The walk back to the Iron Capital felt ten times longer than the trek out.

  The adrenaline from the Basilisk fight and the sniper ambush had faded, leaving behind the raw, aching reality of bruised muscles and torn stitches. The smog-choked silhouette of the city loomed on the horizon like a jagged black crown against the bruised sky.

  "These plates are getting heavier," Tiny wheezed, adjusting the thick canvas straps digging into his stout shoulders. The three massive iron-hide scales were strapped to the dwarf’s back, clanking together with every step. "I swear, the dense molecular structure of this armor is warping gravity around my spine."

  "Keep moving, Tiny," Wanhan said, not looking back.

  His eyes were locked on the massive, soot-stained gates of the Lower Ring. His newly enhanced [Agility] kept his own stride smooth and predatory, masking the deep exhaustion settling into his bones. His left hand never strayed more than an inch from the tungsten pommel of Volatile Fenrir.

  "I am moving," Tiny grumbled, practically jogging to keep up with Wanhan's long strides. "But if we’re walking into an ambush orchestrated by a multi-million-gold syndicate, shouldn't we, I don't know... sneak in? Find a smuggling tunnel? Bribe a gate guard?"

  Mata glided beside them, her bone-white bow resting easily across her shoulders. "Smuggling tunnels are narrow. They are designed to trap rats. If we are caught in the dark, we die in the dark."

  "Mata is right," Wanhan said, his voice flat and cold. "The corrupted faction inside the Forge wants us to quietly disappear. They want to retrieve the Alchemical Ember and sweep the containment breach under the rug. If we sneak around, we're playing their game."

  They passed through the towering outer gates, stepping onto the muddy, packed-dirt streets of the Lower Ring. The smell of cheap coal and roasting meat washed over them, a sharp contrast to the alkaline dust of the Rust Barrens.

  Wanhan didn't lower his hood. He kept his pinned-up right sleeve hidden beneath the coarse wool of his cloak, but he didn't try to hide his sword. The dark, Mark IV steel scabbard hung brazenly at his hip.

  As they turned down the wide avenue leading to the Mercenary Guildhall, Wanhan’s System-enhanced instincts flared like a physical alarm bell in his skull.

  The street was busy, filled with armorers hammering out cheap breastplates and merchants hawking questionable potions. But as Wanhan looked toward the massive, heavily scarred wooden doors of The Iron Ledger, he noticed the negative space.

  There were no drunk mercenaries stumbling out the front doors. There were no arguments spilling into the street. The usual chaotic hum of the Guildhall was missing, replaced by a tense, suffocating quiet.

  "Hold," Mata whispered, her hand snapping up.

  Wanhan stopped instantly. Tiny nearly crashed into his back, the iron scales clattering loudly.

  The blind elf tilted her head, her covered eyes aimed directly at the thick wooden walls of the Guildhall. Her ears twitched, sorting through the ambient noise of the street to isolate the sounds coming from inside the building.

  "Heavy boots," Mata murmured, her voice tight. "Synchronized breathing. The faint, rhythmic clinking of overlapping steel plates. Not chainmail. Not leather."

  "Siege-plate," Wanhan finished, his stomach tightening.

  "At least a dozen of them," Mata confirmed. "They have cleared the main hall. They are waiting just inside the doors."

  Tiny swallowed hard, the color draining from his face. He quickly unslung his scatter-crossbow, his hands shaking slightly as he checked the firing mechanism. "A dozen Forge enforcers? In a confined space? Kid, we can't breach that. They've turned the Guildhall into a fortified bunker. If we walk through those doors, we'll be cut to ribbons in a crossfire."

  Wanhan stared at the heavy, iron-bound doors of the Guildhall fifty yards away.

  Tiny was right. It was a fatal funnel. The moment they stepped over the threshold, they would be surrounded by elite killers wearing armor designed to withstand ballista fire. If the corrupt faction wanted to keep this quiet, slaughtering them inside the sound-dampened walls of the Guild was the perfect play.

  Wanhan’s hand closed around the leather grip of Fenrir. The blade instantly responded, a surge of heat radiating through the scabbard.

  They want it quiet, Wanhan thought, a vicious, reckless smile touching his lips. So let's make it loud.

  "Tiny," Wanhan said, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "Give me the Basilisk plates."

  The dwarf blinked. "What? Why?"

  "Just give them to me. And step back."

  Tiny didn't argue. He quickly unbuckled the heavy canvas straps, letting the three massive, shield-sized scales drop into the mud.

