Because I Crafted It with Care
Doloris naturally had many questions for me.
After all, I was the one who had brought her gear made by the Sun Dwarfs. And not just any gear, but the work of a Fire Descendant.
How did I pass the trial? Where did I find the books?
She couldn't help but wonder who the hell I was.
But it seemed she was the type to focus on results rather than the process.
"Watch Ruby for me."
Since the results were good, she was willing to put off questioning the process for later.
Doloris hurriedly packed her things and dumped the sleeping brat onto me.
"Me?"
Why?
I mean, what did she see in me to trust me with a kid?
"Ruby is still too young to enter the Tower."
And what does that have to do with me...?
"I'll be back before the day is over, so don't worry."
With that, Doloris stopped packing and looked back at me.
"You'll take good care of her, right?"
In that moment, her eyes locked onto mine.
I held her gaze for a moment, searching for a decent excuse to get out of it.
"...Can I discipline her if she doesn't listen? I'm not really a fan of kids."
"..."
Doloris didn't answer.
Instead, she stared into my eyes a bit longer before slowly letting out a satisfied smile.
"That's a first."
Huh?
"You lying to me."
Did she just use her lie-detection ability on me again?
That is a seriously convenient ability. I guess making up half-baked excuses won't work on her in the future.
I got caught red-handed.
"I'll let it slide this time because it was cute. I'm counting on you."
Rustle.
Doloris gently brushed back the sleeping Ruby's bangs.
Smooch.
She planted a soft kiss on her forehead and headed straight out the door.
Click.
The door closed.
Only the sleeping brat and I remained in the cabin.
My estimated age: probably thirteen.
The age of Ruby, who was sleeping right in front of me: probably thirteen.
Having never had a daughter, let alone a niece, in my past life...
...my head was already starting to throb.
A headache was a headache, but business was business.
I had to do what needed to be done.
The gear that had shocked and flustered even the composed Doloris.
The elite blacksmiths of the Sun Dwarfs, known as the Fire Descendants.
It would be wise to look deeper into them and the equipment they crafted.
I couldn't leave the cabin anyway.
I had to take care of the kid once she woke up.
"Yuna."
I whispered as quietly as possible.
"Run a search for me."
I had looked into it briefly before, but there was... a strange disconnect.
It felt like a much more prestigious profession than I had initially thought.
[Keywords: Fire Descendant / Sun Dwarf Elite Blacksmith]
It's good, but...
"Can you bypass the permissions like last time and dig a bit deeper?"
......
......
The search screen on the hologram flickered rapidly.
Usually, she was lightning-fast, but there must have been a massive amount of data.
Posting a dying man's words on a community board?
Well, considering the Fire Descendant's manual was uploaded there too... I guess their concept of a "community board" is different from what I'm used to.
A text block resembling a scanned sheet of yellowed parchment appeared on the hologram.
"Forget passing the trials—no one swings a hammer anymore. They stand before the automated mass-production machines of the Dwarf Company, inputting blueprints, feeding in ore, and pressing buttons."
"What comes out are swords and armor stamped with mass-produced crests."
"And the people believe those belong to us."
"No."
"Those belong to the machines, not to us."
"True blacksmiths... no longer exist."
Looks like this place needs a Luddite movement of its own.
Though, from the dwarfs' perspective, life probably just got a lot easier.
No wonder the demand for a Fire Descendant's gear is so much higher than for mass-produced items.
Now it makes sense.
Of course, even if the demand is sky-high, there's no one left to make them.
And the performance gap... they say the gear grows alongside the user, widening the gap as the Fire Descendant matures.
Which means I can grow too.
"Open."
I stretched my arms wide and opened the book on Sun Dwarf metallurgy.
Well, I have no choice but to grow.
Knowledge is power, after all...
I calmly began reading through the manuals.
Traveling between floors in the residential zones, rather than the climbing zones of the Tower, was not particularly difficult.
Doloris stepped onto the Tower's inter-floor portal.
Her destination was the floor ruled by the Sun Dwarfs: the 88th Floor.
Although gear could be appraised at the standard dwarf verification offices located every fifteen floors,
the nature of this equipment and its crest meant nothing less than a master dwarf at the headquarters would suffice.
Hummmmm...
The moment the portal's light faded, a wave of intense heat rushed in from all directions.
"...Whew."
