Chapter 74: The Foolish Heist
The news of the trial grounds spread like wildfire, sparking excitement and curiosity among the citizens of Greyhold. The promise of equality—that anyone, regardless of social status, could attempt the trials—resonated deeply with the common folk. Peasants, adventurers, and even the nobility marveled at the audacity of the Blacksmith of a Thousand Tales to create something so bold.
But while many saw hope, others saw opportunity and felt disdain.
In the shadowy corners of Greyhold, assassins who had been lurking in the city for weeks began to plot. Their original mission had been to find Reyn, the elusive apprentice of the Blacksmith of a Thousand Tales. The blacksmith's apprentice rarely attended classes, and any attempts to locate him through the academy had ended in frustration. Now, with the divine artifacts seemingly left unguarded, a new plan took shape: why search for the apprentice when the artifacts themselves could be stolen?
In a dimly lit room above an abandoned shop, the assassins gathered. The leader, a wiry man with scars crisscrossing his face, leaned over a crude map of the trial grounds, a smug grin on his lips.
"This couldn't be easier," he sneered, tapping the map. "Five pedestals, no guards. The peasants think they have a chance at these 'trials.' Pathetic."
The others laughed, one of them muttering, "Do they really believe someone like them could claim something divine? Idiots."
Another assassin, a burly woman with a wicked blade strapped to her back, frowned. "What about protections? Magical traps?"
"Bah," the leader scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "They're toys left out in the open. We'll be in and out before anyone notices."
As the group finalized their plan, the moon rose high over Greyhold. The trial grounds, bathed in silver light, stood silent and still. The faint hum of magic emanating from the pedestals seemed almost alive, though the assassins dismissed it as a trick of the mind.
Clad in dark cloaks, the group slipped through the quiet streets and into the square. The leader gestured for silence as they approached the pedestals, their movements calculated and silent. The fire-shaped crystal atop its pedestal glowed faintly, its deep red light casting flickering shadows on the assassins' faces.
"It's not even locked in place," one assassin whispered, a greedy smile spreading across his face as he reached for the crystal.
The moment his fingers brushed its surface, the air around the pedestals shifted. A low rumble began to vibrate through the ground, growing louder with each passing second. The assassins froze, their earlier confidence replaced by unease.
"What's happening?" one of them hissed.
A burst of light erupted from the pedestal, and a massive magic circle flared into existence above them. Runic symbols glowed with radiant energy as three figures descended from the circle.
First came Odin, his towering, armored form shimmering with an ethereal glow. His dual-bladed spear reflected the moonlight, and his piercing gaze scanned the intruders with calm authority.
Next was Bahamut, his massive wings spreading wide as he landed with a ground-shaking thud. Winds licked at his claws, and his golden eyes burned with unbridled fury.
Finally, Alexander appeared, his colossal, fortress-like frame radiating an aura of unyielding strength. Light cascaded from his form, bathing the trial grounds in a divine glow.
The assassins stood frozen, their earlier bravado crumbling as the summons stared them down.
"Retreat!" the leader barked, but before they could move, Odin's spear shot forward, cutting off their escape.
The assassins drew their weapons in desperation.
"Don't just stand there!" the leader shouted. "We've taken down mages and guards before! Attack!"
The burly woman charged first, her blade glowing faintly with enchanted runes. She aimed a powerful swing at Odin, but his spear deflected the blow with ease. The force of his counter sent her skidding backward, her weapon shattered.
Two assassins hurled enchanted daggers at Bahamut. The daggers exploded mid-air, releasing bursts of lightning and fire, but Bahamut roared in defiance. The flames dissipated harmlessly against his scales, and he launched a retaliatory stream of fire. The assassins dove out of the way, their cloaks singed.
"Use formation B!" the leader yelled, pulling out a scroll. He chanted rapidly, and chains of dark magic shot from his hands toward Alexander. The chains wrapped around the massive summon, tightening as they pulsed with corrupt energy.
For a moment, it seemed to work. Alexander stood still, his form flickering slightly.
"We've got him!" the leader crowed.
But then Alexander's eyes glowed brighter, and the chains shattered with a deafening clang. The shockwave sent the leader tumbling, his scroll reduced to ash.
