The crisp morning air clung to the village, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and wood smoke. Arthur adjusted the heavy sack slung over his shoulder, the grotesque head of the Blightwing tucked inside. Beside him, Rowan walked with a steady stride, his quiver bouncing lightly against his back. The sun was low, its light muted as villagers went about their morning routines, their eyes lingering on the duo as they passed.
"You'd think we were carrying treasure the way they're staring," Rowan muttered, his voice low but amused.
Arthur smirked, his breath visible in the chill air. "In a way, we are. Proof the beast is dead is worth more than any treasure to them."
Rowan chuckled softly but said nothing further. The Mayor's house loomed ahead, its sturdy structure casting long shadows across the square. Arthur rapped his knuckles against the thick wooden door, stepping back as the muffled sound echoed inside.
The door creaked open to reveal Cullen, his lined face tight with worry. His eyes flicked between the sack and Arthur's expression, a mixture of hope and hesitation in his gaze.
"Mayor Cullen," Arthur said evenly, stepping aside to lower the sack to the ground. "Figured you'd want to see this for yourself."
Arthur pulled the cloth back, revealing the severed head of the Blightwing. Its singular vacant, white eye stared back, its twisted mandibles frozen mid-snarl. Cullen took a sharp breath, his hand clutching the doorframe.
"By the gods..." Cullen whispered. "You actually did it."
Rowan leaned casually against the doorframe. "Wasn't easy, but we managed."
Cullen stepped back, motioning them inside. "Come in. Quickly."
The two entered the modest home, and Cullen shut the door behind them. He gestured toward a small table, where Arthur placed the sack. Cullen stared at the head for a long moment before finally speaking.
"This thing's been terrorizing the nearby region for weeks. You've saved us, truly." He glanced between them. "I'll make sure the village knows what you've done. And the reward—"
"It's not just the monster," Arthur interrupted. His tone was steady but grave. "The farmer that was kidnapped didn't make it. The Blightwing got to him first."
Cullen closed his eyes, the weight of the news settling over him. "I feared as much." He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. "He was a good man. This... this will hit the village hard."
Rowan's voice softened. "We brought back the belongings he had on him, the body was in too bad of shape to recover."
Cullen nodded slowly, his gratitude unspoken but clear. He turned to retrieve a chest from a corner of the room, counting out two pouches of coins. Handing one to each of them, he said, "You've earned every coin and more. If there's anything else you need while you're here, just ask."
Arthur weighed the pouch in his hand before tucking it into his belt. "We'll be staying a bit longer. I've got work to do before we head out."
Cullen nodded, his gaze lingering on the Blightwing's head. "Take all the time you need. And thank you, both of you. Truly."
Over the next week, the village began to settle into a calmer rhythm. Word of the Blightwing's death spread quickly, and while some villagers still eyed Arthur and Rowan warily, others approached with cautious gratitude. Arthur, however, spent most of his time at the forge, immersed in his work.
The Blightwing's remains were tougher to handle than any material he'd worked with before. Its chitinous arm blades were nearly unbreakable, but once properly heated and hammered, they revealed a flexibility and edge that surpassed iron. Arthur focused first on crafting a longsword for himself, shaping the blade with painstaking precision.
Rowan found him at the forge one afternoon, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal echoing in the crisp air.
"You've been at this all day," Rowan said, leaning against the doorway. "Starting to think you enjoy the company of metal more than people."
Arthur didn't look up, his hands steady as he hammered. "Metal doesn't talk back. Makes things simpler."
Rowan chuckled, stepping closer to examine the half-finished blade on the anvil. Its sleek black surface shimmered faintly in the light, the edges already honed to a razor-sharp finish.
"That for you?" Rowan asked, nodding toward the blade.
Arthur grunted in affirmation. "Better material than the iron I've been using. Needed something reliable, I'll be making you one that fits you better when I'm done."
"And here I thought you'd forgotten about me," Rowan teased.
Arthur smirked faintly, setting the blade aside to cool. "You think I'd let you head to the capital without a proper weapon? Give me time. You'll get yours."
By the third day, Arthur had completed his longsword. It was a sleek, deadly weapon, its weight perfectly balanced and its edge gleaming with a faint iridescence. He added the same runes onto it that were on his old sword. He tested it briefly in the yard behind the forge, the blade cutting through wooden dummies with ease. Satisfied, he strapped it to his left side, alongside his old sword. The iron blade felt heavy and dull by comparison, but he wasn't ready to part with it just yet.
His next project was Rowan's equipment. From the Blightwing's arm blades, Arthur forged a short sword, light enough to complement Rowan's agility, yet sturdy enough to handle close combat. The blade carried the same faint shimmer as his own, a testament to the material's strength.
When he presented it to Rowan, the hunter's eyes lit up.
"Wow, it looks better than I imagined," Rowan said, taking the sword and testing its weight.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "You doubted me?"
Rowan grinned. "Nah. Just impressed is all."
Arthur handed him a small bundle of leather armor next. It wasn't much, it just had some pieces reinforced with sections of the Blightwing's chitin to keep his mobility, but it was leagues better than Rowan's old gear. He added his own blend of armor runes, Thealios, Zephyros, and Aegis.