No matter how many times she saw it, she could never get used to this sight.
First was the overwhelmingly high ceiling—or rather, the complete lack of one.
Even looking straight up, the top was nowhere in sight. Everywhere she looked, there were bridges, pulleys, ventilation pipes, and more bridges.
Golden furnaces hung suspended amidst that endless framework.
And below, looking down past the scaffolding, a river flowed between the platforms.
It was lava.
The artery of the 88th Floor, commonly referred to by outsiders as the "River of Dwarfs."
Normally, the river would flow, distribute its molten heat to the furnaces scattered throughout the framework, and then merge back together.
...Or at least, that was how it was supposed to be.
Now, the river flowed toward one specific location.
A massive, ash-gray building looming in the distance.
The Sun Dwarf Co.
Only there.
In a forge of this scale, the sound of a dwarf manually hammering metal was nowhere to be heard.
Instead, only mechanical noises echoed from all directions: the heavy thud of hydraulic presses crushing ore, the whirring gears of automated fabricators, and the steady hum of conveyor belts.
She walked along the scaffolding, accompanied by the mechanical din.
In truth, she didn't dislike this place. Her chronically cold body felt as though it was thawing, if only a little, in this heat.
In that sense, the gloves Lionel had given her were already...
Clack.
Just then.
Someone was walking toward her from the edge of the platform.
"...Lady Doloris."
"Hello."
"What brings you here without any prior notice? You surprised me."
His attire was completely out of place for the environment—a business suit.
Yet, his stout build was unmistakably that of a dwarf.
"I didn't come to visit the Sun Dwarf Co. today."
"...I see."
The Sun Dwarfs were a proud race that valued tradition, so it was unthinkable for them to come out and greet anyone, even a High Ranker like Doloris.
However, the Sun Dwarf Co. was different. They would at least send someone to greet the ruler of another floor.
Though she didn't know the details, the dwarfs had split into two factions.
The Traditionalists and the Industrialists.
The suit-wearing dwarf in front of her was a clear representative of the Industrialists.
Not that she cared.
"Then, if I may ask, what business brings you here?"
"..."
Instead of answering, Doloris simply offered a gentle smile.
"...I hope you achieve whatever it is you came for."
Understanding her silent dismissal, the dwarf bowed slightly and withdrew.
Doloris paid him no further mind and continued along the scaffolding.
Her destination was the verification office.
Passing the mass-production lines, she found it tucked away in a dimly lit corner.
The verification office stood there.
Creak...
The door was made of worn, hand-stained wood, a stark contrast to the metal structures she had just passed.
Honestly, this felt much closer to the true nature of the Sun Dwarfs.
The scent of coal dust drifted out as she opened the door.
The smell of scorched metal and soot.
"..."
From the back of the room, someone slowly raised their head toward her.
It was an elderly dwarf.
His beard was streaked with gray, and his knuckles were thick with calluses.
There was no suit to be seen. He wore a worn apron, stamped with the crest of the sun.
"Who goes there?"
"I've come to request an appraisal."
"...Mass-production quality control is over there..."
The long-bearded dwarf lowered his head and turned away.
But Doloris immediately added:
"It is an appraisal for gear crafted by a Fire Descendant."
"..."
The dwarf froze mid-turn.
He rose from his chair and stared at Doloris.
His eyes, which had looked like a burnt-out wick just moments ago, now burned with intense light.
In response, Doloris pulled out the gloves.
"This is the blacksmith's gear..."
"It's a fake."
The dwarf shook his head the instant he laid eyes on the gloves.
"The scorch marks on the surface, the wear of the leather... it was crafted a day or two ago at most. There hasn't been a new Fire Descendant capable of making such gloves in decades. It is, without a doubt, a counterfeit."
He left no room for argument.
It was a firm, dismissive reply that treated any counter-argument as a waste of breath.
Doloris, too, found his tone rather irritating.
"A pity you traveled all this way for nothing."
The dwarf's eyes dimmed once more.
Having had to state the dying state of his own race twice with his own mouth, he was hardly in a good mood.
The woman before him was a famous figure.
Surely, she would understand and leave.
Yet, Doloris had no intention of backing down.
"It shouldn't be too difficult to run the appraisal anyway."
Thud.
A heavy pouch filled with coins landed on the table.
