Firearms in a Fantasy World

Translator: Cinder Translations

...

The smooth copper mirror reflected a stout and solid figure, resembling a thick stone stump with limbs. Soon, the "stone stump" began to move, and the reflection in the mirror grew larger until it was filled entirely by a fluffy, large face.

Imar the Stonemason carefully pinched a small handful of his beard with both hands, gently twisting it and intertwining the strands to form a small braid in his hands.

He held the end of the braid with one hand while deftly tying it tightly with a short piece of thread with the other.

"Oh! Look at this magnificent face! Not only is it striking, but it's also quite fortunate, for it belongs to none other than the esteemed Imar the Stonemason, a standout even among dwarves!"

Imar stroked his chin, turning his head left and right, admiring his impressive reflection in the copper mirror.

"To celebrate the thirty-year anniversary of this striking face and its great owner, I need to add another braid!"

As he spoke, he tugged at another handful of beard and began to braid it.

With a whoosh, the tent entrance was flung open.

"By the hammer above!"

A dwarf, similar in size to Imar but with a rosy complexion, entered. His attire was simpler than Imar's, but his voice boomed like a bell.

"Is the entirety of your life spent fiddling with your beard?"

"Damn it, Barash! Can't you be a little more carefree on my birthday? This is dignity, do you understand? It's something a dwarf of noble blood must possess!"

Irritated by the interruption, Imar spun around and yelled at the intruder.

"Listen, you foolish brother, toss your damn noble dignity aside. There's work to be done outside; the chief's son has arrived, and you need to go greet him."

Unmoved, Barash coldly assigned the task to Imar.

Imar shouted in frustration, "By the hammer above! That arrogant fool again! Why do I have to deal with him?"

Barash pointed at Imar. "He's the 'prince' of this tribe, and you are a 'prince' too. The identities match perfectly."

Because you're also an arrogant fool, Barash silently added to himself.

"Damn you!" Imar bellowed.

"Shut it! I'm the leader on this outing, and this is an order, not a request."

Barash was unyielding, and Imar grumbled as he lifted the tent flap and stepped outside.

Watching the angry silhouette, Barash shrugged helplessly and followed him out.

"Hm? A human!"

Once outside, he spotted a somewhat "slender" figure among the orc tribe—a scruffy-looking human with a long, thin face and curly brown hair cascading over his shoulders. His deeply-set eyes sparkled with intensity, dressed in a patched-up brown leather coat and worn boots, resembling a down-and-out adventurer returning from the wild.

At this moment, the disheveled adventurer was swinging an iron sword used for trading in front of Barash's stall.

Noticing Barash's arrival, he promptly put the sword back on the stall.

"Greetings! Esteemed friend. I must say, your blades are truly fantastic."

He bowed slightly, putting on a friendly demeanor, though his eyes betrayed curiosity and scrutiny—most humans were inherently curious upon seeing dwarves.

"Human, what do you want?" Barash asked coldly.

"If you have your eye on something, bring something of equal value to trade, or we also accept gold and silver coins," Barash added.

Stanford smiled, noticing an angry dwarf rushing past him—he seemed quite formidable, matching the legendary short-tempered dwarf image well.

The dwarf before him should be easier to converse with.

"I'm not here to trade. I'm looking for a guide for my adventuring team."

"A guide? You should ask the orcs in this tribe; they are very familiar with these woods. I'm just here for business."

"Oh, no, no!" Stanford shook his head. "The Blood Ox tribe won't meet my requirements. I hope to find someone who can lead us over the Rocky Mountains."

"Ha!" Barash laughed, realizing why this human stood at his stall.

"Well, then I'm at a loss," Barash exaggeratedly spread his hands. "Guest, if you have no intention to trade, please go elsewhere. Don't hinder my business."

"Don't be so harsh," Stanford offered a box. "This is a gift for you. Please name a price. If you can help us cross the Rocky Mountains, I'm sure we can offer a good reward."

"No means no! No dwarf would lead outsiders into dwarf territory. Besides, from your attire and tone, it's clear you're not a native of these woods. You're a human from the south."

Barash's refusal came swiftly.

Stanford asked, "Do you have a bad impression of humans from the south? Please tell me, maybe I can clarify."

Barash waved his hand. "I don't want to discuss that topic."

Stanford reluctantly took out the item from the box: a porcelain bottle similar to the one given to Chief Asoye. The polished surface reflected light, dazzling Barash.

"Look! What a delicate work of art. Dwarf sir, I hope you can consider this gift…"

"Who said I'd accept this gift?"

Barash's gaze lingered on the porcelain bottle for only a moment before he looked away.

"It looks like a flashy item. This thing would shatter at the slightest touch, right? We dwarves prefer things that are solid and durable. A clay pot is a hundred times better in my eyes."

Alright, you have a point. Stanford awkwardly retracted the porcelain bottle.

"See? I told you these mountain-dwelling folks are tough nuts to crack."

A voice came from behind. Stanford turned to see a young orc named Finn.

"My friend, why not give me that porcelain bottle? I'll guide you over the Rocky Mountains and back to Aldor through the Neron Valley. I've traveled this route with the merchant caravans many times and know it well." He had been eyeing the gift for the chief at the banquet.

"Uh… that's too far. I think I'll look for someone else," Stanford declined Finn, who looked disappointed.

Hmph! Listening to their conversation, Barash snickered inwardly. Go ahead and look; if you find a dwarf willing to lead you, I'll concede defeat.

Sure enough, Stanford wandered around the makeshift market built by the dwarves but found no one willing to be his guide.

Worried, he returned to inform his companions that it looked like they would have to execute their contingency plan.

(End of the Chapter)

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