  Wanhan stepped forward. He reached down with his left hand, his Level 9 [Strength] flaring, and grabbed the thick leather binding that held the three plates together. He hauled the multi-ton slabs of natural armor up, holding them in front of his body like a massive, crude tower shield.

  "Human, what are you doing?" Mata asked, nocking a black-fletched arrow.

  "I'm knocking," Wanhan said.

  [Skill Activated: Diner Dash]

  Wanhan exploded down the muddy street. He didn't draw his sword. He held the massive, overlapping Iron-Hide Basilisk plates in front of him, turning his entire body into a high-speed battering ram. The system-assisted momentum propelled him forward with terrifying speed, his boots kicking up a wake of mud and gravel.

  Fifty yards. Thirty yards. Ten yards.

  He didn't slow down. He lowered his shoulder behind the massive stack of iron-dense scales.

  Wanhan slammed into the heavy, reinforced double doors of the Mercenary Guildhall with the force of a runaway carriage.

  CRACK-BOOM!

  The impact was deafening. The thick iron hinges shrieked and gave way instantly. The heavy wooden doors didn't just open; they were violently blown inward, shattering into a hail of jagged splinters that swept through the silent, dimly lit hall.

  The Guildhall looked like a warzone before the fight even started.

  The heavy, iron-bound double doors didn't just break; they dissolved into a cloud of lethal wooden shrapnel. The sheer kinetic force of Wanhan’s Diner Dash, backed by his Level 9 [Strength] and the multi-ton mass of the Basilisk plates, turned the entrance into a devastating fragmentation bomb.

  Wanhan rode the massive iron-hide scales through the threshold like a plow. The makeshift shield slammed into the front line of the ambush before the Forge enforcers even knew what hit them.

  Two heavily armored men in dark blue siege-plate were caught directly in the path. The impact sounded like two anvils being thrown off a cliff. The enforcers were thrown backward off their feet, crashing through the wooden tables and chairs that had been pushed aside to create a kill box.

  Wanhan hit the floor, letting the dented Basilisk plates crash to the wooden floorboards. The air was thick with sawdust and the ringing of shattered iron.

  He stood up, the dust swirling around his coarse wool cloak.

  The cavernous main hall of The Iron Ledger was empty of mercenaries. The bounty board was torn down. The half-orc receptionist was nowhere to be seen. In their place stood ten remaining Forge enforcers, recovering from the explosive breach.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  They were massive men, encased from head to toe in interlocking plates of dark blue steel. They wore the black iron hammer crest of the Forge on their chests, their faces hidden behind heavy visored helms. They carried heavy halberds and thick, rectangular tower shields.

  "Form the line!" a voice barked from the back of the room.

  The enforcers moved with terrifying military precision. They didn't panic. They stepped over the splintered furniture, locking their tower shields together to create an impenetrable wall of steel between Wanhan and the back of the hall.

  The leader, a giant of a man with a gold-trimmed visor, stepped out from behind the shield wall. He gripped a heavy, glowing rune-halberd.

  "You're a long way from the containment sector, One-Hand," the leader rumbled, his voice distorted by the metal helm. He looked at the ruined doors, then at the one-armed teenager standing in the dust. "Vane said you were reckless. He didn't say you were suicidal. Hand over the Alchemical Ember, and we'll make this quick."

  Wanhan didn't say a word. He didn't try to negotiate or ask why they were betraying their own city. He already knew the answer, and he didn't care.

  His left hand dropped to his hip. He wrapped his calloused fingers around the fresh leather grip of Volatile Fenrir.

  Snick.

  He drew the blade.

  The moment the dark, lopsided Mark IV steel cleared the heat-resistant scabbard, the temperature in the Guildhall spiked. The ambient moisture in the air sizzled against the metal.

  "Take him down," the leader ordered, leveling his halberd. "Leave the arm."

  Two enforcers broke from the shield wall, charging forward like armored rhinos. They kept their shields raised high, their heavy boots shaking the floorboards, preparing to crush Wanhan beneath sheer weight and steel.

  Wanhan’s System-enhanced instincts screamed. The old him would have been terrified of the heavy armor. The new him just saw slow-moving targets.

  [Skill Activated: Diner Dash]

  He didn't back away. He exploded directly into the charge.

  Wanhan dropped into a low slide, his boots skidding across the sawdust-covered floor. He slipped entirely under the visual arc of the first enforcer's tower shield. He didn't aim for the thick chest plate or the heavy helm. He aimed for the weak point—the articulated steel joint at the man's knee.

