Chapter 95 - You Can't Do It Empty-Handed (2)

The five Dwarves sitting around the fire stared intently at me.

I poured alcohol into the wooden cups I had prepared beforehand and handed them over, gesturing for them not to refuse.

The Dwarves reflexively accepted the cups I handed them and looked at me with a start.

Making a show of it, I brought the cup to my lips right in front of them and chugged.

"Khaaa."

And then I wiped my mouth with an exaggerated motion.

GULP.

The Dwarves swallowed hard.

I filled the cup to the brim again and tossed it back in one breath.

By the time I had emptied about three cups in a row, the Dwarves, who had only been swallowing their saliva while watching me, began chugging their drinks.

That was the beginning.

As if they had never been hesitant in the first place, the Dwarves began pouring alcohol down their throats like crazy.

The amount of alcohol that would have been more than enough to render several grown men unconscious ran out in an instant.

I called over the carriage that had been waiting a short distance away. Seeing the carriage fully loaded with barrels of alcohol, the Dwarves gulped.

But that was only for a moment, as they quickly feigned ignorance and put on solemn faces.

Even while pretending not to care, their eyes darted frantically as they scanned the barrels on the carriage, and their Adam's apples bobbed incessantly.

Their expressions were solemn and stubborn, but their bodies were so honest.

'Whether 400 years ago or now, Dwarves haven't changed at all.'

A laugh escaped me naturally out of pure delight.

"As you can see, there is plenty of alcohol, so drink to your hearts' content."

The Dwarves exchanged glances and then returned their cups to me. It didn't mean they were going to stop drinking.

They each pulled out a large wooden cup from their own bags.

It was a common wooden cup that any traveler would have, yet it was unnecessarily large and beautifully crafted.

It seemed they had found it frustrating to drink from the small cups I had given them.

"Ahem."

With their hands behind their backs, the Dwarves sneakily approached the carriage, keeping an eye on me as they brought down the barrels one by one. And then, each of them grabbed a barrel and began to drink.

Thus, the drinking party began.

* * *

Twenty men who dared to call themselves the greatest drinkers emptied a total of ten barrels before passing out.

Yet the Dwarves, numbering only five, completely drained all ten barrels—the equivalent of an entire carriage load.

And all they had to say after that was,

"There are only twenty barrels left now."

It was a complaint that there wasn't much alcohol left.

That was the first thing the Dwarves had said in a full day. After that, they didn't open their mouths again.

Another day passed.

Perhaps finding it a waste of alcohol, the Dwarves drank noticeably slower than the day before. But even so, the drinking session remained excessively brutal for humans.

To give an idea of how brutal it was, a Ranger who had stood firm even through days of fierce battles with Orcs stealthily slipped away under the excuse of hunting an animal for snacks.

I wondered where his bravado of showing the Dwarves what a real drinker looked like had gone.

Having left the camp, Yorden didn't return for a whole day.

It wasn't something I couldn't understand.

Right now, if I could, I wanted to run away too.

I desperately wanted to throw away the Dwarves, the test, and everything else just to escape this camp reeking of nauseating alcohol.

Gawain's situation was no different.

He couldn't bring himself to turn away because of his pride, but the speed at which he tipped his cup had slowed drastically. His eyes were already glazed over.

The only one who seemed somewhat fine was Arwen.

Although her pale face was flushed red, her eyes were clear and her posture remained straight.

"Oho."

The Dwarves let out small exclamations of admiration and raised their cups slightly. Arwen also raised her cup in return to the Dwarves.

Another day passed.

Yorden, who had left the camp to hunt an animal for snacks, was still missing in action.

Gawain was completely sprawled out on the ground snoring, and unlike the previous day, Arwen was visibly drunk, blinking slowly with heavily slouched posture.

Now there were only five barrels left, and the Dwarves were blatantly rationing their drinks.

But their pace was still hard for me to keep up with, and in the end, I got quite drunk.

I was forcing my eyes open and fighting the encroaching intoxication when Arwen suddenly spoke to me.

"Your Highness. Do you know?"

It was uncharacteristic of her, as she rarely initiated a conversation with me unless spoken to first.

"When I first swore my oath of loyalty to Your Highness, I felt nothing but despair. I even thought that the life of the knight Arwen Kirgayen was over."

I wondered why she was acting like this, only to realize she was also dead drunk.

Slurring her words heavily, she babbled on, seemingly having already forgotten about the Dwarves.

"But not anymore."

As I sat there blinking at her sudden confession of feelings, I sensed a strange presence.

Turning my head, I saw the Dwarves casually drinking from their cups. Their eyes were clearly glued to their barrels, the night sky, or the campfire, but their ears were all pricked up in this direction.

["Oho."]

["Ah, youth. I had days like that too."]

Through my authority, their whispers pierced straight into my ears.

["Quiet. You're drowning out the lass's voice."]

"If not for Your Highness, how would I have known that the biting winds of the North were so sharp, and if not for Your Highness, how would I have ever had the chance to look back on myself on the border of life and death? I am just thankful, so very thankful."

Arwen looked at me.

Even while clouded with intoxication, her eyes sparkled like stars, looking straight at me.

["Ooh!"]

["I said be quiet!"]

After staring at me for a long time, she suddenly sprang to her feet. She staggered once as if about to fall, then dropped to one knee.

"Your Highness. For all my life, Arwen Kirgayen will be Your Highness's..."

Her head bowed deeply, Arwen stopped mid-sentence. And then, she remained silent for a long time.

["What is it? Her whole life, what? His Highness's what?"]

["Why did she stop talking midway?"]

["Keep it down. You foolish old men."]