"No, no, no..." he stammered, scrambling backward.
Bahamut swooped down, landing with a thud that shook the ground. He let out a low growl, his claws raking the dirt near the leader. Golden words appeared above him: "Not Worthy."
"What do we do now?" one assassin cried, clutching a broken arm as Odin advanced on him.
"We fight!" the burly woman roared, summoning all her strength to cast a powerful fire spell. The flames surged toward Alexander, but the summon raised a glowing barrier. The spell dissipated harmlessly, and Alexander retaliated with a blast of holy light that left her unconscious.
Every attempt to fight back was met with overwhelming force. Odin's strikes disarmed and disabled with precision, Bahamut's flames forced the assassins into panicked retreats, and Alexander's shields and light blasts rendered their spells useless.
Each time an assassin fell, the glowing words "Not Worthy" hovered above them, a silent but damning judgment.
The cycle of punishment and healing continued, the summons ensuring their captives felt every bit of their failure. Desperation turned to despair as the assassins realized they were hopelessly outmatched.
Finally, as the last of them collapsed in exhaustion, the summons stopped. The trial grounds fell silent once more, the only sound the heavy breathing of the defeated intruders. The glowing words "Not Worthy" hovered one final time before vanishing entirely.
The assassins lay sprawled across the ground, too weak to move.
"This isn't over," one of them muttered weakly. "We'll... we'll come back..."
From the shadows beyond the square, other assassin groups watched the spectacle. These teams, hired by different factions, had been waiting for someone else to test the waters. Now they took detailed mental notes of the magical defenses, their expressions ranging from frustration to quiet awe.
"They weren't kidding about the summons," one observer muttered, retreating further into the darkness.
"We'll need more than brute force," another whispered. "Someone fetch the best enchanters and kidnap their family. We're going to need higher-grade magic."
The failed group of assassins lay unconscious and defeated, the trial grounds silent once more. As the night deepened, the glowing pedestals stood unscathed, radiating a quiet power that promised judgment for any who dared to steal from them.
In the distance, whispers of the incident began to circulate, and the legend of the trials—and their divine protectors—continued to grow.
The announcement of the trial grounds by the Blacksmith of a Thousand Tales sent waves through the western dukedom. News spread beyond Greyhold, drawing in people from every walk of life. Nobles, adventurers, merchants, and commoners alike felt the call of the divine artifacts. The idea of equality—that anyone could attempt the trials regardless of rank—became a rallying cry for the ambitious and the desperate.
In the noble district, households buzzed with talk of glory and honor. A noblewoman, draped in silk, leaned over her dining table, speaking sternly to her two sons. "You will attempt the trials before the week is out. It is time our family name is associated with greatness."
Her eldest son, a student at the knight academy, puffed out his chest, masking his nerves. "Of course, Mother. The earth trial is mine to conquer. Alexander will kneel before me."
The younger son smirked, crossing his arms. "That's if you even survive. I heard a group of adventurers tried it yesterday and didn't last a minute."
"Enough!" The noblewoman's voice cut through the room. "This is not a matter for jest. Our family will rise above the rest. You are both going."
Meanwhile, groups of adventurers from across the western dukedom flooded into Greyhold. Two burly warriors, each towering over most men and clad in mismatched armor, strode confidently into the trial grounds. Their goal: the earth trial.
"You ready for this?" one asked, gripping his enchanted war hammer tightly.
The other adjusted his axe, grinning. "Alexander's just a big hunk of metal. We'll carve him up like a roast."
They approached the pedestal holding the earth crystal shaped like a star. As their hands touched the glowing artifact, the ground rumbled, and a massive form materialized before them—Alexander. The great mechanical summon loomed over them, his fortress-like frame brimming with energy, his massive cannons primed.
The warriors roared in unison and charged. One swung his war hammer, while the other hurled his axe. Alexander responded with a barrage of light beams, forcing them to dodge frantically.
"His defenses are insane!" one shouted, narrowly avoiding a beam that left a smoking crater in the ground.
"Keep pushing!" the other bellowed, only to be knocked off his feet by a cannon blast.
Despite their skill and strength, the men faltered, overwhelmed by the summon's precision and unyielding defense. The trial ended swiftly, the glowing words "Not Worthy" appearing above their prone forms.
