Chapter 87
Chapter 87
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 87
Chapter Title: Need to Upgrade the Shrine (2)
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Splat—
"State your identity."
On the way into the count's estate, knights and soldiers blocked my path.
This never happened when I was with the old men.
If I'd known, I should've brought one of them along...
"I'm here on Astor Closel's introduction. I'm Chris, and..."
I turned my body slightly, pushing out my back a bit.
"This one's the Saintess."
"Kyarruk!"
"..."
"..."
A sudden chill of silence fell over us.
"Drag him out."
"Yes, sir!"
"...?"
Drag me out?
"Oh, right."
Thinking about it, Astor Closel was a big deal.
And the name Saintess carried just as much weight.
It was too grand a name for some random commoner to drop and expect belief.
"Don't touch her! If you touch Luna..."
"Hm?"
"...the holy war starts right then."
"Drag him out!"
I really should've brought one of the old men.
Even Alard would've done.
I'd never been turned away anywhere until yesterday, so I hadn't imagined this.
"Isn't Sir Randolph here?"
"How dare a commoner wag his tongue like that!"
"I said don't touch her? Mess with me, and it'll bounce back!"
I didn't want to earn the ire of the gods of the land and bring bad luck.
As our scuffle grew noisy, a voice came from inside the gate.
Then, a small door creaked open.
"What's all this racket?"
"Sir Randolph!"
Luckily, it was a familiar face.
"..."
"Old Man Closel sent me to the territory forge, but I can't get in."
Sir Randolph gave a crisp salute.
"I'll escort you."
"...?"
Was he always this formal with me?
Reading my expression, Sir Randolph explained.
"You're about to receive a noble title. Everyone, show proper respect."
"Hah... Hup! Forgive our rudeness!"
"Pardon our discourtesy!"
"Good grief."
A title I wasn't even going to accept, and it was already this effective.
I suddenly felt a pang of regret.
"You can treat me like usual. I'm not taking the title anyway."
"..."
Sir Randolph had witnessed the whole mess with the viscount.
He seemed to accept it, his tone softening a bit.
"Even without the title, I can't treat you lightly."
"I said be casual."
"You haven't heard yet, it seems. Follow me."
Felt like there was something about me again, but no need to worry.
With everything happening around here, one or two things popping up wasn't worth stressing...
Following Sir Randolph, I started hearing the clang of hammers on metal.
Clang—
Clang—
The sweltering heat hit me too.
Not just the fire's heat—the energy inside was blazing.
And the people in there as well.
"Their fortunes are pure fire."
No wonder they were blacksmiths—fire everywhere.
Fortunes are based on the five elements.
Fire, water, wood, metal, earth—reading the harmony of their energies.
Gauging personality and life from each element's inherent traits.
Usually, lots of fire means a hot-tempered person.
Passionate and bold, you could say.
"This is the place. We can't disturb them while they're working."
They were all artisans of their race, they said.
Even Old Man Closel never spoke to them during work.
"I get it."
Amid the hordes of blacksmiths, there was another building deeper in.
Probably where the dwarves were.
The aura leaking out was already intense.
"They all have similar fortunes..."
The working blacksmiths all felt alike.
Strong in fire, metal, earth.
Stubborn, bullheaded, fiery people.
Blacksmiths through and through.
A grizzled elder suddenly bellowed.
"Put your soul into every strike!"
"...Yes, sir!"
Clang—
"Breathe your soul into every hammer blow!"
Clang—
"I told you not to let your focus slip even once!"
A wizened old man, body packed with rock-hard muscle, snatched up a lump of metal a young smith had made.
"Pathetic. No way soldiers could protect themselves with this."
Bang—
One swing of the old man's hammer shattered the glowing red breastplate.
Half-molten metal chunks hit the floor, hissing.
"Again!"
Clang—
"You idiot! Soul into it! That's it! Yes!"
Finally, a move that pleased him—praise erupted.
But I couldn't relate at all.
"No soul in it...?"
Zing—
The old man's sharp eyes turned to me, but what could I do?
There really was no soul in it.
"Who're you?"
