blacksmith of a Thousand tales

Chapter 48: Entering the Dwarves' Nation

Alarcus and Kael stood at the towering gates of the Dwarves' Nation, marveling at the intricate carvings etched into the massive steel doors. The guards, stout and armed with finely crafted weapons, blocked their path with crossed halberds.

"Halt! Outsiders aren't allowed entry," one of the guards barked. "Only proven craftsmen, blacksmiths, or royals with proper business may pass through."

Alarcus sighed. This was not the warm welcome he had hoped for. "What about adventurers on official business?" he tried.

The guards shook their heads in unison. "Unless you've something crafted by a master or proof of royal commission, you'll get no further."

Kael, his usual calm demeanor unwavering, glanced at Alarcus. "It seems we need to call in a favor."

Alarcus nodded and pulled a small bird-shaped golem from his satchel. It was a gift from Reyn, who had assured him it could deliver messages no matter the distance. Activating it with a rune on its back, he sent it into the sky with a request:

"Reyn, I need one of your creations to gain access to the Dwarves' Nation. They won't let us in otherwise. Mythril is crucial for what we're planning."

Several hours passed. Alarcus and Kael sat by the gates, enduring the curious and judgmental stares of the guards. Finally, the golem returned, landing gracefully on Alarcus's shoulder. In its talons were two strange objects wrapped in cloth. As Alarcus untied the bundle, a recording from Reyn played:

"This is something called a 'gun,' inspired by a hunter named Dante who used it to slay demons. It's powerful enough to intrigue the dwarves. Just don't use it recklessly."

Unwrapping the items, Alarcus examined them. They were unlike anything he had ever seen—sleek and metallic, with a barrel, grip, and intricate rune work etched into their surfaces. He handed one to the guard, who inspected it curiously.

"What's this?" the guard asked, turning the object over in his hands.

"It's called a gun," Alarcus replied. "A weapon from a foreign land, crafted by a master blacksmith."

The guard's eyes narrowed as he traced the runes. Though he didn't fully understand the object, he could feel its power and potential. "Hmm. Fascinating. We'll let you in if you trade this. The Forgemaster would want to see it."

Reluctantly, Alarcus parted with one of the guns, handing it to the guard, who waved them through. As the massive gates creaked open, Alarcus and Kael stepped into the heart of the Dwarves' Nation.

The city inside was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Everywhere they looked, there were sights and sounds that spoke of the dwarves' unparalleled craftsmanship. Gigantic fire lizards, their scales glinting like molten rock, served as transportation, ferrying dwarves from place to place. Houses made of shining metal lined the streets, their designs both functional and artistic.

The air was thick with the sound of hammers striking anvils and the fiery glow of forges blazing day and night. Shops displayed weapons and armor of every imaginable design, while dwarves shouted at one another, debating whose creation was superior.

"Oi, look at this beauty!" a burly dwarf bellowed, holding up a polished battle axe with intricate carvings along its blade. "Forged in the flames of the Great Anvil, guaranteed to cleave through dragon scales like butter!"

"That's nothing!" another dwarf chimed in from the neighboring stall. He slammed a massive war hammer onto his counter with a thud that echoed through the market. "This here hammer's enchanted with shock runes. One swing, and your enemy'll be feelin' lightning coursing through their veins!"

Kael leaned toward Alarcus, whispering, "They're certainly passionate about their wares."

"Passionate doesn't even begin to cover it," Alarcus muttered, watching as the two shopkeepers began shouting over each other.

"Dragon scales? Bah! My axe could split a mountain in half!"

"A mountain? Lad, my hammer's taken down giants! Whole clans of 'em!"

Nearby, a younger dwarf approached, holding a small knife with a sheepish grin. "What about this? It's compact and sharp—perfect for close combat!"

The two older dwarves scoffed in unison. "Bah, leave the real weapons to the grown-ups, lad!"

As Alarcus and Kael ventured further into the city, they came upon a courtyard where dwarves were testing their weapons. A dwarf clad in leather armor held up a double-edged sword, smirking at his opponent.

"You ready to taste defeat, Thorek?" he taunted.

Thorek, a muscular dwarf wielding a massive shield, grinned. "We'll see about that, Brenn. Let's see if your flimsy blade can handle my shield!"

The two dwarves charged at each other, their weapons clashing with a deafening ring. Sparks flew as the sword scraped against the shield, and a crowd gathered to cheer them on.

"C'mon, Brenn! Put some strength into it!"

"Thorek's gonna flatten him!"

Kael chuckled. "They're certainly spirited."

Brenn shifted tactics, feinting left before spinning to land a strike on Thorek's shield. The impact reverberated through the courtyard, and Thorek stumbled back.

"Ha! Did you see that?" Brenn crowed. "That's the power of dwarven craftsmanship!"

Thorek growled, regaining his footing. "Don't get cocky, lad. The match isn't over yet!"

