The Song of Steel... and the Lament of Bones

The Song of Steel... and the Lament of Bones

In the solemn silence of the forge,

there were only two sounds:

the soft hiss of the cosmic broth boiling at the heart of the furnace,

and Arion's deep, steady breathing.

He stood like a statue,

his right hand gripping the hilt of the Star Dust Blade.

He no longer felt exhaustion;

pure adrenaline and raw fear were better fuel than any food or rest.

Outside, at the great entrance of the workshop,

darkness gathered.

Hundreds of greedy eyes, like tiny burning embers in a moonless night,

stared into the faint light spilling from the furnace.

The army of the Split Fang Tribe had arrived.

There was no war cry, no beating of drums.

Only an eerie silence,

and the soft rustle of hundreds of feet advancing cautiously across the stone floor.

Skarnak, the tribe's chieftain, raised his massive, clawed hand,

and the army behind him froze—

a wall of flesh, bone, and rusted iron.

He was cunning.

He would not throw all his forces blindly at an unknown light.

"Two of you," he hissed,

his gravelly voice like stones grinding together.

"Go. Look. Return."

Two goblins broke from the front ranks.

They were ordinary goblins—weak, worthless.

They were bait.

They crept forward, slipping toward the light, their crude axes trembling slightly in their hands.

Arion saw them.

His detection pulse showed them as two faint blips drawing closer.

He did not move.

He waited, letting them approach, their eyes darting around, mesmerized by the vastness of the forge and the furnace's glow.

When they were ten meters away,

Arion stepped from shadow into light.

The goblins froze,

their eyes widening in shock at the sight of this silent human shape that appeared from nowhere.

For a heartbeat, they didn't comprehend what they were seeing.

Then they raised their axes and let out a shrill, broken cry.

But Arion was already moving.

His movement was not savage or wild—

it was... efficient.

He surged forward with his newfound agility,

his body barely touching the ground.

To the first goblin, Arion was nothing but a ghostly blur.

The next instant, he felt an icy coldness pierce his throat.

Shing...

The sound of the blade slicing through flesh was clean and sharp.

There was no resistance.

The Star Dust Blade severed the goblin's throat as if slicing silk.

Black blood spilled,

and the body collapsed silently.

The second goblin, about to scream for help,

found the sound frozen in his throat.

He turned to face the phantom—

but all he saw was a flash of blue and silver.

He felt no pain.

All he felt was a sudden, cold separation—

his head from the rest of his body.

Arion stood between the corpses,

black blood spattered across the floor around him,

yet his blade was strangely clean—

as if the blood feared to stain it.

Outside, Skarnak watched.

No surprise showed on his face;

instead, his vicious grin widened, revealing cracked fangs.

"So," he whispered.

"The rat has sharp claws. Good. It makes the hunt more fun."

Then he unleashed a roar that echoed through the entire mine.

"Attack! Crush him! Bring me his head!"

It was like opening a floodgate.

The goblin army poured into the forge,

hundreds of them shrieking and roaring,

their chaotic voices filling the hall that had been silent moments before.

Arion did not retreat.

He planted his feet firmly,

tightened his grip on his blade,

and braced for the first wave.

---

Dance of the Blue Blade

The next few minutes were a blur of chaos and blood.

Arion became a whirlwind of death.

He applied what he had just learned: he no longer fought like a hero—

but like an assassin.

He didn't block strikes—he evaded them.

His body, enhanced with agility, moved with unbelievable lightness,

slipping between axes and clubs like water flowing through rocks.

Shing!

He dodged a swinging axe from the right,

his blade driving through the attacker's heart.

Swish!

He ducked under a horizontal club swing,

his blade rising to sever the arm wielding it at the elbow.

Clang!

He deflected a stray spear with the flat of his blade,

then spun and drove a quick thrust into the eye of another goblin closing in from behind.

He was dancing—

a lethal dance where every step was calculated,

every motion ended in death.

The Star Dust Blade sang in his hand,

leaving blue-silver arcs in the dark air,

each arc sketching the end of a life.

He did not scream, did not utter a sound.

He fought in cold silence,

only his eyes burning with searing focus.

He killed them quickly and cleanly,

their green corpses piling around him,

forming a small mound of the dead.

For a moment, he felt invincible.

He felt like the Sovereign of Kingdoms, master of the battlefield.

But that rush did not last.

He felt it—

the exhaustion.

Every dodge, every slash, every thrust drained his stamina.

His breath grew heavier.

Sweat stung his eyes.

Ding~

> [You have slain 20 Goblins!]

[EXP gained: +450]

[Current EXP: 538]

"Only twenty?"

he thought, panting,

his eyes scanning the endless tide of green bodies still surging toward him.

"There are still hundreds more."

---

When the Song Fades

Skarnak saw the change.

He saw Arion's movements slow by a fraction.

He saw the slight hesitation before each strike.

"We've drained him,"

he whispered with a victorious grin.

"Now, send in the elites. End this show."

From among the horde of common goblins,

ten elite Split Fang guards stepped forward.

They were different—

bigger, more disciplined,

their bone armor covering their bodies completely.

They did not roar; they advanced in silence,

forming a half-circle around Arion.

Three carried massive shields made from giant turtle shells,

while the other seven wielded heavy war hammers.

The battle's flow shifted instantly.

Arion lunged at the nearest guard,

blade ready to strike—

but another shield bearer stepped in, blocking the blow.

CLAAAANG!

The sound of star metal clashing with bone armor was deafening.

His blade did not pierce—

it bounced off, sending a painful shock up Arion's arm.

"These shields... enchanted!"

he realized with dread.

Before he could regain balance,

a war hammer crashed from the side.

He couldn't dodge it completely.

He raised his blade desperately to parry.

BOOOOOOM!

The force was monstrous.

Arion was hurled through the air like a rag doll,

slamming into a cold furnace.

He heard a muted crack inside his ribcage.

Pain exploded through his body.

His vision darkened.

> [HP: 380 / 650]

[Status Effect: Fractured Rib (Minor)]

"Kh... kh..."

He coughed blood, struggling to stand.

They gave him no chance.

They advanced like an unbreakable wall of shields and hammers.

They surrounded him.

There was no more room to dodge or dance.

It was now brute force—

and he was hopelessly outmatched.

He blocked another blow.

His left forearm bone cracked under the impact.

He screamed in pain this time.

Another hammer smashed into his leg.

He dropped to one knee.

He panted, blood dripping from his mouth,

his vision growing hazy.

He looked at their ugly faces encircling him,

and saw triumph in their eyes.

In that moment, amidst pain and despair,

he faced a bitter truth.

"I was a fool..."

he whispered to himself, his voice lost in the goblins' roar.

"I forged a fine sword...

and thought that made me a swordsman."

"My level rose...

and I thought that made me a warrior."

"I was wrong."

He looked at his glowing blue blade—

the weapon he'd forged with such pride moments ago.

It was just a tool.

A beautiful, powerful tool—

but in the hands of someone who didn't know how to fight an army,

it was merely polished metal.

His true strength had never been in direct combat.

It was in deception, in traps, in exploiting the terrain—

in being the cunning rat,

not the roaring lion.

He lifted his head

and saw Skarnak approaching slowly,

the victor's grin stretched across his face.

He saw the elite hammers rise into the air,

ready to come crashing down—

to end it all.

He gripped his blade one last time.

There was no hope of survival.

But he would not die on his knees.

"If this is the end..."

he thought, forcing his broken body to stand.

"...then at least I'll take one of them to hell with me."

The storm he'd been running from had finally swallowed him whole.