Chapter 96
Chapter 96
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: 31. Empty Words Won't Do (3)
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Dwarves were generally decent neighbors. They were reliable with silver and gold, and as long as you didn't provoke them first, they never encroached on others' territory.
But there were times when even they went berserk without regard for consequences.
It happened when there was a problem with the Eternal Furnace.
During those times, the dwarves were so ferocious that even valiant orcs cleared out of the way. Wise giants could only wait for them to calm down, unable to suggest alternatives. Even elves, their sworn enemies, avoided conflict with dwarves in this state at all costs.
The Eternal Furnace was that vital to them.
Yet the guardian of their clan's lifeline—the one duty-bound to protect it—had abandoned his post and ventured into the outside world.
To them, that was as good as saying the furnace was in peril.
And that was far from good for me.
I needed the dwarves. But what I needed were skilled master craftsmen, not mad berserkers rampaging like wild warriors.
"Tch. Looks like the booze is gone."
Dwarf Turka smacked his lips at the empty barrels.
I quietly observed him.
But reading his inner thoughts from that wrinkled face wasn't easy. So I decided to cut straight to it and ask what was wrong with the furnace.
"Nothing yet."
But it seemed I'd jumped the gun.
"It will be soon, though."
Turka wiped a wooden cup and shoved it into his backpack before looking at me.
"The furnace's lifespan is just about up."
"Party's over! You lushes!"
Turka kicked the dwarves' rears. The dwarves, sprawled out happily after draining the barrels, woke up cursing.
"Damn geezer, couldn't you wake us nicely instead of kicking up a fuss?"
"Kahk, ptui! Senile old fart!"
Watching them show no respect whatsoever for a Prima Meister, I realized they weren't ordinary dwarves either.
Only fellow masters could treat a grand master like that.
While they made a racket, we loaded the completely drunk Arwen into the carriage we'd arrived in.
"Urgh."
We stuffed the groaning Gerwein—who seemed to be having a nightmare—into the carriage like luggage, then I said to Turka,
"See you again."
"Don't dawdle."
I drove the carriage and rendezvoused with the rest of the group waiting a short distance away.
The group gaped at the utterly wasted Arwen and Gerwein.
"What about Yorden?"
When I asked, a ranger pointed to the back.
There was Yorden, slumped over—the one I'd thought had fled the brutal drinking bout. The ranger chuckled and explained he'd come looking for his bow, tripped, and been out cold since.
I chuckled at the sight of Yorden sprawled in his own vomit.
But the laughter was short-lived. My expression soon hardened.
As Prima Meister Turka had said, the party was over.
It was time to move.
"Let's head back."
We returned to the fortress.
I immediately met the legion commander and handed over the letter from Turka.
"These are their terms."
The legion commander widened his eyes and hurriedly unfolded the letter to read.
"We'll need to prepare a negotiation team."
After finishing, he stared at me in bewilderment.
It was such a familiar expression by now that it felt cliché.
"Good work."
I waved off his belated thanks and stood up.
As soon as I reached my quarters, a wave of deep fatigue hit me.
I'd circulated mana to purge the alcohol, but it couldn't fully dispel the mental and physical exhaustion.
I slept straight through an entire day to recover.
Once the fatigue had eased enough, I left the fortress again.
At a fork somewhat distant from the fortress, two dwarves stood waiting.
"Good to see you again."
It was Prima Meister Turka and another Meister.
"Where are the others?"
"They're staying behind to wrap things up with the kingdom's negotiators."
"I see."
"Coming empty-handed today?"
Turka, who'd been scanning behind me the whole time, remarked.
"Who was it who said the party's over?"
I replied indifferently, and Turka's face soured.
"You're an inflexible one."
"I'm not the one in a hurry."
Who was the one panicking about the furnace's lifespan running out?
"A few days' delay won't kill you."
Turka sniffed around for booze remnants, stubbornly reluctant to let go. His brazenness drew a hollow laugh from me.
"Let's get going anyway."
Turka balked.
"I don't have a horse."
"Neither do I."
The dwarves grimaced at the sight of us mounting up.
I'd borrowed horses from the fortress to hurry, but the supposedly urgent pair had shown up on foot, leaving their carriage behind.
What leisurely folk.
With no choice, I had them ride with the lighter rangers.
The dwarves eyed Arwen and Adelia wistfully at my command but got an earful from me.
"Tch. At your age, have some shame."
The other Meister, who introduced himself as Surkar, bristled.
"Forget that geezer—I'm in my prime!"
Young Meister or old, they were equally pathetic, so I cursed them alike.
"Huh. You started off polite enough."
"This is me trying my best."
I meant it.
If my essence weren't the sword and they weren't smithing clansmen, I wouldn't even tolerate them.
"Besides, you're the desperate ones, not me."
Before meeting them, I'd pondered how to sweet-talk dwarves into giving me what I wanted. But after encountering them, those worries evaporated.
I had needs from them, but they had needs from me too.
Considering the urgency and value, I held the hilt.
Ignorance might be one thing, but knowing that, I had no reason to bend more than necessary.
"Feels like we've been had good."
Turka shook his head.
We rode for days until the Raintes River appeared, marking the central-northern border. Another day's ride brought a massive bridge.
It was the same bridge we'd barely defended against the Warlord months ago.