The energy of the city was infectious, and Alarcus couldn't help but admire the dwarves' dedication to their craft. He glanced at Kael. "We're definitely in the right place. Now, let's find a way to get that mythril."

The dwarven city hummed with life as Kael and Alarcus split up to handle their respective tasks. Kael was drawn to the bustling arena, while Alarcus made his way to the city's most renowned shop, eager to trade for mythril.

Kael stood at the edge of the arena, watching as dwarves tested their weapons and armor against each other. A stout dwarf with a long, braided beard noticed Kael's towering frame and approached him, squinting up.

"You're no craftsman," the dwarf said gruffly. "What brings ye here?"

Kael grinned. "I heard this was the place to test strength. Thought I might lend a hand—or a fist."

The dwarf's eyes gleamed. "Aye? Let's see what ye've got then! How about this: we'll see how long yer fists last against our finest shields and armor. And we'll make it interesting—bets and ale for the winners!"

The dwarves roared in approval, quickly gathering to watch the competition.

"Alright, lad!" a burly dwarf shouted, holding up a heavy, rune-covered breastplate. "Let's see if yer punch can crack this beauty!"

Kael rolled his shoulders and struck the breastplate with a thunderous blow. The breastplate dented slightly, and the dwarf staggered back, laughing. "Not bad! But it'll take more than that to break it!"

Another dwarf stepped forward, holding a massive tower shield engraved with glowing symbols. "Let's see how yer fist handles this, eh?"

Kael smirked and unleashed a punch, only for the shield to barely budge. The impact reverberated through his hand, making him wince.

"Hah! Looks like yer hand took more damage than the shield!" the dwarf taunted, raising the shield triumphantly.

Kael shook out his hand and muttered, "Not bad… but I've got more where that came from."

The competition continued, with some pieces of armor denting or cracking under Kael's strength, while others, especially those reinforced with runes or rare metals, took several punches without yielding.

At one point, Kael struck a thick, enchanted chestplate with all his might, only to grimace as pain shot through his knuckles.

"Bahaha!" the chestplate's owner roared. "What's the matter, big guy? Not strong enough?"

Kael grinned through the pain. "Just getting warmed up."

By the time the competition ended, the arena was alive with cheers, laughter, and the clinking of mugs. The dwarves admired Kael's endurance as much as his strength, and many vowed to improve their craft to create armor he couldn't dent.

Meanwhile, Alarcus navigated the bustling streets to reach the shop known as Stonehammer's Masterworks. Inside, weapons and armor of unparalleled craftsmanship adorned every surface. Behind the counter stood a grey-bearded dwarf, his arms crossed and an unimpressed scowl on his face.

"What do ye want, lad?" the dwarf grumbled.

Alarcus placed the gun on the counter. "I need two large chunks of mythril and trade rights. I'm offering this weapon in exchange."

The shopkeeper eyed the gun skeptically. "What is this, a child's toy? Ye want mythril and trade rights for that?"

"It's not a toy," Alarcus replied firmly. "It's a weapon. One unlike anything you've seen before."

The dwarf raised an eyebrow. "Prove it. Let's see what this 'weapon' can do. Test it against one of my shields. If it impresses me, we'll talk."

Alarcus hesitated, fumbling with the gun. He aimed it at the ceiling to test it, accidentally pulling the trigger.

BANG!

A deafening noise echoed through the shop as a large hole appeared in the ceiling. The shopkeeper jumped back, his eyes wide.

"By the forge! What kind of magic is this?!"

"Uh, sorry!" Alarcus said quickly, adjusting his aim. He pointed the gun at the shield the shopkeeper had set up and fired.

BANG!

The shield shattered into pieces, the fragments clattering to the floor.

The shopkeeper stared at the remains, his expression a mix of devastation and awe. "My shield… my baby…"

Alarcus winced. "Uh, sorry about that."

The dwarf's scowl softened as he picked up the gun, inspecting it with a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Aye… this thing's a marvel. Tell me, lad—how does it work? How was it made?"

Alarcus shook his head. "I… I don't know. It was made by the Blacksmith of a Thousand Tales. He just gave it to me. I have no idea how it works, and honestly, I don't think I could figure it out if I tried."

The shopkeeper groaned but couldn't hide his curiosity. "Bah, figures. Still, this thing's a beauty. Ye've got yerself a deal. Two chunks of mythril and trade rights. But ye owe me for the shield!"

Relieved, Alarcus nodded. "Thank you. And, uh, sorry again about your baby."

The dwarf waved him off. "Bah, I'll make a better one. Still, I'll be up all night trying to unravel this thing's secrets. The Blacksmith of a Thousand Tales, eh? He's on my list now!"

As Kael basked in the camaraderie of the arena and Alarcus finalized his trade, the two knew their time in the Dwarves' Nation had yielded more than just mythril—it had also deepened their understanding of the dwarves' remarkable craftsmanship and their unyielding pride.