LIGHTNOVELWORLD Chapter 60
Chapter 60. Magical Blacksmith
“Can’t you handle it a bit more carefully?”
Upon showing my sword to the familiar Dwarf Blacksmith returning from the battlefield, he said this with a look of exasperation.
“I’ve handled it carefully. If I hadn’t, it would have broken ages ago.”
I replied sullenly.
“I’ve cut down countless Goblin Soldiers and Ogre Soldiers, clashed with Demon Race spears, and had it scraped by the claws of demons… and still, it hasn’t broken. I’d like to be praised for my arm strength.”
The Dwarf Blacksmith and I both stared at the sword on the anvil.
The blade was chipped and looked like a saw. After clashing with the Demon Race spears multiple times, it was forced back into shape on the spot, causing it to twist and wave awkwardly. I struggled to sheathe it.
Still, it wasn’t broken. I think it’s worthy of some praise.
“……….”
Silently, the Dwarf Blacksmith picked up a hammer, infused it lightly with magic, and gave the base of the sword a tap.
Suddenly, with a crack, the blade broke cleanly.
“…Just hanging by a thread.”
The Dwarf Blacksmith muttered softly.
“……….”
An awkward silence fell, different from before.
“…I can’t take it anymore.”
“Huh?”
“I’m saying!! I can’t take it anymore!!!”
He yanked at his well-groomed beard, tossed aside his bandana, and clawed at his hair with bloodshot eyes while shouting.
“Time and time again… I’ve managed somehow, reforged it! And yet, every time I come back, it’s like this!! I can’t stand it!!”
“What do you expect?! How can I worry about the sword falling apart every time I swing it, you damned fool!!”
We were face-to-face, yelling at each other.
“…Alright, I get it!! Kid! How much can you pay?!”
“Huh!? What’s with the suddenness!!”
“As Dwarves! We can’t just make something for free due to our code! We must always receive a fair price in return! Without equivalent payment, we cannot do work commensurate with it…!!”
The Dwarf Blacksmith grumbled in a bitter tone.
“And the only compensation you humans can offer is money! So, for you, specially! While it’s not top-notch, I’ll forge you a demon sword, or rather, what you humans call a holy sword!!”
He leaned in close, breathing heavily as he yelled.
“So fork over all your money!!”
“…Fine, if you say that, I’ll give you my entire savings!!”
I shouted back, not willing to back down.
I had no time to waste and my salary was piling up anyway.
“However, if the blade chips or bends even a little, I won’t take it lying down, you hear me!!”
“I’ll forge something far sturdier than your thick skull!! If it breaks, I’ll shave my beard and do a naked dance!!”
Words were exchanged in this heated back-and-forth.
And so, I dumped all the gold coins I had saved up into his workshop—
He struck with unyielding force, crafting a sword that was unbelievably sturdy.
Indeed, that holy sword was resilient. There was no lie in his words.
Beating against the magical spear of the Demon Lord, which pierced through shields blessed with layers of prayers and miracles, that sword alone—
Fought alongside me until the very end without breaking.
†††
With Sophia, Garunya, and for some reason, Liliana in her puppy state, I was walking along the southern outskirts of the Demon Lord Castle.
Apparently, there was a Dwarf workshop around here. By the way, it was on the opposite side of the Night Elf housing area. They say Elves and Dwarves are like oil and water.
“The Forest Elves and Dwarves hate each other.”
I remarked, glancing at the cheerful Liliana who looked excited for a stroll. I was originally going to leave her in the room, but she cried out cutely, making it hard to leave her behind.
I was a bit scared of the Dwarves’ reaction when they saw her. Plus, if her memory came back, she might overload and faint.
“What about the relationship between Night Elves and Dwarves?”
The Dwarves in the Demon Lord’s castle are those captured or with issues in the Demon Lord Kingdom. Apparently, they’ve earned decent treatment due to their smithing prowess (as long as they work properly).
“The Night Elves often say they don’t quite get along.”
According to Sophia, while the Night Elves have a high regard for Dwarf-made weapons and are proactive in using them, their relationship isn’t particularly warm.
Well… I guess that makes sense. The sly Night Elves and the stubborn Dwarves who dislike anything crooked; they’d be more likely to clash than get along.
By the way, while the Forest Elves and Dwarves now fight side-by-side in an alliance, they used to be enemies and frequently clashed militarily in ancient times.
The Forest Elves are naturalists at heart, while the Dwarves, with their weapons being hammers and axes, aren’t exactly subtle about their preferences.
