The Forge and The Trust
People said the Dungeon didn't give second chances.
I hadn't believed it then.
Not until now.
But I was starting to.
---
I stepped onto the main road. My left arm hung at my side, fingers curled inward.
I tried to flex them. They moved. Barely.
That would have to do.
I kept my head down. Boots on cobblestones. Merchants packing stalls.
No one looked.
I didn't want to be "interesting." Not today.
The pouch at my hip didn't jingle anymore.
Seventeen thousand.
The antidote had cost three thousand valis and tasted like copper. It didn't fix anything. It just turned numb into pain.
The rest would disappear into Levi's forge.
Two days.
Two days of no diving. No income. Just the oppressive weight of silence and the slow, grinding realization that the world moves on without you.
---
The forge sign swung into view, still crooked, still mocking the order of the street.
I reached for the door handle, my good hand shaking just enough for me to notice.
The heat hit me like a physical blow as I stepped inside, but it was the weight in my pocket that felt heavier. If he took one look at my empty hands and tossed me out, that was it for me.
My hand brushed it—a nervous reflex—checking the hip, checking the bundle.
If this goes south...
"Levi?"
"Morning." He didn't even look up from the anvil.
"Wait. Critical stage."
The hammer fell steady—clang, clang, clang—sparks jumping with each strike.
I waited. Time stretched, until my stupid brain couldn't keep my mouth shut any longer.
"A question," I said. "Do you make magic swords?"
He froze, a deep furrow appearing in the soot on his brow.
"...You hit your head in the Dungeon or something?"
"What?"
He scoffed, picked up his hammer again. "I'm a blacksmith. Not a miracle worker."
I blinked. "So... no?"
He looked at me like I'd just asked if coal could sing.
"I'm not a Crozzo. And I don't use Spirit Arts. If I did, this place wouldn't look like it's about to collapse."
Fair point.
He waved a hand at the forge, the walls, the smoke.
"Steel in. Steel out. If you want magic, go pray to a god or rob someone richer than both of us."
"...Got it."
He snorted. "Good. Thought your screws were loose for a second."
---
He turned back to the anvil. The hammer started again.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
He muttered something under his breath between strikes that sounded like I'd just asked a swordsmith if he could bench press a Minotaur.
He folded the steel twice more, gripped it with tongs, and plunged it into the quench barrel one final time.
The hiss was sudden and screaming, a wall of white steam erupting between us.
When the air cleared, the blade sat on the workbench, raw and hungry for an edge.
He turned and looked at me. "Figured you'd show eventually."
My throat tightened. "I had complications."
Levi's eyes dropped to my left arm, then back to the steel. "Figured."
"I'm sorry." The words came out flat. "I missed the window. I'm short. Seventeen thousand on hand."
Levi turned, wiping his hands with a rag that was blacker than the forge.
"What happened?"
"Got attacked by a Frog Shooter."
"What about the antidote?"
"Thought I'd save up to pay you first," I admitted, looking at the floor. "Didn't buy one."
The silence that followed was worse than the hammer.
"So you got your ass handed to you by a frog shooter?"
"Yes." My eyes refused to meet his. "Venom spread before I got one. Three days stuck because of it."
Something in his expression hardened. "Foolish."
"Guess I'm building a track record."
---
Levi grunted and turned to the workbench where the remains of my armor still sat—twisted steel, sheared leather straps. He picked up the sheared chestplate. Ran a thick thumb along the rivets.
He turned the armor piece over. "Silverbacks did this."
I looked up.
"That's what you said. Five days ago."
I nodded slowly.
"I made this to withstand a Minotaur's charge." His voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. "Silverbacks don't hit harder than Minotaurs."
Silence. Only the crackling sound of forge remained.
"So either my work failed..." He looked up at me. "Or you fought something else."
Silence stretched.
I didn't answer. Couldn't. Answering meant either blaming his work or revealing what I couldn't afford anyone knowing.
I kept my eyes low. The weight of hiding the truth pressed hard in my chest.
Levi stared at me. Then at the armor. Then back at me.
"This damage is brutal. Your insides should be outside," he stated, the logic of a smith dismantling my lie. "How are you still alive?"
"My party saved me," I blurted, the words feeling thin. "Potions. Lots of them."
Levi didn't blink.
"I'm no dungeon expert. I'm not a fool either. That's not how it works."
I stayed silent, watching a stray spark die in the dust by my boot. His eyes stayed on me, calculating the physics of my survival and finding a remainder that didn't fit.
---
"Whatever." He reached under the bench and pulled out the new gear. Set it down with a solid thunk.
"Take it. You need this."
I stared at the reinforced leather and cross-woven steel. My mind refused to give an explanation.
"I didn't pay yet—"
"Then I'll take it back." His hand reached for the armor.
"No—please!" The word ripped out before I could stop it.
Desperate. Raw. Exactly what I'd been trying to hide.
Levi's hand stopped.
He looked at me.
Then he let go.
"You're gonna pay me back. Every single valis." His voice was harsh, but the armor stayed on the bench.
My throat tightened. "Thanks..." It slipped out from my lips.
"Don't thank me yet. Do it when you get back alive." He turned back to the anvil.
---
I stood there. Hand rested on my pocket.
I'd buried this once to avoid attention. Dug it back up thinking I'd need to trade it for valis—invite that same attention.
Turns out I didn't need to.
My hand moved. The grey cloth bundle came out.
I set it on the bench and unwrapped it slowly.
"Here."
Levi picked it up, his rough fingers surprisingly gentle. He held it to the forge light, squinting at the sweeping second hand.
"Fine work." He tapped the glass. "Sealed mechanism."
He held it to his ear and paused, his expression shifting as he heard the relentless, rhythmic heartbeat of the gears.
"It's ticking."
He looked at me, a genuine question finally breaking through his mask. "What am I looking at?"
"Measures time. Far East tech. Keep it."
He set it on the workbench. Stared at it for a moment.
"I can't take this in place of Valis."
"I know."
He didn't push it back.
"Alright."
He waved a hand once—not even looking at me—and turned away.
I picked up the armor bundle.
Levi lifted his hammer. The sound resumed—clang, clang, clang—as he went back to work.
I walked to the door.
"Just don't die. I'm not chasing your ghost for the rest of the valis."
I paused.
"When I'm ready," I said. "I'll tell you."
Levi didn't answer.
The hammer fell again.
Then I stepped out.
The door closed behind me.
---
In Orario, death isn't a possibility you plan for. It's a certainty that's just waiting for you to run out of luck.
That's what everyone believed.
On Floor Fourteen, I'd found a miracle. On Floor Seven, I'd found the truth.
But here—
I don't have a name for it.
Not yet.
Because whatever this is—
It isn't luck.
---