Chapter 31: Apprentice (1)
The dwarves gathered in the forge stared blankly at the skeletons.
“Chief. You're saying we should use these guys as apprentices? Even if we're short on hands…”
Obern, the village's head blacksmith.
Thuron scratched his head at the remark he voiced on behalf of the others.
“I know it sounds absurd. But that human requested it himself. He boasted they were better workers than orcs.”
The blacksmiths eyed the skeletons. Wind whistled through the gaping holes in their bones.
Skeletons were dim-witted summons.
Their stats were abysmal.
Better than orcs?
Whether it was the human who said it or the chief who blindly brought the skulls along, both seemed out of their minds.
‘Damn. The chief's lost it. Orcs would be better. At least they've got strength…’
Obern and the other blacksmiths scowled.
“… Please, just give it a shot.”
“Hoo.”
Obern sighed and nodded.
He was the chief, after all. Had to save face.
“… Fine. But… you know this too, Chief? Half-baked help is worse than none.”
“I know. Believe me. Just work with them for one day. If they don't cut it, I'll tell the human myself. Gotta have some grounds to refuse, right?”
“… Got it.”
The chief's face lit up, and he scurried off like he'd escaped.
The blacksmiths eyed the leftover skeletons for a moment.
Obern barked orders.
“Hey! You skulls! Split into groups of twenty and pair up with a blacksmith!”
Clatter!
The skeletons divided.
“Bring that steel and mold over! Watch the floor when you carry it!”
“Move that over there and stack it! Right to this height!”
Clatter!
His eyes gleamed as the skeletons executed the orders flawlessly.
“Hmph. At least they understand instructions.”
Even so, twenty of them might barely match one or two orcs in strength.
Obern and the blacksmiths kept issuing commands.
“Pull that out, cool it in cold water, and stomp it down firm. With your weight… ten of you together should do. Once per second. Here, here, and here—stomp those spots.”
Clatter!
“Melt the steel here and pour it into the mold. Thirty seconds. Pull it when this stopwatch hits here.”
Clatter!
“Yes! Like that! These things are smarter than they look? Try this next. Pour liquid into this mold to this level, cool for twenty seconds, then…”
Like climbing stairs one step at a time, the blacksmiths assigned increasingly complex tasks, their eyes lighting up.
“Obern, sir. These aren't ordinary skeletons, are they?”
“… Guess the chief wasn't talking nonsense.”
Earsplitting hammer strikes.
Hot, stifling air and the blacksmiths' frayed nerves.
Even burly men usually tapped out after two or three hours as apprentices.
But the skeletons were different.
They toiled silently like perfect workers, no complaints, executing orders flawlessly.
The skeletons' performance far exceeded expectations.
‘At this level, we could subdivide the division of labor further?’
If skeletons handled not just basics but advanced processes too?
Production efficiency would skyrocket.
“… Shall we teach them properly?”
In times of continental peace, unthinkable. Dwarves never shared techniques lightly, no matter the talent.
Jokes abounded that learning dwarven crafting took ten years as an apprentice.
But now was different.
The world was half-destroyed.
What good was hoarding skills? No riches or glory came from it.
Efficiency ruled this era. Adapt or die.
“You. Grab this hammer.”
Six hours since the skeletons arrived. That's all it took to hand them hammers.
“Listen up. Pull the mold from there, then strike here, here, and here… and this seam…”
* * *
[Skeleton 1 is learning Dwarven Forging from 'Obern'…]
[Skeleton 343 is learning Dwarven Forging from 'Malcolm'…]
[Skeleton 1,102 is learning Dwarven Forging from 'Pudal'…]
Three days since sending the skeletons.
They were devouring the essence of dwarven techniques, beyond mere basics. Weapon production had exploded.
Expected output with full apprentices: two hundred sets a day. Now? Three hundred, easy.
Skeletons weren't just apprentices anymore; their role in crafting was growing.
Stockpiled steel was vanishing fast—newbie orcs were off mining.
Far off, Thuron and a few orcs pulled up with a cart.
—Chwik! Got more gear today!
“Three hundred twenty sets today!”
Thuron beamed, eyes sparkling.
“You seem thrilled.”
“You bet! Haven't seen the blacksmiths this fired up in ages! We're the crafting race, aren't we? The village is buzzing!”
Fair enough.
With their numbers dwindled, how often did dwarves bustle like this?
The orc influx had them pumped too.
“Our boys doing well?”
“Need I say? Production's climbing daily. Even prickly Obern's spilling his secrets. Your summons must've won him over.”
Rave reviews.
“But… you okay? You've sent us all your summons…”
A necromancer's max summons scaled with mana.
Once a necromancer’s mana was maxed out, potions could not increase the number of summons they could maintain.
True for all summoning classes.
Every skeleton but Cedric was now a dwarven protégé.
No issue.
“I'll just command the orcs.”
Kim Minwoo was a freak necromancer who leveled without summons. No skeletons? Hack and slash.
