Chapter 153. Idiot

Thum. Thum. Thum.

The hammering echoed down Craftsman's Row before Adom even rounded the corner. Three hammers working, each with its own rhythm. The sound had gotten considerably louder since his last visit six months ago.

Thum-thum. Thum. Thum-thum.

He stopped in front of the new storefront. The sign hanging above read "Kern & Filli's Forge" in carved letters filled with gold leaf. Much more impressive than the cramped shop they used to operate back in the days. This building was easily twice the size, with wide windows displaying everything from horseshoes to ceremonial daggers. Multiple chimneys sent streams of smoke into the afternoon sky.

The hammering continued as Adom approached the heavy wooden door. When he pushed it open, a bell chimed once, somehow audible over the metalwork from the back rooms.

Inside, the space opened into a proper showroom. High ceilings, organized weapon displays, rows of polished blades hanging along one wall. Tools lined another: hammers, tongs, files, measuring instruments arranged with precision. The air carried that familiar mix of hot metal, coal smoke, and quenching oil. Leather too, from the various wrappings and sheaths scattered about.

A young man behind the wooden counter looked up from his work. He was wrapping a sword hilt with leather cord, the strips overlapping in careful spirals around the grip. His hands were stained black with soot.

"Oh, hey Adom."

"Erik!" The voice came from across the room, sharp with irritation. A broader man, maybe thirty, paused in organizing a rack of hammers to give the younger smith a pointed look. "He's a magus now, not just Adom."

The rhythmic hammering from the forge continued without pause. Thum-thum. Thum. Thum.

Adom chuckled. "It's fine, really. You can call me by my name. No titles needed here."

Erik scratched his head, leaving a fresh smudge of soot in his brown hair. He blinked at Adom, then at the older smith. "What's the difference anyway?"

The man with the hammers turned around fully. His expression suggested he was dealing with a particularly slow apprentice. "A magus is an official high-ranked member of the Magisterium. Usually working under direct orders from the Archmage himself." He emphasized each word. "It's a big deal."

"Oh." Erik's eyes widened. He set down the leather cord and stared at Adom with new interest. "And you're what, seventeen?"

"Nineteen, actually."

"But all the high-ranked mages I've ever seen were..." Erik gestured vaguely with his sooty hands. "In their forties. Gray beards and everything."

Adom laughed. "I suppose I got lucky with my timing."

The hammering from the forge suddenly stopped. In the relative quiet, boots approached on stone, and a voice boomed from the back room.

"You guys better not be slacking off out there, or else there'll be extra bellows duty for everyone tonight!"

Heavy footsteps. Then a head poked out from the doorway leading to the forge. The face was streaked with sweat and ash, curly red hair tied back with a leather cord. When those green eyes landed on Adom, the entire expression transformed.

"Adom!"

Erik pointed triumphantly. "See? Master Filli's calling him by his name too."

The older smith's jaw tightened. "Master Filli's his friend!"

Filli stepped fully into the showroom, wiping his hands on a leather apron that had seen better days. His stocky frame carried the telltale build of his mixed heritage—broader shoulders than most humans, but taller than a full dwarf. Soot streaked his face in uneven lines.

"What are you guys talking about?"

Erik practically bounced on his feet. "We were just explaining to him about how Adom's a magus now, and the difference between that and regular mages, and—"

"Oh, and we mentioned how you're the first and only smith to graduate as Master Kern's disciple," the older smith added quickly, shooting a meaningful glance at Erik. "The youngest master smith too. Also nineteen, just like him."

Adom caught the deflection immediately. The older smith was clearly trying to redirect Filli's attention away from whatever slacking off he'd been about to scold them for.

Filli's entire face lit up. He straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest slightly. "Well, I mean, Master Kern did say I had exceptional natural talent for metalwork. The way I could sense the metal's properties was apparently quite rare, even among experienced smiths. And then there was that time with the enchanted steel where I managed to identify the exact composition just by touch, which she said took her years to learn, but I picked it up instantly."

He started laughing out loud.

The older smith immediately started laughing too. Erik looked confused. "Gren, why are you laughing?"

Gren's elbow connected with Erik's ribs.

"Ow! Why did you—"

Filli was still laughing, completely oblivious to the exchange. Erik's eyes darted between them, realization dawning on his face. He started laughing too, the sound forced and awkward.