"Uh... um..."
If I introduced myself like before, they wouldn't buy it.
As I pondered how to present myself, the old man's words machine-gunned out.
"An artisan's soul isn't something a layman can sense!"
"Pardon?"
"A guy who's never swung a hammer thinks he knows... tsk tsk."
True, I'd never held a hammer, and I knew zilch about smithing.
But.
"I can see spirits, and there's really no soul in it."
"..."
"..."
Laughter burst out from all around soon after.
"Pfft...!"
"Heh! There've been rumors like that lately."
"Yeah, heard there's a soul-seer fighting up north or something."
My rumors had spread here already.
Makes sense—it's been a while since I did divinations around here.
Anyone in the know would know.
"A hero shows up, and copycats follow."
"Tell me about it."
"Hair's supposed to be snow-white, right?"
Glance—
"Carries a kid on his back, they say."
"That kid's the Saintess or whatever?"
Glance—
The laughing blacksmiths started glancing my way.
Even those working far off.
"White hair... sees souls... kid...?"
"Pfft, and carries a blue rattle too."
Glance—
More eyes now locked on my waist.
"..."
"..."
"Guys, why would the northern guy's be here?"
The cheeky remark drew another round of laughter.
"Hahaha, yeah, exactly."
"Thought it was real for a sec."
"Sir Randolph's with him, so I figured it was legit?"
At that, eyes shifted to the side.
And silence returned.
"..."
"..."
Sir Randolph spoke.
"That's him."
"Gasp...!"
"Hup!"
Shocked reactions fired off in chain.
Some even ran over hammer in hand to size me up.
What the hell were my rumors even like to get this reaction?
"S-so hideous even undead fear him..."
"Voice like thunder, echoes across the castle..."
"...Pardon?"
The rumors were way off—big time.
What kind of talk is that for a perfectly normal guy?
Right then, the inner building's door burst open like it might shatter.
Bang—
"The soul-seer's here?"
"That guy exists?"
"Perfect for ego swords!"
Shaggy beards.
Height up to my solar plexus.
Sturdy, solid muscles.
Dwarves, just like the tales.
Thundering—
"This the soul-seer punk?"
"Body's a mess."
"Can't hammer with him."
Five dwarves circled me, appraising.
"Thought we'd finally crack ego sword secrets..."
One especially burly dwarf eyed me sharply.
"The human Closel mentioned—you?"
"That's me."
"Heard you need something made."
Closel said he'd set it up—yep, already done.
The dwarf asked excitedly.
"Taught those necromancers a lesson, huh? What do you want made?"
Truly a race with fiery eyes.
"Sword to repel undead? Spear?"
"N-no, not that..."
"Armor to block magic? I'll enchant top-tier defense. No need for a holy sword scabbard? Speak up."
Sounded like something epic was coming.
Problem was, what I needed wasn't grand at all.
I mumbled awkwardly.
"Rice bowls, soup bowls... and spoons?"
"..."
"..."
The dwarves' chatter cut dead.
Suddenly felt bad for dashing their expectations.
Why'd they hype it up like that and embarrass me...
"Maybe... a bowl for necromancer blood?"
"Scary dude like the rumors. Gotta gouge eyes with that spoon."
How the hell did my rumors spread like this?
I had to crush expectations again.
"For setting the table..."
"..."
"..."
The dwarves exchanged subtle glances.
I felt even more awkward.
Anyway, first impressions of dwarves were unique.
A race with wildly imbalanced elements.
Fire, metal, earth dominant—water and wood barely there.
Barely enough to say they had life force?
"..."
That kind of imbalance means deficiencies in fate.
Usually advise living near water or visiting mountains often to balance energies.
In other words, dwarves lacked everything tied to water and wood.
Life full of snags, potentially.
The glancing dwarves muttered dully.
"Might as well eat while we're out."
"Too early for a meal—snack?"
Chatting dwarves all pulled something out in unison.
p>Looked like subspatial pouches—huge cups emerged.
Head-sized tankards.
"Beer first."
That's when I realized.
How dwarves filled their water and wood energies.
"...So that's why they love beer?"