"The purpose of a verification office is to verify. I did not come to ask for your personal opinion on its authenticity."
"...Ha."
This is why I hate nobles...
Her meaning was clear: she had come for an appraisal, so he should shut his mouth and do his job.
Since Doloris wasn't exactly known for her gentle temperament either, she didn't hold back.
The dwarf's lingering sympathy vanished in an instant.
No matter how good your intentions are, these noble bastards never listen... Well, at least I've earned my drinking money for tonight.
Climbers were always like this. Nobles were even worse.
Without another word, the dwarf snatched the gloves and placed them on the workbench.
Appraising equipment was simple.
It was analyzed using an appraisal machine containing the wisdom of their ancestors.
The complex mechanisms and specialized magic embedded within it would recognize the engraving and determine its authenticity.
Hummmmm...
The machine hummed to life.
I don't even remember the last time I turned this thing on.
There was usually no need to use a machine to spot fakes. Nowadays, one touch was enough to tell.
So, this was merely a formality. A performance to appease the noble lady.
At least, that was what he thought.
The elderly dwarf, Puram, hadn't even spared the gloves a proper glance.
But as he casually looked down at them...
"...?"
The gray sun crest engraved on the leather caught his eye.
He felt a sudden jolt of oddity.
...The Origin.
The beginning of all crests. The very first mark one learns to engrave—the Apprentice's Crest.
Puram's brow furrowed. It was bizarre.
Those who dared to forge the works of the Fire Descendants always mimicked the elaborate crests of famous masters.
A master's crest was like the logo of a luxury brand.
But who on earth—what kind of lunatic—would forge a counterfeit and stamp it with the most humble, basic apprentice crest?
What would be the point?
The machine began to spin.
The magical circuits engraved on the appraisal machine glowed a bright blue.
It projected light onto the gloves, forming an image.
And the appraisal results would soon...
...be printed on the paper in the output tray.
Whirrrr...
Thump.
Puram felt his heart begin to race.
Something was different. His heart, which had no reason to beat fast while he grew old staring at fakes in this dusty backroom, was pounding.
Whir.
The printer pushed out the paper.
Puram couldn't wait any longer. He snatched it up.
And the result was...
Match Rate:100 / 100
Classification:Fire Descendant
"To the descendant who has taken their first step."
"You are clumsy. Yet, you are undeniably hot."
"Please, do not let your fire grow cold."
"If you should ever lose your way, come to Boldr's workshop—"
— Boldr, 7th Generation Chief Artisan & Creator of the Appraisal Machine —
A 100% match rate. The gloves in front of him were genuine.
Puram's vision instantly blurred.
This appraisal machine was a relic created by a past Chief Artisan, a titan who stood at the pinnacle of the Fire Descendants.
A century ago, he had personally designed the circuits, engraved the runes, and delivered the final hammer strikes with his own hands.
Yet, he had never known such a message, such a hidden contingency, lay dormant within it.
Because for a hundred years, the machine had never once identified a genuine article.
The gear of a true Fire Descendant...
...had finally been placed upon this machine after a century of silence.
"Ugh..."
It was a flawless original.
"...Aaaaaaaah!!!"
Puram screamed the moment he saw the report.
Seeing his reaction, Doloris instantly knew what the result was.
Thump.
Her own heart began to race as well.
She didn't know the details, but that boy... might have truly worked a miracle.
And then.
Whir.
Following the verification report,
the detailed item appraisal was printed.
"Aaaaaaaah!"
Leaving Puram to continue his hysterics, Doloris picked up the printed appraisal sheet on her own.
Puram's groans echoed behind her, but they no longer registered in her mind.
Feeling the freshly printed paper slowly cool in her hands, Doloris flipped the sheet over.
And there it was.
"Because I crafted it with care, thinking of Doloris..."
— Apprentice Blacksmith L —
In a corner of the paper,
a single line was quietly written.
"...?"
Apprentice Blacksmith L. Lionel.
That Lionel... had thought of her.
He had crafted it with care, thinking of her.
"Pfft..."
She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and let out an elegant chuckle.
What did I even do for him...?
How long had it been since she received a gift crafted "with care" by someone?
And without asking for anything in return.
She couldn't even remember. The very concept felt foreign.
"Fufu..."
A faint blush colored her cheeks.
"...How sweet."
In a way,
it felt a bit like receiving a confession.