120. Mithril
Exchanges with the United States over Mithril presented Bahamut with a golden opportunity to work with the vast array of ores imported from America.
From the start, both the U.S. and the Balhut Cult had wanted a new format for Bahamut coins, distinct from the existing ones—and Bahamut himself, sensing their popularity, had already begun research. But once he confirmed the cult's archenemy was the undead, he imported massive quantities of silver through America. Reforged and enchanted, that silver gave birth to...
"True Silver."
"This... is what you've developed so far?"
Bahamut himself called it True Silver. As if only now completing the prototype, he invited Special Envoy Steven and began introducing his creation.
Steven had initially looked disappointed at the ingot resembling mere silver, hearing it was Bahamut's invention. But then...
"Indeed. To put it in terms you'd understand, it's Mithril."
"Mi—Mithril!?"
Steven's eyes lit up at Bahamut's explanation. As a fantasy enthusiast, how could he not know the word? The legendary metal from countless fantasies, the mysterious ore that left an indelible mark on every reader—Mithril, once confined to imagination, had now appeared in reality.
"Precisely. It's ordinary silver transmuted into Mithril through magical means. Comparable to that, yes. For an Awakener, it would be feasible with an Alchemy skill or Magic Craft skill."
"Ooh, Mithril! As if we wouldn't know that name! But why introduce it first as 'True Silver'?"
"Well... isn't there copyright on that? The term 'Mithril'."
"Ah."
Bahamut feared copyright above all. After all, hadn't he and the Balhut Cult raked in fortunes from dollars using copyrights themselves? Anticipating the reverse—paying some corporation over copyrights—he'd deliberated on the name, dubbing it True Silver to sidestep issues with this new invention.
"Korean names have no copyrights."
"Ah, I see."
In truth, there was no real problem; "Mithril" wasn't trademarked in Hangul script. Using the word outright posed no issue, and fantasy novels already dodged copyrights with variant spellings. Besides, demanding copyright from this colossal Dragon God?
"Above all, in reality, no such metal as Mithril exists. Even if they claimed copyright..."
Steven imagined demanding copyright from Dragon God Bahamut. Trekking to the Korean Peninsula for that? Laughable. And could anyone even enforce it against this behemoth?
Impossible, right?
Even that infamous copyright monster would behave impeccably before Bahamut, turning into a friendly children's pal. If they did claim it, it'd only apply to translations matching their trademark—and tweaking the spelling would suffice. Anyway, from now on, Mithril would emerge as a new substance, not a brand; copyrights might not even apply.
"So the Dragon God calls this ingot Mithril—it must have remarkable properties."
"First, its advantages: it never tarnishes. Malleable like copper, with a luster like glass. Nothing special so far. Indeed."
But the true marvel was this Mithril block, developed by the Dragon God himself. Steven asked about its abilities, and Bahamut listed traits—but at this juncture, the value of a precious metal mattered little. What counted was...
"Objects forged from it surpass steel in strength. Extremely lightweight, with superior performance. Especially its holy properties—exceptional against evil entities."
...the results when reforged into weapons. Bahamut boasted proudly of its effects, confident in his creation: feather-light, steel-outclassing durability, magical properties, and holy damage that wreaked havoc on evil beings.
"Impressive. One question, though—what counts as 'evil'? Does that include the undead?"
"Yes. Tests showed it's rat poison to them. Tried it on a ghost—a banshee spotted off the East Sea. Vanished on contact. Effects guaranteed."
"I see. Now it makes sense."
Steven hadn't grasped "evil" at first, but Bahamut's nod confirmed undead inclusion. This was something America—and its potbellied elites—couldn't ignore. No, they wouldn't.
Just the narrative of 'crafted by the Dragon God' will spawn quarterly collectors. No need for flowery words. 'Mystical magical metal Mithril, forged by the Dragon God!' Who wouldn't swell with longing? No one! Not even me, witnessing it firsthand—my heart races with fantasy dreams!
Steven's gaze already fixed on the gleaming Mithril, swayed by that single phrase. If he felt this way, what of his homeland across the sea? With Bahamut coins already proven, could any fat cat truly dismiss this new ingot?
As if!
