Hitman with a Badass System - #1136 - 1136 A Bloody Welcome I

Meanwhile, Michael and Rurik returned to the forge, diligently continuing their work on crafting weapons for the Silverbrook family. The days seemed to pass swiftly, with Michael tirelessly working at the forge. Amid his physical labor, the system was hard at work decoding the mysterious book. To Michael’s surprise, he noted that the system had consumed a staggering two million points just to decipher a couple of pages from the enigmatic tome.

This only heightened his curiosity about the book’s contents. Simultaneously, while the book was being decoded, Pink, the AI assistant, was tirelessly gathering information about Raphael. Given Michael’s unique position within the Goddess of Wisdom’s domain, he found it relatively easy to purchase a few ancient books and send them to Pink for further research.

As Rurik pounded away at the metal sheets with his hammer, he spoke to Michael, “Lad, this is the last artifact we need to forge. Once it’s completed, we can put all of this behind us.”

With a nod of agreement, Michael carefully picked up the finished pieces, placing them on his shoulder. Just then, Vedora, the sentient sword, seemed to shift uneasily.

“It’s on, Ghost. They’re here, watching us,” Sarba alerted, her voice tinged with concern.

“So, Rurik, you can leave. I can handle this,” Michael urged Rurik, sensing the impending arrival of assassins.

Rurik, however, was determined to stay and assist. “I can help,” he insisted. But Michael set his hammer down, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“It’s better for you to leave, my friend. You might not like what you’re about to see,” Michael cautioned, testing the dwarf’s loyalty.

“Are you drunk, lad? What are you talking about?” Rurik chuckled, initially thinking that Michael was making fun of his fear of the gods.

But as he observed the seriousness in Michael’s expression, Rurik’s smile faded. “You serious?” he asked, his mouth agape.

“Very, my dwarf friend,” Michael replied gently.

“How do you…” Rurik began to ask, but Michael raised his hand, silencing him.

“Arlan, their family was ordered by God Rainar to forge these weapons. They’re meant to be used against Kranar’s angels in the war. Now that we’ve forged them, Rainar has ordered the Silverbrooks to kill us. Arlan and his guards were sent here to keep an eye on us, ensure that we forged the weapons, and then eliminate us,” Michael explained, revealing the true reason behind Arlan’s involvement and assistance.

“That pointy-eared bastard! But how do you know all of this?” Rurik inquired, seeing no signs of deception in Michael’s words.

“You’ll find out soon enough if you stay here. I strongly advise you to run away, because it’s going to get ugly,” Michael advised.

However, Rurik’s anger flared up at the thought. As a dwarf, he was not one to shy away from a battle; instead, he would run towards trouble. Additionally, Rurik suspected that the initial bloodshed at the Blacksmith Guild might be linked to the assassins of one of the two gods.

“Lad, the first time we forged these weapons, were the assassins who killed my friends and others from Kranar or Rainar?” Rurik asked.

“Kranar’s assassins,” Michael replied simply.

“But even if those assassins come here, Goddess Seshat’s angels… they’ll intervene and stop this,” Rurik argued.

“Go to the window and see the figures lurking in the shadows. Observe how the streets are empty,” Sarba instructed Rurik. Hearing Sarba’s words, Rurik walked to the window and peered outside. The streets were indeed eerily empty, and even the forges of the other blacksmiths were not lit.

As Rurik gazed out of the window, he noticed several shadowy figures lurking behind the buildings, slowly and stealthily approaching their guild. His eyes widened in alarm.

“What happened to the guards you hired, Michael?” Rurik asked urgently, turning to face him.

Michael’s expression remained calm as he replied, “Arlan sent them home, Rurik. They’re no longer here to protect us.”

Rurik’s anger flared even more at this revelation. He clenched his fists, ready to defend the guild against the impending threat.

Rurik’s anger boiled over as he cursed Arlan, feeling deeply betrayed by someone he had considered a friend. He muttered, “I trusted that pointy-eared bastard, thought of him as a friend, and he betrayed us like this. I should’ve known better than to trust an elf.”

Michael, though equally angered, tried to temper Rurik’s rage. “It’s not entirely Arlan’s fault,” he explained. “He was following orders from his house lord and the God of Rain, Rainar. They are the ones who set this treacherous plan in motion.”