Adom observed the scene unfold. When your boss laughs, you laugh. It was one of those fundamental rules of workplace survival that never failed to amuse him.

Filli was remarkably vulnerable to compliments. There should probably be a sort of name for people like him, Kim, and Valiant, who had such short attention spans in everyday life, but immense focus when doing their tasks.

Actually... not Valiant. That mouse was never focused. Yeah, maybe he should be in another category.

"Filli," Adom interrupted gently.

His friend stopped mid-sentence and blinked at him. Then his expression shifted, eyebrows drawing together in mock offense. "You know what? I shouldn't even be talking to you right now."

"Oh?"

"You came back from your mission three months ago." Filli crossed his arms, but there was no real anger in his voice. "Three months, Adom. And what did I get? A single crystal call. 'Hey, I'm back, talk soon.' That was it."

"To be fair, it was a very nice message," Adom offered.

"While we were in the same city! Instead of coming to visit me and master Kern like a normal person would." Filli shook his head in exaggerated disappointment.

Adom sighed. "You're absolutely right. I should have come by much sooner. I apologize." He ran a hand through his hair. "A lot has been going on recently. The Magisterium has kept me extremely busy with various assignments, and there's been this whole situation with—well, I can't really talk about most of it."

Filli's mock stern expression cracked immediately. "Oh. Well, when you put it like that..." He uncrossed his arms and grinned. "I suppose I can forgive you this once. Come on, come in! I wanted to show you something anyway."

"That's actually what I came for."

Filli's face fell like a child who'd just been told his birthday was canceled. "Wait. You didn't come to see me?"

Adom couldn't help but smile at the expression. "Well, that too."

"Hmm." Filli tilted his head, studying Adom's face. "Well, I suppose business and pleasure can overlap sometimes."

Adom cleared his throat. "Speaking of business, why don't you show me around the place? I see there's been quite an upgrade since last time."

"Right! Come on." Filli's entire demeanor shifted, the wounded friend replaced by the proud craftsman. He gestured toward the back of the forge. "Wait until you see what we've got set up now."

They walked deeper into the building, past the organized displays and into the working areas. The heat hit them first—waves of it radiating from multiple forges. The main workspace was enormous compared to the already large quarters Adom remembered from just six months ago. Three separate forge stations, each with its own bellows and anvil. Workbenches lined the walls, covered with projects in various stages of completion.

"Tomás!" Filli called out to a lanky young man who was carefully filing the edge of a dagger. "Come! Come meet my friend!"

The apprentice looked up, squinting through the heat haze. He was maybe sixteen, with the kind of lean build that suggested he'd grown six inches in the past year and hadn't quite figured out what to do with the extra height yet.

"This is Adom," Filli announced. "The magus I've mentioned. The Ghost."

Tomás's eyes widened. He set down his file and wiped his hands on his apron before extending one toward Adom. "An honor, sir."

"Just Adom is fine." He shook the young man's hand, noting the calluses already forming across his palms. "How long have you been working here?"

"About four months now. Master Filli's been teaching me proper hammer technique."

"And he's got natural talent," Filli added, beaming like a proud parent. "Show him that bracket you finished yesterday."

As Tomás hurried off to retrieve his work, Filli led Adom further into the forge. Two more apprentices worked at the other stations—a stocky girl around Tomás's age who was heating a piece of iron to cherry red, and an older boy, maybe nineteen, who was carefully adjusting the fit of a sword guard.

"Marina and Jorik," Filli said, pointing to each in turn. "Marina's been here about three months. Jorik just started last month, but he's got good instincts for detail work."

Adom nodded to each of them. The growth was remarkable. When he'd last visited six months ago, Filli had been working with just two apprentice, and Master Kern was still handling most of the complex commissions herself. Now he was running his own operation with five apprentices, and the workspace had doubled in size.

All because of a single interview.

Five years ago, some journalist had asked him where he'd gotten his gauntlets forged. Adom had mentioned Kern's shop, hoping it might bring her a few more customers. He hadn't expected it to transform the entire operation.

"Congratulations, by the way," Adom said as they paused near the main forge. "On becoming the new master. I should have said that earlier."

Filli's chest puffed out slightly. "Well, Master Kern said I was ready. Though she still checks in pretty regularly to make sure I'm not burning the place down."

"How is she adjusting to retirement?"