He envisioned heroes importing Mithril for weapons and costumes; Wall Street scum hoarding it as a safe asset. And its wonders didn't end there.
"Armor or accessories made from it grant exceptional magic resistance. Tests showed Mithril armor withstanding even Bahamut Bullets."
"That's incredible! How many did it take?"
Even the apocalypse's mightiest magical weapon, the Bahamut Bullet, could be effectively blocked. Steven, well aware of its role, swallowed hard in awe. How many monsters had fallen to one bullet? Countless named threats menacing humanity had crumbled pitifully before it—news he'd never miss.
It can counter smuggled Bahamut Bullets villains sneak past surveillance!
No need to think that far; it promised efficacy against America's headache: villains. Bahamut Bullets crushed humanity's foes but menaced humans too—a fact the Balhut Cult proved, villains smuggled civilian-distributed bullets, fueling social unrest. How many heroes had villains subdued or wounded with them?
"Endured over ten of our strongest shots with minimal damage to the Mithril itself. The non-Mithril parts failed first."
"That's joyous news! What about weapons made from it?"
Bahamut vouched for that too. Pure elation gripped Steven; he cheered genuinely, hungering for details on Mithril weapons. Armor mattered, but slaying monsters demanded potent arms.
"Too light. Pure Mithril weapons aren't viable. Must alloy with other metals."
"Regrettable, but usable as weapons, then."
"Yes. Viable as weapons."
Regretfully, its lightness required alloys for balance. Yet fully usable. With armor proven superior, what feats would Mithril arms achieve? Excitement swelled in Steven—but...
"So many advantages—humanity advances another step! Then... the drawbacks?"
Great boons bred flaws. Steven knew it; such dominance demanded trade-offs.
"...Well. Our artisans can't craft with it."
"Pardon?"
"In short: can't craft with Mithril."
The Dragon God's flaw? Impossible to work with. Contradictory. Then those boasted tests—from where?
"W-Wait. You tested armor earlier, right?"
"Yes. Tested. The one I made."
Feasible because Bahamut himself forged it. Steven stared at Bahamut with trembling eyes.
"I... see. Not a Balhut Cult artisan, but the Dragon God himself. So what I saw wasn't cult-made. Correct?"
"Indeed. Simple level restriction. Asked an Appraise—er, Analyze skill user. Seems only level 30+ artisans can handle it. Others lack levels to even appraise properly."
A level-restricted item. Unheard of for an ingot—and level 30? Untouched by humanity. Steven sighed in deflation.
"...Useless for now."
"As expected?"
"No level 30s in America, even among artisans. Leveling crafting skills takes time—reaching 30 would demand ages."
No global level 30 Awakeners yet. Level 20+ claimed national thrones; Balhut had three, plus Jin A-yeon at Ulsan Airport made four. Add Seoul's Kim Su-ho: five on the peninsula.
"America: four in military, ten hero civilians. Total fourteen."
Like Korea, sparse. Leveling was grueling; nearing New Year, worldwide level 20s were rarities. Level 30? Too futuristic.
"But you mentioned crafting armor. Could we see it?"
"No issue."
Humanity would reach level 30 someday; foresight wasn't folly. Steven masked regret, requested the armor. Bahamut obliged without hesitation.
Not pure Mithril—the suit blended spider silk from variant spider zombies for mobility, monster hides from America, all lavished into light plate. Pauldrons and breastplate shielded vitals; feet and hands Mithril-clad, emblazoned with the Balhut dragon emblem.
Under bright lights, the armor's subtle blue Mithril glow evoked not battlefield gear, but ornate ceremonial splendor for national rites.
"...Breathtaking. I steeled myself, but this beauty, this style! Even sans paunch, I covet it!"
"What think you?"
Design: perfection. No efficiency qualms—withstanding Bahamut Bullets made it unmatched. Style and substance wedded...
"As an Awakener, I crave it! Gifting this? Priceless. National treasure... no, Dragon God-forged, it is treasure."
"Haha. Glad you value it so."
Steven bared raw desire to don it—uncharacteristic for a restrained diplomat. Bahamut dismissed it as rhetoric, but...
"No jest. Deadly serious."
For real?
Not flattery—earnest. Bahamut eyed Steven askance, yet he unabashedly ogled the Mithril armor with longing.