Rurik’s fists clenched even tighter, his anger now directed at the gods themselves. “Gods or not, they won’t find it easy to take us down,” he growled, his determination to protect their guild unwavering.

His voice quivered with indignation as he continued, “If a god came to me and ordered me to kill my friends, I’d tell them to fuck off, god or not.”

He let out a deep sigh, his anger simmering into a bitter resignation. “These so-called gods, they’re no better than murderers with power,” he muttered, his disdain for the divine authority evident in his words.

“Do you at least have a plan?” Rurik, with a hint of desperation in his eyes, approached Michael and asked.

Before Michael could answer, Rurik’s curiosity got the better of him. He leaned in and asked, “Who are you really?”

“What if I told you I’m a god? How would you react then?” Michael, with a playful glint in his eye, responded.

Rurik was utterly stunned by Michael’s response,

“Are you pulling my leg?” asked in frustration. 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing and thought that Michael was simply playing around. Growing frustrated, Rurik growled, 

“This is not the time for jokes, lad!”

 “Well, my dear Rurik, I’m not a god, just a mortal like you.” Michael chuckled and asked again.

“I don’t give a rat’s behind if you’re a god or not. All I know is that you’re a friend, and that means something to me. It’s just hard to believe that Arlan, someone I considered a friend, would betray us like this.” Rurik sighed in resignation and replied, 

“We’ll have plenty of time for questions later, my friend. For now, let’s deal with these assassins.”

He looked around the forge, then flicked his wrists, summoning several parchments into his hands. Michael handed them to Rurik and explained, “Here are some plans I’ve devised to give these assassins a proper blacksmith’s welcome.”

 “We’ll save that question for later, my friend. Right now, we have more pressing matters to deal with.” Michael nodded and said,

 “I have a plan to deal with these assassins, but we need to do it in a way that befits us as blacksmiths.” He then gestured around the forge.

With a flick of his wrists, several parchments appeared in his hands, which he handed to Rurik. Michael grinned and said, 

“Let’s give these assassins a blacksmith’s welcome they won’t forget.”

Rurik carefully examined the traps outlined on the parchments and then glanced at Michael, a hint of concern in his eyes. 

“These are clever traps, Michael, but shouldn’t we have forged them earlier and fixed them in place? We don’t have time to create all of this now, and the assassins are almost at our doorstep.”

Michael knelt down on one knee to meet Rurik at eye level, wearing a mischievous grin. 

“Normal blacksmiths cannot, but master blacksmiths like us can do something extraordinary.” He patted Rurik on the shoulder and said.

As he did, a fire lit up in Rurik’s eyes, and he clenched his fists. 

“I’m not going down without taking as many of them as I can with me,” he growled, his determination shining through.

“Why aren’t we using your god powers to deal with the assassins?” Ayag asked as Michael prepared to forge the traps.

“A little birdie in the pantheon is keeping their mouths shut about my arrival. So, Kranar and Rainar have no idea they are sending their assassins to a god, me. Let’s keep it that way. Like I always say, never reveal your trump card too soon to your enemies,” Michael whispered to Ayag with a sly grin.

“And who is this little birdie? Was that the old man you were talking to earlier?” Ayag inquired.

“Maybe,” Michael replied with amusement.

“What the hell? Are you keeping secrets from us?” Sarba growled at Michael.

Soon, Michael and Rurik worked tirelessly at the forge, their hammers striking metal with precision. The heat of the forge was almost unbearable, but there was no time to waste. Michael carefully crafted various traps, each designed to incapacitate or eliminate anyone who entered the guild uninvited.

Rurik grumbled as he worked alongside Michael, sweat pouring down his brow. 

“Damn traitorous gods and their meddling,” he muttered under his breath. 

“These traps will make them pay for what they’ve done.”

They strategically placed the traps around the hall, ensuring that anyone who triggered them would be met with a swift and deadly response. Some traps released concealed blades, while others shot out arrows from hidden compartments in the walls. There were even traps that would release a barrage of molten metal if activated.

As they worked, Rurik couldn’t help but voice his frustrations. “May these traps fuck up those assassins! They’ll regret the day they set foot in my guild,” he declared with killing intent.

“Let’s give them a welcome they’ll never forget.” Michael nodded in agreement, his eyes focused on their work.

The traps were carefully hidden, blending seamlessly with the surroundings. They were designed to react to any suspicious movement, ensuring that anyone who entered the guild uninvited would face a deadly outcome.