Chapter 138

The Allied Army’s Blacksmith (1)

A snowy landscape lay beyond the drawing room windows of Whitewolf Castle. Whenever the wind brushed past, the frost along the edges of the windows trembled slightly.

Winter had passed, but a chill still lingered in the drawing room. The fireplace on one side burned vigorously, driving back the icy air that had seeped inside.

“A bit hot in here.”

... Hot?

For a moment, Seraphia doubted her ears. She had never expected to hear anyone say that in the county, where bitter cold persisted throughout the year. It was the first time in her life she had heard such a thing.

Bewildered, she cautiously studied the two people seated opposite her. They were massively muscled and shorter than she was, yet their imposing presence made them feel anything but small.

‘They’re so fascinating...!’

Seeing dwarves for the first time in her life was utterly fascinating. From what she had learned in books, they were a highly insular race. They had almost no dealings with humans, though a few dwarven artisans occasionally ventured into human society. But she had learned that even they did not leave their kingdom.

And now dwarves had come all the way to the snow-covered county in person. Nothing in her books had covered a visit like this. Her eyes were sparkling despite herself when one of them spoke.

“Are you Adrian Whitewolf?”

“Pardon...? N-no.”

Seraphia cleared her throat.

“I am Seraphia Whitewolf, Countess of House Whitewolf.”

“Then who is Adrian Whitewolf?”

“My older brother.”

“Your older brother?”

“Yes. Our head steward should have informed him by now, so he should soon—”

Before she could finish, footsteps sounded outside the door.

CLACK, CLACK.

The drawing room door opened, and Adrian appeared.

* * *

Dwarves. A race born from a schism among the elves long ago. Strictly speaking, they should originally have been called dark elves rather than dwarves.

But their underground environment had changed the dark elves so profoundly that they no longer considered themselves the same beings as elves. Eventually, they accepted the name humans had given them—dwarves—and it became their new identity.

As such, they had several unique cultural traits. One of the most notable was how they introduced themselves. First, here was how humans did it.

“Allow me to formally introduce myself once more. I am Seraphia Whitewolf, Countess of House Whitewolf. It is an honor to meet such great artisans.”

They conveyed their social position through their family name and title. The same held true even for commoners: I was born the so-and-so child among this many sons and that many daughters, and so on. Iliana had said this reflected humans’ nature as social animals, but anyway.

Dwarves were different. You could say they defined themselves differently. In other words—

“I am Thrandul, master of the highest arts of smelting, breaker of the Thunder Mountains with a hammer forged in the heart of fire, creator of five masterpieces: Silver Flash, Oath of Iron, Blossoming Flame, Hammer of Iron and Blood, and Howling Lightning.”

... Something like that.

Origins, family, and position meant nothing to dwarves. The skills they had honed, the feats they had accomplished, and the masterpieces they had left behind—only their own achievements defined their identity.

That was why dwarves were tough, blunt, and proud. It made them seem boastful, but their craftsmanship turned that boasting into justified confidence.

And the other dwarf seated beside Thrandul was their chief, the artisan with the greatest achievements among them all. Commander of Engineering Command. A hero of the allied army. And—

“I’m Brumbar.”

The greatest Blacksmith, who forged the very history of the continent.

He was just like he had been in my previous life. Brumbar never gave himself a grand introduction. If he had, well... Simply listing all the skills he had honed, the feats he had accomplished, and the masterpieces he had created would have taken an entire day.

So he kept his introduction short and simple. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t a dwarven introduction. Those two words, “I’m Brumbar,” meant that his name alone encompassed his reputation, his skills, his achievements—everything. He was simply declaring the greatness contained in his name.

Brumbar was Brumbar, all right. The only difference was that he was far too stiff. In my previous life, he had been rough but jovial. Now, there was no trace of that joviality.

Just to be sure, I used Predatory Instincts[S].

==<Character Information>==

Name : Brumbar

Classification : Animalia, Mammalia, Hominidae, Dwarf

Sex : Male

Age : 64

Traits : Hyper-Phantasia[L], Unbreakable[A+]

The allied army’s hero, the Blacksmith. He was definitely the Brumbar I knew. As for why he was so stiff...

‘Is he on guard?’

That seemed to be it. Dwarves weren’t particularly fond of humans. Granted, they were less overt about it than elves, but they fundamentally distrusted humans.

They were an offshoot of the elves, after all. Put simply, the instincts imprinted in their genes weren’t all that different. Nor was this mere prejudice. It was a painful lesson etched into them through historical experience and repeated betrayals.

That was why he was a hero I couldn’t simply approach—and why I had no choice but to lay out bait and reel him in. Still...

‘I didn’t expect him to take the bait this quickly.’

It would take time for word of the runesteel ore on the market to spread, and time for Brumbar to bite. Some delay was inevitable. I had thought he might come kicking down the county’s gates as soon as tomorrow, but...

‘To think he actually would.’

So when Bernard mentioned a visitor, I had thought Ian had come. Brumbar was unexpected. Not that this was a bad thing. Far from it.

“I am Adrian Whitewolf.”

Brumbar slowly turned his gaze toward me. His eyes gleamed as sharply as a honed blade. His build and muscles, seemingly forged from steel, radiated considerable pressure.

“I’ll get straight to the point. I need runesteel ore.”

“Huh? Runesteel ore?”

Seraphia tilted her head. Naturally—I'd never told her about it. But explanations could wait.

“How much do you need?”

“One hundred and fifty thousand tons.”

“What?!”

“You shall have it.”

“Whaaaaaat?!?!?!”

Seraphia couldn’t keep up with the pace of the conversation. Her eyes widened in shock. Even if it was runesteel ‘ore,’ a hundred and fifty thousand tons was worth an enormous fortune. More than that, the very existence of so much ore was beyond her comprehension.

