Chapter 236: The King and the Smith
While the rest of the Arcadia team was busy suffering through the "mandatory cultural integration seminar"—which was mostly a dwarf shouting about the history of bearded axes for three hours—I slipped out the back window of the Athlete's Village.
I had better things to do than listen to history. I had a war to prepare for.
The Ironhold didn't sleep. Even at night, the sky was a bruised purple, lit from below by the thousands of blast furnaces that made up the city's heart. The air tasted like copper pennies and sulfur. To an ordinary person, it was suffocating. To an Artificer? It smelled like opportunity.
I pulled my hood up, masking my face. My destination wasn't the tourist shops selling dull axes to gullible elves. I was heading for the Deep District. The pulsing, molten heart of the city where the Master Smiths worked.
I needed materials, and I needed to verify a suspicion.
"No humans. No magic-users. Piss off."