It’s said that the Dwarves were the ones who discovered charcoal, and they used to argue over forest resources with the Forest Elves. Things have improved a lot since the Dwarves found coal, but even so, that history means their meetings often devolve into sarcastic exchanges.
That said, it’s still not as severe as the conflict between the Night Elves and Forest Elves.
“…Wow?”
As I looked on with an indescribable expression, Liliana tilted her head.
Gradually, the clang of hammer on anvil approached. I felt like the air was growing warm with the heat of the forge—
“Ah, there it is.”
A truly Dwarf-like, majestic metal door stood there. It had a commanding presence, with intricate designs featuring Dwarven armor, hammers, and their home mountains, all masterfully carved.
And—physically, it must have been incredibly sturdy, yet it lacked any magical protection that should have been applied.
Perhaps that was not permissible. I felt I was witnessing the grit and sorrow of the captured artisans.
Flanking either side of the door were two squat Dwarf guards, armed with war hammers.
“This is His Highness, Demon Lord’s Prince No. 7 Zilbagias. We have business with the artisans.”
Upon Sophia’s announcement, the curt guards bowed slightly and opened the gate.
The heat of the forge rushed at us.
It was an unexpectedly open area for a castle. The furnace roared with fire, and there were many windows and ventilation holes… albeit with iron bars on them.
Those bars were something the Dwarven artisans could easily remove, yet they faintly indicated their status as captives.
In that environment, Dwarven blacksmiths were hammering away. Some adjusted simple gear, while others infused magic with each strike to craft magical weapons.
“It’s quite warm in here.”
Even when we entered, everyone seemed unfazed, focusing intently on their tasks. There wasn’t much of an impression that they were being forced to work… they didn’t seem to be particularly cheerful either.
However, I noticed many clearly bore signs of battle scars like limping or wearing eye patches.
And the ones who had a moment to spare glanced at Liliana, who was whining pathetically from the forge’s heat.
Liliana… maybe it’s better to leave her outside?
“Ku—n.”
She seemed to dislike that. I had no choice but to walk while receiving the Dwarven blacksmiths’ puzzled looks of “What is that…?”
“Welcome to the Dwarf Workshop branch of the Demon Lord Castle, His Highness Zilbagias.”
From the side, a raspy voice called out.
A white-bearded dwarf with a carefree expression. He looked like an untrustworthy old man. His narrowed brown eyes were scrutinizing us without any relaxation.
“…I serve as the head of this workshop, ‘Fisero’. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
And—he was missing his right arm.
“Given my state, I can only serve as a liaison.”
Noticing my gaze, Fisero patted his sleeve with his left hand, speaking in a sarcastic tone.
I was unsure how to respond, falling silent.
“…Everyone is working with incredible energy for a bunch of captives.”
I glanced around, trying to deflect the awkwardness.
“We do not slack in our work.”
Fisero remained unfazed.
“Even if we’re captives, or if women and children are taken as hostages—our only aim is to deliver results worthy of our compensation.”
… He certainly speaks boldly in front of a prince. The others weren’t showing any signs of wanting to hush him either.
This seemed to be the consensus among them. They clearly understood their ‘value’ and were proud of it.
“That artisan spirit is admirable.”
As the Demon Lord’s prince, I could only manage a haughty smile in response.
“So, Your Highness, do you have any requests?”
“Ah, yes. First, I want you to see this.”
Garunya spread out a large bundle of goodies she had been carrying on a nearby table.
“Oh, this is—”
“It’s the scales of a White Dragon.”
A mountain of shining silver scales sparkled before us, releasing the lingering scent of light magic, drawing the attention of the Dwarf blacksmiths engaging in their work.
The sardonic atmosphere vanished, and Fisero, now wearing the face of a craftsman, carefully lifted a scale and held it up to the furnace’s light.
“What a stunning—how on earth did you obtain this?”
“I hunted it. I happened to run into the White Dragon, and almost turned to ashes.”
“You took it down yourself… it seems to have been quite a high-ranking dragon.”
“You’re quite the good judge, Fisero. Allegedly, it was the leader of the White Dragons—named Faravgi.”
Fisero froze.
“…I see.”
He momentarily closed his eyes—and when he opened them again, they revealed no emotion.
“And this one?”
“I want it fashioned into scale armor. Of course, with magical enhancements for resistance to curses. Can you do it?”
“From a technical perspective, it’s certainly possible.”
