Dwarven Honor
The men’s faces flushed crimson as they gasped for breath, their lungs burning. These dwarves had beards so thick that mustache, chin beard, and sideburns merged into one continuous mass, with lengths stretching over ten mentols. They looked old enough to be grandfathers, yet within their own race they were still regarded as fresh-faced youths. Among dwarves, a beard shorter than a hammer’s haft earned no recognition as an adult. Though only half the height of an average Demonia n, their bodies were broad and heavy, packed with dense, powerful muscle. They were the earth fairies—the Dwarves. Beloved by the spirits of earth and metal, they were master artisans capable of shaping anything from ore.
“Huff…!! Huff…!!! Hey, Berko!! Scouting was your job!! Couldn’t you keep that Golden Wing under control?!”
“The golem’s field of view has limits…!! Limits, I said…!!! Haa… haa…!! If anything, this is your fault as leader!!! I told you…!! Crossing the plains was…!! Too dangerous!!!”
The miniature flying golem, Golden Wing, had been built for covert reconnaissance. Though difficult to construct, piloting it demanded equal skill; it was top-tier equipment. Among the younger generation of dwarves, the one called Berko was currently the most proficient at both building and operating Golden Wings, which was why he had been assigned reconnaissance and technical support for the expedition. That was precisely why the leader now hurled blame at him for failing to detect the approaching Humians in time.
Yet Berko had his own defense. Though fear of the massive undead horde had prompted his warning, he had repeatedly urged the leader not to cross the plains no matter how urgent the investigation. Regardless of the reason, the fact remained that the party had been led onto the plains, discovered by the Humians, and forced to flee. The fault lay more with the leader than with the technical specialist.
Berko had even suggested slowing the pace to allow for more careful scouting, but the leader had dismissed the idea with the lofty excuse that “the dwarven race must regain its prosperity as quickly as possible.” In truth, the leader’s impatience stemmed not from any noble goal of prosperity, but from the fear that if they merely mapped a route and turned back once supplies ran low, the next expedition would reap the glory of reaching Taego Forest first. He simply could not bear the thought of another claiming the honor of bringing news of the ancient forest’s bounty back to their people.
Of course, Berko refrained from voicing this suspicion aloud; every member of the party had already seen through the leader’s petty hunger for glory. There was no point in stating the obvious and earning the leader’s displeasure.
“W-wait!!! Th-that’s a person!!?”
“It’s a person!! A Demonia n!!!”
While the leader and Berko continued their petty squabble, the rest of the party had been pouring every ounce of strength into their desperate flight. Then they spotted a figure ahead and cried out in shock. Their fate already hung by a thread above a thousand-foot drop; capture by the Humians meant a lifetime of miserable slavery followed by an ignominious death. They had been fleeing in terror of that very future.
Yet the moment the dwarves recognized the Demonia n standing in their path, an even deeper despair seized them.
“Hey!! Miss!!! Run away!!!”
“Behind us!!! The Humians are right behind us!!!”
“Run!! Get out of here!!!”
Their frantic shouts were closer to screams, thick with anguish and hopelessness. Every word was spoken out of pure concern for the stranger before them. If they themselves were captured, it would be a tragedy, but at least it would be the consequence of their own choices. For an unrelated Demonia n to be dragged into their mess, however, would be a shame worse than death, a humiliation beyond slavery. The dwarves could not bear the thought of an innocent victim suffering because of them.
They wondered how any survivor could still appear so composed in the middle of this ruined land during such a hopeless age, but there was no time for idle curiosity.
“Halt!!!”
The dwarven party stopped directly in front of the Demonia n woman. They had abandoned flight and chosen their stand. They looked at the silent figure before them.
Her jet-black hair seemed to reflect light, gleaming like the finest black pearl. The black halter-neck dress clung tightly to her body, exposing generous amounts of skin and accentuating the seductive allure of her form. A pair of forward-sweeping horns evoked the image of a Giant Field Bison, radiating an aggressive, combative presence, while glimpses of sharp fangs hinted at primal ferocity. Yet even amid these imposing features, her crimson eyes, long lashes, and smooth lips formed a perfect harmony of beauty.
Slender, prominent collarbones. A full, soft bosom reminiscent of the earth mother Astar. A narrow waist and toned abdomen visible through the diamond-shaped cutout at the dress’s center. Long, graceful fingers. Rounded, supple hips. Every part of her body resolved into a single result: beauty. The completed puzzle was a masterpiece.
“Aaaah……”
The dwarves felt their throats go dry and parched. As a race of artisans, they believed that had they encountered such flawless beauty earlier in life, they would have poured every effort into capturing it—whether in stone, pendant, or glasswork. That made the current despair all the more bitter. To witness such unmatched beauty only to be denied the time to immortalize it, and worse, to watch this living masterpiece fall into the cruel hands of the Humians…
“Listen up, you lot!!!”
The leader’s voice rang out, resolute. He had already made his decision, and not a shred of regret remained. Though he had not yet spoken the details, the other dwarves wore the same determined expressions, their shared blood making the understanding instantaneous.
“To have a heavenly model like this stolen from right in front of us would be a disgrace to every dwarf!!!”
The leader’s words revealed his artisan’s desire for the woman before them. The others’ eyes gleamed as they gazed at her.
“Allowing an innocent person to suffer because of our actions would be a disgrace to every dwarf!!!”
Even as the Humian army closed in, the leader’s voice carried unmistakable pride. The others gripped their weapons tighter, steeling themselves for battle.
“To turn tail and flee before a vile, detestable enemy would be a disgrace to every dwarf!!!”
The leader’s voice burned with fury toward the absolute evil that had brought ruin to Terraris and misery to every other race. The others answered with a thunderous roar, their fighting spirit ignited.
Greed, pride, wrath. In that moment, the dwarves’ nature—ever faithful to desire and instinct—stood plain for all to see. The leader’s command, born of raw emotion, was objectively a suicidal order with no chance of victory. Yet to him, odds and success rates held no value; he sought only a battle worth staking his life upon. The others felt the same, and they threw their full support behind him.
Some might call such a stand courage, but in this moment it was an emotion they had no need for. The Demonia n woman, who had watched the Humian forces approach with rising anger, finished her own preparations for battle with a rather blunt remark.
“Stop acting so high and mighty and get behind me.”