Dracula regarded Isaac quietly for a moment before speaking. "They won't forget what you've done," he said.

Isaac sighed when he heard this. It seemed like he was already making enemies. He wanted to go there for peace, not more strife.

"I will make sure that I pay attention to my surroundings," the youth said. "I still want to stay here if I can, but I have no desire to provoke a conflict."

Dracula turned with a swish of his cape. "Perhaps leaving would be best." He glanced behind him slightly. "The night brings many dangers."

Isaac's eyes lowered as he contemplated his plans. When he raised his head again, his companion was gone. The movement had been so quiet that Isaac had not even heard him leave. It was as though he vanished instantaneously. Isaac tried to not think too heavily on this and instead kept walking. He had not yet gone to every part of the village. Surely, he would find a place to work soon. Still, what the stranger had said stayed with him. Maybe it was his tone or air of mystery, but Isaac felt there was something more behind his words. They almost seemed like a warning. Unconsciously, the youth found himself walking faster and towards a clanging sound. It was the sound of metal on metal. That and labored breaths. When the clanging stopped, the panting continued. Isaac got closer and saw an elderly man with patches of white hair on his head and a thick beard. He was a bladesmith in the process of making a sword; however, he was becoming too strained by the effort and supported his weight by leaning with his hands on either side of the blade. As his breaths evened, he saw Isaac.

"Wh-what do you want?" he questioned, straightening up and attempting to appear less exhausted than he was.

"I am looking for employment," the youth informed him. His eyes moved to the weapon. "I have not forged a sword before, but I learn quickly and could finish it for you."

The bladesmith eyed him suspiciously. "You think I can't do it on my own?"

"I just think that I could be of some assistance."

"Well," the man began, harshly, "you're lucky that I've got more swords to finish than I've got time for. Come over here. You won't be forging anything without tools."

With hope, Isaac approached and accepted the hammer from the bladesmith. The elder spoke firmly and without an enjoyment of repeating himself. Fortunately, Isaac had been truthful in saying that he was a quick study. Once he learned what was expected of him, he began forging the sword. The bladesmith watched for a while, then felt fatigue hit him.

"Do you think you can do that several more times?" he asked.

When Isaac assured him that he could, the older man pointed behind them. There, the youth saw several piles of steel.

"I need four done by tomorrow afternoon. If you can complete them all, I'll consider giving you a job here. There are five more like that which need to be done in a few days, but I guess those can be worked on later."

Without another word, the bladesmith left him to this task. Isaac looked at the steel and felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

"It would appear as though I made the right decision to stay after all," he thought happily.

The work went smoothly and quickly. Isaac stayed overnight and greeted the bladesmith when he returned. Shock showed on the man's face.

"You're still here?" he asked. His expression changed from surprise to contempt. "You also didn't finish the four, I see."

"I did," Isaac stated, gesturing to another table.

On it were eight swords, each sharp, sturdy-looking, and shining. The man went over to them, completely astonished.

"I decided that I could work on the other five since they were the same."

"These are…sufficient," the man said, disguising his awe as indifference. Taking one sword by its hilt and studying the weapon, he said, "It's good timing…considering what happened."

"What do you mean?"

Initially, the bladesmith looked confused by the question, then realization dawned on his face. "Blood. The streets are filled with it. Some creature-no, monster-ripped out the throats of over half the village last night. I've never seen anything so horrific."

The man took a breath to keep himself calm. He looked at the swords again. As much as he hated to admit it, they truly were extraordinary. Even he had lacked that type of skill when he made his first weapons.

"You should make more of those. Whatever is killing everyone, we can stop it better with these weapons. I'll teach you what I know about forging weapons and you'll work here. I don't pay much, so don't complain about the amount once you've accepted the offer."

Isaac did not care about that and quickly agreed to start working. True to his word, the bladesmith taught him how to forge weapons. He spoke often of that one night–the night the monster fed. Isaac could never understand what he meant, but the others in the village seemed equally terrified about that day. When almost a month had passed, Isaac had learned no more about this mysterious monster than he knew the day of his arrival. It did not help that he did not interact with many of the other villagers. Apart from the bladesmith, he knew no one. He managed to avoid encountering the would-be muggers again, but the others were still distant. Whenever Isaac would approach a tavern or most of the other shops, he was turned away. During the instances when the youth would be asked to bring the weapons to the customers, he could see disgust on some of their faces. Regardless, he did not let it get to him. His work kept him far busier than any friend could and what he considered most important was that he finally had enough information to forge his instrument. On an evening where the bladesmith seemed to be in particularly good spirits, Isaac posed his question.

"Could I buy steel from you?"

Eyebrow raising, the older man looked at him. "Why do you need it?"

"There is a project I am working on–a dagger specifically."

The bladesmith got quiet, then frowned. "You don't plan on killing anyone, do you?"

"No," Isaac answered, taken aback by the question.

