Welf wanted nothing more than to see his new toys in action.
He gave his blood, sweat, and tears to forge them with his father, and he wasn't the easiest to get along with. By the end, they were almost his equals—he'd no longer live in his shadows.
Learning all the ratios, temperatures, and the handling of the alloys that resulted—
Even if it wasn't a well-guarded secret, only the most dedicated smiths could've pulled it off.
And that was before he had to hammer that thing.
Working with adamantite was the worst—his arms almost fell off halfway through the first day. And with so much ore, he was forging all week.
Not that he was ungrateful—without Konrad, he'd never gotten the chance to learn this.
Now he advocated that a blacksmith who hadn't touched adamantite was mediocre at best.
But then the asshole refused to take him on his raid.
He'd deny Welf the satisfaction, because he seemed tired, or something. Well, he was, but still.
Now he could only dream of the battles—not as the hero fighting them, but as the strategist.
The provider. The one who'd equip his troops better than anyone. Hammering and sweating, listening to the ping of metal before he could see his hard work pay off.
He'd almost feel the heat of fire, the strain in his arm, the gentle shaking of—hold on, what?
Battles and smithies turned into smoke as he peeled his eyes open. The lids were still heavy with sleep, and all he saw was purple and silver on a pretty, dark-skinned face.
"Eyna? Whu—what is happening?"
If his fate was to stay behind and rest—why'd she wake him this early?
"It's time," the girl said, wrinkling her chin in anxiety.
Simple words—but it took him a moment to process them.
Welf jumped. Memories flooded through the haze—exhaustion and dreams forgotten.
"Liliske said that?" he asked to make sure.
She nodded—confused, worried, but certain.
"Fuck," Welf groaned, sorting through his belongings. "Why can't we have nice things once?"
"W-what does it mean?" Eyna—that beautiful, innocent sweetheart—asked.
She must've known better than trying to get anything out of his sister.
Or not forwarding her words right away—
Smart—nowhere near as powerful or confident as the other two, but the nicest of them all. Not even counting his sister—she was his family, and all, even if she kept denying it—
Konrad was either the most cursed or the luckiest man alive.
Which one he was was anyone's guess, but he'd ponder about that later.
Now, it was time.
"The feast is off. Warn whoever's left to disperse into the woods," he said, feeling for the vial Lily left him. "Take what you can with you—I'll poison the food."
"P-poi—Are we under attack?"
"She must've seen something," Welf nodded. "Better not stick around to find out."
His sister often predicted things with scary accuracy.
Her cryptic cues made no sense until the time was right, but he'd never regret listening.
"Where did she go after she gave you that message?" he asked one last thing before going.
The girl froze, her eyes snapping towards the forest to the south.
"I, uh, don't know, but she was—smirking?" she said as if realizing she forgot to ask about an important detail. Welf grinned, patting her shoulders.
"She always does. But that doesn't mean things aren't serious. Let's get going."
***
"The shaft is open—but those bastards are patrolling down there, too," Bor said, drawing a map on the ground. He was also covered in dirt and sweat, but looking ready and eager to fight.
Konrad had only gotten there, his legs sore.
Walking six hours was no joke, no matter how much mana he had.
He could've borrowed Gabrielle's other carriage, but not when all the tribesmen marched.
Nimrod would've never let him live that down, already scowling at the news.
"Didn't you say they were short-handed?" he scoffed, examining the drawings. Could he even read a map? His strategic sense was non-existent at best.
"I only see two guards at the entrance, and a crossbowman up there," Vargas noted as well.
"Why would they patrol inside?" Konrad pondered. "If I only had twenty guards to spare, I'd leave them in the most important position to defend, not—this."
"They could've noticed the digging," the captain offered.
Bor shook his head, his chest-beating resulting in a puff of dirt.
"I could've broken their necks without them ever realizing." He sounded prideful. "They were already down there before we arrived."
"Well, they work slaves and captives," Konrad pointed out.
When he broke out of Halaima's catacombs, almost no guards followed. Now, they might've decided that rebellion from the inside was more likely than an attack.
That made their jobs easier—but their plans needed adjustments.
"Okay, no distraction before the assault, then," he said, pointing at the map. "I'll take the front gate myself, loud and cocky, as if I were alone. You go down the shaft, and Vargas—"
"Keep my eyes out and have the Blood Moons repel any potential counterattack?"
The captain knew his stuff but did his best not to undermine Konrad's authority.
It was reassuring—while also meaning that he wasn't as smart as he had thought.
"Don't take unnecessary risks, kid," Vargas offered a piece of advice. "I know you're a big shot now, but I'm only getting my retirement fund out of you if you're alive."
"I'm wearing full adamantite," he scoffed, grinning. "Aren't you eager to test your sword, too?"
"I'll parade it in Kasserlane until the day I die," the captain smirked, adjusting the sheath on his belt. "But that should be when I'm a hundred years old, and not after one epic but futile fight."
And the elders said he was a heroic fighter in the last war.
Well, he was right about one thing—they could only fight if they lived to see another day.
"Fine, but I don't want any surprises," Konrad nodded, drawing lines on the map. "Free the captives while I distract the guards, meet me halfway, and Vargas will keep this route open."
"Aye." Bor prepared his climbing gear but paused to look at him. "You sure you'll be fine alone?"
Nimrod scoffed, too.
"You might've held your own against me, but you want to fight twenty guards at once?"
Konrad blinked, surprised by their sudden concerns. That was cute—especially from his twin.
"Who said I'm going to fight them?" he asked, putting his hands on his hips. "How do you think I have dealt with the Rabid Crows down in the greater dungeon?"
Too bad, neither Welf nor Eyna was here to confirm his story.
Not that they needed to know all the details. His illusions only worked because nobody expected them. He'd never know who'd turn an enemy later—not that he trusted Nimrod at all.
And then, there was that case of his near-death by a freaking dragon, and Lily's involvement.
"I'll storm the mine with the reserves, if this idiot dies," Nimrod offered, but left it at that.
Konrad laughed. No Plan B for him this time—if he died, it was their problem anyway.
But he doubted his twin could even find his way down there in the darkness.
"If everything's clear, let's get going," he said, "that salt mine won't assault itself."