Forge Of Fate: A Blacksmiths Journey

The cold night air was thick with tension as the assassins approached the forge. Their movements were practiced, their steps light on the cobblestone street.

One of them, a wiry man with a scar across his jaw, glanced toward the structure. "Is this the place?"

Another, a taller figure clad in dark, reinforced leather, gave a slow nod. "Yeah. Can't believe two of the highest-paying targets are holed up in the same place."

A third, gripping a curved dagger, scoffed. "Don't get cocky. These two have the highest danger rating among student targets."

The leader, a woman with a half-mask covering her face, gave a curt gesture. "Stay focused. Our objectives are the Frost Catalyst, the Glacial Greatsword, the Resonance Blade, and their lives."

They began to advance, their shadows stretching under the faint glow of the forge's embers.

Then the door swung open.

Before any of them could react, a massive iron maul came flying out of the entrance, hurtling through the air like a cannonball.

With a sickening crunch, it smashed into the chest of one of the assassins, sending him sprawling onto the ground, gasping for air. The sheer force caved in his ribs, and he convulsed once before going still.

The maul didn't stop there. It reversed course, flying back toward the entrance—straight into Kalem's waiting grasp.

He caught it effortlessly, his stance steady as he stepped forward, eyes locked onto the remaining assassins. The forge's light flickered behind him, casting him in a menacing silhouette.

From the side, Isolde emerged, her Glacial Greatsword resting against her shoulder. Frost clung to its blade, mist curling off its surface as if the air itself was freezing around it.

She smirked. "Not using the blade?"

Kalem spun the maul in one hand. "I can use pretty much anything that does damage."

The assassins hesitated only for a second before lunging.

The first attacker moved with blinding speed, aiming a short sword for Kalem's throat. Kalem shifted, raising the maul's haft to deflect the strike. The assassin adjusted mid-motion, pivoting for a second thrust—only for Kalem to slam the butt of the maul into his ribs, sending him staggering.

To Kalem's side, Isolde moved with the grace of a seasoned warrior. A dagger-wielding opponent rushed her, but she sidestepped at the last second, bringing the flat of her greatsword against his back with bone-shattering force.

A second assassin lunged at her from the shadows. She barely had time to react before Kalem, in a single swift motion, kicked a loose forge tool from the ground—sending a hammer spinning through the air. It struck the attacker square in the temple, and he crumpled without a sound.

Two more assassins circled them, moving in sync. Kalem narrowed his eyes. These weren't just hired thugs—they were trained professionals.

One feinted toward him, while the other made a silent movement toward the forge's back entrance. Kalem reacted instantly, hurling the maul toward the fleeing assassin. It slammed into his back, sending him crashing into the doorframe with a dull thud.

The last remaining assassin knew he was outmatched. He hesitated—just for a moment—before turning to run.

Isolde stepped forward, raising a single hand.

A wave of frost erupted from her fingertips, coating the ground in ice. The fleeing assassin's foot slipped, and before he could recover, Kalem was there. He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him into the forge's outer wall.

The assassin groaned, struggling weakly. Kalem tightened his grip. "Who sent you?"

The man spat blood, glaring at him. "You already know."

Kalem's eyes flickered toward Isolde, who wiped a speck of frost from her sleeve. She looked at the fallen assassins, then back at him. "Looks like they underestimated us."

Kalem exhaled slowly. "That was their mistake."

The night was quiet once more, but the weight of the battle lingered in the air. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Aftermath: 

Kalem and Isolde moved quickly, rounding up the still-living assassins. Kalem pulled out a set of heavy iron chains, binding their arms behind their backs.

Isolde raised an eyebrow. "Why do you have this many chains lying around?"

Kalem didn't even look up. "They're for a chain weapon I was working on."

She blinked, unsure if he was serious, then shrugged and continued.

The dead assassins were lined up near the forge's entrance. Their bodies lay still under the dim torchlight, casting long shadows against the cobblestone.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The scent of blood mixed with the forge's lingering smoke, creating a strange, heavy atmosphere.

Isolde was the first to break the silence. "Are you alright?"

Kalem took a deep breath before answering. "Not really. It just feels weird." He looked at the lined bodies, then back at her. "What about you?"

Isolde glanced at her greatsword, the frost still lingering on its edge. Then, with a quiet sigh, she said, "My father taught me to pick up the blade against people. So it's alright."

Kalem gave her a look but didn't press further.

The night was far from over, and both of them knew it.