Still seeming suspicious, the man went over to his collection of steel and brought some over.

"Daggers don't need a lot," he said, handing him the steel. "You can buy this, but if you go using it for some weird tasks, I don't want to be connected to that. Is that understood?"

The bladesmith extended a hand to Isaac to seal the deal.

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

Isaac paid for the steel and stayed in the shop while the employer returned home. The youth worked tirelessly throughout the night. He had brought his sketches with him to use and did not stop until he was satisfied with the product of his hard work. The blade was thick and sturdy, the tip was sharp, and the weapon widened around the handle. Light gray ran through its center and the edges were dark. It was burning red hot. Isaac dipped it into the cool water and could feel excitement coursing through his veins as he heard its sizzle. Raising it back up, his eyes sparkled with joy. Now, he just needed to test this out.

Seeing as it was still the middle of the night, Isaac left to return home. He had not found a place yet to stay, so he remained in the shelter he had made on his first day in the village. It was nice enough. One day, he planned to live somewhere better, but anything was an improvement compared to his previous housing. He had almost reached his new place when he saw someone running. Behind her was the group of seven. She was clutching her side to try to stop the blood. As she ran, she was forced to halt. She had come to a dead end.

"Now," one of the seven began, "maybe you've reconsidered your answer."

The woman put a hand against the wall, futilely wishing it away, but it stayed. She closed her eyes and awaited the attack. Only, it did not happen. Instead, she heard the sound of someone gurgling blood. The mugger who had last spoken was gripping at his own throat in vain. It was slit and badly bleeding. Almost as quickly as he had reached for his neck, he fell to his side and stopped moving. The remaining six looked at the newcomer in rage.

"We're not letting you get away this time!" a mugger roared.

Three of them charged at Isaac, but the youth side-stepped them before kicking one swiftly in the solar plexus. The man went down and gasped for air. Seeing this, the other three tried to come up from behind. They were too slow and Isaac dodged a slash from a sword, hitting the wrist of the attacker. This action knocked the weapon out of his hand. Noticing this opening, something was triggered in Isaac. It felt as though a part of him was ordering him to do what he did next. He did not fight it because the order seemed so right. With equal parts speed and focus, Isaac plunged the newly forged dagger into the mugger's heart. He yelled out in agony and his allies came closer to help but pulled back as he burst into purple flames. The wail did not fade, though it became unhuman. Before their eyes, the man grew horns, his eyes sank so far back into his skull that they were no longer visible, and fangs and claws appeared. His skin turned grayish-green and his torso stretched until he appeared deformed. The transformation had not even finished when the audience fled. Isaac remained; he liked what he saw. It was not a traditionally pretty work of art, but it was his and it was beautiful. Alas, no one agreed. Isaac heard the sounds of a crowd forming. They screamed when they saw the changed man.

"A demon!" they cried.

Though Isaac could not refute this, he wanted them to understand its purpose.

"This was a vile man. His body is now providing a condemned soul with the chance to right his wrongs," he passionately explained.

"It's a monster!" more of the villagers shouted.

Only a few focused on a different part of the scene they were witnessing. Pointing to Isaac, a small group appeared intrigued.

"You're a devil forgemaster," one commented.

"Yes, and I would like to help rid the village of those who would seek to harm you. Through my forgery, your home will be a place of safety and redemption."

The words went unheard. He might as well have been silent. All the villagers saw was either a demon or an opportunity. The group which had addressed Isaac started to speak amongst themselves.

"I heard devil forgemaster bones have magical properties," one of them whispered.

"If we kill him, we can get rich–"

"Or sell him to someone else who knows how to use the bones. Either way, we'll get paid for our troubles."

These words were heard. Isaac backed away from the group, shocked. They saw this and started approaching him.

"I did not come here to hurt anyone with a good soul," he insisted. "There's no reason to want me dead."

The group did not respond and more people joined them, also realizing how much they could make. Isaac kept moving back, but there were too many to avoid. He was getting cornered and circled. With these numbers, they would capture him. He did not want to become someone's captive again. There was a benefit to him reading those scrolls. He knew how to be a forgemaster and knew how to best utilize the creations. Turning his attention to the innocent devil, Isaac commanded him to attack the villagers who sought to apprehend him. While the demon fended off the attackers, Isaac fled. He ran first to his shelter to grab his scrolls and maps, then from the village. He was not sure if everyone had been killed and actually doubted such an outcome had occurred. That meant he could have others learn of his abilities and also want to capture him. That meant there might be nowhere for him to live peacefully. A pit formed in Isaac's stomach. He just wanted to make a good difference in the world, but it seemed to be against him. Even still, he had no time to think of that. He needed to find his next destination.

"This is not how I wanted my first forge to go," he thought miserably. "However, this does not mean that I will never be able to achieve my goal. Whether it is tomorrow or years from now, my forging abilities will be used to change this world–this harsh world of ours."