Fisero nodded with a light snort.
“However, crafting it from this material would warrant a significant piece. The payment must be correspondingly high.”
“That’s the Dwarven code.”
“Indeed. Even if it’s before the Demon Lord or the gods, it remains a line we cannot cross.”
The Dwarven code is more than just rules.
It’s one of the constraints that elevate their smithing to the level of magic.
When they create something for someone other than themselves, they must demand some sort of compensation. Only when an equivalent price is offered can the true value of the resulting work be realized.
Of course, they can physically steal or take their creations by force.
But in doing so—they will clearly deteriorate. If it’s something magical, it’s even more apparent.
The magic founded by the ancestors of the Dwarves undeniably ensured their artisans’ status to this day.
“So, what kind of payment do you usually receive?”
I asked Sophia instead of Fisero.
“Precious metals, gems infused with magic, improved treatment, medical care for the injured, and occasionally the release of captives.”
“Interesting.”
I fixed my gaze on Fisero.
“Then how about your arm as payment?”
“I received a severe curse wound from a demon.”
Fisero said flatly, rolling up his sleeve. His shoulder wound was sealed with a sturdy magical metal.
“It’s a toxic curse that rots the body. While it’s sealed, it’s gradually being eroded. Even the Reiju tribe’s teleportation spell cannot heal it without first purifying it with light.”
Looking at me as if to say that you can’t do that, he continued with a venomous tone.
“Then I guess we can work something out.”
I scooped up Liliana, who had been lying at my feet.
“Woo?”
“…And that would be? …No way, surely not—”
Fisero, observing Liliana closely, seemed to have noticed the hidden light magic within her.
“That’s exactly it. She’s a High Elf Saint. Right now, her self has been shattered and she thinks she’s a dog.”
“……….”
As Liliana gazed curiously at Fisero, she licked my cheek affectionately.
“And as you can see, she’s very attached to me.”
“……….”
Fisero looked at Liliana with a complicated expression, filled with sympathy and pity.
“With her purifying light, I imagine she could lift that curse. In addition, healing through the teleportation spell. You seem quite the talented blacksmith. If I could restore you as an artisan, it would create immense value, wouldn’t it? What do you say?”
—Fisero accepted the arrangement.
As Liliana licked me—Fisero looked exceptionally awkward—the demon’s curse ravaging his wound vanished in an instant.
In the next moment, I took on the wound, and Fisero’s shoulder swelled as his arm reformed, while my own arm became mangled and began to decay.
It hurt like hell, and both the Dwarves around and Fisero himself were taken aback.
Then, while Liliana cried out in pain, she gently licked my wound, gradually allowing his arm to regenerate, concluding the process. It was painful…
“I will craft a remarkable piece of armor for you.”
As he flexed his newly grown right hand, Fisero said with a grim determination.
He was likely contemplating the kind of destruction I could bring to the alliance, now possessing this armor.
I completely understood his feelings…!!
“By the way, I actually have another request.”
“What is it, Your Highness?”
“I want a sword.”
“Huh?”
Fisero looked flabbergasted, and the surrounding artisans shared the same stunned expression of “Huh?” The once bustling forge fell silent for a moment, almost bursting with laughter.
“Actually—”
I summarized the situation. The idea of turning a sword into a spear tip seemed to pique the Dwarven artisans’ interest, as whispers of “Never thought of that,” and “Sounds intriguing,” began to circulate.
“Of course, that’s fine, but… a sword, you say? What kind of sword do you desire?”
“Well, that’s a tough call…”
With that being prompted again, I hesitated.
“I was thinking we’d discuss that as well.”
“Hmmm… shall we take a look at some actual pieces?”
Fisero stood up and opened a nearby metal door.
“This way. It’s a storage room.”
—In that room, a haphazard pile of aged weapons was stacked.
“These are weapons retrieved from the battlefield, those without owners.”
Fisero said with a slightly forlorn tone.
“We mainly use them for materials. There should be a few swords among them. It might be useful to look at the real deal and align our thoughts—”
… I suddenly stopped listening halfway through Fisero’s explanation.
The pile of weapons—it looked almost like the tombstones of fallen warriors.
And among that multitude of tombstones, catching the light streaming through the door—
A sword that glimmered dully stood there.
Sticking up from the pile of weapons.
“…Ah.”
A voice escaped me, almost like a sigh.
It was dead straight and unbelievably sturdy.
The crystallization of my and its will—
—My holy sword was right there.