Hitman with a Badass System

Inside the Blacksmith Guild, the atmosphere was a striking contrast to the bustling forges on the streets. The interior was well-organized and displayed a variety of weapons, artifacts, and throwable items, all forged by the skilled hands of the guild’s members. These items were carefully encased in glass boxes, showcasing their craftsmanship and quality.

Adorning the walls of the guild were numerous portraits, each depicting a renowned blacksmith. Among them were dwarves, their rugged features and strong builds reflecting their expertise in metallurgy. There were also orcs, known for their raw strength and dedication to the forge, and elves, whose elegance and precision in crafting made them equally celebrated in the world of blacksmithing.

Despite the impressive displays and the historical reverence shown through these portraits, the guild appeared unusually quiet. There was only a single counter, but no one was present behind it. The absence of guild members or apprentices made the place feel strangely empty, and Ayag couldn’t help but comment on the unusual hush that pervaded the guild hall.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Ayag mused, glancing around at the deserted guild. “With all this impressive gear on display, you’d think the place would be bustling with blacksmiths and apprentices.”

As Michael explored the guild, his affinity with darkness allowed him to blend seamlessly with the shadows, granting him an uncanny ability to observe without being noticed. He wandered deeper into a dark corner, his presence shrouded in an inky veil.

Suddenly, the quiet atmosphere was shattered by the clamor of someone entering the guild with urgency. Michael’s concealed presence allowed him to observe without drawing attention to himself. 

The newcomer was an elf of regal bearing, draped in pale blue robes that flowed like water, and their silver hair cascaded like a waterfall. Accompanied by three armored guards, the elf’s commanding presence filled the hall.

With a voice that dripped with anger, the elf shouted, “Blacksmiths of this guild, come forth immediately!”

The guards flanked their employer, their armor clinking ominously as they stood at the ready. The elf’s expression was one of impatience and frustration, demanding answers.

Sarba leaned in, whispering to Michael, “What’s all this commotion about?”

Ayag, always curious, chimed in, “Let’s wait and see what unfolds. Something seems interesting,”

From the shadows, Michael watched as a stout dwarf emerged from the depths of the guild. Clad in sturdy leather armor and bearing a hefty hammer, the dwarf bore the unmistakable marks of a day spent laboring at the forge. His face was smeared with black charcoal stains, and an aura of smoky warmth enveloped him.

The dwarf, his demeanor weathered by years of craftsmanship, addressed the elf by name with a gruff tone, “Arlen, what’s all this fuss about?”

The elf, revealed to be named Arlen, did not hide his exasperation as he retorted, “Where is the item the guild agreed to forge, Rurik?”

It was clear to Michael that Rurik and Arlen were not strangers, their interactions colored with familiarity and tension. Arlen’s impatience was palpable as he continued, “My elders have yet to receive the item they commissioned, and I’ve grown weary of hearing nothing but excuses from the Blacksmith Guild.”

Rurik’s voice held a hint of frustration as he responded, “Arlen, I’ve told you the reason behind the delay. We simply need more time.”

Arlen’s anger appeared to momentarily receding away as he sighed in irritation. “I’ve requested extensions from my elders before, but they are now breathing down my neck for the artifact. They’ve given us their trust, and I can’t keep stalling them.”

Rurik’s eyes bore a touch of regret as he grumbled, “This wouldn’t have taken this long if the Guildmaster were here.”

Arlen’s expression turned grave as he admitted, “I’ve exhausted all my contacts in search of the Guildmaster, but with no success. We’re running out of time. It’s time that the Blacksmith Guild either sends representatives to meet with my elders or completes the artifact before the Divine Towers Auction commences.”

“So the Guild master of the Blacksmith guild is missing?”

Michael’s keen ears caught the whispered conversation between Arlen and Rurik. He learned that the Guild Master of the Blacksmith Guild was missing, a secret carefully kept from the kingdom’s knowledge.

Arlen, exasperated, suggested, “Perhaps it’s time we let the cat out of the bag and inform the kingdom that the Guild Master has gone missing.”

“I’ve told you already,” Rurik protested, “if we admit the Guildmaster is missing, it will shake the Guild’s reputation, and clients will start withdrawing their orders.”

Arlen frowned, countering, “They’ll also withdraw their orders if we keep delaying the forging and provide nothing but excuses.”

Rurik sighed and conceded, “We’ll find a way to finish forging the artifact you’ve requested. That’s why we’ve been recruiting new blacksmiths – to bring in fresh perspectives.”

Arlen couldn’t help but snicker. “And how do you expect these new recruits to succeed in forging something that seasoned blacksmiths like you have failed?”

Rurik confidently replied, “Experience is important, but sometimes, fresh eyes and innovative thinking can triumph over years of practice.”

Arlen nodded and said, “For both our sakes, I hope these new recruits and the Guild can finish forging the artifact they’ve requested. Otherwise, the House of Silverbrook will be very displeased with the Blacksmith Guild.”

Rurik chuckled and replied, “Just keep those elven elders off our backs. We work better when we’re not being constantly scrutinized.”

Arlen let out a tired laugh. “You short bastards need to know how it feels to have elven elders breathing down your necks.”

Rurik joined in the laughter, saying, “I know what you are doing Arlen, and we’re grateful for your understanding.”

Arlen sighed and said, “Just finish the artifact before the elders decide to grant mining rights to someone else.”

Rurik’s expression turned serious. “That can’t happen.”