---
Elsewhere, the ice trial drew both young knights and mages. The pedestal shimmered, summoning the Shiva Sisters, Stiria and Nix. The twin summon, clad in their elegant and otherworldly forms, smiled coldly as the trial began.
"Focus!" a young knight barked at his group. "We shatter the ice formations, then take them down."
But as soon as the battle began, many of the men faltered. The sisters' striking appearances left them distracted, their attacks slowing as they gawked.
One mage, wide-eyed, muttered under his breath, "I… didn't know summons could look like that."
His companion groaned. "Snap out of it! They're trying to kill us!"
The Shiva Sisters seized every opening, their icy attacks freezing challengers in their tracks. Blades faltered, spells fizzled, and soon, "Not Worthy" hung over another group of defeated participants.
---
In the lightning trial, a trio of adventurers approached the pedestal with confidence. The leader, a grizzled veteran, smirked as he laid his hand on the glowing artifact.
"Let's show these folks how it's done," he said, drawing his sword.
Odin materialized in a flash of light, his electrified aura crackling. The rogue darted to flank him, daggers at the ready, while the mage unleashed a bolt of fire.
The veteran charged, yelling, "He's just a glorified knight! Take him down!"
But Odin moved with deadly precision, cleaving through the rogue's attacks with ease. A single downward strike sent the veteran sprawling, his shield shattering under the pressure.
"Fall back!" the mage shouted, panic in his voice.
"No retreat!" the veteran barked, struggling to his feet. "We've—"
A surge of lightning silenced him, leaving the trio defeated.
---
Despite the overwhelming difficulty of the trials, their allure was irresistible. Not everyone was honorable in their pursuit. Assassins, rogues, and thieves crept into Greyhold, determined to bypass the trials.
One night, a group of assassins approached the lightning pedestal, shrouded in darkness.
"Quickly," the leader hissed. "Disable the seals before anyone notices."
But as his hand touched the pedestal, a surge of electricity sent him flying. Odin appeared, his glowing weapon crackling with energy.
The assassins drew their blades, but Odin was relentless, his strikes calculated and precise. By the time the guards arrived, the thieves were groaning in pain, utterly defeated.
One guard chuckled as they were hauled away. "You'd think people would learn by now."
Another attempt came from a lone rogue, a woman renowned for her stealth and cunning. She used potions and enchanted gear to cloak herself from sight and silence her movements. Slipping past the guards patrolling the noble district, she reached the pedestal for the ice trial, determined to bypass the challenge and claim the prize hidden within.
But as soon as her hand brushed the pedestal, a biting chill engulfed the area. The Shiva sisters, Nix and Stiria, appeared in a swirl of frost and snow, their ethereal forms shimmering under the moonlight.
The rogue was quick, leaping and rolling to avoid their icy attacks, but the sisters worked in perfect harmony. Nix conjured a barrier of frost to cut off her escape, while Stiria unleashed a barrage of icy shards, immobilizing the rogue with a precise strike to her leg.
By the time the guards arrived, the rogue was encased in ice, shivering and defeated. The Shiva sisters vanished as the guards dragged her away, shaking their heads at her foolishness.
These incidents became so frequent that the city guards began reinforcing their patrols, and magical barriers were strengthened around the trial grounds. Yet, no matter how many were caught, more continued to try their luck.
---
Days turned into weeks, and fewer challengers dared to attempt the trials. Even the boldest adventurers and knights began to lose hope.
In a crowded tavern near the trial grounds, a group of adventurers nursed their wounds and pride.
"It's hopeless," one muttered, staring into his drink.
"We came all this way for nothing," another said bitterly. "That blacksmith—what kind of sadist sets up trials no one can beat?"
But then, one day, something changed.
The city awoke to the sound of excited murmurs spreading through the streets. Word traveled fast: someone had succeeded.
At sunrise, a crowd gathered near the trial grounds, where the pedestal for one of the challenges now lay dormant. The magic surrounding it was gone, the prize claimed.
"Who was it?" people whispered.
"How did they do it?"
The guards were tight-lipped, and those who had witnessed the event refused to speak. All that anyone knew was that the impossible had been achieved—and the legend of the trials was no longer just a tale of failure.