The weight of the forge had once more settled into a familiar rhythm, but the stakes were higher than they had ever been. Rivyn's shop turned from a realm of failure and corroding tools to become his battlefield. The System that gave him salvation also loomed over him, some kind of unrelenting taskmaster. There would always be something new to make, another challenge, just hovering over the horizon.
Lying on the anvil, shining under the soft light of the forge, was the dagger he'd made for the hooded woman. The runes he'd engraved on it were glowing faintly, but it was a subtle hint at the system's presence. That was three more System Points. Enough to keep him going for a while longer, but he knew that wouldn't last. The quests would just keep coming, ever harder and endless. He couldn't afford to slacken the pace now.
Rivyn looked to the door, half-expecting it to swing open at any moment and show the woman, demanding her commission, but it remained closed tight. He let the blade fall from his grasp as his mind worked, whirling. The last days had run together in a blur: a sword of magic for a hazardous client, a frantic commission from a mysterious woman, threats of losing his shop - the events were happening in a mad rush.
His hand slightly shook as he reached for his water flask. The exhaustion finally began to catch up with him. Days of not properly sleeping had finally reared their ugly head, and every muscle ached from the hours at the anvil. Yet, he couldn't afford rest-not yet.
There was a sudden, sharp rap at the door.
Rivyn's heart skipped a beat; he wasn't ready for a new task, not so soon. He wiped his hands on the apron in an attempt to settle his nerves and pulled the door open. Standing on the threshold was not the cloaked woman but a figure at least as familiar: the debt collector. His broad silhouette bulked in the doorway, his mustache twitching with its usual irritation.
"Thought I'd come check in on you," he said, every syllable dragged with the implication of smug satisfaction. Without invitation, he strode into the workshop, his eyes roving all over the room as if it belonged to him. "Heard you've been busy. Must be nice to have so many important clients."
Rivyn swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. "I've made the payment. We're square."
The collector smiled on, his grin spreading. "I know. I just wanted to see for myself what's changed. You were on the verge of losing this place, and now." He waved his hand at the glittering armor and dagger that lay upon the workbench. "Now you're turning out good work like you were a master craftsman."
Rivyn felt an edge of irritation; casual as the man's tone was, implication ran clear: all was not right.
"What is it you seek?" Rivyn asked. His voice was drawn.
He shrugged and sauntered over to the workbench, squinting as he glared at the enchanted dagger lying before him. "Just curious is all," he remarked. "Word gets 'round, you know? One day you're wrestling a forge to make a decent sword and the next you're enchanting like it's second nature to you."
Rivyn's heart beat just a little faster, his fist clenching behind the workbench. What did the collector know? What could he be surmising?
"Perhaps I finally found my rhythm," Rivyn said, an almost easy tone entering his voice as his chest tightened.
The smile was gone now, and the collector moved a step closer, his body filling the little workshop as if he cut off the air. "Perhaps something else you have stumbled upon. Rumors circulate, blacksmith. They say you are aided-supernaturally aided. Do not think for one instant that this can be kept hidden."
His breath caught in his throat. His face didn't change; in his mind, however, thoughts were racing a mile a minute. Could it be that he knew about the System? That's impossible; nobody else could see it except him. But the man's eyes dug into him, like he was trying to see through Rivyn's skull.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Rivyn said, forcing calm into his voice. "I've been working day and night. That's all."
The collector glared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowing. Then, without warning, he chuckled—an extremely chilling sound that sent shivers down Rivyn's spine.
"Sure," he said, stepping back. "Maybe you're just lucky. Or maybe." He trailed off, letting the silence hang in the air before turning toward the door. "Maybe I'll be keeping an eye on you. It'd be a shame if all that 'luck' of yours ran out."
At that, the collector slung open the door and was gone, leaving Rivyn standing in the middle of the shop with his heart pounding.
Behind him, the forge crackled and sent its lost heat upon him. Rivyn raked a hand through his hair; a trickle of sweat ran down his forehead. Words cut into him just as keenly as any knife might. There was something in his voice, something dark and foreboding, as if somehow he knew more than he let on. But how? How could anyone know of the System?
Rival shook his head, clearing off the growing sense of foreboding. He couldn't afford to let fear distract him now. There was still too much work to do, far too many points to gain. His eyes flicked to the System screen hovering just at the edge of his vision.
[Create an Accessory with Enchantment: 0/1
Rewards: 2 System Points.
The task at the back of his mind became an itch, reminding him that time was premium. There was still a need to find all the materials for the accessory, get it all set up, and start making—those long and arduous processes of fashioning something small yet strong enough to win a prize.
But as he reached for those leathers and metals set aside beforehand, his hand stayed still. There was now an abiding unease clawing deep in his gut, stronger than before. Something was not quite right; something about this collector's visit: the way he lingered too long, asked questions too close to the truth.
He glanced at the door, half-expecting the shadow of the collector to be standing in it. He wouldn't put spying, or worse, past him to report his suspicions to someone far more dangerous.
The System had once been his ace in the hole, a shortcut to cheat debt and defeat. Now. it felt more like a curse.
The weight of the dagger in the workbench was suddnly pulling heavier. Rivyn gritted his teeth, forcing it to pay attention. Days ahead were critical. Now was not a moment to let fear overwhelm him-not when he was so close to a point at which he could change the way things would go.
Yet, deep down, one voice whispered that all was not as much in control as he thought.
Rivyn worked on through the long hours, the incessant clanging of metal against metal resounding through the stillness of the shop. His hands were a blur in precision, his mind totally concentrated on the exactness at hand. Still, despite himself, as the sun began to dip and the shadows throughout the dirty windows lengthened, Rivyn felt something—or someone—had their eyes upon him. He stopped then, just over half done with the piece, exhausted from his rising weariness, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The forge grew dim, the roaring flames died down to hardly more than embers. Panting, he was standing there as a soft chime tingled in his ears.
[Ding!]
Rivyn half expected another task and glanced at the System screen. What met his eyes sent a shiver down his spine.
[Threat Detected: Warning.]
The message pulsed threateningly within his sight. He stared at it fiercely, his heart starting to run. What threat? Where? Before he could answer there came to his door a pounding knock-jarring, insistent, and all too recognizable.