Deus Necros

“That guy’s still here?” Ludwig frowned.

The idea of the coachman waiting that long was both impressive and irritating. Ludwig wasn’t used to people waiting on him without complaint, not unless they were paid, threatened, or both.

“What else is he going to do? He gets paid to drive you around, and even if he isn’t, he is still getting paid. Among everyone in the capital, he has the best job.”

Ludwig could not argue with that logic. If his worst danger today was boredom and sunlight, he’d take it too.

“Good, I’ll head out then.”

“Before you go…” Andre said as he pulled something from a side pocket.

It was an azure colored block. Almost jewel-like in texture.

It caught the forge light and threw it back with a faint shimmer, like stone that had remembered the sky and took on its form. Andre held it between thick fingers with more care than its rough shape suggested.

“Take this with you,” he threw it to Ludwig.

Ludwig grabbed it mid-air.

[Blue Meteorite Whetstone]

The system text appeared with its usual bluntness, naming the object as if naming made it tame.

Ludwig turned it in his hand and felt its cold density. Meteorite. That word alone carried the implication of rarity and distance. Something that fell from above the world, the same way Andre had spoken about iron being older than empires. This too felt ancient. Even older, maybe.

“What’s this for?” Ludwig asked.

“Your other weapon. The one I first made for you.” Andre replied calmly.

“Ah, Durandal.” Ludwig nodded.

“A good name, and that’s a fitting item for it. Unlike the Mace that is purposed to break and destroy, or the giant sword of Elven Steel that can only crush and tear. This whetstone is to sharpen a blade that is meant to cut. Use it well. It’s the only thing I can give you since I realized that you won’t wear armor.”

Andre said it without resentment. It was just an observation. He had read Ludwig’s nature the way he read steel. Ludwig didn’t hoard protection the way other nobles did. He didn’t dress for safety. He moved like someone who expected to be hurt and simply planned around it. And even if he was given armor, he probably would never wear it.

“How did you realize that?” Ludwig asked.

“That thing in your hand, that’s the best armor in the world. Why waste effort on giving you something inferior?” Andre shrugged.

Ludwig smiled, “I guess so, so this is goodbye then?”

“This is until we meet again.”

The phrasing sat better than farewell. Farewell, implied endings. Ludwig had too many endings already.

“Good, I like that, Andre. Until we meet again, I’ll let you study Nightbreaker as much as you want.”

Andre nodded, he wasn’t one of emotion, or at least was not someone who could express them easily so a nod was all he needed to express his goodwill.

Ludwig left the forge and headed outside after he put on his regalia again.

The fabric felt strange after weeks of soot and work. Clean clothing always felt like a costume on him now, like he was putting on the mask of nobility for the benefit of people who couldn’t handle the truth. He adjusted the collar and let the weight settle.

“Cleanse,” Ludwig muttered.

The spell immediately flushed through his body, cleansing the clothes from grim and dust, returning his hair back to its combed nature, and reversing all the dirt that gathered on him from boot to the top of his head.

The sensation was instant, the grime’s presence simply gone as if it had never existed. Ludwig watched a fleck of soot vanish from his sleeve and felt that familiar irony. He could cleanse dirt with a word, but he couldn’t cleanse the consequences of what he carried in his chest. Wrath was too powerful for such a spell. Not that it would work anyway.

“Much better,” Ludwig said as he walked out toward the entrance of the smithy’s perimeter.

Once he arrived, he saw the same old man, with a straw between his lips, while he lay with a hat on top of his head protecting him from the bite of the sun, both hands crossed behind his head as support, with both legs crossed.

The coachman looked like he belonged to a different world than the forge, a world where the worst threat was heatstroke. He had parked himself comfortably, as if the street were his living room. The horses stood patiently, tails flicking, trained to wait without fuss.

“You look like you’re enjoying your rest.”

The old man flicked the hat with his middle finger and looked down, seeing Ludwig. He smiled. “I guess today I’m getting paid for working, where to, sir Ludwig?” he asked as he hopped down from the top of the carriage to the driver’s seat.

“Gate again. I’m heading to Politia.” Ludwig said.

“Ah, the Tower City. Are you planning on challenging the tower? Not much time left.”

“Yeah, about a couple of months before it shuts down.”

“Good luck then, I’ll take you to the gate. Please hop inside.”

Ludwig opened the door and rested inside the carriage as the driver whipped the horses forward.

The city shifted around them as they moved, noble streets giving way to wider roads. Ludwig sat back, not relaxing fully, because he had learned that comfort was how you got surprised. Noctivex’s presence in his ring felt like a weight that kept tapping at his awareness, not hostile, just awake.

He wondered for a bit how it would transform him, how it would change him, but he couldn’t use it yet. Not here, where everyone is watching.

“Another challenge awaits.” The Knight King spoke, cutting off his thoughts.

“I wonder…” Ludwig said.

He stared out through the carriage window at passing stone and sunlight, and the thought formed before he could stop it. Pride was not a beast that relied on hunger or madness. Nor was it like Envy, who believed too much in her power. Nor was it like Lust, who sought isolation and decite.

“What do you wonder about?” the Knight asked.

“I wonder, how does Pride hope…”