Craftsmen Choose Their Tools (1)
After the artificial guardian made its appearance in Alvenheim, the world plunged into chaos. Everyone already knew something was fishy about Alvenheim's recent moves, so nations had dispatched spies and informants to keep a close eye on things.
In that tense atmosphere, this shocking invention—an artificial guardian—suddenly emerged. Elves were known for their racial strength but lagged in technology. To be precise, they were decent at magic but sorely lacking in scientific advancements. It was inevitable; they'd never felt the need. As Grills had once said, you can't appreciate discomfort without first knowing convenience. Elves tended to be conservative and resistant to change, so it was only natural.
Thus, the perception that Alvenheim was technologically inferior had persisted for centuries—until they shattered it head-on.
Title: Never Underestimate Elves Again! We're a Tech Powerhouse Now!
ㄴJust one guardian and you're calling yourselves that? lol
ㄴSo did you guys make it? lol
ㄴNo reason to, so we didn't lol
ㄴHope they at least use it for farming lol
ㄴYeah, you stick to oxen. We'll make ours lol
ㄴWtf, something feels off?
ㄴMaking cows might be better than raising them...?
The artificial guardian delivered a massive shock especially to humans and dwarves. Both prided themselves on never falling behind in tech. Humans dominated world affairs with their organizational prowess, while dwarves churned out goods with their innate craftsmanship.
But Alvenheim's reveal was enough to shatter that pride.
Title: Dwarves Are Shitting Bricks the Most
Dwarves have been living off their god-tier tech pride, but it's all getting wrecked lately. Artificial guardians prove elves have dwarf-level potential, and their brewing skills are getting outdone by demons. If they fall behind for real, those mineral prices? Obvious who's hoarding lol
ㄴFr, every time mineral prices spike, it's always these dwarf bastards pulling shady shit lol
ㄴLmao now demon beer tastes better lol
ㄴTake that back...!
ㄴNah? lol
Humans were shaken too, but the dwarves—or rather, the Mountain—couldn't just sit idly by. Especially since they shared a border with Alvenheim. Seeing it as a threat was a given.
"Things with the elves are getting weird. You think war's actually gonna break out?"
"Yeah. El Dorado's a mess too—end times, man, end times."
Even dwarves who only cared about work and beer couldn't brush this off easily. It wounded their pride, and elves had caused plenty of headaches before. Planting trees along the border wasn't trivial—the problem was those trees devastated the surrounding land. Tree-felling for charcoal production was essential for their operations, and now that wood was vanishing. Real headache fuel.
"Should've declared war before they showed that thing off."
It was a direct hit to resources and a national industry staple—war wouldn't be out of line. Sure, you could ask why not use coal, but their refining tech sucked. Just like turning wood to charcoal, coal needed refining innovations they didn't have yet. So charcoal it was.
Even beyond that, Alvenheim had crossed a line.
"What can we do? Our weapons are top-notch, but we barely have soldiers to wield 'em."
But declaring war was tough for the Mountain too. Elves might get dismissed as pricks, but their racial strength was no joke. Plus, dwarves had the worst physique for combat among all races. And to top it off, nine out of ten were alcoholics—a ridiculous trait.
They'd scraped by on weapon power till now, but race-vs-race? Too many disadvantages.
"Still, there's Grills, right? Word is he's backing us up."
"Oh yeah, I heard. Sending mithril-oriherukon alloy?"
"Damn. Weapons from that alloy must be insane."
"Forget that—I wanna chug booze brewed with herbs from the Four Seasons Forest."
"That does sound better."
Grills was famous even in the Mountain. Strictly speaking, it was PassingDwarf, the one who'd received his support, who was the real celebrity. He'd taken herbs and ores from Grills and achieved a dwarf's dream. Most envied was the mandrake adult soak—a single sip would've been paradise.
Dwarves hunted that dwarf relentlessly, but he was elusive. All alcoholics, hard to track drinkers; same with ores—they got used up fast, undetectable even in forge inspections.
"Let's just do our jobs. Higher-ups'll handle it."
"Yeah. If elves start it, we fight. Otherwise, guard our turf."
"Oh yeah, new beer at the tavern next door lately..."
"You got cash?"
"Pay your tab first."
Dwarves carried on with their trademark optimism, day by day. If war loomed or orders came, deal then. For now, do what we love—beer included.
