The sun was climbing now—pale and sluggish behind swamp haze—but Allen moved with unhurried steps, as if he had simply gone out for firewood.
Rain's head, wrapped in a blood-stained cloth and tucked neatly into his new pouch, bumped gently against his side.
The crossbow slung over his shoulder, covered by his cloak, unseen.
Behind him, the Gloompine swamp swallowed its secrets.
Birdsong returned, cautious and chirping as though nothing had happened.
Allen rolled his shoulders, testing the fit of Rain's cloak. A bit long, torn at one shoulder, but warm. With a little work, it might just become part of his look. He wiped a smear of mud across it to dull the dried blood.
Duskwatch was a distant silhouette ahead now—black spires jutting like rotten teeth into the morning mist.
He walked past a gnarled stump and flicked a bit of dried brain matter from his glove. "Should've asked him what Rain even meant," he muttered to himself.
A short laugh escaped him. Cold. Tired.
Then silence.
By the time he reached the outskirts of the city, his boots were caked in swamp muck, and his cloak smelled faintly of copper and moss. The guards at the gate didn't even glance at him twice. Just another hunter returning from a rough job.
If only they knew.
He slipped past them with practiced ease and turned down a side street—avoiding the markets, the chatter, the clatter of morning life.
Straight to Ortolan.
---
The forge came into view, stone chimney coughing smoke, the clanging of metal echoing from within. The sound was familiar now. Rhythmic. Almost comforting.
Allen stepped through the open gate, walked into the yard, and stood before the anvil.
The dwarf didn't hear him at first, too focused on hammering steel, sweat streaking down his soot-dark face.
Allen reached into the pouch.
"Yo," he said, casual.
Ortolan looked up. "Back already? Thought you'd—"
Thud.
Rain's head hit the anvil with a meaty slap, rolled once, and stopped with one blood-matted eye staring up.
Ortolan blinked. His hammer froze mid-air, his face in horror, he backed away from the head.
"Grak it... shit- ye scared the living piss outa me."
Allen smiled. "You said you needed proof."
The dwarf stared at the head, then back at Allen, then burst into a wheezing laugh. "I meant, like... a token. A trinket. Not the whole bloody thing!"
Allen shrugged. "He had a nice pouch too."
" Ye so lucky boy....do you know what this pouch 'er is worth?"
Allen shrugged his shoulders
"A few gold."
"Actually I have things to trade."
He then went on removing everything from the pouch, all in a heap.
Ortolan stared at the heap, calculating.
"Ye killed the whole damn party?"
He asked, in horror
"No loose ends to bite me in the future."
Allen said in a nonchalant, almost sinister voice, almost.
He tossed the enchanted bag onto the table beside the anvil.
"Well?"
Ortolan gulped, "I'll take the weapons, for materials."
Talking of weapons, Allen unslung the crossbow and delicately handed it to the dwarf.
The dwarf held the crossbow, stroking it intimately.
"What do you want for the weapons?"
Allen pointed to the pouch
"Take that also. Just give me a bigger pouch"
With no hesitation, the dwarf stretched out his hands for a handshake "Ye' git ye're self a deal."
He would rack quite the profit from them.
It didn't take a lot of convincing for Ortolan to agree to repair the cloak he took from Rain, he would come take it later in the evening.
Agreeing to take the Ironhide boar was another matter entirely...the dwarf took it nevertheless.
He looked almost afraid of Allen.
Good, that would work in his favour.
As for hunting the nightdrake, he would have to rest then prepare.
For this next hunt he would have to take the new blades.
All it took was asking. Ortolan agreed without a fuss.
Ortolan picked the case up, placed in on the anvil, turned it over and opened.
He gave an impressed grunt.
"Hells… well now. Looks like you earned those blades, Ye git potential, kid. I'll give you a call when I need someone dispatched."
He turned, nodded towards the case.
"Go on then. Pick your pair. They're yours."
"The handles are quite worn. I'll replace once u bring the nightdrake's corpse."
Allen's eyes gleamed as he stepped forward. For a moment, just a breath, he felt the faintest flicker of satisfaction.
Then it was gone.
He reached for the blades
The shortswords gleamed even in the forge's smoky gloom—one slightly longer than the other, both with a keen edge and matching blackened hilts wrapped in dark leather.
Allen weighed them in his hands. Perfect balance. Lighter than what he was used to, but forged for speed, not brute force.
Allen stepped into the yard beside the forge—no crowd, just rusted targets, split posts, and old straw dummies with faces long beaten into nothing.
He began slowly.
A forward slash, testing the follow-through. A parry into a feint. The blades whispered through the air. They didn't sing—they hissed. Silent killers.
He pivoted, slashed across a wooden dummy's chest, twisted low, then stabbed upward—straight through the burlap gut. The sword sank deep, and when he pulled it free, the dummy sagged like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Ortolan watched from the shade, arms folded. "They cut clean."
"They do," Allen murmured.
He flipped the shorter blade into a reverse grip and danced backward. A fake retreat—then lunge. He moved like a ripple in dark water, the blades flashing and vanishing with every breath.
It wasn't just practice. This was ritual. Rehearsal for what might come next.
His mind returned to Rain's eyes—wide, pleading.
Too slow.
The blades would ensure the next one never begged.
With a final spin, Allen sheathed the swords in the fresh twin scabbards Ortolan handed him. They locked with a satisfying click—sheated at the back, hidden beneath the cloak.
"These'll draw blood fast," the dwarf grunted. "Faster than most can blink. You keep 'em clean, they'll outlive you."
Allen nodded, breath steady now. "Thanks."
He stepped past Ortolan, paused at the gate.
"Need anything else?" the dwarf called out. "More poison? Another head?"
Allen glanced back, a half-smirk rising.
He took off his cloak, gave a full view to a leather armour beneath, marred with tears, they spoke of untold horrors Allen had faced, ever protecting.
"Maybe a replacement of these."
"Follow me" the dwarf said, already moving for the hatch then downstairs.
They passed the room, the one he had entered already, to the wall, the dwarf moved a stone and the wall shifted- another room.
Seeing Allen's awe he muttered "Got to be carefull, not to be robbed blind"
In the room was an arrangement of mannequins, all donned in armour, full body plate, leather armour, you name it, they were all there.
It didn't take long for Allen to find a suitable one, a few minutes of fitting and his was good to go.
On his way out, the dwarf handed him a new belt, and a larger pouch. Those would serve him well.
He paid the dwarf thirty silver.
And with that, he vanished into Duskwatch once more—new blades on his back, old ghosts at his heels.