The Blacksmith's Reforging
When Solomon returned to Hotel Snark, evening had already settled over the city.
“Pardon me, Mister Solomon.”
A skeletal hotelier, nothing but bones, stepped carefully into his path.
“What is it?”
“There is one missed message addressed to you, sir.”
“A message?”
“It is from the Deadlock Guild.”
“……”
Deadlock Guild. The dwarf-run weapon smithy that had modified Solomon’s Nightfall automatic crossbow.
“So? What does it say?”
“They request that you stop by for the regular maintenance of your automatic crossbow as well as some additional tuning.”
“I see.”
“They asked with particular urgency that you come as soon as possible. The wording was somewhat crude, but the message was as follows.”
With that, the skeletal hotelier pulled something from his coat. It was a scroll resembling ancient papyrus, covered in crooked, jagged handwriting.
“……”
So it wasn’t some special dwarf curse after all. That was just how they normally talked.
“If I may be so bold, I would recommend receiving their modifications before taking on your next commission.”
“……I’ll do that.”
Vlad Tepes’ request would begin after nightfall. For now, it was smarter to clear away the tasks he could finish quickly.
Solomon headed straight through the inquiry room toward the 19th District of Downtown—also known as the Iron Heart Street.
He had no trouble finding the place he had visited once before. After crossing beneath the sign for a closed-off sewer, the scorching heat of a forge and the metallic clang of hammering soon assaulted his skin.
The underground workshop of the Deadlock Guild. The moment Solomon appeared, a dwarf was already waiting for him—quite unlike the first time he had come.
“Hey, you’re late! Feels like a whole century since I called for you!”
“I came as fast as I reasonably could.”
Solomon gave a half-hearted reply and pulled the automatic crossbow from the quick-loader belt at his waist. With a series of precise mechanical clicks as the frame engaged, the Nightfall XR-10 took shape. It was the shooting weapon Solomon relied on most in this world, already enhanced by these dwarves with the “Silent Shot” and “Multi-Guided Arrow” functions.
“Hmph. Looks like you’ve been putting that weapon to damn good use.”
“It’s served me well.”
Solomon didn’t deny it. For all the griping, the Nightfall automatic crossbow had become one of his most frequently used tools since arriving in this world.
“Since the weapon seems to have grown used to your hand, it’s time to move on to the next step.”
“Next step?”
“A weapon is like a horse. To make it run properly, you first have to break it in right. Looks to me like that crossbow of yours is pretty well ‘tamed’ now.”
“So you’re saying its current modifications aren’t the best performance possible?”
“You could say that. Honestly, we’ve barely even started.”
There were plenty of things Solomon wanted to say, but the dwarf’s words carried weight. The difference in his growth since the first time he had visited this place was undeniable.
“More importantly, even these modifications can’t be called the absolute best! Whether you can handle what comes next is another matter entirely.”
“I see. I’m looking forward to whatever upgrades you have in mind.”
“Silent Shot and guided aiming are child’s play. The real purpose of embedding your ‘behavioral learning’ data into the crossbow was something else entirely.”
“Behavioral learning?”
“All the different ways you like to stab people, obviously. Oh, here it is. Shadow magic, and lately you’ve even started using blood magic spells… You’re practically a mage who specializes in putting holes in people’s backs.”
“……”
The dwarf’s expression was that of someone who had read Solomon’s entire combat record. For a brief moment Solomon’s eyes narrowed with wariness, but he soon realized the truth. Providing that level of data was an unavoidable risk when commissioning custom modifications from a master dwarf craftsman. Besides, the matter had already been settled through their geas.
“Now that I’ve seen this, I have a rough idea. Wait here—I’ll have the modifications done shortly.”
With those words, the dwarf snatched the Nightfall automatic crossbow from Solomon’s hands.
“Mage. Shadow and blood magic. Spell-focused. Also functions as an assassin specializing in ambush, surprise attacks, and lethal strikes…”
Muttering to himself, the dwarf disappeared with the weapon. Unlike last time, however, he did not simply vanish with the crossbow and return with a quick-and-dirty job.
“Beginning Class-A spell module modification! Everyone to your stations!”
The shout rang throughout the entire workshop. At once, every dwarf inside stopped their current tasks and began preparing for the new work. They set down whatever they had been hammering on their anvils, pulled out runes and what looked like integrated circuits clearly meant for Solomon’s crossbow, and began striking and fine-tuning them with incredible precision.
It looked less like blacksmithing and more like the delicate, exacting work of master clockmakers.
Each dwarf performed their role in sequence, and the assembled components gradually took form before finally being fitted onto Solomon’s Nightfall automatic crossbow at the far end of the workshop.
CLANG!
With one final, scorching hammer strike, it was complete.
“It’s done.”
The dwarf in charge of the forge brought over the crossbow, still wreathed in the fierce heat of the hammer, and spoke.
“I’d like to hear what functions have changed.”
“You can no longer use standard crossbow bolts with this automatic crossbow.”
“……That sounds like a downgrade.”
“Listen to the end before you judge, human.”
The master dwarf didn’t even twitch an eyebrow at Solomon’s skepticism.
“In exchange, this Nightfall automatic crossbow has been reborn as your wand—a mage’s staff in every sense of the word.”
“……A wand?”
“First, it can now hold up to ten shadow bolts charged with mana equivalent to first-circle spells.”