"Oh, she didn't retire." Filli picked up a pair of tongs and adjusted the position of a piece of steel heating in the coals. "She postponed it for another twenty years."

Adom laughed. "Of course she did. Though, doesn't that mean she'll be..." He paused, glancing around the forge. He'd been about to say 'too old to work,' but wasn't entirely sure if Kern was somewhere within earshot.

Filli noticed his hesitation and turned around from the forge. "Oh, you didn't know? Master's a third elven. She's actually over a hundred years old."

"Really?" Adom blinked. "I had no idea."

"Yeah, most people don't realize. She doesn't make a big deal about it." Filli shrugged. "Says age is just a number when you've got good technique and steady hands."

That explained a lot about Kern's seemingly inexhaustible energy and her perfectionist approach to craftsmanship. It also meant that Filli, with his dwarven heritage, was working under someone with elven blood. Adom found that particularly interesting. The two races had a complicated history—not openly hostile, but they rarely collaborated on anything. Their approaches to craftsmanship were fundamentally different. Dwarves favored strength and durability, while elves pursued elegance and precision.

"So you've got elven technique mixed with dwarven instincts," Adom mused. "That's quite a combination."

"Master Kern says it makes me unpredictable in the best possible way." Filli grinned. "Though she also says I need to work on my patience. Apparently I rush the finishing work sometimes."

The sound of steel scraping against steel echoed from one of the side rooms, followed by a sharp clang. Nothing unusual for a forge. Then Marina's voice cut through the ambient noise.

"Master Filli! There's—"

Her words were drowned out by a crash. Something heavy hitting the floor. Then voices—multiple voices—raised in what sounded distinctly like argument.

Adom and Filli exchanged glances.

Another crash. This one followed by the unmistakable ring of steel being drawn from sheaths. Multiple blades, from the sound of it.

"What the hell?" Filli dropped his tongs.

Shouts erupted from the front of the building. Jorik's voice, high with alarm: "Hey! You can't just—"

The sound of running feet. More steel singing as weapons cleared their housings.

Filli was already moving toward the front of the shop, Adom close behind. The apprentices had frozen at their workstations, tools still in hand, staring toward the source of the commotion.

As they reached the doorway leading back to the showroom, the sounds of conflict grew clearer. Harsh voices giving orders. The scrape of boots on stone. And underneath it all, the tense quiet that preceded violence.

They stepped into the showroom and Adom's expression immediately darkened.

Tomás was on the floor near the counter, his left cheek swollen and already darkening to purple. The bracket he'd been so eager to show off lay scattered in pieces beside him. Above him stood five figures in the dark blue uniforms of Magisterium officials, their silver badges catching the light from the forge.

The lead official—a man in his thirties with the kind of perfectly groomed beard that suggested he spent more time behind a desk than in the field—was pointing down at the fallen apprentice with obvious frustration.

"—told you three times already! We need to speak with Master Kern immediately. This is official Magisterium business, not some social call you can schedule for next month!"

Tomás tried to push himself up on his elbows, his voice shaky. "Sir, I explained that Master Kern doesn't take walk-ins anymore. The shop's too busy. You need an appointment, and the earliest we have is—"

"Don't lecture me about appointments, boy!" The official's patience had clearly evaporated hours ago. "When the Magisterium requires consultation, we don't wait in line behind housewives wanting their kitchen knives sharpened!"

Adom had dressed in simple civilian clothes today: brown tunic, dark trousers, nothing that would immediately mark him as a magus.

He'd even used a minor illusion to hide the distinctive white streak in his hair, wanting to avoid the usual attention that came with it. Maybe he shouldn't have done that today.

He walked forward slowly, his footsteps deliberate on the stone floor.

"Back off."

The officials turned toward him. The leader's eyes swept over Adom's civilian attire with irritation. "Great. Another customer. Look, whatever you need can wait. We're conducting official business here."

Instead of answering, Adom knelt beside Tomás and helped the young man to his feet. The apprentice wobbled slightly but managed to stay upright.

"Thank you, sir," Tomás whispered.

Adom brushed the dust from the boy's shirt and shoulders, then raised his hand slightly.

[Wind]

A gentle current of air swirled around them, carrying away the remaining debris from Tomás's clothes and hair. The wind was precise, controlled, unmistakably magical.

The officials straightened.

