Chapter 248
The persistent clang of a smith’s hammer, each resonant blow echoing through the streets, drew Nikolaos, Raul, and Anakitty deeper towards its source.
The sound, purposeful yet strangely out of place amidst the war-torn clamor, pulled them onward until the familiar streets abruptly dissolved into a landscape veiled by a thin, ethereal mist.
It swirled gently, clinging to the unseen ground, lending the otherwise mundane air an aura of mystery.
As they pressed forward, the mist seemed to respond to their presence, parting with a silent grace as if pulled aside by an unseen hand.
Beyond its shifting veil, a breathtaking sight emerged: a stone bridge, impossibly long at over sixty meters and an impressive fifteen meters wide.
Its ancient stones, worn smooth by countless seasons, whispered tales of bygone eras.
But what truly snatched their breath were the figures lining its broad parapets.
Not simply one statue, but dozens upon dozens of them, meticulously carved and evenly spaced along both edges.
They depicted legendary adventurers, heroes whose names resonated through the annals of history – cloaked figures with drawn swords, powerful mages clutching staves, nimble rogues with daggers poised.
Though many bore the marks of time and weathered stone, their stances remained defiant, their gazes fixed on some distant horizon.
“Whoa, never knew somewhere like this existed in the city,” Nikolaos muttered, his voice hushed with genuine awe as his eyes traced the heroic forms.
Raul, however, recognized it.
“The Bridge of Heroes,” he said, his tone a mix of quizzical wonder and dawning familiarity.
“Have you been here before?” Nikolaos asked, his voice dropping to a low, intrigued whisper.
A faint, wistful smile touched Raul’s lips.
“Yes, this was the first landmark Anakitty and I visited when we first arrived in the city. Before… before all of this,” he replied, a shadow passing over his expression as he recalled a simpler, more hopeful past.
Anakitty, walking beside them, felt a pang of nostalgia, a bittersweet ache in her chest.
She remembered that day vividly, the sunlight glinting off the statues, their youthful spirits brimming with a childish hope.
They had stood there, hand in hand, dreaming of a day when they might accomplish something of equal importance, earning their own place among these storied heroes.
But this war was a brutal awakening.
It had descended upon them like a cruel, physical blow, hammering home the harsh reality of their own insignificance in the grand, chaotic scheme of things.
Their dreams, once so vibrant, had seemed to shrivel under the crushing weight of the conflict.
The spell of contemplation was abruptly broken by Nikolaos’s sharp, pragmatic voice.
“We shouldn’t linger here long. Let’s move along now.” His words, though curt, were a necessary jolt, snapping both Anakitty and Raul back to the present.
Without further hesitation, they continued along the ancient bridge, the rhythmic sound growing louder with every step.
But as they finally reached the source of the persistent hammering, the trio halted, their eyes widening in disbelief.
Standing alone amidst a scattered array of tools – chisels, ladders, hammers of all sizes – was a figure they instantly recognized: a god, wielding a massive smithing hammer.
Lord Goibniu, a god of smithing and craftsmanship, was here, laboring with a focused intensity that bordered on obsession.
The other half of the bridge, they now saw, had not emerged unscathed from whatever had recently befallen the city.
Parts of it were visibly blown away, gaping voids marring its expansive span.
Web-like cracks, thin but ominous, stretched along several of its massive stone supports.
It was, truly, a miracle they hadn’t given out entirely.
But the most serious damage, the most heartbreaking, was inflicted upon the statues on this half of the bridge.
Arms and heads had been blasted clean off, leaving headless torsos and limbless forms.
Those that remained leaned precariously, their heroic postures now tragic, as if ready to crumble at any moment.
Snapping out of their shock, the trio hurried towards the deity.
“Lord Goibniu, what are you doing here?” Nikolaos asked, his voice tinged with surprise and respect.
He had met the god before, at Hephaestus’s workshop, the previous day, when he and his familia had finally reunited with their own goddess, Bahamut.
