

As Tristan carefully removed the vial from the chest, he used [Identify] to see what he'd earned.

[Crafter’s Blessing (unique)]: Soulbound

Applying this oil to any crafting item will permanently increase its rarity by one rank and grant it an additional enchantment. One dose. Consumed upon application.

Tristan was at a loss for words. The brief disappointment he'd initially felt at seeing such a small reward was immediately replaced with awe--and a touch of shame, for so badly misjudging his loot.

His mind turned immediately to the question of which item he should upgrade. As he saw it, he had only two options: either his forge or his hammer. Actually, there was a third option. He could hold onto the oil and make something else. A tier 2 hammer, for example. But if he were going to do that, he could just work on replacing parts of his existing hammer until it became tier 2 anyways. Same with the anvil. He’d been using them both basically every single day of late, and upgrading either was bound to be useful in ways he hadn’t yet imagined. A better [Portable Forge] might help speed up his future crafts, if the metals heated faster, for example, or stronger if the materials were made more pure. Though he had to admit that he had no idea what sorts of enchantments a forge could even have!

Then there was his [Smith’s Hammer]. The craft that had Awakened him. There was no crafting without his hammer. He used it for everything, even more than the forge. If he upgraded the hammer, it could potentially affect other crafting professions down the road too, as long as he took one that used a hammer.

But it was only a common item, and only tier 1, while the forge was already rare and tier 2. He knew that as items went up in rarity, the increase in power or ability was not linear but exponential. He kind of wanted to see what the next step up to epic would do.

But he kept thinking about his hammer. He pulled it out of his [Crafting Materials Bag] and really examined it for the first time in a while. The shape and edges that he’d spent so long perfecting. The small flourishes he’d added, even on the wooden handle (which had felt at the time like his nemesis). The way it felt in his hand, felt like an extension of his hand.

He knew which choice he would make.