The Dwarf King
The dwarves knelt on the ground, finally regaining their senses and composing calm expressions. But Sung-tae didn't let his guard down, maintaining distance because madness still flickered in their eyes.
"S-So, you're saying you came to us to find a way to reshape that armor?"
"Yeah. About time you started making sense."
"What a shame to waste such fine armor like that..."
Sung-tae clenched his fist again. The dwarf who'd dared talk back clamped his mouth shut like it was glued. Trembling with tension, the dwarves rolled their eyes, surveying the devastation around them once more.
This guy's no human.
The mountain forest visible to their eyes had been utterly ravaged. The ground had erupted into sand, and ancient trees that had grown lush for ages now stuck into it like candles jammed into a cake.
Just one wrong move, and the underground village might have been destroyed too. A chill ran down the dwarves' spines at the thought.
"W-We don't know how to handle Black Oriharcon."
"Huh? Aren't you dwarves? And you can't handle it?"
"Yes. Black Oriharcon is a special ore. Ordinary dwarves like us can't work it."
At that moment, a memory buried in Sung-tae's mind surfaced—a story from the receptionist when he'd just become an adventurer and taken his rank test.
—Even the dwarves, who make blacksmithing their livelihood, said, "Not even a god could smelt this," and after that, no one's dared try.
"Ah, right. That's how it was."
Back then, he'd been too focused on the test to really listen. And even if he had, Sung-tae's memory wasn't sharp enough to recall a passing comment without some trigger.
"Then I came here for nothing!"
"Eek!"
As Sung-tae snarled and gripped his gauntlet tighter—cracks spiderwebbing across it—the dwarves' eyes widened. To casually shatter unforgeable Black Oriharcon like that. It was a dream made real before their eyes.
But that very fist had snapped them from their madness, so they desperately racked their brains to calm him. And they settled on introducing one person.
"W-We can't, but he might be able..."
"He?"
Sung-tae, barely calming down, relaxed his fist. Some dwarves eyed him, wondering if it was okay to introduce him, but others harbored hope: It's been so long since then—maybe it's possible now.
"Who's he?"
"Our chief, revered as the god of blacksmithing. He's studied Black Oriharcon for ages but cut ties with us to live in seclusion."
"Seclusion."
Sung-tae's eyes lit up at the word. It carried such allure. What was seclusion, if not the path of one who breaks from society to train endlessly? Especially for masters who'd lost attachment to the world in their later years!
"Worth a shot. Where's this guy live?"
"We'll guide you. Follow us."
The forest was a wreck, but the dwarves, attuned to earth's energy, led without faltering. The spot they reached felt different even to Sung-tae.
"This place stands out."
The mountain soil everywhere else brimmed with fertility, glossy with life force. But here, it was barren and crumbly—sinking underfoot the moment he stepped.
"Proof our chief's still at his research. He fires the forge ceaselessly to smelt ore, killing the land day by day."
"I see. Makes him seem even more legit."
"Now, take my hand."
The dwarf extended a hand to lead Sung-tae underground. Sung-tae hesitated at the fanatic gleam in his eyes but trusted they'd deliver and took it.
"Here we go."
Garba grabbed the dwarf's other hand, and like sinking into mud, the two were pulled earthward with him.
No suffocation or darkness—just the sensation of viscous water. Then the soil parted, and bright light welcomed them underground.
"This is our home. The underground world."
"Underground world..."
Defying the name, a vast plaza stretched before them—like the surface world relocated below. Another expansive realm hidden away.
They'd arrived atop a mountain peak in this underworld. Gazing down at the dwarf village, Sung-tae murmured,
"Fitting for a blacksmith race."
Clustered buildings far off were all earthen. Beside each, a domed structure with a chimney puffed smoke. Forges, no doubt.
Sung-tae turned, spotting the house of the dwarf he'd sought.
"Explains the dried earth."
Like the others, it had a chimney—but massively larger, befitting their chief. Thick as a factory stack, it belched white smoke, heating the ceiling soil nonstop.
"But in an underground like this, how do you ventilate the smoke?"
"No worries. That handles it."
Sung-tae followed the dwarf's pointing finger to a white orb. A sun blazing with white light, like a mirror ball from a nightclub, hung from the underworld ceiling.
"It absorbs all the smoke and converts it to light."
"Neat. But that's not the chief's place, right?"
"Moderate smoke is fine, but the chief works 24/7 without rest."
"Got it. Magic?"
High-level stuff? It radiated heat and light harmlessly—the ceiling unscorched, the air cool despite the glow.
"Who made that?"
"Dunno. Existed before we were born."
"How old are you?"
"One thousand two hundred thirty this year."
A being over a thousand, panting like that over my armor! As Sung-tae thought this, the dwarf began merging with the earth again.
"As I said, the chief's in seclusion—senses any approach and rages. So I'll bail now."
"Thanks for the guide."
Sung-tae eyed him creepily as he ogled his own hand—Hah... hah... Touched the armor... haah...—then headed to the house once he vanished.
One doubt arose.
"He senses anyone approaching, right? Why no reaction?"
"My lord, no presence."
"What? He ditch?"
For a split second, anxiety hit: a recluse sage might've left after training, seeking a disciple. He'd barred other dwarves, so maybe hunting one himself?
