"Remember your wife Vuokko? Your son and daughter, Jenni and Pietari?"

  ROAR!

  The almost 190cm tall blacksmith missed me with his hammer. He was clean-shaven with short grey hair. Three things were on his neck: the strap of his thick leather apron, a slave collar with glowing runes, and spectacles on a string bouncing off his chest. His eyes glowed red, and his skin was mottled grey.

  Compared to the dungeon, I was a little surprised. The blacksmith was deadly sure but quite slow. Though there was a lot in the workshop, it was well-organized, and there were clear paths I could weave around to avoid the restless spirit's hammer. The forge wasn't even on, so it was the same cool, damp air as the rest of the dungeon. As an assassin, I had plenty of time to look around and try to figure out if I could do more than just defeat this guy.

  I suspected that if I attacked even once, he had other attacks lined up, so I didn't attack. I had even put my axe away.

  There was a large dry sink with a long-dead pipe over it, inside which was a cracked mirror. I picked it up.

  "Look at yourself Ilmarinen! What would Vuokko think of you like this? Try to fight your curse man!"

  I managed to get it hooked back onto the wall above the sink. What else?

  There were three blank spaces on the wall, nail holes...

  After avoiding a hammer blow, I patted the blacksmith on the shoulder for the good attempt and dashed away.

  Searching drawers, I found only materials and tools. Searching a trunk, I found only clothes and bric-a-brac. The first shelves only had pre-made bits and pieces of weapons.

  At a second set of shelves, I found three parchments hidden under a pile of books: sketches of each of his family members as he remembered them.

  I headed back to the drawers, taking a long route to avoid the lumbering blacksmith. I found the nails I needed... perhaps I was getting too close or had timed out—the air changed.

  Ting, Ting, Ting!

  At the third strike of his anvil, the forge sprang to life. The blacksmith levitated up; what happened next was easy to predict. There was a scorched line all around the workshop just above the level of the forge, below the blank spaces.

  I calmly got down and waited.

  "You come to force me to forge!? I'll pre burn you, before sending you to hell!"

  A wave of fire passed over my head. The blacksmith swung his hammer in my direction; a fiery magic construct of the hammer missed me. I put up the first sketch.

  "A nail is easy to forge, I'll nail you down!"

  Pew, pew, pew, pew, pew, pew!

  The shield was enough to cope with the nails shot from his free hand. I hung the second picture.

  After the nails he landed and chased me about the workshop for a while, a little faster but still nothing dramatic for me.

  "BURN!"

  He'd risen high again. Another wave of fire, another thrown fire hammer dodged. I tacked onto the wall the final sketch and...

  "Fool! I serve the demon lord, those sketches mean nothing to me!"

  Huh?

  I moved about dodging attacks and thought... the sketches were up, I tried calling out their names, changing the order to when they would have entered his life, wife then his daughter was oldest, then son... nothing.

  Between two predictable attacks I paused to stare at him. What am I not seeing!? ... Not seeing!

  I ducked the fire wave and dodged the projectile hammer. Dashing to behind him, I jumped onto a table, too slow he'd already turn around.

  Pew, pew, pew, pew, pew, pew!

  I dropped the nail covered shield then jumped over the hammer swipe intended to get me off the table. I landed right beside the blacksmith, weaving and dodging, I stayed as close as I could. Ducking under his arm I popped up in front of him and tried to take his specs. I had to roll away.

  Impossible... Then I smacked my forehead. There was something else around his neck DERRRR! I looked over, spotting it, the fucking bolt on his collar had even started pulsing— working overtime to contain the blacksmiths humanity now the sketches were up! Maybe I needed spectacles!

  I waited for him to land and start his ground attack. I dodged then attacked, striking the bolt with the hammer end of the axe. There were plenty of hammers lying around too, it was so obvious!

  Once wasn't enough. I got another hit before he started levitating up, fuck this, I tabled the axe to pick up one the other hammers.

  "BUR—"

  Tonk!

  The thrown hammer hit its mark before clunking onto the floor, followed soon after by the freed bolt. The collar opened and swung down, resting on Ilmarinen's shoulder.

  "Hey! Arch Blacksmith Eino Ilmarinen, you good?"

  Ilmarinen floated down, brushing the slave collar away as he did.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Clank!

  "Juu, Juu... I mean— Yes."

  He stood for good while just taking in his freedom, looking over the sketches of his family. I headed over to my stuff to fetch him his family tree.

  "They made it to safety Ilmarinen."

  He took the paper from me, putting on his spectacles to look over it. He cried while chuckling.

  "Mit? helvetti?... Over two hundred years in this satanaan shit hole!"

  He calmed, putting on a serious face.

  "That kusip??, the so called Demon Lord?" Ilmarinen hissed the title with every bit of spite it warranted.

  "After a couple dozen years in power, he had pissed off so many people, armies were raised against him. But those hundreds of thousands of men were just distractions. The best of the very best had been gathered, given the best equipment and sent after him.

  They got called the twelve, still are.

  There are still cults out there trying to resurrect the demon lord, even today. To protect their families, a circle of twelve weapons is their monument.

  Their names unknown, how many survived unknown. What is known... by all accounts, the demon lord, real name Gregory Florus Fulchard, died begging for mercy."

  "Greg?" His faced cracked into smile after a moment, then he clutched his sides laughing.

  He paused, sullen, and looked over at the entryway. He was looking at something there. Something I couldn't see.

  "Can I make you something, before I go?"

  "My situation is a little complicated, I can't really go around with a legendary item at the moment. Unless... Do you want to make me a better scalpel?"

