Eleven would have bust out laughing if the mere idea of that didn’t seem like an enormous hassle. Instead, all she managed to do was raise an eyebrow. “A smith?” Eleven repeated. “You think a smith killed Twelve? I’m far from Twelve’s biggest fan, but he wasn’t that incompetent. And how would a smith have known he needed such a powerful poison to take him out? This feels like the job of a very experienced enemy, not some random crafter.” “I would hesitate to call Ifrit a random crafter,” One said slowly. The black light from his magic danced across his pensive features as he spoke. “He is the guildmaster of the Menagerie.” Eleven stared at him. “Right. The Menagerie. Of course.” “You don’t know who they are, do you?” One asked dryly. “I have been… busy. Very busy.” “Asleep,” One surmised. “No matter. They are a crafting guild. One who have accomplished some fairly impressive feats as of late — and they will be participating in the Proving Grounds.” “A crafting guild? Why?” “They have partnered with another guild at the Secret Eye’s behest. It is not uncommon… but there are more reasons that cause me to pay them attention. One of Twelve’s clones was in Milten, their hometown, when he died.” Eleven hated waiting. Jobs are the worst. I could have slept through the last hour and nothing would have changed. Waiting is the worst. It’s like wasting time that I could be spending sleeping. I want easy jobs. Actually, I want none at all, but I’d settle for — Two forms slipped out of the Devil’s Den. Eleven’s thoughts died as they passed across the net her shadows had woven across the street, and an image of them popped into her mind. A large man in oil and ash-stained clothes along with a purple-skinned woman in silver-blue armor. Is she dressed up as a demon? Eleven’s boredom faltered. She couldn’t read the information on any of the equipment the woman wore, and the man seemingly had nothing on him. Despite that, she could feel the prickle of magic against her shadows coming from both of them. That’s the smith. Interesting. This is my chance. How convenient. I wonder where they’re headed. This seems like a good opportunity to get some information. Eleven pulled her shadows back to her and followed after the two, indistinguishable from the city. As it turned out, Ifrit and his companion were headed to a dungeon. That was already rather odd. Eleven didn’t have the slightest idea as to why a smith would be taking a trip to the dungeon. She did, however, feel like a bit of a pervert. Ifrit and the woman had linked hands as soon as they’d left Milten behind them. They didn’t have the slightest idea that there was someone traveling just a few paces behind them. That wasn’t enough to dissuade Eleven. She followed them into the dungeon, still completely unsure as to what it was they were doing. The Dungeon was Journeyman Tier, which was definitely well above the capabilities of a crafting class. Maybe his girlfriend is going to carry him through it so he can get some materials? The two of them continued into the dungeon without a care in the world. Eleven followed after them, her confusion only growing with every step they took. “So, how have things been for you?” the woman asked. “You’ve been working a lot.” “I’d say they’ve gone quite well. You’re going to want to see this,” Ifrit replied, an excited undertone to his voice. “I’ve made a lot of progress. I’m going to have to give your equipment an upgrade when we get a chance... but that’ll probably have to be after the tournament.” “Don’t push yourself so hard,” the woman said with a laugh. She nudged his shoulder with her own. “You need to take more breaks. Take a day or two off after we finish preparation for the tournament.” “You’re one to talk. I haven’t ever seen you take a break from cooking.” “I’ll have to, soon. I’ve asked Ridley to come by and upgrade the Devil’s Den again. It’s too small. I’ll have to take a few days off during the additions. They’re going to be pretty big.” They continued into the first floor, entirely unaware of their surroundings. It almost felt like they hadn’t noticed that they’d walked straight into a dungeon. Shouldn’t the two of you be a little more focused on your surroundings? Journeyman is hardly a huge threat, but for a smith… Something in the corner of the room moved. Eleven’s back stiffened as a Journeyman 4 orc bust free from its hiding spot behind a large stone and sprinted for the two of them, a rusted cleaver clutched in its hands. “Finally,” Ifrit said, his eyes calm as they took in the monster’s approach. “Take a look at this, Lillia.” And then, instead of hiding behind his armored partner, he took a step toward the orc. Eleven shifted in spite of herself. You idiot. Don’t show off for the girl. She already likes you! I hate watching people get killed! Ifrit reared back and extended his hand. The air around it crackled with fire, and an enormous Warhammer exploded into being, coils of molten energy rising up from its head like the breath from the mouth of a dragon. Eleven’s eyes widened. Ifrit twisted his body in the practiced swing of a warrior. The hammer streaked through the air like a comet. A path of black fire blazed in its wake, and coils of magma trailed behind it. The hammer slammed into the orc with an earth-shaking crash. It roared as lava burst from its head in an explosion akin to that of an erupting volcano — and the orc evaporated on the spot.