["What did you say, punk? You wet-behind-the-ears brat."]

["Is being old a boast?"]

Trying hard to ignore the Dwarves' whispering, I got up from my seat and checked on Arwen.

Huuu, huuu.

Still kneeling on one knee with her head bowed, she had fallen completely asleep.

'I thought she was holding up well, but it seems she finally reached her limit.'

I picked up her dead-drunk, fast-asleep body in my arms.

"Ahem."

As I was about to move her to our carriage, one of the Dwarves cleared his throat and pointed his thumb at their carriage.

"You can't let the lass sleep in such a piece-of-trash carriage."

"Put her in ours."

I did not refuse the Dwarves' goodwill.

It was not an ordinary carriage like the ones humans used. The Dwarves never missed out on functionality or beauty no matter what they made, and that was the same even for a carriage.

I couldn't be certain, but their carriage would likely feel as comfortable as being in one's own home, even while traveling.

'It should be quite nice for a dead-drunk Arwen to rest in until she wakes up again.'

SWISH.

Lifting the tent of the carriage, I saw an interior that looked exactly like a shrunken house crammed inside.

I laid Arwen down on a bed placed in one corner.

"Mmm."

Because the bed was made to fit Dwarves, it was a bit short, making her furrow her brow. However, she quickly curled up and found a comfortable position.

It didn't look too uncomfortable for a short rest.

Looking quietly at her, I suddenly realized that I had never truly had a proper conversation with her.

It had already been a year since Arwen started following me, and she had navigated the battlefield with me dozens of times. The same went for Adelia. She had even been with me constantly ever since I woke up.

Yet, I had never once tried to fathom how they felt or what they were thinking.

I merely took it for granted that they stood behind me.

I saw Arwen's curled-up figure. Scars left here and there on the back of her hands, her neck, and her fair skin caught my eye.

'She followed behind me so desperately, yet I never once looked back.'

'I basically forced her to swear an oath of loyalty too. But I've never properly taken care of her, so I feel sorry.'

"Tsk."

After quietly watching Arwen, I stepped out of the carriage.

"Come here and sit down."

As I went outside, the Dwarves gestured for me to come over.

In the distance, I saw Gawain sprawled out on the ground. It seemed the Dwarves' consideration, which had extended to offering their carriage for Arwen, only went that far.

None of them gave a single glance to the man rolling around ungracefully on the floor.

I, too, stared quietly at Gawain before sitting by the fire as the Dwarves led me.

"Are you the first, or the second?"

No sooner had I sat by the fire than a Dwarf asked.

"I'm asking if you're the type who lived a debauched life and then came to your senses, or the type who grew up precious and got along well with everyone without any rough edges."

Only then did I understand the meaning of the question and replied.

"The first."

"I figured as much."

"What did you figure?"

"From a single glance, your moderately worn eyes stained with grime, and your aura like a fierce wild dog wandering the fields, you look exactly like the first."

Unsure if it was a compliment or an insult, I frowned anyway.

"Will you show me your sword?"

Paying no mind to my mood, the Dwarf abruptly held out his hand.

His gaze was directed at the Twilight strapped diagonally across my waist. I unfastened the sword belt and handed it over to the Dwarf, scabbard and all.

The Dwarf drew Twilight from its scabbard.

"What is this child's name?"

"To me, it is the Twilight of Dawn, and to its maker, it was called the Twilight of Dusk."

A flash of light marveling crossed his eyes.

"It is a good sword, and a wonderful name."

A rather generous compliment flowed from the mouth of a Dwarf, who was usually not just strict but outright stingy when appraising and evaluating items.

It made me feel good, as if I were the one being praised.

Twilight, which a master artisan had forged by pouring his soul into it in his final moments, was a special item to me as well.

"Cherish this child."

An inexplicable sense of mystery emanated from the Dwarf's voice.

"For this child's fate is by no means light."

I reflexively straightened my posture and received Twilight.

Just as Elves do not speak of fate and connection in vain, Dwarves also do not speak lightly of a sword's destiny.

If such a Dwarf spoke of a sword's destiny, it meant he had seen something. And at the same time, it also meant that the Dwarf in front of my eyes was no ordinary Dwarf.

Because those who could read a sword's destiny were not many, even among Dwarves.

Even among the Dwarven race where every individual was worthy of being called a master artisan, only those hailed as great masters could catch even a glimpse of a sword's destiny.

"Were you a Meister?"

The Dwarf looked at me with a peculiar expression. Seeing that strange look that was neither affirmation nor denial, something flashed in my mind.

"Don't tell me..."

If my guess was correct, the person before me was someone far more important than a Meister.

"Are you, by any chance, a Prima Meister?"

The greatest of great masters, a rare being who went beyond vaguely feeling a sword's destiny to reading even the sword's memories, a Dwarf who, if one were to compare ranks, possessed a status akin to that of an Elder High Elf among the Elves.

"A pleasure to meet you. King Slayer."

The title of King Slayer was surely directed at me for striking down the Warlord; just as I had recognized his true identity, he had recognized mine.

I had only come to accomplish a few tasks, but I ended up encountering an unimaginably huge figure.

"Call me Tur-ka."

The Prima Meister, Tur-ka, held up his cup and grinned.

'My god.'

Looking at that smile, the intoxication vanished in an instant. My somewhat hazy mind woke up in a flash.

A groan slipped out on its own. Before I knew it, my face had stiffened rigidly.

The Prima Meister was a guardian who protected the Forge of Eternity, known as the source of the Dwarven race.

"Why is a Prima Meister here..."

Because they were beings who could never leave the side of the forge.