"Should keep you alive a little longer," Arthur said, his tone dry.
Rowan clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You're a damn good smith, Arthur. Thank you for this."
---------------------------------------------------
The warmth from the fire was a welcome contrast to the crisp air outside. Arthur and Rowan sat across from each other at a small table, each with a bowl of hearty stew in front of them. The crackling of the flames and the low murmur of the inn's other patrons set a comfortable tone, but the two were focused on their meal, content in the silence for now.
Rowan spooned a mouthful of stew and then set his bowl down. He glanced up at Arthur, his tone casual. "You're heading to the capital tomorrow, right?"
Arthur looked up, nodding. "Yeah. Got everything ready." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "No reason to wait around any longer."
Rowan took a moment before speaking, the thought coming to him clearly. "Since we're both going there anyway, why don't we travel together?"
Arthur glanced at him, surprised for only a second before his expression settled into a thoughtful one. "You don't mind traveling with me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Rowan shrugged, looking almost amused. "I've seen how you handle yourself. You're not bad company, could be a little easier on the eyes but I think I'll manage." He met Arthur's eyes, with a joking smile on his face. "Besides, we're both going to the same place. No real reason not to."
Arthur leaned back in his chair, considering it. Traveling alone wasn't a problem for him, but it wasn't like he had anything to lose by taking Rowan up on the offer. And the thought of having someone else on the road for a change didn't sound so bad.
"Alright," he said after a beat, leaning forward again. "We leave together, then."
Rowan grinned, a little more relaxed now. "Good. I'll see you in the morning."
Arthur nodded, the decision made. He took another spoonful of his stew, his gaze returning to the flames. The trip ahead would be different with someone else along for the ride, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
The next morning, Mayor Cullen stood at the exit of the village, his expression a mix of gratitude and sadness.
"You've done more for this town than we can ever repay," Cullen said, clasping Arthur's hand firmly, then moving on to Rowan. "Travel safely, both of you."
As they walked the dirt path, the sky above them dull and covered with ash clouds, Rowan cast a glance at Arthur. "You know, you sure don't say much. Makes me wonder what's rattling around in that head of yours when you're not busy swinging swords or hammering metal."
Arthur smirked faintly, keeping his gaze ahead. "I think about a lot of things. Like why I'm stuck traveling with someone who talks enough for both of us."
Rowan chuckled, his voice carrying easily in the open air. "Hey, someone has to keep things lively. But seriously, you don't strike me as the type who just drifted into this kind of life. The mercenary gig, the runes, there's a story there. What's yours?"
Arthur's expression shifted, the smirk fading. After a moment, he shrugged. "It started with a sword. A merchant came through my village once, selling weapons. Most were nothing special, but one of them... it was different. It had runes carved into the blade, glowing faintly like the thing was alive. Watching him swing it was like watching magic in motion. I couldn't stop thinking about it. How did it work? How was it made?"
Rowan tilted his head. "So that's when you decided to become a blacksmith?"
Arthur shook his head. "I already was one. Or at least an apprentice, been learning from my father since I was a kid. But making horseshoes wasn't enough anymore. I wanted to craft something like that sword, something enchanted. The merchant said magic like that didn't come cheap or easy, and no one in my village could teach me. So I left. Figured I'd earn enough coin as a mercenary to make it to Luminara and learn from the best."
"Not bad," Rowan said, nodding slowly. "So you're chasing knowledge. And here I thought you just liked hitting things with sharp objects."
Arthur allowed himself a slight grin. "That too. What about you? You're not exactly the picture of a city boy. Why'd you leave wherever you came from?"
Rowan's grin wavered, softening into something more thoughtful. "I grew up in a nomadic tribe, out on the plains. We lived off the land, trading with villages and surviving on what we could make. My father taught me how to craft bows, and my mother taught me how to hunt. It was a good life. Simple."
"But?" Arthur asked, glancing at him.
"But we didn't have magic," Rowan said quietly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Every time we ran into monsters out in the wild, it was clear how outmatched we were. Most of the time, they didn't bother with us, but when they did…" He paused, his hand tightening briefly on his bowstring. "Let's just say it was hard to protect the tribe when all we had was steel and skill."
Arthur's expression softened, though his voice stayed steady. "That's why you're heading to Luminara?"
"Yeah," Rowan said, his grin returning, though it was tinged with something more earnest. "I figured if I could learn magic, maybe I could help my tribe survive. Give them a chance to thrive instead of just scraping by. It feels like a long shot, but staying behind and doing nothing? That wasn't an option."
Arthur nodded, his respect for Rowan quietly growing. "That's not a bad reason. Probably better than mine."
"Don't sell yourself short," Rowan said, nudging Arthur's arm with a smile. "We're both chasing something worth it. Besides, you've got that whole quiet-mercenary-with-a-secret-dream thing going for you. People eat that up."
Arthur rolled his eyes but let out a small laugh. "Let's just hope Luminara can handle the both of us."