“B-Brother...? Is that really p-possible...?”

She stammered out the question. But again, explanations could wait.

“I can’t simply give it to you.”

“I’ll pay.”

A hundred and fifty thousand tons of runesteel ore was worth a staggering sum that couldn’t easily be expressed in gold. But dwarves could afford such a price. A race of exceptional artisans, they possessed craftsmanship humans could never hope to imitate. Their equipment and armaments commanded astronomical prices, but—

“I won’t accept payment.”

“Whaaaat?!”

Seraphia jumped in surprise. Her red eyes were so wide they looked ready to split.

“You won’t accept payment...?”

Brumbar’s eyes widened in surprise as well. Of course, I didn’t actually mean I wanted nothing in return.

“Instead, I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal?”

“Yes. Rather than explain here, let’s discuss it after you’ve seen the situation for yourself.”

* * *

Whitewolf County 2, where the runesteel vein lay buried. Even as tundra, it was a frigid land swept by cold. Yet no ice or snow remained in the surrounding area, perhaps because of my repeated barrages of Wrath of The Frenzied Dragon[L] and Dragon Burst[E].

Below us, the earth gaped open like a bottomless abyss.

“The runesteel vein is approximately eleven kilometers underground.”

“Hmm.”

Brumbar hummed thoughtfully at my words. No detailed explanation was necessary. He understood the problems posed by a depth of eleven kilometers.

“My proposal is simple. Build the infrastructure needed to mine the vein. In return, I will give you the hundred and fifty thousand tons of runesteel you need.”

Brumbar sank into deep thought. He seemed to be designing the infrastructure in his head. You might wonder whether that was even possible, but for Brumbar, it was. Not because he was a dwarf, but because he was Brumbar.

◆Hyper-Phantasia[L]

: The user can [Perfectly] imagine all existing [Concepts, Phenomena, Materials, etc.], including the [Laws] governing them. Based on this, the user can [Reorganize] and [Transform] the [Structure of Reality], as well as [Discern] information about concepts or materials with greater precision and detail.

Super-imagination, in other words. As the description made clear, he could imagine anything perfectly.

‘No wonder.’

He hadn’t said those things in my previous life for nothing. Swinging a hammer in his mind and actually forging iron in a smithy—there was no difference between the two.

In fact, Brumbar could identify flaws in equipment through imagination alone. I hadn’t known it then, but that was thanks to Hyper-Phantasia[L].

However, it couldn’t apply to something he couldn’t imagine—something he had never experienced.

“I’ll have to go down and see for myself.”

Brumbar abruptly jumped into the pit. No safety equipment, nothing. Just a little hop, as if he were clearing a low rise.

On top of that, scorching geothermal heat was welling up from eleven kilometers below. A human’s lungs would burn just from drawing breath. Even a knight cloaked in aura would have their skin cooked. Without Rigid Body Transformation[U], even I wouldn’t have dared enter such heat.

And he was jumping into it unprotected? Insanity. Even Thrandul, who had been one of Engineering Command’s steelmasters, couldn’t bring himself to jump.

But Brumbar was another story.

◆Unbreakable[A+]

: Upon acquiring this skill, the player’s [Skin Tissue] and [Muscle Fibers] are reconstructed into diamond-shaped [Chitin Crystals]. This increases the player’s [Hardness, Durability, Resistance] by [+34,335%].

It also grants [Indestructible] defenses capable of withstanding external [Physical and Magical Impacts], as well as [Mental Damage].

<This is a passive skill and is permanently applied upon acquisition.>

... Wasn’t he a monster? The [A+] rank alone was absurd. One step above Isolde’s Perfect Muscle Control[A], and the same rank as Iliana’s Peak Human Intelligence[A+].

In other words, a physical gift that could easily rival a dragon’s—perhaps even surpass it. He was, quite literally, unbreakable. How was any of this human? Well, admittedly, he wasn’t human.

‘So there was a reason he used his fists and forearms to pound metal instead of a hammer.’

That mystery was finally solved. I shouted down the hole he had jumped into.

“How long will it take?!”

And... no answer came, even after quite a while. Was he falling faster than the sound could travel? Just as that thought crossed my mind—

“It should take about five days.”

A faint voice rose from the hole. Without my Agility stat of 163.8, I wouldn’t have heard it. ... He must have been falling awfully fast.

Anyway.

‘Five days, then.’

I hurried away.

* * *

Life underground had made dwarves entirely different from elves. But the subterranean environment hadn’t changed only their appearance. It had profoundly altered their lives and values, giving rise to their own unique culture.

Most notably, they loved drinking and feasting. A lot. But it wasn’t merely for pleasure. In dwarven society, drinking and feasting were important cultural practices and rituals.

There were several reasons for this. First, living underground with little sunlight, they found mental release in drink and revelry.

Second, their pursuit of technological advancement easily contaminated the groundwater, making clean water difficult to obtain. Fermented alcohol, however, carried relatively little risk of spoilage and could be drunk safely.

Third and last, the underground environment offered ideal conditions for fermentation. Growing grain, however, was difficult. Thus, ingredients that grew naturally underground—mushrooms, root plants, molds, and other fungi—became their staple foods, and in the process, uniquely dwarven alcoholic drinks were born.

Over time, the idea took root that being unable to drink was ‘un-dwarven.’ As a result, alcohol had become more than a simple indulgence. It was now a defining cultural practice and ritual of the dwarves.

Which meant that good liquor was the surest key to gaining acceptance in dwarven society.

“Adlan.”

THUD!

An additional investment of five million gold.

“Can you work through the nights for the next five days and develop that chestnut beer?”

Brumbar had taken the bait sooner than expected, leaving me precious little time to prepare.