The orc was a variable in an equation that needed to be solved with the minimum expenditure of energy.
The forest smelled of wet pine needles and rot. A light drizzle had been falling for two days straight, turning the ground into a squelching mire. I stood completely motionless, my back pressed against the wide trunk of an elm. I wore a simple gray cloak of coarse wool. A deep hood concealed my face. The long hems reliably hid what lay beneath them.
Twenty meters ahead, in a small clearing, an orc was snarling.
A massive specimen. Nearly two and a half meters tall, with stone-gray skin, clutching a curved cleaver that looked more like a rusted car leaf spring. The Merchant Guild had valued his head at thirty silver pieces. Exactly the amount I was short for a new batch of joint lubricant.
The orc caught my scent.
He roared.
I stepped out of the shadows. My boots sank softly into the mud. The orc smirked, baring yellow tusks. With another wild roar, he charged, raising the cleaver for a vertical strike.
I watched and analyzed.
His momentum would not allow him to correct his trajectory.
As the blade of the cleaver came down, I took one short step to the left. I immediately brought up my right arm.
Bam!
The heavy blade slammed into my forearm. The orc froze for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening. His weapon bounced right off.
In that same heartbeat, my fully recovered left arm slipped out from beneath my cloak. In it was a bastard sword. Simple, good-quality steel. I lunged.
The tip of the blade bit perfectly under the creature’s bottom rib, piercing the lung and nicking the heart.
The orc wheezed, dropped his cleaver, and collapsed to his knees. I wrenched the blade free and took a step back to keep the blood from ruining my cloak.
"Three seconds," I said quietly to the emptiness. "Too long. Need to work on my footwork."
I wiped the sword on the orc's hide and sheathed it beneath my cloak. Then, I drew my knife to claim the trophy. Eleven months of training were finally bearing fruit.
After all this time.
Weisburg lived its usual life. I walked through the city gates, blending into a crowd of peasants hauling vegetables to the market. The guards barely afforded me a glance.
I turned in the bounty at the guild, took my pouch of coins, and headed to the outskirts where I rented a room above a clockmaker's shop. I slid the bolt into place and finally threw off the wet cloak.
Over these past months, I had completely overhauled the prosthesis. Using Eridan steel and the money from my contracts, I had replaced the outer casing with blackened, matte plates that wouldn't catch the sun. I rerouted the cabling, burying the vulnerable nodes deeper inside the chassis. The prosthesis no longer screeched or hummed.
I flexed the metal fingers open and shut. The grip had grown tighter, the response time instantaneous.
I sat at the table and poured out the coins.
"Food for two weeks. Lubricant—checked. Spare bolts—checked. The horse is paid for."
My gaze fell on the corner of the table. Lying there was a small, worn amulet—a copper coin with a hole bored through the center. Kaelen’s parting gift.
"Don't turn into a golem, Iron," he had said before leaving.
I picked up the amulet, spun it between my fingers, and tucked it into my breast pocket.
"He was right, after all," I said softly.
At dawn the next day, I was already on my feet.
Nothing personal remained in the room. My tools were packed into a compact roll, the sword hung at my left hip, the canteen at my right. With a practiced motion, I threw on my cloak and pulled the hood down over my eyes.
Downstairs in the stable, a bay mare was waiting for me. A sturdy, resilient animal. I checked the girth and patted her neck.
"Well then," I whispered. "It's time."
I led the horse out onto the street. The town was still asleep; only the bakers were beginning to stoke their ovens. I rode through the empty streets of Weisburg. It was good here. Quiet. Safe.
By the time I passed through the northern gates, the sun was just starting to paint the treetops in gold. The road stretched out into the distance. I took a deep breath of the crisp air. There was no fear in my chest, no doubt. A truly divine feeling.
I shook the reins.
"Destination: North," I told myself. "Next stop: the mountains."
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