  He hauled the heavy tungsten pommel of Fenrir around, channeling the raw momentum of his dash.

  [Active Skill: Kinetic Discharge Activated]

  The caged Ember at the hilt shrieked. Blinding white light rushed up the dark veins of the blade.

  Wanhan swung the flat of the heavy sword directly into the side of the enforcer's knee joint.

  KRACK-THOOM!

  The explosive concussive blast detonated in the confined space of the Guildhall like a cannon shot. The thermal-kinetic shockwave blew outward.

  The thick siege-plate didn't shatter, but it didn't need to. The sheer kinetic transfer buckled the reinforced joint completely. The enforcer let out a muffled scream of agony as his leg folded sideways at an unnatural angle, the explosive force launching his three-hundred-pound armored frame entirely off the ground and spinning him into the nearest support pillar.

  "The shield wall!" Wanhan roared over the ringing in his ears, kicking off the floorboards to dodge a heavy halberd strike from the second enforcer.

  "I see it!" Tiny bellowed from the doorway.

  The dwarf had stepped over the ruined threshold, his scatter-crossbow raised to his shoulder. He didn't fire at the men charging Wanhan; he aimed directly at the tight, interlocking formation of the remaining eight enforcers.

  "Eat slag, you traitorous bastards!" Tiny roared, pulling the trigger.

  The heavy scatter-crossbow bucked wildly. A spread of five armor-piercing bolts shrieked across the room. They slammed into the locked tower shields with a deafening CLANG, sparking violently against the blue steel. It didn't pierce the armor, but the heavy kinetic impact staggered the line, forcing the enforcers to brace backward.

  And a staggered line was exactly what Mata was waiting for.

  The blind elf materialized from the shadows near the ruined doorway. She moved like liquid. In one fluid motion, she drew, nocked, and released a black-fletched arrow.

  She didn't aim for center mass. She aimed for the fraction-of-an-inch gap in the leader's visor that opened when he turned his head to shout an order.

  The arrow slipped through the golden visor with a sickening thwack.

  The leader stiffened, dropped his glowing halberd, and collapsed onto his back like a felled tree.

  "The formation is broken!" Mata called out coldly, already nocking a second arrow.

  Wanhan grinned, the heat of his sword matching the burning adrenaline in his veins. The ambush had just turned into a brawl.

  "Then let's clear the room," Wanhan said, raising the smoking blade of Fenrir.

  The heavy thud of the leader’s armored body hitting the floorboards acted like a starter's pistol.

  For a split second, the remaining eight Iron Forge enforcers stared at the black-fletched arrow protruding from their commander's golden visor. Then, discipline snapped. The impenetrable shield wall dissolved into a chaotic, raging swarm of dark blue siege-plate and heavy halberds.

  "They're breaking formation! Flank them!" Tiny roared over the din, frantically cranking the heavy winch of his scatter-crossbow.

  Wanhan didn't need to be told. He was already moving.

  He knew his trump card was gone. Kinetic Discharge needed ten minutes to cycle the Alchemical Ember's violent pressure. The tungsten pommel was dark, but the dark Mark IV steel of Volatile Fenrir was still glowing a furious, cherry-red, radiating a wave of suffocating heat.

  "The blast is spent!" Wanhan shouted, ducking under a sweeping halberd strike that cleaved a wooden table in half right where his head had been.

  "Then cook them in their cans!" Tiny yelled back.

  Wanhan pivoted on his heel, his [Agility] letting him slip inside the enforcer's guard. The siege-plate was too thick for a one-handed slash to pierce, but Master Borin had forged Fenrir for more than just explosions. The blade was designed to retain heat.

  Wanhan brought the heavy, lopsided sword around in a tight, brutal arc.

  [Skill Activated: Tree Cutter]

  The superheated edge of Fenrir slammed into the enforcer's breastplate. It didn't cut through the thick blue steel, but the sheer, blunt-force impact of Wanhan's Level 9 [Strength] dented the armor inward, driving the air from the man's lungs.

  More importantly, the thermal transfer was instantaneous. The glowing Mark IV alloy hissed violently as it pressed against the siege-plate.

  The enforcer screamed, dropping his halberd. The localized heat flashed through the steel, instantly igniting the thick, padded gambeson he wore beneath his armor. The man staggered backward, frantically tearing at the buckles of his own breastplate as smoke billowed from his collar.

  "Three down!" Mata’s voice rang out from above.