A fleeting, almost imperceptible frown creased Nikolaos’s brow as he recalled that reunion.
It had also been when he and his familia members had come into contact with the rather detestable dragon god, Falazure, and had been forced to confront the grim circumstances behind their goddess’s prolonged inaction.
‘Well, not like we could have done anything about it,’ Nikolaos thought, pushing aside the bitterness, and quickly brought his focus back to Goibniu.
“There is not much room for me back at the forge,” Goibniu replied without looking up from the intricate work he was performing on a statue’s shattered shoulder.
“My children are doing the best they can.” His voice, though deep, carried an undercurrent of weariness.
Nikolaos exchanged a confused glance with Raul and Anakitty.
Goibniu’s reply felt… evasive, almost nonsensical.
Either he had completely misunderstood the question, or the god was speaking in riddles.
“I mean,” Nikolaos clarified, leaning in slightly, “why are you here, all alone, fixing this bridge? I would think there are far more important structures that would require your assistance.”
“No,” Goibniu responded immediately, his hammer pausing mid-swing, then resuming with renewed vigor.
“What?” the trio muttered in unison, their confusion deepening.
This time, however, Goibniu offered a clearer explanation, though his gaze remained fixed on his work.
“We need this bridge,” he said, his voice surprisingly firm.
He then added, with a gravity that resonated through the very stone beneath their feet, “If it falls, we all fall.”
Nikolaos, Raul, and Anakitty were all speechless.
Even with his explanation, they struggled to grasp the full weight of his words.
The Bridge of Heroes was ancient, predating even the true age of gods.
It had endured countless trials – monster attacks, earthquakes, devastating floods, and even wars. Of course, it had been repaired and restored innumerable times over the centuries, each intervention adding to its priceless value.
It was a treasure, meticulously maintained and preserved for generations by the inhabitants of Orario.
To Goibniu, it was more than just stone; it was a living symbol of civic pride, a proof of resilience, and a connection to their shared past—one he believed they absolutely could not afford to lose.
He lifted his head then, his gaze sweeping across the damaged statues, conviction etched into his weary features.
“This bridge is our history,” Goibniu declared, his voice ringing with uncharacteristic passion, “and our history must never end.”
He rarely spoke his mind so clearly, so powerfully.
Nikolaos looked at the old god’s hands, which were covered in an astonishing array of calluses and blisters, proof of his immense, painstaking effort.
“For how long has he been working on this?” Nikolaos wondered aloud, taken aback by Goibniu’s fervent zeal.
He thought back to the other side of the bridge, the half they had just crossed, which had seemed to be in remarkably good shape.
He had assumed it had simply survived the onslaught of the war, but now, a chilling realization dawned upon him.
He had been wrong.
Goibniu must have been the one to restore it, tirelessly working to bring it back from similar ruin.
Goibniu might be a god of craftsmanship, but performing such a monumental feat in his current state was beyond incredible.
A god with their arcanum sealed was often no different from a mortal, stripped of most of their divine power – though, of course, there were a few exceptions.
The trio watched, almost entranced, as Goibniu continued his work.
He was restoring the statue of a masked Pallum, diligently reattaching a severed limb and the accompanying gallant-looking horse.
His craft was exquisitely beautiful, each strike of the hammer precise, each chisel mark imbued with purpose.
As he worked, he quietly narrated the history of the hero he was reconstructing, his gravelly voice bringing the ancient tale to life.
Raul and Anakitty found themselves growing emotionally unstable as they listened to the story of the Pallum hero’s courage.
How quickly had they discarded their own dreams in the face of brutal reality?, how feeble and weak they felt at their inadequacies.
A wave of shame washed over them, quickly followed by a rekindled spark of defiance. Unconsciously, they reached for each other’s hands, their fingers intertwining, seeking and offering silent support.
Nikolaos, observing them, felt a distinct wave of awkwardness.
He was definitely the third wheel here.
