Blacksmith of the Apocalypse

"What is the meaning of this?"

He asked facing a row of weapons that were suddenly pointed at him. He had come to work as usual and was about to take a break when a group of officers stormed the workshop.

"Cormac Payl, you are arrested under the suspicion of treason."

"Thomas? What do mean by "treason"? There has been no such thing a treason ever since the foundation of the districts," Cormac argued, unimpressed by the glinting weapons pointed at him.

"Come on, Cormac. Don't make this hard on us. It's a decision from above."

"So I should just go along with this bull crap? I'm the second-ranked Blacksmith of Urth. I am head and shoulders above anyone in this place and you want to arrest me for treason? I am the sole reason we aren't too far behind Delta. God, I wish there was something I could betray you shitheads for if that meant I could finally get proper materials!"

The blacksmith had been stuck with Ypsilon for months now. It was great in the beginning. Mark Baker understood the worth of crafting professions. He and his colleagues were supplied with materials ti improve and develop their skills. Someone even became a Gunsmith and recreated firearms.

However, with Baker gone, their treatment had suffered. They were called a "superfluous expense" compared to those that had chosen to change to Gunsmiths or Engineers. Even with his budget cut tremendously, Payl has managed to cross the precipice of the craftsman tier.

Still, he stayed instead of opening his own business. Some kind of stupid love for his home had made him stay.

"I did a lot for this place. I even sacrificed my own progress to make the very weapons in your hand and YOU have the gall to threaten me with my own products?!"

Payl was a lanky man with a buzz cut, not what you would expect when you heard the word blacksmith. But as he went on in his tirade, his righteous rage made him seemingly grow in the eyes of the guards that came to arrest him.

"Look, Cormac. This has nothing to do with us. We are just supposed to arrest you," Thomas said meekly. The others also seemed conflicted about the situation.

"You know what? Fine! Let me see what piece of trash has the balls to pull something like mother-flipping treason out of their dusty drawers."

He was going to take a look at what was going on and then make a decision. Nobody stopped the blacksmith from grabbing his bag and wristwatch from the worktable before following them. They didn't walk far as all kinds of facilities existed inside the agency. Soon he sat in a desolate interrogation room with a table and two chairs.

"Mr. Payl, I'm glad you cooperated with the guards. We wouldn't want you to get hurt before your process, right?" an investigator entered with a smug smile and sat down opposite him.

"Where did you even exhume some prehistoric law like treason?"

"haha, prehistoric. Good joke, Mr.Payl, but that is not the point. We have receipts that you have been purchasing large quantities of <Magic Steel> from the System Church, is that right?"

"Oh, and when did buying stuff become illegal?"

"We suspect you of illegally selling weapons and equipment to the criminal organization known as "The Scene"."

Cormac couldn't help but laugh.

"Pfft! The Scene? Those lowlifes that took over the rim areas? I wouldn't sell them even the scrap metal from my workshop. But still, how would that be treason?"

The blacksmith didn't really care what they alleged him to have done. He had made his decision. He was already dissatisfied with the treatment he experienced after Baker was assassinated, but this situation was the final nail in the coffin. Right now, he was only here to see if he could get a better picture of who was after him.

"Is that so? How come then, that we caught members of the Scene wearing equipment of quality only you could make in Y-City?" the investigators asked with a malicious grin.

"We know everything about you, Payl. You used government supplies to make and sell weapons to criminals. That is treason!" he concluded triumphantly.

Cormac stared at the man as if he was a lunatic. He didn't even need to mention that his story didn't make sense back to front. How was it using government supplies, if he supposedly bought the materials for the items himself?

However, the blacksmith didn't care. He could already make himself a picture with what the man had just said. He didn't doubt a moment that they probably caught some strawmen from the scene with weapons from his workshop.

Since he wasn't the one that gave it to them, someone else from inside must have done it. It became quite clear to him, that someone was trying to make him the scapegoat.

"I see, so someone higher up supplied stuff to the scene and now they are looking for someone to take the blame. It's a shame."

"The only shame is that someone with your potential sank so low, just because your funds were cut!" the investigator kept accusing.

"It's a shame. You know so much, but... I bet you didn't know this."

With a wave of his hand, a golden net was shot from his wristwatch and caught the investigator. He wasn't just some meek little crafter that would take their blame lying down. If there was someone in the leadership behind this, there was no way to solve this peacefully.

Not that he intended to in the first place. He had done his due and didn't owe this place anything. He had been deliberating and preparing, but his decision to leave had been finalized with this shitshow. The investigator was struggling on the ground.

The man was a lv.75 player, but even his superior stats were unable to get him out of the golden net. The threads were so fine, they instead cut into his flesh without giving in, whenever he tried to move. Cormac crouched down beside the man on the ground.

"You thought you knew everything, but where did it get you? Didn't you ever think a little further? I was clearly not selling anything to the Scene, you know that. Then what did I do with all the materials I bought? Look, I will show you."

The next moment a massive golden bull appeared from the blacksmith's inventory. It proceeded to tear down the steel-reinforced walls as if it was paper. Taking a seat on the bull's back, he held up both of his middle fingers at the investigator.

"Never underestimate a craftsman,"

"Especially, if they are a chosen," he thought to himself with a grin.

Sitting on the bull's back, the automaton became faster and faster, completely unimpeded by the walls of the agency, or people jumping in its way. Cormac already wore a thick metal suit, clinging to the back of the bull for his dear life.

This was his first time actually riding it, and he had imagined it very differently.

"That's Payl! Stop him!"

"Cormac, stop!"

He could hear the voices of people as he rushed by but ignored them. Y-City had made its decision, and so did he. The moment the bull broke through the outer wall of the agency building, it vanished into his inventory and was replaced by a massive golden eagle that took him to the sky.

Cormac decided to leave Y-City on that day. Freed from the shackles of obligations, the only question was where to go from here. He wouldn't be able to stay in Y-City and there was no need to look back, as he kept everything important in his inventory anyway.

There was really only one option for now, with Beta having fallen to ruin, he would need to aim for Mount Agra and ultimately Delta. His only problem was his level. The blacksmith was barely lv.35. Even with his epic metal suit, would he be able to make his way through the mountains?

He had heard rumors that the mountain range had gotten more dangerous. Would his strength suffice? Cormac had no high hopes to find a caravan. Travel to Mount Agra had starkly decreased because of the danger.

All because their fine government had to flip off Minas Mar and decided to give it their own botched try in opening a safe route to the mountain city. Because of this bunch of bumbling buffoons, he would have to risk his life to get to Agra.

At least it would be a safe journey from there...

With thoughts like these, he set off on his arduous journey to the west.