Treasure is Nearby
The dwarves stretched their hands toward the ground, and the overturned earth shifted, returning to its former state. After Sung-tae had vanished, they were the ones fixing the disaster he'd caused.
“Haa...”
“Hoo...”
Despite their diligent work, the dwarves all let out heavy sighs, as if something was eating at them. And it was dissatisfaction, plain and simple—the fear that they might never lay eyes on Sung-tae's armor again.
“Should we hurry up and fix the ground, then head to the chief's place?”
“Nah, don't. The chief hates it when we show up.”
“Yeah, we might get smacked for no reason.”
An outsider—especially one in Black Oriharcon armor like Sung-tae—might get a welcome, but not them. Recalling Sung-tae once more, they sighed deeply.
“Haa...”
“Huh? What's that?”
The dwarves craned their stubby necks skyward. There, in the heavens, hovered a crimson aura gazing down at them.
What could it be? A human silhouette shimmered within the red haze, but no facial features were discernible.
Found it. This energy rising from underground...
The figure enveloped in crimson paid no mind to the dwarves. To even glance at such lowly vermin would sully his eyes. How could creatures like these still draw breath? The red aura couldn't comprehend nature's twisted logic.
But is this body truly worthy of my lord? I can't risk upsetting him with needless commotion.
“What the hell is that thing?”
“Oh. It's moving.”
...Noisy pests.
The crimson aura extended a hand toward the dwarves. Red mana scattered from its grasp like moth dust, drifting down onto their heads.
“What is this... Ugh...”
“My, my chest!”
The dwarves clutched their hearts, collapsing one by one. Rage surged from deep within, scorching their minds. Unable to vent it, the fury turned inward, devouring them in despair.
“Hic... Damn it... Why are we so worthless?”
“Dwarves who can't even refine Black Oriharcon...”
“Aah! A guy like me should just die!”
Their despair morphed into a festering illness—a soul-eating fury of the heart.
“Cough!”
Some dwarves, unable to contain the rage and hopelessness, vomited blood and fell. The rest followed suit, and before the time it took to sip a cup of tea had passed, every dwarf on the surface lay dead.
Filthy bugs. Now it's tolerable.
They were abominations unfit for the eyes. How could such forms and weakness persist in the world? If it were him, he'd have bitten his tongue at birth and ended it.
With that thought, the crimson aura descended slowly.
Now, shall we meet the one underground?
The man shrouded in red absorbed the aura into his body. For this fragment of his lord—a piece of that power—drawing in the energy meant forging his flesh. Once fully absorbed, a man materialized in the world.
My lord. Please wait just a little longer. I shall procure a perfect body for you.
The man with blazing red hair and eyes took in the world. Everything in his gaze burned away, corrupted by the crimson haze.
World, bide your time. My lord shall descend upon you soon!
It was wrath. Despair at his lord—the one most fit to rule the world—trapped in that frozen glacial continent. Rage and loathing at the world's contradictions. He yearned to shatter it all, but that pleasure belonged to his lord alone. Suppressing his urges, the man conjured flames in his palms and gestured toward the earth.
The dwarves' corpses and the restored ground melted into lava.
＊＊＊
“Today's training felt refreshing!”
In the wreckage of some nameless mine, the demon king Iron wiped down his body with a towel. Around him lay mithril—renowned for its hardness—reduced to glittering sand.
“But this isn't enough. To beat that guy...”
His gaze fell on the ore he'd just battled fiercely. It gleamed with black luster: Black Oriharcon.
“I need to at least destroy that. Still a long way to go!”
Iron gnashed his teeth, glaring at the raw stone. Over half a year had passed, yet it remained unscratched. He could shatter it easily with his demon king authority—all ores were his slaves. But he craved to break it with his own power alone, then challenge Sung-tae again. That was a true warrior's way.
“Next up: mental training!”
He knew raw strength wouldn't cut it against Sung-tae. The most shocking part of their last fight wasn't the physical defeat—it was the humiliation of losing to his will, rooted deep in his chest.
“Let's begin.”
Iron's chosen mental drill: image training. Visualizing the unprecedented foe Sung-tae and battling him in his mind to temper his spirit. It wouldn't truly hone anything—just shadowboxing—but his steel-hard brain couldn't devise better.
Eyes closed, Kim Sung-tae appeared in his imagination.
Come at me. Heh heh heh! I'm the strongest man alive!
‘I won't lose to you!’
A mere demon king daring to challenge me? Here I come!
‘Bring it, human!’
Iron fought fiercely in his mind. Then, a voice seeped into his ear.
“Hey. What're you doing? Sleeping?”
‘A taunt!?’
Was his training finally paying off? The imaginary battle turning real—now he even heard the bastard's voice up close. Perfect. Not wasted effort. The real thrill of training kicks in when results show!
Iron kept his eyes shut, battling the phantom Sung-tae.
“Hey. What're you up to? Can't you hear me?”
“Taunting me mid-fight? Not bad, human.”
“Taunting? What're you talking about? Open your eyes.”
“Trying to flee? The moment I open them, your illusion vanishes. Coward.”
“...”
With eyes closed, his hearing sharpened. Footsteps approached—Sung-tae's. Impressive. The training worked wonders; now even footsteps echoed. But the imaginary Sung-tae was standing still?
“You've been out of it lately. First the dwarves, now this guy. Time for a knuckle rap.”
“Wait. This isn't imagination...”
Finally realizing, Iron opened his eyes—but Sung-tae's finger was already there.