However, this feeling was abruptly quenched when his highly sensitive beast senses picked up on approaching strangers.
Their voices, though still distant, carried a disturbing edge, a callousness that set his teeth on edge.
As a Level 3 adventurer, he was two levels higher than Raul and Anakitty, his senses far more enhanced than theirs.
“Alright, enough, you two lovebirds, we have company. Likely the Evilus, from what I’m hearing,” Nikolaos said, his voice dropping into a low growl that immediately dispelled the romantic haze.
Raul and Anakitty, startled back to reality, quickly separated their hands, their faces flushing a vivid crimson.
Swiftly wiping the lingering tears from their eyes, they drew their weapons.
“Ahem, what direction are they coming from?” Raul asked awkwardly, trying to regain his composure.
“From both sides of the bridge. Eight from the left, six from the right,” Nikolaos replied, his eyes scanning the mist-shrouded distances.
“So, what do we do?” Raul asked, his voice betraying a shaky tremor.
The odds were against them; they were outnumbered and surrounded.
This was a nightmare scenario.
Nikolaos grinned, flashing his canines.
“Well, you two will handle the left, and I will handle the right. As for why you two get the bigger numbers… well, isn’t it about time to prove your resolve? You want to get stronger, right?” He threw the challenge with a taunting, almost predatory glint in his eyes.
Raul, stung by the jab, felt a surge of indignation overshadowing his fear.
His trembling stopped, his hands squeezing the hilts of his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Anakitty, seeing Raul’s renewed fire, felt a surge of bravery herself.
She was currently stronger than Raul, and she refused to be left behind by him.
Seeing them energized, Nikolaos turned to Goibniu, who continued his work, seemingly unfazed by the rising tension.
“Lord Goibniu!” Nikolaos called out, his voice firm.
“I will remain here and fix the bridge,” the old god replied without pause, his hammer never ceasing its rhythmic work.
“I am sure you children can handle these interlopers.” His voice, though calm, held an implicit trust.
“Hmm,” Nikolaos nodded, a slight flicker of concern in his eyes.
He began walking towards the right side of the bridge, preparing for his own battle.
“Hopefully they can handle it. None of the enemies on the left seem to be high level, but… well, if they can’t handle something like this, then they weren’t ever destined for greatness in the first place.” His ears perked, catching the distinct sounds of heavy boots approaching, the scrape of armor, the low, guttural whispers of the evilus soldiers growing undeniably closer.
He watched for a moment, a silent assessment, as Raul and Anakitty, side by side, charged headlong into the fray of battle on the left.
Their survival, at this moment, was an unknown variable.
“And what do we have here?” came the sneering voice of one of the evilus soldiers from the right, pulling Nikolaos’s attention fully.
“Hahahaha, I told you, boss, I sensed people here!” another cackled.
“One god and three brats? What are they doing here? Were they perhaps waiting for us to come kill them?”
“Seems like they were fixing the bridge, what retards… we should—” However, before the evilus soldier could finish his contemptuous sentence, Nikolaos’s form blurred.
Activating his ‘Feral Wolf Spirit’ skill, his transformation began, muscles coiled, veins pulsed, and his eyes glowed with an amber light as his stats surged.
With a savage growl, he launched himself forward, a blur of raw power.
Swish. Splat.
With a single, effortless swing of his spiked maul, the heads of the two leading evilus soldiers burst open like overripe fruit, splattering blood and brain matter across the ancient stone of the Bridge of Heroes.
“It’s a high-level!” one of the remaining four shouted in sheer panic, their bravado evaporating instantly.
But Nikolaos wasn’t going to give them any time to react, to regroup, or to unleash any destructive abilities.
The last thing he wanted was for these evilus soldiers to use fire stones or explosives to blow up the bridge, to invalidate the tireless effort Goibniu was pouring into preserving this invaluable piece of history…
A/N: Feel free to read ahead on pat3on and donate.