Their hands producing small sparks of mana, but uncertainty flickered across their faces. They recognized the display for what it was—a demonstration of magical ability by someone who clearly knew what he was doing.

Authority, Adom had observed, often attracted those least suited to wield it. Not through malice, necessarily, but through the simple fact that those who desperately sought power were usually compensating for their own inadequacies. The man before him displayed all the classic symptoms—the need to dominate every interaction, the inability to accept that his authority had limits, the reflexive escalation when his expectations weren't immediately met.

He tried to prevent the inevitable collision by identifying himself.

"I am M—"

"Who the hell are you?" the leader snapped, cutting him off completely. "Another smith trying to interfere with official business?"

Dude, I was just about to tell you, Adom thought. But listening required a certain humility that this man had clearly abandoned years ago.

But Adom was the oldest here. An 85 years old elder. And as such, he had to lead younger mages by example.

He tried again, keeping his voice level. "If you would allow me to—"

"SILENCE!"

The man's voice exploded with a surge of mana that sent a shockwave through the room. Erik stumbled backward into a display rack. Gren grabbed the counter for support. The windows rattled in their frames.

Adom stood perfectly still as dust swirled violently around them, stirred up by the magical outburst.

How fascinating.

After all the philosophical musings about power and authority, after all the complex psychological analysis of bureaucratic frustration and institutional failure, the man standing before him could be reduced to a single, unforgiving assessment: he was exactly what people in positions of power should never be.

An idiot.

Sadly, this was why so many people feared mages. Not because of their abilities, but because of what those abilities revealed about human nature when the usual constraints were removed. Power didn't corrupt so much as it exposed what had always been there, waiting beneath the surface.

It certainly did not help when people needed fuel to justify the Mage Wars.

The dust settled slowly. The leader stood with his chest puffed out, clearly expecting everyone in the room to cower before his display of magical authority. His four subordinates shifted nervously behind him, caught between their training and their growing awareness that their commander was making a mistake.

One of them, a younger official with adept's insignia, cleared his throat hesitantly. "Sir, perhaps we should—"

"Should what, Adept?" The leader's voice carried a warning edge.

"Well, sir, the appointment system isn't actually unreasonable. Master Kern's reputation has grown considerably in recent years. Most high-end smiths operate by appointment only."

The adept was trying to provide his superior with a graceful exit. The tragedy was that pride so often made people reject the very lifelines that could save them.

"Are you questioning my judgment?"

"No sir. Just suggesting that maybe we could schedule a proper meeting instead of—"

"Instead of what? Doing our jobs?" The man's frustration was becoming more apparent. "We've been sent here on direct orders to consult with Master Kern about a commission. A time-sensitive commission. And these apprentices keep telling us to come back in six weeks like we're ordering decorative horseshoes."

And there it was—the root of the problem. The man was under pressure from his own superiors, probably facing consequences if he failed to secure this consultation quickly. Fear was driving the aggression, just as it usually did. He'd been placed in an impossible situation and was taking it out on the nearest available targets.

Understanding the cause, however, didn't excuse the effect.

Adom cancelled the illusion on his hair, the white streak becoming visible against the raven dark. Before any of the officials could even process what they were seeing, let alone mistake it for an attack—

[Gravity]

The effect was immediate and merciless.

The lead official's knees buckled first. His perfectly groomed confidence crumpled as an invisible force pressed down on him like the weight of a mountain. He tried to take a step forward, perhaps still thinking he could maintain some semblance of authority, but his legs betrayed him. The enhanced gravity field didn't discriminate, it caught all five officials in its grip.

One by one, they collapsed.

The younger adept with the insignia went down sideways, his arm shooting out to break his fall, but the increased weight made even that simple motion sluggish and painful. His hand hit the stone floor with a wet slap, and he cried out as his wrist bent at an unnatural angle.

Another official, broader than the rest, fought the pull longer than his companions. His face reddened with effort as he struggled to remain upright, muscles straining against the relentless downward force. For a moment, it looked like he might succeed through sheer stubbornness. Then gravity reminded him who was in charge. His legs gave out with a sound like snapping twigs, and he hit the floor with enough force to rattle the weapons on the nearby display rack.

The remaining two officials didn't even try to resist. They dropped like stones, their faces pressed against the cold stone, breathing in short, labored gasps as the weight compressed their lungs.