“You can take a hard one, right?”
＊＊＊
“Urgh...”
“A demon king whining like that?”
“It's not whining!”
Iron rubbed his forehead defiantly at Sung-tae. The crack there was shockingly deep for mithril. Focusing his demon king power, it vanished like a lie.
“Whoa. You can do healing magic too?”
“Not healing magic. My body is ore. I merely reshaped it with my authority.”
“Makes sense. Anyway, you called, so spit it out.”
Sung-tae recounted what he'd heard: the first dwarf king's supposed Black Oriharcon forging, and the Sunstone required for it.
“Sunstone, huh. I've seen it once. Get that, and you're set?”
“Whoa! For real?”
“Yes. A stone radiating heat—even dwarves couldn't find it. It's buried in the deepest magma layers underground. Even earth folk like them can't dig that far. The first dwarf got lucky somehow.”
“Then fetch it now.”
“Got it.”
Iron dove straight into the ground. Despite being solid earth, it swallowed him like a pool.
After a wait that had Sung-tae yawning in boredom, Iron resurfaced.
“Here.”
“Whoa! The Sunstone!”
A small pebble glowing vivid scarlet rested in his massive palm—like a miniature sun. The light scorched the air, but affected only ore; Sung-tae's armor began melting under it.
“Stay back. My armor's gonna melt away.”
“Ooh! The Sunstone!”
Smith Black approached, tears streaming. How long had he dreamed of this? After endless failed efforts, seeing it moved him to his core.
“At last... In my generation, the dwarves' dream comes true!”
“Alright, let's test it.”
Convinced by the melting armor, Sung-tae urged him on. But reshaping with the curses and runes intact required skill, so Smith refused.
“First, I'll practice on normal ore. Preserving the power in that armor while reshaping is another matter.”
“Fair enough.”
Smith entered the forge, processing ores with tireless zeal—not an old man's vigor.
“Nice to watch someone sweat for their passion...”
“Can I go now?”
“Nah. Might need more Sunstone. Stick around.”
“Urgh... I'm a warrior! Not an errand boy!”
“Wanna go warrior vs. warrior again?”
Iron shut up and crouched. He'd trained to forget that trauma, but facing the real deal brought the fear crawling back.
‘Damn! He's even stronger than before!’
And different now. Before, he hadn't sensed it, but training had sharpened him—Sung-tae's life force magic flowed palpably. Irregular yet restrained, an unprecedented power even a warrior like him dared not challenge. Iron fell silent.
Watching him, Garba asked curiously,
“Iron. That power you used to heal your forehead—does it work on other ores too?”
“...And if it does? It's my authority. Breathing for one born from veins.”
“Even Black Oriharcon?”
“Obviously! But I won't use it against you lot. I seek strength as a warrior, not as a demon king.”
“...”
Sung-tae, back turned watching Smith, slowly rotated his head. The eerie motion—like a horror ghost—made Garba flinch back.
Sung-tae's gaze on Iron was impassive. But it wasn't. He was just suppressing his emotions.
“Hey. You can handle Black Oriharcon at will?”
“Y-Yes...”
Overwhelmed, Iron spoke formally for the first time. Sung-tae's eyes didn't waver.
“Then you can reshape my armor—keeping the curse and runes intact?”
“In theory...”
“Iron.”
Sung-tae approached slowly, face now smiling—the stiffest, most explosive grin imaginable.
“Shrink my armor to pebble size. Keep the curse and runes as-is.”
“I-I'll try!”
“Not try.”
Sung-tae placed a hand on Iron's shoulder. The power there could pulverize him to sand.
“Do it.”
＊＊＊
Kim Sung-tae finally shed the armor. Donning spare werewolf leather gear, he stretched his lightened body and exhaled blissfully.
“Hoo.”
My lord.
How long had it been? Seeing Sung-tae's true form. Back when they first clashed, she'd thought him a mere human. Garba reminisced, gazing at her lord.
“Feels great. Just the vibe, though.”
“Congratulations, my lord!”
“Thanks, Garba.”
His smile turned to her. In that instant, Garba's heart raced oddly—a new sensation. Not battle-hot, but a strange warmth enveloping her. Her heart pounded like it might burst. She stifled it desperately, but it rebelled fiercer.
“Garba? You okay?”
“Y-Yes! My lord, I'm fine!”
“Pushed too hard lately? Rest up back home.”
“No! I'm fine!”
“N-No, I'm not fine!”
Iron, collapsed and barely moving, yelled indignantly. Using his authority, Sung-tae had shrunk the armor to a pebble on a necklace, then tested if curse and runes held—on Iron, unleashing all his pent-up frustration.
“Thanks. Way more comfy now. But pick a lane—casual or formal? Stick to one.”
“Urgh...”
“Anyway, thanks again!”
“...N-No problem, sir.”
Satisfied, Sung-tae examined the necklace intently. Compressed from full armor, it felt tougher—unlikely to break easily. Though really, just boiled-shell durability to raw-shell level.
‘Worst case, cup it in my hand. Nothing safer than my palm.’
With the item in hand, he itched to test it. Curse/rune preservation proven on Iron; now real combat for usability.
‘But no enemies here...’
That thought ended as the cavern ceiling melted. Magma poured into the dwarf village, their screams echoing through the underworld.
“Iron. You handle magma too, right? Save 'em all.”
“Y-Yeah...”
Leaving Iron torn between registers, Sung-tae grinned at the foe emerging from the ceiling.
“I'll play with that guy.”