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He strode over to the Infernal Armory without a moment of hesitation. He’d had a fair bit of practice with Cursed Dwarven Smithing now, but not every item he made was going to be cursed.

My raw technique still has a lot of growing that can be done. I won’t let myself make the mistake of relying so much on the magic and the System that I’m crippling the potential strength of the equipment I can make.

He had some practice to do — and he knew just what to practice on.

Arwin had started making the Ivory Executioner Set a long time ago. The chestpiece he wore still wasn’t even technically part of the set, and it still needed boots to be completely finished.

It was about time to rectify that. He still had enough materials to work with from Rodrick and the others’ previous efforts to get him supplies — and he could recycle the chestpiece itself by pulling the magic out of it with Soul Flame and then breaking it down and separating out the parts with the use of lava.

The final set would be composed normal magical items, of course. None of the other pieces in the set were Cursed, so it made no sense to start cursing them now. This was just going to be some old fashioned Dwarven Smithing… and Arwin welcomed it.

Let’s see how far I’ve come in these past few weeks.

***

Hein, brother to Kien of the Twin Blades, sat in the darkness of a cold room and stared at the slip of parchment clenched in his hands. The boarded-shut window doing little to prevent the howling wind outside from breaking into the small cabin in the mountains. A creak broke through the storm outside as he shifted his weight and the wooden chair beneath him – one that matched the shitty table across from him – voiced its protest.

Scrawling words had been printed across the paper, boasting of a deed that Hein had absolutely no desire to look at any longer than he physically had to. He already knew what it said. Another monster slain, another helpless idiot saved.

It was the same thing. It always was.

A sea of similar trash littered the ground all around the floor of the cabin. No matter who Hein asked, no matter how hard he tried, they always showed up. They were pinned to his door. Delivered in pretty envelopes, or stuffed through his windows.

Hein grabbed at the old metal flask that hung from his side. Deep gouges covered what had once been an insignia upon its face, leaving it damaged and barren. He took a long swig from the acrid contents within and let out a belch, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before crumpling the paper in his hands into a ball.

A muttered curse joined the ball of paper as Hein flicked it over his shoulder – but it never hit the ground. There was a soft crunch as somebody caught the trash out of the air behidn him.

Hein leapt from his chair and spun, his hand going for a sword that hadn’t rested at his side for years. His back hit the rickety table and it threatened to pitch back before he caught it with his free hand, his eyes locked on the hooded figure standing across from him.

“Godspit,” Hein cursed, letting out a sharp breath and pinching his crooked nose between two fingers. “What is your problem? Can’t you just knock?”

“The door was open.” The figure’s voice was male, but perfectly even and entirely undistinguishable. For that matter, everything about them was. Their build was the most perfectly average and uninteresting man in existence.

He’d never seen the hooded man’s face, but if he did, Hein strongly suspected it would probably be equally as generic.

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It gave him a strange sense of comradery. There was something nice about knowing that he wasn’t the least interesting person in the room for once in his life.

“It’s always open,” Hein said. “The lock doesn’t work. What is it today, Mask?”

That wasn’t the man’s real name, of course. He’d been stopping by to visit for nearly a month now and had still yet to give Hein a name to call him by – thus, Hein had been forced to come up with one himself.

“I thought you might have wanted the newest papers,” Mask said, pulling a folded sheet of paper out from his pocket. “It seems Kien managed to save a border town from a large raid a few days ago. Quite the impressive man, your brother.”

Hein fought to keep the displeasure from showing on his features. He was pretty sure it was a battle he didn’t win.

“I’ve told you how I feel about him,” Hein snapped. “I don’t want the news, Mask. Don’t joke with me. Did you figure out who was sending the damn papers to my house? You promised you would.”

“I’m almost onto them,” Mask promised, placing a hand over his heart. “I know how it must feel, Hein. To be born into the promise of greatness, only for an upstart to steal it all from you. Competing with Kien must be like trying to shine a candle against the sun.”

