Dwarves and Fairies

I shot up from my seat and headed straight for my room. It was simple, really. The equipment compatibility only I could see, the ability to swap someone else's gear on a whim and check the results. If I used that to craft something that actually suited Doloris…

"No, that's not it."

I didn't actually believe I could whip up perfect gear in an instant. Equipment crafting? I'd never done it in my life. If grad school taught me anything, it was that nothing comes easy on the first try. But it didn't have to be perfect, right? As long as it was better than what she had now.

Doloris's gloves sat at a compatibility of 1.1. If I couldn't improve on that, something would be seriously wrong.

"She'll notice, won't she?"

If the new gear was even slightly better, she'd feel it the moment she put it on. That would be proof enough. Which meant it was time to change classes to blacksmith.

My mind was made up and the direction was clear. So what came next?

"Yuna? How does a total beginner become a blacksmith? Quick."

The obvious answer: read the manual. I had an excellent professor on hand, after all. That earlier display had just been bait.

Several training materials appeared before my eyes.

One thing stood out compared to everything I'd seen before. Every single entry had a lock emoji in front of it.

"What's with the locks?"

"Then I can't read them."

I was Korean. If we were splitting hairs, I carried the blood of Hwanung, so I was pretty far removed from dwarves. Hold on. She wouldn't have recommended stuff I literally couldn't access, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠though.

"Hey, you didn't…?"

The lock emojis had all turned into key emojis. That meant they were open now?

"This actually works…"

Suddenly I understood why I'd been laid off. Yuna was ridiculously competent. I just hadn't expected that competence to carry over to another world.

Anyway, time to choose. First option: elves. Second: Frostwhisper Tribe. Third: Sun Dwarfs. Fourth… what even was that?

I opened the fourth document first. The screen was completely black. Something about it felt ominous. Probably just an error.

Weird word in the middle. Skipping that one for now.

"Second option is…"

Probably not the right fit. The problem seemed to be yin energy, so the Frostwhisper Tribe's methods felt too distant from what I needed. In that case…

"Know anything ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about the Sun Dwarfs?"

The name alone sounded warm. Felt promising.

A moment later, a title that reeked of desperation popped up.

The reactions were intense. Scanning through the posts, one common thread stood out: "Enchanters are dopamine, equipment is boring."

Dwarves had two paths. Enchanters who strengthened gear, and blacksmiths who made it. Enchanters were clearly more popular. People used to trust dwarf-made equipment without question, but lately that wasn't the case. Apparently most of it was mass-produced by machines now, so quality had dropped. Decent enough to use, but nothing special.

Apparently a handful of blacksmiths still hammered things out by hand, but getting gear from them required saving their lives or something. Most dwarves had thrown themselves into enchanting. Only mass-produced stuff reached the market.

So dwarves were…

"Valuable, huh."

Popular and highly respected. The problem was that actual blacksmiths had almost disappeared.

"This is the one, then."

The name felt right, and the skill level seemed guaranteed. Whether I was allowed to steal the tribe's secret manual was another question, but if I could access it, not reading it would be rude.

- Click.

"Let's go."

I opened the unlocked document.

2.

Native Tower, 89th Floor. A land of flowing lava. Ricardor, Great Chief of the Sun Dwarfs, sat alone on his throne. Since the outer Tower had opened, his people had enjoyed their greatest golden age. Demand was endless. Fame soared. But there was one problem.

"Why in the world won't they walk the path of the Descendant of Fire…"

Dwarves had two paths. Blacksmith and enchanter. Those who made equipment, and those who strengthened it. The elite blacksmiths who passed the ancestral trials were called Descendants of Fire. The difficulty was overwhelmingly higher for the Descendant of Fire path. Yet ever since the outer Tower opened, climbers' demand had shifted toward enchanters. Demand for blacksmiths had risen too, but not a single young dwarf had attempted the trials to claim the title of Descendant of Fire. For them, there was no reason to stand before a blazing furnace and hammer metal through grueling trials when they could rake in wealth with a few clicks as enchanters or live comfortably as ordinary blacksmiths churning out mass-produced gear. Sun Dwarf craftsmanship was still respected even at standard grades.

