Newly Summoned Demoness 2 - Chapter 20 - Forged Purpose (Patreon)

Elania’s steps mingled with the buzz of the city as she meandered through the Artisan District. The rhythmic clanging of metal and the roar of the forges not far from Artificer Row had drawn her closer.

Her meeting scheduled with Sergeant Harlock was still some time away, and she found herself on her own, without Yolani, for the first time in… well, a while.

Wagons were busy hauling various resources back and forth, and she weaved between them as she moved between the streets.

When she came to one of the larger forgeworks, she stopped at the corner and watched, almost entranced, as a large cart full of coal was unloaded into a pile for the bloomery forges.

The men inside worked with a synchronized urgency, funneling ore into a large crucible. The molten metal glowed like a captured star, its fierce light reflecting on sweat-licked faces as they moved the crucible over a large mold and began to pour.

The heat washed over her as she stepped across the street to get a closer look.

In another area, workers used tongs to grip hot pieces of metal, their hammers descending in a relentless cadence. Each strike produced sparks, scales, and flakes that danced through the air, glinting briefly before settling to the ground.

The transformation from raw to refined was a mesmerizing process she had never really paid any attention to before.

Elania enjoyed the spectacle, the heat, the noise—it was life, it was energy, it was the city. Yet, there was a part of her that felt detached, as if she were observing the scene from afar.

She’d contributed to the city the day before, helping with the Celestial Engine. No one would argue that it hadn’t been vital, but somehow her special circumstances felt… unearned.

Almost all the events that had led up to the climactic encounter in the Magistry those months prior had been her reacting to things… like a leaf caught up in a tornado.

Somehow, she and Yolani had managed to land on their feet, but the last week had shown there were more gusts to come.

She was sure of that.

They needed to be prepared for them. Or at least prepare for them the best they could.

Elania moved on, continuing down the street toward the gates to the Mercenary District. The Ironfist Headquarters wasn’t too far into what was charitably considered the ‘slums’ of the city, but she didn’t want to linger too long.

She checked her [HUD] clock and confirmed she had another thirty minutes before she was supposed to arrive.

As she left the clang of forges behind, she entered a street full of shops and outdoor stalls. There weren’t as many people hawking their wares as in the central square’s main bazaar, but the quality was generally much higher—and the items much cheaper, especially compared to the shops and market in the Conclave district.

It was a perfect ratio, in Elania’s opinion. She couldn’t help but have her attention drawn in by a tailor’s shop where vibrantly dyed fabrics hung behind the windows.

The steady beat of a cobbler’s hammer echoed out from a leather shop, where various backpacks, shoes, belts, and other accessories hung on visible racks.

The next shop that caught her attention was an arms dealer. A large sign hung over the open door, and inside she could see dozens of racks of blades, spears, shields, and everything else in between.

Almost fittingly, there was an armor shop next which had various leather and chain-mail armors on display, with a single suit of heavier armor of the same style that the City Guard wore.

At the end of the street, a small stall had a dozen felted trays laid out with various accessories that sparked in the cavern city’s light.

Copper and silver rings with tiny, detailed engravings made up most of the offerings, but in the center of the table was a single tray with glittering gemstones adorning the craftwork.

Several necklaces hung as well, with their delicate silver chains and clear gems drawing attention like a lodestone.

“Good day, miss,” the merchant said. “See anything you like?”

Elania’s gaze drifted over the items. A particular silver bracelet with an intricate knotwork design drew her closer.

[Silver Bracelet]

[Identify] indicated it was exactly what it seemed, with no obvious magical properties, but it was beautiful in its simplicity regardless. She picked it up and examined it further, the cool metal gracing her fingers.

“Everything,” Elania remarked. “I like the bracelet, though.”

“Aye, it suits you,” the merchant replied with a knowing nod. “A warrior’s grace, even in peace.”

Elania smiled faintly, but she set the bracelet down. “Not today, thank you.”

She moved on, her thoughts drifting back to the task at hand as she reached the edge of the district. Her HUD hinted she needed to pick up the pace. The guards at the gate stiffened as soon as she joined the line of people waiting to pass through.

The moment she saw them relax, Elania glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, she spotted Henri’s people following from an almost unnoticeable distance behind her.

Well, having shadows had a few benefits, so she didn’t really mind their presence. Especially when they had the telepathy available to tell the gate guards not to hassle her.

Once she was through, it only took a few blocks to reach the Ironfist Mercenary Headquarters—a large square building that stood out from its neighbors simply due to its pristine maintenance.

The only entry point was through two large double doors flanked by a smaller personnel entry door. Four guards stood rigid and alert, several pedestrians giving them a wide berth as they walked.

When she approached the two by the smaller entry, they tensed up.

“Hello. I’m Elania. Sergeant Harlock should be expecting me?” she offered from a safe distance.

The guards glanced at each other and relaxed. “Demon,” the first one said.

The other nodded. “She’s the one. He acknowledged her with a nod. “Miss Reyes, Sergeant Harlock mentioned you’d be coming.” He gestured to the door. “Right this way.”

Elania followed him inside and into a narrow stone corridor that seemed to swallow her. It would not be a pleasant space for someone with claustrophobia, that was for sure.

The tunnel opened into a lobby with a warm atmosphere that was thrumming with the undercurrent of some of the less rowdy taverns that she had seen.

Tables were scattered about, their surfaces littered with tankards and plates, and a dozen out-of-uniform mercenaries were chatting comfortably with their comrades.

Her escort led her toward a reception desk that had shelves of books behind it, and she even spotted a bulletin board that seemed to have requests posted.

She pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t seeing things… it reminded her of an adventure guild thing.

There was another door that he opened, and she slipped inside to another room of more of the same. A few mercenaries glanced her way, their conversations hitching for the briefest of moments.

Harlock was clearly visible at one of the nearby tables, reading from a ledger.

Harlock looked up and greeted her. “Elania. Welcome.” A nod to the guard who had walked her in dismissed the man, and the sergeant gestured for her to sit.

“Sergeant,” Elania said, a familiar tension entering her stomach. She let out a breath and tried to release it. Starting new things was always nerve-wracking. “I’m ready to begin.”

“Glad to have you here. Training’s not cheap, but it’s worth every silver,” he said. His hand reached out, and she handed him the agreed-upon payment—a handful of small silvers that clinked into his palm. In truth, it was far below the going rate for hands-on advice from an expert.

Almost immediately, it felt like the rest of the room had forgotten about her, too. Maybe paying customers weren’t considered so much as an interloper as a guest?

Harlock pocketed the payment and stood. “This way,” he said, gesturing to another door.

They passed more mercenaries, some cleaning weapons, others binding wounds or polishing armor. There was still a faint tension in the air as they caught sight of her; these were warriors in their den, and outsiders weren’t common.

At least, that was the best theory she could put together. Harlock ignored all of it.

The corridor spilled into a large, open space that reminded her of a gymnasium. It was alive with the sounds of training—the clash of wooden swords, the twang of crossbows, and the rhythmic thud of boots on the ground. Men and women sparred in pairs, each set of movements a dance of potential violence.

A group of a dozen runners paced themselves around the edge of the room and passed in front of them, their breaths on the edge of becoming ragged and their faces and skin plastered with visible sheens of sweat.

They crossed to an unused corner with racks holding various forms of wooden training weapons. Harlock turned to her and grinned. “What do you think?”

Elania’s eyes swept the room again, taking in the details and motion. It was a world of strength and skill, of warriors honing their bodies to their purpose.

“It’s impressive,” she replied. “An entire ecosystem of training.”

Harlock grunted, his lips switching into a half-smile. “That it is. Now let’s find your place in it.”