The spell was remarkably precise—a localized gravity field that affected only the circle where the officials stood. Filli and the apprentices remained untouched, though they pressed themselves against the walls, staring wide-eyed at the display of power. Even Tomás, still shaky from his beating, had managed to scramble out of the affected area before the spell took hold.

The lead official tried to speak, his mouth working soundlessly as he fought for breath. His perfectly groomed beard was now pressed against the floor, collecting dust and debris. The silver badge that had seemed so important moments ago was pinned beneath his chest, digging into his ribs with each labored breath.

Adom stopped just outside the affected area, close enough that the officials could see his boots if they managed to lift their heads even slightly. The white streak in his hair caught the light from the forge as he looked down at them with detached interest.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself, since you seemed so disinclined to listen earlier." He started. "I am Magus Adom Sylla of the Imperial Magisterium of Sundar. Senior Operative under direct command of Archmage Gaius Emris. Authorized agent of the High Council. Bearer of the Seal of Extraordinary Circumstances."

The lead official's eyes bulged as he tried to process this information while simultaneously fighting for each breath. Recognition dawned slowly across his features.

"Under Article 12 of the Magisterium Code," Adom continued, his tone remaining conversational despite the gravity of his words, "the mistreatment of civilians by official personnel constitutes grounds for immediate disciplinary action. Under Article 15, failure to recognize the authority of a superior officer constitutes insubordination. Under Article 23, the use of offensive magic against non-combatants constitutes assault under magical law."

He paused, studying the pinned officials. Maybe he was being too harsh.

But they needed the lesson.

"You've managed to violate all three in the span of approximately ten minutes. Quite an achievement, really."

The lead official's face had turned an alarming shade of purple, whether from the pressure of the gravity field or from rage, it was difficult to tell. He was making small choking sounds as he tried to speak.

"But more importantly," Adom said, his voice dropping slightly, "you struck an innocent young man who was simply doing his job. You terrorized workers who posed no threat to you. You used offensive magic, unprovoked, in a civilian establishment."

His eyes hardened.

"That kind of behavior has no place in the Magisterium. In fact, it has no place anywhere civilized people gather."

The struggling sounds from the officials grew more desperate. The gravity field was precise enough not to kill them, but it was certainly making its point about the vast difference in their respective capabilities.

"Now then," Adom said, crouching down so he was closer to eye level with the lead official. "I'm going to need your name and rank for the official report. I realize speaking might be... challenging at the moment, but I'm afraid paperwork waits for no one."

The man's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping on dry land. Small, strangled sounds emerged, but nothing resembling actual words.

Adom tilted his head slightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Could you speak up?"

More choking sounds. The man's eyes were watering now, whether from strain or humiliation was anyone's guess.

"Open your eyes," Adom said quietly.

The official's eyelids were squeezed shut, as if closing them might somehow make this entire situation disappear. He kept them firmly closed, perhaps hoping this was all some terrible nightmare.

Adom's voice didn't change in volume, but the mana in its tone made the very air seem heavier.

[I said open your eyes.]

This time, the man's eyes snapped open immediately. Terrified.

"Good. Now, your name and rank. Take your time, but do speak clearly."

The official's lips moved frantically. After several false starts, he managed to wheeze out: "S-Senior... Adept... Klaus... Horn..."

"Senior Adept Klaus Horn," Adom repeated thoughtfully. "Well, former Senior Adept, I should say."

Horn's eyes widened even further, if such a thing were possible.

"By the authority vested in me as a Magus of the Magisterium, I hereby relieve you of your rank and position, effective immediately." Adom said without hesitation. "Furthermore, you are hereby restricted from weaving any spell of third level or higher complexity. Violation of this restriction will result in complete severance of your connection to the magical registry, followed by criminal prosecution for unauthorized practice of advanced magic."

The man's face had gone beyond purple now, approaching something closer to gray. Small, desperate sounds emerged from his throat.

"Additionally, you will report to Disciplinary Magistrate Helena within three days to answer formal charges of assault, insubordination, and abuse of authority. Your four subordinates will receive written reprimands and mandatory retraining in civilian interaction protocols, assuming they can demonstrate they were following your orders rather than acting of their own volition."

Adom straightened up, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve.

"I trust this has been educational for all involved. This will now b—"

"Stop."

The voice came from the doorway leading to the forge. It was quiet, measured, and carried the kind of authority that made everyone in the room freeze instantly.