Recently, not a single young dwarf had opened this manual. Only those who had abandoned the path of the elite blacksmith—known as the "Path Abandoners"—remained. Ricardor closed his eyes.

"Back in my day…"

He was lost in that old-fashioned thought when a comforting realization struck: the situations of the elves and the Frostwhisper Tribe weren't much different. Just as he was mulling over how the once-envied Descendants of Fire had fallen to this state—

- Rumble…

The Sun Dwarf forge began to boil. Ricardor's eyes slowly opened.

"What…?"

This reaction only occurred in one case. When the manual was first opened by someone newly walking the path of the Descendant of Fire. In other words, someone had just opened the manual right now. A new Descendant of Fire had appeared. Ricardor rose from his throne.

"Find them."

His low voice rose into a thunderous roar.

"Right now! Bring that admirable youth to me!!"

Ricardor bellowed. The lava itself might have started boiling.

3.

I spent the next several days studying the blacksmith manual. A few days out of a week was a big commitment, but I figured the subject deserved that level of focus. However, what I had foolishly underestimated was how difficult equipment crafting actually was in this world. No, I'll be honest. I hadn't taken it lightly. I'd gone in with some resolve.

"……I'm going to die."

My resolve just hadn't been enough. It was brutal. Where were the machines? I wanted to mass-produce equipment too. Even the introduction was ridiculous.

What the hell. "You who have completed the trials." The problem was that "you" wasn't me. While studying, I learned this manual wasn't meant for ordinary blacksmiths. It was for the elite blacksmiths who had passed the worst trials—the Descendants of Fire. In other words, the already rare hand-hammering blacksmiths, and among them, the even rarer, almost legendary high-ranking ones.

"Descendant of Fire…"

The name alone was grandiose, which explained the absurd difficulty. Thankfully the hammer was recommended, not mandatory. If it had been mandatory, I would've opened the elf document immediately. The first page of the manual was flashy—greatswords, plate armor, mana-infused shields. I skipped all of it.

[Metallurgy]

That section covered handling iron melted at high temperatures. Since I was in the position of having to scavenge even rocks while watching for monsters, I moved on. What I eventually reached was the [Leatherworking] section.

"Insulated Gloves."

Exactly what it sounded like—warm gloves made of leather. The materials were simple, the process straightforward. Most importantly, Doloris's constitution was cold-based. So conversely, gear that held warmth might raise the compatibility even a little. The preparation list was short. Leather was easy to obtain.

"Wild animal hides?"

This was a ranch. When I told the Instructor I needed hides for "magical preparations," he readily agreed. This was the kind of convenience Doloris's presence brought. Thanks to that, I secured a workspace in one corner of the ranch. It wasn't much—just a bucket, a scraper, and a plank—but it was mine.

Which brought me to why I'd felt like dying earlier. What I was doing right now was…

"Huff… huff…"

Scraping raw hides. Tanning, basically. Scraping off fat and flesh, soaking in water, scraping again. The manual said to "rub with all your sincerity," but sincerity alone couldn't solve everything.

"I'm actually going to die…?"

No joke—my arms were shaking. The fact that this body was a kid was already a problem, and the spotted cattle were absurdly large. Naturally, bigger animals meant bigger hides. The hide was large enough to cover the entire workshop floor. Without any detailed knowledge of tanning at this point, was I even doing it right? I wasn't slacking off because I didn't want to do the whole thing—I genuinely had no idea.

- Clap clap.

I wiped the sweat pouring down my face and clapped.

"Yuna?"

Give me the pro tips on tanning. This was probably why humanity lost their jobs. If I kept living like this, I'd become a finger princess.

Yuna stared at me like I was pathetic for a moment. See? This was supposed to be an AI? I couldn't believe it.

The unlocked elf document appeared. I had only chosen the Sun Dwarf manual earlier; I hadn't said I wouldn't read the rest.

"Yeah, open it."

I'd already unlocked everything anyway. Couldn't hurt.