While the Mountain quietly went about its day—
Clang! Clang! Clang!
In one forge, rhythmic hammering echoed. Normal in dwarf turf, but this rang exceptionally clear—enough to draw passing dwarves' attention.
"Isn't that Gareth's forge?"
"Yeah. Sound's crazy clean though?"
"He level up or something?"
"The guy who drinks all day?"
The owner? None other than Gareth, infamous boozer among dwarves. Sure, all dwarves loved drink, but he overdid it—perpetually sloshed, hammering iron when bored. He even made more from his homebrew sales. So this diligence? Suspicious.
"Must wanna make something."
"Gonna hit him up for a drink later."
Dwarves lost interest quick, of course. Gareth hammered on alone.
"Hoo."
He inspected his creation. Undeniable masterpiece. Gareth let out a small gasp.
He'd never had the skill for this. Dwarven handiness, sure—but no genius spark. Among dwarves, talent varied sharply; his was low-tier.
'This hammer's straight-up broken.'
But now? Different story. He eyed the hammer that birthed the masterpiece.
Grills' gift: the Mithoricon hammer. Channel mana, and green galaxies shimmered.
Normally, forging iron meant heating it red-hot, then pounding relentlessly to shape. Softened metal was still a beast.
'Feels like kneading clay.'
Mithoricon changed that. Iron handled like super-soft clay—no need for brute force. Gentle taps sufficed. Precision he'd never dreamed of, birthing masterpieces.
Just one tool swap, this much? Gareth could hardly believe it.
'Craftsmen don't choose tools? Bullshit.'
This proved you had to be picky to be a craftsman. In his hands, it shone; in a master's? Legendary.
But no grand reveal planned.
'Leak this, mandrake adults get swiped too. Can't have that.'
Hammer could go; mandrakes? Non-negotiable. He'd traded secrecy with friend and leatherworker Wagner for one. Booze hound valued liquor over hammer.
'Gave me something this good—what to give back?'
Gareth set the hammer down, scanned his forge. Average setup. He frequented the brewery more than here anyway. Nothing special sent to Grills—regret gnawed.
'A fermenter maybe?'
Serious thought. Match the gift's worth. Dwarves giving up a prized fermenter? Deep gratitude.
And it was. But recalling Grills' survival grind, he scrapped it. Booze? Nah—knowledge first. Metallurgy know-how transfer made sense.
'He'll tweak it himself anyway.'
He'd heard Grills' refining tales—explosions galore. But only Grills handled mithril-oriherukon alloys.
"Hey, buddy. You in?"
Familiar voice mid-thought: booze pal Wagner, who'd gifted Grills boots. Gareth stashed the Mithoricon hammer and opened up.
"What's up?"
"Just curious. You hammering non-stop? What's the deal?"
Deal? Plenty. Gareth shrugged nonchalantly.
"Bored. Nothin' big."
"Yeah? Whatcha make?"
"Pickaxe."
Pickaxes wore out fast—miners everywhere.
Wagner checked it. "...Damn, you nailed this."
"Yeah? Thanks."
"Yo, lemme buy it—discount?"
"What, conscience kicking in? Full price."
"Hah, between friends."
Words aside, full price paid. Wagner scoped the forge—no changes. New hammer? Drab gray, ignored.
"Anyway, drinks. I got snacks."
"Sweet. Gimme a sec to wash up."
Booze buddies through and through—table set quick. Gareth savored it extra today. Work then drink? Nectar.
Buzzed later, Wagner spoke.
"Oh yeah, heard the rumor?"
"Which?"
"Higher-ups might start a war."
"What? Us first? Why?"
Wagner questioned war talk. Elves strike first, sure—not us.
"Elves, duh... though it's kinda fishy."
"Fishy how?"
"Yeah, dunno details. But you know Grills? Everyone on Gallery does."
Why him? Gareth blinked.
Next words hit hard.
"Rumor is they're starting war to snag his Mithoricon."
"...That's nuts? Elves could get it too."
"Doesn't matter—floods the market either way. Creates panic."
"..."
Things escalated unexpectedly. Ironic too—words to avert war sparked it.
Grills probably never saw it coming. Underestimated human greed.
...No way I'm getting drafted, right?'
Dread crept in.