  For this dungeon I had the scalpel in easy reach on my belt, I passed it to Ilmarinen. He blinked at it, looking at me with pursed lips.

  "We have time, tell me why you want a scalpel please? More I understand, better the tool I make for you"

  He lifted himself up to sit on a table while gesturing for me to start. I sighed, then told him an abridged version of my life story, leant on his anvil.

  "...Grandmaster? Jumalauta... standards have dropped. Well I've heard enough, to work!"

  TINK!

  I assumed my steely assassin face plus screamed internally. Ilmarinen had snapped my scalpel then tossed it in a crucible.

  "May I?" I said pointing to a cot in the corner, Ilmarinen nodded with a dismissive wave.

  But before I reached the basic bed, his head snapped to the cot. He stopped me with a held out palm. After dragging a large duffel bag from under the bed he gestured for me to go ahead.

  I fell asleep almost immediately, managing to stay asleep despite the hammering and forging.

  . . .

  I awoke to a nudge.

  "Haha! This was an interesting challenge! Kiitos, thank you Harvey! Behold."

  I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus on what was being presented to me. It was almost like a scalpel version of my first short sword. An unassuming but high quality piece. I took it with care, drinking in every detail.

  A small, very sharp, flat ground, triangular blade. A wide, bare choil/ finger groove with gimping along the spine. Below the choil, a slim handle with dark brown wooden scales, held on by three small rivets. The tang continued from the handle, tapering and curling on itself to create a loop big enough for a finger. Blade up, at the lowest point, part way the loop, there was a rounded spike/nub. I would guess a point to focus force on.

  "Hmm. It's heavier than I would think."

  "Aaaa, hidden mass, just for assassin class, in reverse grip, tap the loop three time with your thumb."

  I obliged then watched in amazement as the metal behaved like liquid, flowing around itself as it transformed. I was now holding a small dagger, the steel and handle had darkened. It's blade almost 9cm long, perfectly balanced, even had a cm of crossguard on either side.

  "It will stay that way a few seconds after you let go, to turn it back in hand, you do the same. I think someone of your skill will know to use even such a short blade effectively."

  "Indeed. I know precisely where to stab and cut, what level is this?"

  "Aaa, hahaha... You ask for something so small, I think if I cannot give you quantity, I'll improve the quality. That has no level, it's stats match its user, so no need to hide it when it is a scalpel."

  "Seriously? Wow, that's like my meteor ring..."

  I placed the scalpel against my adventurers card, min lv1 but the stats were insane for a beginner's weapon. I took my hand off, Ilmarinen chuckled, a few seconds later the stats dropped to those of a standard scalpel.

  "Oh, this is great work, no wonder you're an arch blacksmith, thank you."

  "Olla hyv?— you're welcome! ... Hm."

  Ilmarinen glanced at the doorway, as sombre air befell him.

  "You're afraid to pass on?" Trying my best to empathise.

  "Yes... I was forced yes... but I made legendary weapons for a monster, and... I couldn't help but make them well."

  "Hey Ilmarinen, if any god dares to judge you— If there's no god of skill and craft who'd understand the concept of professional pride and defend you. You come to haunt me OK, you give me names and I swear when I die, god or no god, I'll make them pay."

  "Hahaha... I believe you... Anything more I can do for you Harvey?"

  "No... Its a pleasure to help, like I said, I'm trying to be good— and yes there is the selfish reason of seeking skill points, but I use those for good too. My assassins skills are being neglected, I want to be a healer, I swear... Oh, actually..."

  "Go on?" He pressed.

  "I recently met a passionate young blacksmith, let me show you her work— DON'T SNAP IT!"

  I drew my short sword to present it to Ilmarinen who delibertly grinned in as wicked way possible.

  "I was admiring the craftsmanship on the handle already... Hmm... You see, there is more care and attention in this than in that grandmaster's work I melted..."

  With sudden burst of excitement, Ilmarinen handed back the sword. He whizzed about his workshop.

  "Here, take these to her, I'll add a couple books, my notes are in Soumi sorry but... she could translate with magic. Her name please? I don't know what's on the other side or how it works," He nodded toward the doorway, "But I'll see if I can visit her."

  I both smiled and frowned at the large, tough leather duffel bag of tools and notes. Ilmarinen walked about picking things up to add the bag.

  "Tuana, she's an orphan so no last name as far as I know. She's at an institution called Xeothea's orphanage for girls. Thank you, not sure how I'll get this bag out, hopefully this magic rope works... But I promise I will get these to her."

  Ilmarinen reached past me, plucked up the end of the rope which had fallen out of my pocket while I slept then blasted magic into it from his hands.

  "It will work."

  I snort laughed.

  "Thank you... anything more I can do for you before..." I nodded to the doorway.

  Ilmarinen sighed, shook his head then presented his hand. We shared a firm handshake. I said nothing more as he walked one last time around his prison, stroking the sketched faces of his family as did.

  "Onnea– Good luck Harvey." He stated taking off his apron to throw it over the bag.

  "Be at peace Ilmarinen."

  With a final deep breath, one the finest blacksmiths the world has ever known stepped out of it. I closed my eyes to the bright, warm flash of light.

  . . .

  Richer in skill points, gems, looted coins, a select few weapons and clutching a heavy bag to my chest, I tugged the rope three times. Gwendoline had warned me to close my eyes, I felt why as I was lurched up and spun around.

  I almost threw up when I felt my feet touch solid ground again. I waited for the sensation of spinning to cease before opening my eyes. The rope looked as though I had never cut it, I was back within the city catacombs.