Arlen nodded and replied, “I’ll do my best, but it all depends on the timely completion of that artifact.”

After Arlen left the guild hall, Rurik sighed and walked toward a portrait of a gray haired dwarf with a large hammer in his Rurik stood before the portrait of the dwarf guildmaster, a worried expression etched on his face.

“Where the hell have you gone to, Guildmaster? We need you. If those silver-haired elves take away the mining rights, we are doomed,” sighed Rurik.

Ayag whispered in Michael’s ear, “This artifact the elf wanted must be important.”

Michael nodded and said, “Let’s see what that dwarf will tell us about it.” With that, he stepped out of the dark corner, revealing himself.

“Hello,” Michael called out. Rurik was startled, and he turned around, clutching his hammer, poised for action.

“Whoa, I’m here to apply to become a blacksmith,” Michael said calmly, trying to ease Rurik’s tension. The dwarf seemed to be wondering how much of his conversation with Arlen Michael had overheard.

“I didn’t see you. Where were you?” asked Rurik cautiously.

“I was just standing here. You seemed pretty focused on your talk with Lord Arlen,” Michael replied with a sly smile.

“So, you’ve heard it. How much did you hear?” Rurik inquired.

“Just enough to know you’re in deep trouble and your guildmaster is missing,” said Michael plainly.

Rurik growled, his eyes narrowing as he said, “If you ever tell others what you heard, I’ll have the entire blacksmith guild hunting you down.”

Michael chuckled and replied, “From where I stand, if the guild doesn’t finish that artifact, they’ll have the House of Silverbrook to worry about.”

Rurik sighed, realizing the truth in Michael’s words. “If you want to become a blacksmith, you should learn to respect the guild.”

“Why don’t we just go and join the others?” Michael suggested, trying to diffuse the tension.

Rurik didn’t like the smugness he saw on Michael’s face. With a reluctant nod, he said, “Fine, come with me. I can’t wait to see what a smug kid like you can do under the heat of a forge.”

Rurik gave a stern look at Ayag, the three-headed snake. “You should leave your… pet here,” he said, emphasizing the word ‘pet,’ “unless you want them to be barbecued.”𝚘𝐯𝑙xt.𝗇𝓔t

Ayag hissed in response, “We are not his pet, shorty.”

Rurik raised an eyebrow at Ayag’s hissing comment and growled, “You should put a leash on that creature’s foul mouth.”

Michael quickly interjected, “I apologize for Ayag’s words. Let’s not get off on the wrong foot. Please, lead the way.”

With a grunt, Rurik nodded and turned, leading Michael towards the heart of the blacksmith guild, where the roaring forges and the clang of hammers promised a fiery initiation into the world of the blacksmiths.

As they continued down the corridor, Michael asked, “Who are the House of Silverbrook?”

Rurik snickered, clearly amused by Michael’s unfamiliarity with Sagespire. “You must be new to Sagespire,” he remarked.

Michael nodded, confirming his status as a newcomer.

“They’re one of the big names in the mining business in Sagespire,” Rurik explained.

As they were talking about the Silverbrook noble house and some of the mines in Sagespire, they reached a large, spacious hall filled with the clamor of clashing hammers and the roar of roaring fires. Several master blacksmiths, both dwarves and elves, stood before a group of new recruits, consisting of humans, elves, orcs, and dwarves, offering guidance and instruction.

Rurik turned to Michael, a stern look on his face. “Remember what I told you earlier about keeping secrets,” he cautioned.

Michael nodded confidently. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Rurik eyed him for a moment before grunting in acknowledgment. “You’d better not,” he warned. “Now, go on and join the others.”

Rurik joined the three master blacksmiths at the front of the group and offered an apologetic nod before addressing the new recruits.

“Apologies for the interruption,” he began. “Now, let us begin.”

One of the muscular human recruits, a brown-haired fellow, raised his hand and asked, “What’s our first test about?”

The elven master blacksmith, with a poised demeanor, responded, “This will be a different test than what you’re accustomed to. Watch closely.”

With a flick of his wrist, he conjured several parchments containing intricate drawings and showed them to the recruits. Rurik continued, his tone serious and instructive.

“The test is for you new recruits to study the blueprints of this artifact,” he explained. “You need to identify the challenges involved in forging such an artifact and propose ways to overcome these hurdles.”

The recruits leaned in, examining the blueprints with varying degrees of interest and curiosity.

Michael, while studying the blueprints, found himself intrigued by the artifact’s intricate design. It was evident that this was no ordinary piece of craftsmanship. What particularly piqued his interest were the modular components designed for energy absorption.

Rurik, the experienced dwarf blacksmith, spoke again, his voice filled with authority and a hint of challenge. “A blind one can forge something out of metal, but only a skilled blacksmith can craft fine artifacts. You new recruits must prove that you have what it takes to become a blacksmith in our guild.”

Michael suppressed a chuckle, recognizing this tactic from his experiences in the corporate world. It was a clear attempt by seasoned blacksmiths like Rurik to harness the talents of the young recruits, pushing them to find solutions for a problem they had yet to comprehend fully.

Michael, being a five-star blacksmith, quickly discerned the true purpose of the artifact after studying it for some time.

“What does it do?” Ayag inquired.

Michael replied with a deepened thought, “It harnesses the energy of lightning.” His mind couldn’t help but drift to thoughts of the ongoing war between the God of Rain and the God of Lightning.