Chapter 7: Scrawny Brat
A year ago, I was minding my own business.
Banging steel. Breathing smoke. Trying not to freeze whenever the forge cooled for even a moment.
Brandon was asleep on his chair, drunk as usual, mouth open like the whole world bored him.
Then the armoury doors swung open.
Royal guards stepped in.
Not Rowanda's men. These ones stood straighter. Cleaner. The kind of men who didn't smell like fish and fear.
One of them cleared his throat like he expected the room to apologize for existing.
"Pardon me," he said. "We are looking for the blacksmith."
I turned slowly, wiping my hands on a rag that was already black with soot. "You'll have to be more specific. There are two blacksmiths here."
The guard's eyes flicked over Brandon—snoring, drooling—then over me.
His mouth twisted.
"I see one drunk," he said, "and one scrawny brat."
I stared at him.
Four years ago, maybe that would've been true.
Now?
I wasn't bony anymore. I'd grown into myself the hard way. Lean. Corded. The kind of strength you don't notice until it moves.
Another guard stepped forward, less rude but just as doubtful.
"We were told the blacksmith's name is Leno," he said. "Is there any man named Leno here?"
Brandon grunted without opening his eyes. "That's him. The scrawny brat."
The guards looked at me like the room had lied to them.
"Him?" the first guard scoffed. "You mean this boy? I doubt he can even lift a hammer."
Something in my chest tightened.
Not rage exactly.
Just… a decision.
I reached down and lifted a two-edged axe from the wall rack. Heavier than my usual hammer. Heavy enough to make a point.
No weapon was ever too heavy for me. I still didn't understand why. I only knew it was true.
Outside the armoury, a pole stood in the yard. About a hundred feet away. A rough target the apprentices used for throwing practice.
I didn't even take a full stance.
I just breathed once, felt the weight settle into my shoulder, and threw.
The axe left my hand in a clean line.
It didn't wobble.
It didn't hesitate.
It struck the pole with a hard, final sound, biting deep enough that the wood shuddered.
Silence fell.
Even Brandon stopped snoring for half a breath.
I looked back at the guard who'd called me a brat.
"Call me a scrawny brat one more time," I said quietly, "and the next axe I throw will land in your chest."
The guard's face had gone stiff.
The other guards glanced at each other, suddenly remembering they were not the biggest men in every room.
One of them swallowed.
"C-come with us," he said. "The emperor requests your presence at the palace."