“That’s really comforting,” Hein said, ripping the paper from Mask’s hands and crumpling it up. He threw it to the ground at his feet. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here today? Or do you plan to just talk my ear off every few days for the rest of my life before I die?”

“It’s a tragedy,” Mask continued, almost as if he couldn\'t hear a word that Hein had said, “But I care about you, Hein. I understand you. The hand you’ve been dealt in life is unfair, my friend. You should have been great.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. I’m just – fuck. I’m just me. It’s a miracle you even remember my name. Nobody else does. To them, I’m just Kien’s brother. You and he are the only ones that actually use my name.”

“That is because, today, your name is worth nothing.” Mask put a hand on Hein ’s shoulder. “But that doesn’t always have to be the case.”

The cloaked man reached into a pocket and pulled free a thin stiletto. Hein flinched back, but Mask remained perfectly motionless. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. The hood covering his features left absolutely nothing there to see; its shadows were so intense that they must have been magical.

“What is that?” Hein asked, bracing his hand against the table. “What are you talking about?”

“Your chance to be somebody was stolen from you, Hein,” Mask said. He flipped the stiletto around to pinch it by the flat of the blade and held it out hilt-first. “And I am a person that likes to ensure that the wrongs in the world are righted. All I want to do is help.”

“Is this a magical weapon? That won’t do anything,” Hein said through a snort of bitter laughter. “You don’t think I’ve tried that before? Godspit, Kien’s even given me magical weapons. The stuff from dungeons he’s cleared that he doesn’t want. It doesn’t matter. Anything I do is worthless compared to him.”

“Oh, Hein,” Mask said, compassion seeping into his tone as he shook his head sadly. He reached out and took Hein by the hand, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the stiletto. “You’ve been lied to your entire life, and those lies have made themselves the truth.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you think it was a coincidence that Kien accomplished something great every time you did?” Mask’s head tilted to the side. “Do you think that happened, over and over again, purely by accident? No man is so great. The magical weapons you have used before have done nothing to truly aid you because you have been given nothing but trash. What could you do when you are competing with Kien? His magic is too great. The heavens favored him, and he used that power to crush you instead of bringing you up.”

Hein ’s face furrowed in a frown. He looked down at the thin blade in his hand, then up to Mask. “Perhaps that’s true, but it does nothing to say it now. Life is unfair. That’s just how things are. Not everyone gets to win, and when Kien wins all the time, someone has to lose.”

“Someone does have to lose,” Mask agreed. “But why must it be you?”

“Ask the fucking gods.”

“I don’t see any gods here,” Mask said. “All I see is you, Hein. You – and Opportunity.”

“Opportunity?”

“The dagger,” Mask said, tapping Hein ’s hand. “That is her name, and it is her purpose, should you be willing to let her fulfill it. Aren’t you tired of being worthless? Of sitting in this cabin and waiting for life to change?”

“What, this thing is going to change that? What could I ever do?” Hein let out a bitter laugh. “If I kill a dragon, then Kien will kill the Lord of Dragons.”

“Then don’t kill a dragon.” Mask’s words softened until they caressed Hein ’s ears like a gentle touch. “Kill Kien.”

Hein ’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Someone must lose,” Mask said. “You have great wisdom. Great potential – potential that was stolen by your brother. I am simply righting the scales, Hein. Your life is yours to live. Yours to take by the reigns, or yours to let rot away. You have the tools you need to be someone. All but one.”

With a flourish, Mask pulled a slip of paper free and held it out to Hein.

“What, another one of Kien’s accomplishments?” Hein asked bitterly, taking the paper from Mask.

It was an invitation to the Proving Grounds. The most prestigious tournament for every Tier of adventurer and guild, held yearly by the Secret Eye. A tournament that Kien had won his bracket in once before. Hein started to let out an amused snort. Yet another thing that Kien would–

He froze. Kien’s name wasn’t on the paper.

His was.

“Opportunity can take what you need. The power to be more could be yours,” Mask said, a smile within his voice, “should you choose to take it.”