Chapter 9:
I was woken an hour before sunrise.
Ashirai was gone.
No goodbye. No argument. No last look. Just the cold room and the weight in my chest that always came after her.
I didn't have time to sit with it.
I collected my tools, a sack of aluminium, and a bundle of iron. I packed light, the way you pack when you don't know if you're coming back.
Rowanda was already waiting.
So were Obara and Stan.
No smiles. No speeches.
Just movement.
We left by boat.
A cutter, the captain called it.
Only after we pushed from the port did I understand what made it different from the ships and barges I'd seen. It was a small masterpiece—one large mainsail, a jib, two staysails, rigging tight as a promise. Swift enough that even the wind seemed eager to help.
"With a proper ship, this takes seven to nine days," the captain said, sounding proud. "This little beauty? Four."
He was right.
Four days later, Benevira rose around us like a warmer world.
The cutter slid into a river and sailed upstream like it had been born for it.
The air changed. Softer. Wetter. Alive.
Ilana was cold most of the year. Even when it wasn't snowing, it still felt like the sky wanted you dead. I'd survived mostly because a forge is a small sun you can stand beside.
Here, the weather felt like it had forgiven people.
"Smells like home."
I turned and saw Obara behind me, arms crossed, eyes scanning the riverbanks like she expected them to bite.
"You come from this country?" I asked.
She nodded. "This is where I learned my skills. I left six years ago."
"As a traveler?"
"As a fugitive," she said, without shame.
I blinked. "What did you do?"
Obara's lips twitched. "We tried to steal a merchant's carriage. Jewellery. Gold. Easy work."
She spat into the river.
"It wasn't easy."
"My friends were slaughtered. I barely escaped."
I didn't know what to say to that.
So my mouth did what it always did when it didn't know what to do.
"Why come back now?" I asked.
Obara's eyes narrowed. "Rowanda promised she'd help me get revenge on that merchant."
That explained a lot.
Then my curiosity got greedy again.
"How did Rowanda fail her last quest?" I asked quietly. "People talk. Some say storms. Some say she was defeated and lost her ships. No one who comes back speaks about it. You were there, right?"
Obara looked around first, checking the deck, the crew, the distance. Then she spoke low.
"We usually raid simple towns. Villages that don't even have walls."
She stared toward the river mouth like she could still see it.
"This time, none of our small parties came back. We sent scouts ahead—nothing. No reports. No messengers."
She shook her head.
"We moved anyway. We had experienced soldiers. Numbers. Better weapons."
Her eyes slid to my hands.
"Thanks to you."
My stomach tightened.
Obara continued, voice flat now.
"We raided the first villages. It went well. Too well."
Then she paused, like even remembering hurt.
"One scout found us. One of our own. He'd lost an eye… his tongue… an arm."
I felt cold despite the warm river air.
"He couldn't talk. Couldn't write. Even the signs he tried to make didn't make sense."
Obara's voice dropped further.
"But his eyes… his eyes were full of fear."
She exhaled.
"We tried to retreat."
She pointed at the riverbank ahead as if it was that shore.
"As we reached the coast, an army was waiting. Twice our number."
Her jaw tightened.
"And four dragons. With men on their backs."
My mouth went dry.
"Every scorpion bolt we had was on the ships. We cut our way through the shore. Men died rowing the boats back. Men died on the ships."
Her voice didn't shake, but something in her looked smaller for a moment.
"Two score boats burned. Three ships went up. Smoke everywhere."
She swallowed.
"Only one ship managed to sneak out."
Obara looked at me.
"Not more than forty came back."
She leaned closer, eyes hard.
"One thousand two hundred soldiers left Ilana."
"Forty returned."
I couldn't speak.
I should've thought of a clever reply.
All I could think about was Ashirai.
Obara stared ahead, then let out a short laugh that held no humor.
"We're here," she said. "Welcome to Riverway, blacksmith."
Up ahead, two rivers joined into one, and a city rose at the meeting point.
Not just a city.
Three, stitched together by bridges like someone had decided a single city wasn't enough to hold all its sins.
It was bigger than Ilana.
Beautiful enough to trick a fool.