Leveling smoothly sans skeletons too—orc shields were solid. Ten levels in three days.
‘The gap with the skeletons widened a bit…’
He could boost their levels anytime.
Dwarven techniques? Irreplaceable.
‘Miss this chance, who knows when next.’
Perfect gate stage.
Fantasy realm.
Vast too.
Meeting dwarves: lucky break.
Doomsday world meant spilling long-guarded secrets.
‘Learn once…’
Minwoo grinned, envisioning the future. Skeleton grind could yield auction-house-beating gear for self-sufficiency.
Crafting skills were rain in drought for his summon-heavy path.
“Got it. You've done us a solid. Ate our fill for once.”
“Plenty of monsters. Still lots to hunt, but…”
“Won't last forever. It's a race against time.”
“Yeah. Time to hit the fortress.”
Thuron nodded, eyeing the orc horde.
“Orcs really pour in. Surviving this harsh climate in droves…”
Spot on.
Wanderers accelerated.
Orcs spread the word far and wide.
Join resistance: eat well. Revenge on apostles and witch.
Slogan: smash hit.
Orcs topped two thousand. Steeply rising.
Then.
[Warning!]
[Enemy alertness changed!]
[0 -> 5 (Sensing something's off)]
‘They noticed.’
Sent ones never returned.
Suspicious, naturally.
Soon…
[First scouting party forms!]
[Apostle's subordinate, Necromancer 'Elrum', mobilizes!]
[Fifty-two Wraith Knights follow Elrum!]
[One hundred Corpse Hunters follow Elrum!]
Enemies mobilizing.
‘Good, just scouts so far.’
Main force? Maybe trouble. Fragments? Winnable.
Eyed the two thousand orcs.
Time to prep for battle.
* * *
Necromancer Elrum.
He was deeply irritated.
Sent forces to dispose of threats.
Silence.
Orc tribe corpse collectors missing? Fine, only five.
Bad luck, maybe.
No big loss.
But the dwarf squad? Different.
Larger scale.
Critical forces.
‘No report…’
Likely wiped.
—… Shall we report to the fortress?
Elrum shook his head at the Wraith Knight's question, calm.
“No. I'll handle it. No need to bother the Apostle. Rally all forces in this sector.”
—… Understood.
Wraith Knight withdrew.
‘Damn. Gotta squash this fast.’
Elrum bit his lip.
Others cleaned sectors fine. His alone problematic?
Branded incompetent in a blink.
Lost forces replaceable.
Shattered trust? Not so much.
Blocked upward reports, but not forever. Extinguish before it spreads.
Elrum and forces marched. Destination: Black Rock tribe.
Last headed there, then radio silence.
Approaching, odd sights.
—Elrum, sir. Something's wrong. These are orc tracks… heading our way en masse.
Too many snow prints. Orc scat and fluids everywhere.
‘Orcs rebelling?’
Orcs hit dwarves.
Forces sucked into occupied zone…
‘Wipeout makes sense.’
Orc revolt: minimum thousand strong. His force? Ten Wraith Knights, twenty Corpse Hunters.
Crushed, no surprise.
“Damn…”
Elrum's face darkened.
Witch hated orcs.
Couldn't hide this.
Report first.
“You, you—return to fortress now and…”
Then.
Pffft!
Snow erupted; orcs ambushed from all sides.
—Chwik! Kill!
—Orc! Orc!
Unthought ambush!
Wraith Knights barely coped; weak Corpse Hunters crumpled.
Pffft!
One axe swing bisected a torso.
Worse followed.
Orcs swarmed everywhere.
—Ambush!
—These vermin…!
“Don't panic! Form up!”
Elrum rallied, gathering mana.
Spell formed over hand.
Corpse Explosion.
If cast, shred incoming orcs.
Then.
Swoosh!
Arrow pierced his chest with a chill whistle.
“Gahk!”
—Protect Elrum, sir!
Arrow barrage poured. Targeting Corpse Hunters and Wraith Knights!
Artistic marksmanship amid orc melee.
One capable:
‘Elf?!’
Elrum's eyes widened.
Orcs in dwarven gear.
Melee-maxing sniper elves.
Worst-case.
* * *
Head-on meant heavy losses. Hence ambush. Stationed select orcs—burly, tough—at likely paths.
Resounding success.
“Don't let a single one escape!”
—Chwiik!
Orcs charged.
Odd sight.
Arrows sniped from nowhere, picking off foes. Minwoo thought the same.
‘Elf?’
Spotted in travels?
Witch forces as continental enemy: elf aid logical.
‘Not complaining.’
Borrow any cat's paw.
Elf sniping? Gold.
‘Necromancer, was it.’
Eyed staggering human, arrow in chest.
‘Commander. Named for sure.’
Named.
Not boss, but unique monster. Dropped good loot. EXP sweet as honey.
‘Last hit's mine.’
Weaved through melee toward Elrum.