"Seems empty—gonna enter?"
Sung-tae opened the door and stepped in. The interior screamed blacksmith's home at first glance. Walls lined with weapons and armor greeted them in the owner's stead.
Not a single cheap piece—all exuded top-tier quality.
"Impressive gear. I can tell at a glance."
"Yeah? Good lead, then."
Garba, veteran of countless battlefields, had never equipped such herself but had an eye for it. To her, these were unique-grade masterpieces.
"Hm? My lord. Smells like someone."
"Smell?"
"Dwarf scent."
"But the owner's gone?"
A foreboding premonition flashed through Sung-tae's mind. The guide dwarf alone was over 1,300. Their chief would be ancient. Dwarven lifespan unknown, but elderly for sure.
"No way he died alone! Garba! Lead to the smell!"
"Yes, my lord!"
It led to the adjoining forge. Inside, a figure lay collapsed on the floor.
"Damn... too late!"
Far older than the others, with snow-white hair and beard, the dwarf lay in a pool of blood from his nose.
"Nosebleed? Overwork death. Pushed too hard."
Sung-tae guessed from the blazing forge and black ore atop it. The forge brimmed with Black Oriharcon—right place, wrong timing; the man was dead.
"Shit! If only we'd hurried!"
"Ugh..."
"!?"
The old man groaned, body shuddering. Still alive!
Then save him. For my future!
"Hey! You okay!?"
"Bl, bl..."
"Bl?"
Last words? Sung-tae leaned close, ear to the faint voice.
"Bl, Black..."
"...No way."
"The scent of Black Oriharcon... smelted Black Oriharcon...!"
The old man's eyes snapped open. He reached for Sung-tae's armor—like God and man touching hands in The Creation of Adam.
"He's fine. Now, then..."
Sung-tae pressed thumb and forefinger to the old man's forehead.
The man, still delirious with nosebleed, groped the armor lewdly.
"Snap out of it!"
＊＊＊
"My apologies. I got too excited..."
"You're good now. That's what matters."
The old man rubbed the bump on his forehead, face full of regret. He'd trained endlessly, immune to raw Black Oriharcon unlike others—yet smelted essence made him nosebleed in shame.
"No harm. I learned something useful too."
"Pardon? What fact?"
"Personal."
Sung-tae wiggled the finger that'd flicked the dwarf chief. He'd practiced force control forever, especially gauging power via thieves. Now masterful.
But this finesse was recent.
Since mastering life force magic, control's easier.
Even a light flick was simple now. Armor and runes helped, but before, it'd meant going limp like a corpse. Now, like a skilled craftsman.
Knowing his life force tied to strength, Sung-tae linked it to his power.
Still, armor first. Life force training's too slow. How long till I can live without it?
"Intro time. I'm Sung-tae. Kim Sung-tae. Here to ask a favor."
"I'm Smith Black."
"Huh? Last name?"
"Yes. A proud surname, held only by the Dwarf King."
Dwarf King: title for the finest blacksmith dwarf, unlike humans. But Smith preferred "chief," so that's what they called him.
First surname met here intrigued Sung-tae, but business first—he asked about the armor.
"The favor: reshape this cursed Black Oriharcon armor. Can't remove it, but keep the curse and turn it into a necklace or something portable."
"Reshape? Smelting's hard enough—you overestimate me."
"Why? Impossible?"
"If possible, I wouldn't be like this."
Smith glanced at the untouched Black Oriharcon chunks. Even the one he'd just heated glowed red—no change.
"Know why we dwarves can't smelt Black Oriharcon?"
"Special ore?"
"That's part, but more. To us, it's beyond human value—weaker dwarves lose reason on sight, blinded by obsession."
Sung-tae got it. From their reaction to his armor, smelting it'd kill them via heart-exploding excitement.
Too enamored to forge. He pitied the outer dwarves.
"I secluded here to escape that mania. Black Oriharcon's common enough; just fix myself."
"Right. Not rare."
No adventurer guild would've used it for rank tests if so. Sung-tae pressed on.
"Success? Your reaction says no."
"I succeeded. That nosebleed was smelted aura. See? I'm fine now."
"True."
"But... shedding obsession wasn't the issue."
Smith's face darkened. Pride clashed with wisdom earned over long life.
"Dwarven talent can't smelt it. Madness? Obsession? Excuses. It's simply impossible."
"Hmm..."
What a letdown after coming this far. Sung-tae wanted to leave, but the mood pinned him.
Smith sighed again.
"Wanted to reclaim ancestors' glory, but impossible."
"It was possible before?"
"Legend passed only to Dwarf Kings: First king, Ragnar, smelted it. Kept secret to avoid fueling obsession."
Hope lingered. Sung-tae wanted details.
"Per legend, Ragnar used a shining stone. No one knows what—kings sought it or innovated. None succeeded."
"I see."
"We call that stone..."
A dream to find, a phantom to behold once.
"Sunstone."
"Sunstone. With that, you can smelt Black Oriharcon?"
Sung-tae stood and headed out. Legendary, but real. Even if not, find a substitute.
"My lord? What're you—"
"I know zilch about ores—can't fetch Sunstone blind."
He raised his right arm. Purple light blazed from the back of his hand.
"So, time for backup?"