  Wanhan glanced up. The blind elf had used the chaos to scale one of the heavy wooden support pillars. She was perched on a rafter in the shadows, her bow a blur of motion. She didn't aim for the thickest armor. She listened for the grinding of steel joints and fired black-fletched arrows straight down into the unarmored armpits and knee-gaps of the enforcers below.

  Two more men dropped to the sawdust-covered floor, clutching their joints in agony.

  "Hold the line!" one of the surviving enforcers bellowed, raising his tower shield to block the rain of arrows. He charged at Tiny, leveling his heavy spear-tip.

  Tiny didn't flinch. The dwarf dropped to one knee, leveled his scatter-crossbow, and pulled the trigger point-blank.

  The spread of heavy iron bolts slammed into the enforcer's tower shield with the force of a battering ram. The impact didn't pierce the steel, but the concussive force lifted the massive man entirely off his feet, tossing him backward into a stack of ale barrels that shattered on impact.

  There were only two left.

  They looked at their dead leader, their burning comrade, and the one-armed teenager walking toward them with a glowing, smoking sword. The sheer terror of the System's level disparity finally broke their conditioning.

  They dropped their halberds, turned, and sprinted for the shattered doorway.

  They didn't make it.

  A deafening BOOM shook the entire Guildhall, accompanied by a massive flash of black powder. The two fleeing enforcers were caught in a cloud of heavy lead buckshot, tearing through the backs of their armored legs and sending them crashing face-first into the mud outside.

  Wanhan froze, raising his sword.

  Behind the heavy, reinforced oak counter at the back of the room, the half-orc receptionist slowly stood up. She held a massive, smoking, double-barreled blunderbuss resting on her shoulder. She blew a strand of dark hair out of her eyes and glared at the carnage.

  "Do you have any idea," the half-orc snarled, her tusks bared, "how much it's going to cost to replace those doors?"

  The adrenaline slowly drained from Wanhan's system. He let out a breathless, exhausted laugh, sheathing Fenrir with a sharp snick. The heat immediately began to vent safely through the scabbard.

  "Put it on our tab," Tiny wheezed, wiping a streak of black soot from his goggles as he holstered his crossbow. "I think we've established our credit."

  Mata dropped lightly from the rafters, landing silently beside the receptionist's desk. "They cleared the hall before we arrived. Did you know they were waiting for us, Guildsman?"

  The half-orc snorted, resting the heavy gun on the desk. "They flashed a gold-tier Inquisition warrant and told everyone to clear out. I don't ask questions when the Forge brings out the siege-plate. But I also don't let people trash my lobby without paying for it."

  She looked at the dead enforcers, then at Wanhan. A grudging glimmer of respect shone in her dark eyes. "You Anvils survived a sanctioned hit. The Upper Ring is going to be out for your blood by nightfall."

  Wanhan walked over to the ruined threshold. He reached down and hauled the three massive, dented Iron-Hide Basilisk plates out of the splintered wood. He dragged them across the floor and slammed the multi-ton slabs of natural armor directly onto the half-orc's desk. The heavy oak groaned under the weight.

  "The Iron-Hide Basilisk," Wanhan said, his voice flat, completely ignoring the threat of the Upper Ring. "Bounty complete. We want the ten gold, and we want to sell the plates to the Guild."

  The half-orc stared at the massive scales, then at Wanhan's cold, unflinching expression. She let out a booming laugh that echoed in the empty hall.

  "You've got iron in your blood, One-Hand. I'll give you that." She reached under her desk and pulled out a heavy canvas sack, tossing it onto the scales. It clinked heavily. "Ten gold for the bounty. Another fifteen for the raw Mark III equivalent hide. Minus five gold for my front doors."

  Tiny let out a pained squeak at the door tax, but Wanhan just nodded, tossing the sack to the dwarf.

  "Count it, Tiny," Wanhan said, turning his back to the desk. He looked through the shattered entrance of the Guildhall, up toward the towering, smog-covered peaks of the Iron Capital's Upper Ring. The real enemy was up there, sitting comfortably behind walls of alchemical steel and political immunity.

  "We have the gold," Mata said quietly, stepping up beside him. "We have survived the trap. What is the next move, leader?"

  Wanhan felt the heavy, comforting weight of his sword. He thought about the Dungeon Core, the dead Goliath, and the corrupt faction that had tried to bury them.

  "They wanted to use a monster to tear down the Middle Ring," Wanhan said, a dark, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "So let's take the monster straight to their front door. Tiny, pack the gear. We're going to the Upper Ring."