Obara saw my face and laughed again. "Don't be fooled. Riverway is a city of thieves, cheats, and cutthroats."
She leaned in. "Don't flash that beautiful knife of yours. You won't find it if it disappears."
I smiled, because she had no idea.
Then she pointed at me like she'd read my thoughts.
"Don't laugh, blacksmith. You may be a better thief than me… but there are better thieves than you in this city."
"Obara," I said, "I'm not a thief. Have you ever seen me sneak up and steal from anyone?"
"No," she admitted. "Never."
Then she smirked.
"But I've seen you steal your knife back. That makes you a thief."
She looked me up and down like she was judging a puppy.
"For a boy, anyway."
****
Riverway didn't sleep.
It took us almost two hours to find an inn with enough rooms for all of us. That night I learned Riverway had another army.
Bed bugs.
They bit me until I gave up and slept on the floor.
In the morning we gathered around the table to discuss our roles like this was business and not murder.
"So let me get this straight," I said. "You brought me here to mimic your opponents' weapons."
Rowanda didn't blink. "Yes."
"Obara steals the weapons, draws them, brings the drawings to me. I remake them—only weaker. Then Obara swaps the originals with my mimics before you face them."
I pointed at her. "Then you fight. They die. You win."
Rowanda's expression didn't change.
"That's right."
I looked to Stan, sitting beside her like a shadow with shoulders.
"And what is he doing here?"
Stan answered before Rowanda could. "I go everywhere she goes."
"Right," I muttered. "Of course."
Rowanda finished her food, stood, and tossed me one last line like a command.
"Stay alive for at least three days. The event starts soon."
Then she left with Stan.
Obara stayed behind, tapping the table.
"We need a forge for you," she said. "Fast."
"So," I asked, "who are the poor men facing her?"
Obara's smile was thin. "Maybe not all of them."
Her eyes went distant.
"But we prepare anyway."
****
Rowanda's first fight was that same evening.
I sat in the crowd with Obara, hood up, trying to look like I belonged among criminals.
Rowanda stepped into the sand like it was her home.
Her opponent danced with a spear.
And the spear was one of mine.
Forged yesterday.
I felt my stomach turn.
He moved fast. He drilled the spear, circled, then leaped to attack.
Rowanda dodged left like she'd seen the move in her sleep.
Her sword came up.
His spear met it.
And Rowanda's blade went through the shaft like linen.
The man froze, shocked by his own weapon's betrayal.
That was his mistake.
Rowanda stepped in and finished it.
His head hit the sand.
His body stayed upright for a heartbeat—confused, stubborn—then fell too.
Silence spread through the arena.
That man had just defeated two of the most feared swordsmen before facing Rowanda.
And he'd died in less than a minute.
Then the crowd erupted.
They cheered. They screamed her name.
Rowanda kept winning.
Opponent after opponent.
Every time, it looked like she was simply better.
Only I knew she was also… helped.
Then the final fight came.
And it wasn't scheduled.
A mysterious challenger appeared like a story that decided to walk into the arena.
He wore cherry-colored armor. Tall. Thick. Confident.
When the bell rang, neither attacked first.
They circled.
"I've seen your sword break spears and blades like paper," the man called out. "And I keep asking myself… what is it made of?"
Rowanda smiled. "Why don't you come find out? Maybe it'll cut through your sword before you figure it out."
He laughed.
Then stopped.
So did she.
In a blink, Rowanda was on him.
She swung for his face.
He leaned back like he'd been expecting it. Slid to her right and struck for her back.
His blade hit her armor.
It should have bitten.
It didn't even scratch.
I made that armor.
Impenetrable.
The crowd gasped like they'd witnessed a miracle.
"Wow," the challenger mocked. "So you're not a good fighter. You just have the best weapon and the best armor."
Rowanda answered with a low feint and stabbed toward his chest.
He swept it aside and countered.
She was already moving.
A sideways somersault—fast, risky—and she found a gap in his armor.
Her sword drove in.
She pulled it out and stepped back.
The man looked down, stunned.
"No one…" He lifted his head slowly. "No one has wounded me in fifteen years."