What? That was literally me. Weak and small. I read the document immediately. My summary went like this:

One, crush oak leaves and extract the juice.

Two, dilute the juice in water and soak the hide overnight.

Three, when you take it out the next day, the oils will have separated.

"…That's it?"

So if I just soaked it overnight, it would be clean by morning. The dwarf manual was very detailed about equipment crafting and descriptions, but pretty unfriendly about tanning. If I replaced just that part with the elf method… this was way too good.

'This is how papers are supposed to be written.'

A senior from grad school had said something like that. The key was properly citing others' research and reinterpreting it in your own way. At the time I'd been pretty arrogant and hated hearing it, but now I understood. Time to make some fusion stew.

"Oak… oak…"

Oak leaves. Honestly, I was clueless about plants. Trusting Yuna's knowledge, I headed for the hill behind the ranch.

"Is this it?"

"This one?"

Sorry, how would I know? Ugh, it should be around here somewhere. Then—

"Hey, this is it. This is definitely it."

I approached while comparing it to the photo Yuna displayed. No matter how I looked at it, it was an oak tree.

I immediately picked a handful of leaves. According to the manual, twenty leaves were needed per hide. I wasn't going to half-ass it. Whatever I did, I wanted to do it perfectly. I didn't need to compare myself to others—if I scored 100, I was first place. Of course, that belief had already been shattered by people who scored 110 or 200, but life really was unpredictable. I never expected it to veer this far off course. I returned to the ranch supervisor's workspace, filled the bucket with water, and crushed the leaves with a rock to extract the juice. According to the manual, I just had to dilute it in water and soak the hide overnight.

- Splash.

The hide sank into the moss-colored water.

"…Is that it?"

I'd know the results by tomorrow morning. I slumped down beside the bucket. I'd done everything I could. That was enough for today. Leaning my back against the wall, my whole body finally started throbbing. It wasn't the ground—it was the rebound from digging into the hide all day.

"…Let's just sleep."

My eyes closed. In my experience, following the book usually worked out. If it didn't… I'd think about it then. I believed in the power of books. I'd almost been stuck scraping hide all day… I could only feel grateful to the elves for writing such a manual.

4.

At that same moment. 19th Floor, Great Forest. The deepest part of the elves' Silver Forest. Great Chief Erien sat atop the roots of an ancient tree. For reference, she was also biting her nails. The scout kneeling before her lowered his head.

"…The investigation results? Our promising, highly anticipated successor who opened the ancestral records—where is he?"

Her voice trembled. No surprise. The elves' situation wasn't much different from the dwarves'. If anything, it was worse. While dwarves were famous for equipment, elves were renowned for accessories and gem crafting. But being famous and being stable were two different things. The elves had to offer sacrifices to the World Tree in the Great Forest once every few decades to receive blessings of prosperity and abundance. Those sacrifices required gems that only elite craftsmen could create. Those who opened the ancestral records and passed the trials—the elite craftsmen called Children of the Forest—made those gems. The problem was that there were currently only three such Children of the Forest left. Their long lifespan had been their undoing. Because they lived so long, everyone had assumed someone would always be there to take over. By the time they realized that assumption was naive, it was already too late. The number of elves who crafted accessories had dwindled significantly, and all three remaining craftsmen were bent with age—elders with no disciples, far from being Children of the Forest. More like Elders of the Forest. To perform the sacrifice, they needed gems, but they couldn't make contact. They had no way of knowing if the craftsmen were dead or alive. To put it bluntly, they weren't the type to come running just because someone asked for a sacrifice. They would help if they felt like it. While Erien had been anxiously pacing, news arrived. The moment she received the report that someone had opened the ancestral records, Erien rose from her throne. Some young elf had opened it. How could she not find them? It was wonderful. She had to nurture them. To survive, she had no choice.

"The reader's location has been identified."

Erien leaned forward.

"Where?"

"…The outer Tower."

"The outer Tower…?"

Erien's lips trembled. If they were in the outer Tower, she couldn't capture—no, bring them back. Was it even an elf…? Was it really one of her people…?

"……"

Erien fainted.