“Shadow bolts?”
“Any enemy struck will receive a ‘Shadow Mark.’ When you land additional attacks on a marked target, the power of shadow magic will inflict significantly greater damage. Just like when you attack from within your ‘Veil of Darkness.’”
“……!”
In other words, simply hitting an enemy with the crossbow would apply a mark that forced an automatic “ambush check.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Hmph. You think our workshop has a waiting list stretching back centuries for no reason?”
The master dwarf snorted at Solomon, who could not hide his pure astonishment.
“The monsters from that hotel that only accepts one request from a megacorp at a time don’t come to us without good cause.”
“Now I understand.”
The master’s unhidden pride was unmistakable. Solomon could only nod in agreement. He was right.
“I really did stumble into an absurd piece of luck.”
“Hmph. You talk big for someone who made me bleed a rainbow-colored nosebleed.”
The dwarf shrugged as if fed up. Having grown somewhat fond of the gruff craftsman, Solomon shrugged back and offered a sincere apology.
“I was rude last time. I failed to recognize a true master’s skill.”
“So those knot-holes in your skull are finally letting in some light, eh?”
With those words, the master dwarf handed the automatic crossbow back to Solomon. The moment he took it, he felt it—the sensation of arcane power coiling around his fingertips.
Perfect. No room for improvement.
Solomon gave a light bow of thanks, stored the Nightfall automatic crossbow in his quick-loader belt, and turned to leave.
Night was approaching.
Upon returning to the hotel, Solomon did not hesitate. A new commission awaited him tonight.
“Pardon the intrusion, Master Solomon.”
Right on cue, a hotelier knocked on the door.
“Room service.”
In the hallway stood a zombie dressed in the formal uniform of Hotel Snark, pulling a luxurious room-service trolley.
“One moment, please.”
The skeleton carefully lifted the serving tray from the trolley’s upper shelf and began setting the table with meticulous care.
He spread a pure white tablecloth, placed a silver cloche—the kind commonly used in French cuisine—in the center, and arranged a full set of silver cutlery, including forks and knives, along with small side plates.
It was the same ridiculously extravagant formality as always. Of course, this room service wasn’t actually about food. It was nothing more than an elaborate ritual that had to be observed.
“Then, I wish you a pleasant evening.”
With those final words, the skeleton pulled the trolley away. Once again left alone, Solomon stared at the tableware and the silver cloche covering the plate.
When he lifted the cloche, what he found inside was…
A perfectly cooked, steaming steak.
“……”
A note had been placed beside it.
Oh, don’t worry—it’s not human flesh.
— Vlad Tepes
— A token of my personal goodwill before the commission begins.
This is a meal prepared using the highest-grade beef cattle raised outside the city. Our Wallachia Company’s head chef personally visited the hotel kitchen to cook and serve it.
There is still some time before the commission deadline, so please focus entirely on savoring this dish tonight.
There wasn’t a single word about the actual contents of the request. That was all the “room service” amounted to. Truly. Faced with this bewildering situation, Solomon could only blink.
After a brief moment of hesitation, he pressed the call bell.
“You called, sir?”
“I saw the room service… but it was just regular food.”
“That is correct.”
The hotelier nodded.
“At Chairman Vlad Tepes’ personal request, we were asked to provide you with the very best beef. A top-tier chef from Wallachia Company even visited the hotel kitchen specifically for this.”
“So… it really is just beef?”
“Yes. As you can see, it is cattle raised outside the city. You may set your mind at ease on that matter.”
“And the actual room service for the commission?”
“The information itself has been delivered to the hotel, but the chairman specifically requested it be provided at midnight tomorrow. Ah, it has now been exactly ten minutes of resting time. This is the optimal moment to enjoy it.”
“……”
Solomon fell silent, utterly dumbfounded. Still, there was nothing else to do. He sent the hotelier away and sat down at the table.
Come to think of it, I haven’t eaten anything all day.
No matter how suspicious it seemed, they had gone this far to guarantee its safety. It probably wasn’t poisoned. With that thought, Solomon carefully sliced the meat with his knife, then cautiously placed a piece in his mouth and chewed.
……It’s good.
He wasn’t a gourmet who could appreciate deep, subtle flavors, so that was the extent of his impression. It didn’t mean it tasted bad. It was clearly excellent, and he could feel an extraordinary level of care that ordinary dishes lacked.
Even so, it was still just that. In the end, this wasn’t some kind of drug or alcohol. It was simply beef.
And that was the truth. No matter how expensive or golden a dish might be, how often did its actual value match the price once it touched your tongue?
At least by Solomon’s standards—based on the common sense of his original world—it was rarely the case.
Usually, what gourmets consumed wasn’t the food itself. It was the price of the food, or the information attached to it.
Even so, what was the obsession with gastronomy that Vlad Tepes pursued so relentlessly?
‘……’
Nothing would change. After finishing the filling meal, Solomon reviewed his situation.
All that remained was to face tomorrow.
To greet a new night, it was time to rest.
The following night.
“Room service.”
The expected knock sounded at the door. Solomon rose silently.
He put on his stealth coat, concealed the Ghost Whale Bone Blade in one sleeve and the Igniting Sun Ruby Dagger in the other, and finally stored the Nightfall crossbow in its loaded state on his quick-loader belt.
As a cleaner of Hotel Snark, he was simply about to do what needed to be done.