His voice rose. "You'll die for that!"
He took a step.
His legs failed him.
He dropped to his knees.
And then his head fell.
The arena went insane.
****
Two servants carried a chest full of gold into the arena.
One hundred thousand gold pieces.
The host lifted his hands to announce Rowanda's victory—
And then a man walked in.
Obara stood so fast the bench scraped.
"That's him!" she hissed, pointing. "That's the man who killed my friends."
The man whispered something to the host.
A boy my age stepped forward carrying three spears.
No. Two.
One long.
One broken in two pieces.
The original.
And the mimic.
My mimic.
The boy held them up for the crowd like proof.
The host's face twisted with disgust.
"Guards!" he screamed. "Take this wretched woman to the dungeon. She's a cheat!"
Four men stepped toward Rowanda, swords drawn, expecting obedience.
They got death.
Rowanda moved once.
Then again.
Then the guards were on the ground and the host was screaming like his own throat had been forged wrong.
"A thousand gold pieces to anyone who kills her!"
Rowanda walked to the merchant and killed him with a single stroke.
Then she muttered, almost too quiet to hear:
"I keep my promises."
The host backed away toward the bars, face pale, voice desperate.
"Five thousand!" he shouted. "Five thousand gold pieces to anyone who kills her!"
Chaos snapped loose.
People poured toward the arena entrances from both sides, blades out, eyes shining with money.
Obara grabbed my hand hard enough to hurt.
"She'll die if we don't save her," she said. "Do something!"
"What can I do?" I snapped, terrified. "I'm a blacksmith!"
Obara's eyes burned into mine.
"Then why do you carry a fancy sword and knife, blacksmith?" she hissed. "You fooled everyone. Not me."
She leaned closer, voice low and sharp.
"You're a thief."
"And a fighter."
I didn't argue.
I only scanned the arena.
"We can't go through the doors," I said. "We'll have to jump from the top."
I ran toward the chains hanging over the fighting pit.
I drew my sword and cut two chains with a single stroke.
Then I jumped.
Obara followed.
Rowanda saw us and her eyes widened.
"What are you two doing here?" she snapped. "Flee! They don't know you're with me!"
"They do now," I said, pointing at the doors.
Armed men poured in from left and right.
Rowanda lifted her sword.
"We can't kill them all," she said. "But we can carve our way out. Cover my back."
I lifted my blade.
And for the first time in four years, my practice became real.
Obara moved with a knife in each hand, fast and vicious.
I moved like my body remembered what my mind tried to forget.
We pushed toward the right exit.
Then Rowanda met the biggest man I'd ever seen.
He carried a warhammer.
He swung it.
Rowanda, foolish, tried to block with her sword.
The hammer went past the blade and crashed into her upper arm.
She screamed.
Impenetrable armor didn't stop that kind of force.
She rolled away, grabbed her sword with her right hand.
Her natural sword arm was dead weight now.
The big man swung again.
Rowanda wasn't fast enough.
The hammer slammed into her ribs.
She dropped like someone had cut her strings.
Fainted.
The big man raised the hammer for the killing blow.
I reached for my knife and threw it.
Straight into his eye.
He fell backward like a tower losing its center.
A roar answered.
"Noooo! Brother!"
I turned.
Another giant pushed through the crowd.
Bigger than the first.
A two-edged axe in his hands.
He cut through men without slowing, coming straight for me.
"Wake Rowanda!" I shouted at Obara. "Now!"
The giant was on me before I could blink.
His axe came down for my head.
I dodged.
Saw an opening.
Cut his thigh.
Deep enough that a normal man would've dropped.
He didn't.
I cut the other thigh.
Still nothing.
He tried to grab me.
I stepped back and cut off his fingers.
That finally made him groan.
So I ended it.
My blade opened his belly and spilled him onto the sand.
Silence bloomed around me.
No one rushed me after that.
Rowanda groaned awake.
Obara dragged her up.
And we ran.
We ran like thieves, like fugitives, like people who'd finally been named by the city.
As we burst through the right door, I turned my head back and shouted over the chaos:
"Remember the blacksmith, you scoundrels!"
"Remember me!"