Darksteel

Chapter 29; A sword forged from fire.

Asta and Nico were walking back to the mansion, hoping to be in before it rained, when they noticed the door to the forge was swinging back and forth in the wind. 

It was quite odd, really, seeing as Smithy always made sure to lock up every evening. 

Quite odd indeed.

Despite wanting to go in for dinner, Asta told Nico to go on ahead and that he would catch up once he locked the door, thinking that perhaps the professor had simply forgotten this small task.

 Yet as Asta neared, he noticed a strange, furry shape lying not far from the forge, still, grey and looking almost like a wolf...

Asta was at a run as soon as he realized the shape was Grendell.

 Bursting through the forge door, he saw Smithy lying in a pool of blood, his chest rising and falling faintly.

With panic inching its way up Asta's throat, he forced himself to think fast; he couldn't drag the blacksmith to the infirmary, it would take too long and Smithy was running out of time. 

Suddenly, Asta's eyes landed on the sword hanging on the wall and an idea struck him. Grabbing the blade, he ran his palm down the sharp end, whincing as it sliced through his flesh. Then, cupping the blood in his hands, he staggered over to Smithy and dripped the healing blood on the man's wounds. Much to his relief, the skin and flesh began to knit together and the bleeding stopped. And, after a moment, Smithy opened his eyes, muttering.

 "What in blazes —? Arthur, what are YOU doing here? Can't you see I'm busy dying, boy? Have some respect."

 Holding his hand to his chest as it healed, Asta shook his head patiently, "You're not dying, Smithy."

 The blacksmith then seemed to notice that, yes, yes, there was, in fact, no gaping hole in his body. "Well, would ya look at that! One minute I thought I was a goner and the next I'm up and about. I wish Fate would bloody make up her mind!" Sitting up, the blacksmith rubbed his head, "I say, how DID you manage to heal me so quickly, Adrian?"

 Asta hesitated; wasn't sure if he could trust Smithy, at least not yet. The man didn't seem to do well with keeping secrets, anyhow. Thus, he did what any honest, trustworthy student would have done in that situation.

He lied.

"I used a Healing potion." He said quickly, wondering when, exactly, he had gotten so good at lying.

Thankfully, Smithy did not question it, but he didn't look convinced either. Still, he said nothing of the matter and simply got to his feet and dusted himself off, wobbling slightly. "Whoa there, I'm a bit lightheaded! Help me back to the mansion, would you, Arthur? I've probably missed dinner by now and there's nothing like a little brush with the Beyond to make a man hungry."

 There was a flaw in logic somewhere in there, but Asta wasn't going to question it. Instead, he asked, "Who did this to you?" which seemed like a good place to start.

 Smithy shook his head, "None of your business, and unless you want to tell me how you REALLY healed me, you won't ask again."

Bending down, Smithy picked up the sword Asta had yanked off the wall and examined it. "Hmm, I don't remember this being here. This is your sword you know, Arthur. "

Asta nodded. He hadn't even thought about the fact that it was his own blade that he had chosen from the racks of others on the wall. The blade just sort of spoke to him, as odd as that sounded.

"I noticed that your blade has a particular dark hue to it." Smithy went on, "It looks dark blue in places, silver in others and only the dwarves knew how to make coloured steal, much less in tones so dark. So tell me, how did you learn how to make darksteel?"