We camped there a day to rest the weary horses and men. Beyond that bridge lay frozen lands where blizzards could strike anytime.
"Let's move."
The air changed the moment we crossed.
"Guess I'm doomed to rot away in the north. Seeing this damn snow actually calms me down."
Everyone nodded at Ranger Yorden's words.
I felt the same.
I inhaled deeply the frigid air piercing my lungs.
I must be mad. Why did this bone-chilling cold make my heart race?
It felt like coming home.
Not everyone shared the sentiment, though.
"It's freezing."
Kals's face stiffened in shock at the northern gale. Gerwein and the others, with little time spent up north, huddled against the cold.
"Better get used to it quick."
Winter Castle was far colder.
Kals paled at my warning.
Did he regret leaving the warm palace? He shook his head firmly.
But that resolve crumbled before the swirling blizzard.
"Why did I come to this frozen hell?!"
I chuckled at Kals's scream amid the howling wind.
I hear you loud and clear, buddy.
We pushed through the storm, listening to the Royal Knights' wails, until the winds finally died down.
A vast white plain emerged, beyond which sheer cliffs and a massive fortress linking them appeared.
"Ooh!"
The Royal Knights—who'd cursed the northern cold just a day ago—gasped in awe.
Overwhelmed by the white fortress unmatched anywhere in the kingdom.
Clop, clop.
The fortress gates opened afar, and a band of black riders charged out.
Knights from the Black Spear Cavalry, whom I'd sent ahead with the northern lords.
"Your Highness!"
Beside the one-eyed cavalry captain was a welcome face.
Vincent, Winter Castle's new castellan and my cousin.
"Whoa, whoa!"
Vincent reined in before me and leaped off his horse. I dismounted too.
He strode up and pulled me into a bear hug.
"Glad you're safe, Your Highness."
"Anyone'd think I'd been to war."
I grumbled even as I hugged his shoulders back.
Over his shoulder, I saw Winter Castle's walls. Rangers and knights atop them waved.
"Welcome home."
Only then did it sink in: I was home.
But sadly, no time to rest.
"Here's the report on recent affairs."
I hadn't expected a welcome feast, but shoving papers at me right away was too much.
"This your idea of a welcome?"
Vincent ignored my protest.
"All this is your doing, Your Highness."
I turned away as he grumbled about cramming incoming noble heirs into the ranks.
No excuses.
Most northern ventures and army-building were my initiatives. Couldn't play dumb now.
I checked the report without even shedding my snow-dusted furs.
"All done!"
I jumped up cheering when Vincent appeared like a ghost, dragging me around.
First stop: the training grounds for the new Mana Heart knights.
"You look better after your capital trip."
Bernard Ilai griped. Some sweated it out here with stinking men while I gallivanted.
His lips protruded—he'd suffered as an unwanted instructor.
I brushed off the complaint and eyed the 500-odd knight candidates lined up behind him.
"About 300 have reached Sword User level. The rest should follow in three to six months."
Bernard puffed up.
Normally I'd scold him, but not this time.
By 400-year standards, Sword User was apprentice knight level. Astonishing for the short time.
Most had lost mana after reaching it—former Royal Knight Order caliber—but Bernard's功劳 wasn't diminished.
"Impressive."
Above all, I liked how their once-fishy eyes now gleamed sharp.
Even if not kindly toward me.
"Ahem."
I examined the smug Bernard.
"Huh?"
His progress exceeded expectations too.
Merely Sword Expert junior when he arrived, now he'd hit senior.
"You really do learn by teaching."
His proud boasting twisted my gut.
I'd focused on Arwen and Adelia, now Bernard was catching up too.
Why this cursed body?
A fresh reminder of its malediction.
"From today, pair with patrols and circle the mountains."
"Time for real combat, yeah."
I added to nodding Bernard,
"You're going too, no exceptions."
"That's basically living in the mountains?"
"Can't have casualties, so the instructor goes along."
"Plenty of other knights in the castle..."
"Who’s their instructor?"
"Me."
"Good, glad that's clear."
Bernard gaped at me. His dumbstruck face eased my sourness a bit.
"Not trying to torment you. It's for the future."
"Future?"
"You'll lead them as formal knights."
Bernard's resentful glare turned to wide-eyed glee, lips splitting in a grin.
"Leave it to me! Not a single candidate harmed."
"Good. Start tomorrow."
I patted the chest-thumping Bernard's shoulder and turned, finding Vincent staring.
He shook his head and led me next.
The Black Spear Cavalry—still short of pre-war strength but rebuilding steadily. I met the new recruits and encouraged them.
Among them: Gallahan, descendant of one of the Seven Blood Assassins, the "Knight of Advance."
Checking his progress, I widened my eyes.
"This guy's senior level too?"
Boris, heir to the "Divine Archer" Blood Assassin, had reached senior too.
"Ha..."
A sigh escaped.
All of them Sword Expert seniors.
I'd slugged through battlefields, chugged mana-boosting potions, and barely hit top-tier. Unfairness bred more sighs.
"You serious?"
Vincent asked incredulously at my grumbling.
"Your Highness is just sixteen, sword training barely a year and a half. Who's feeling deprived here...?"
"My case is different."
I've got centuries of sword experience.
Couldn't say that, though.
"Pretend you didn't hear."
So I got an earful.
"Don't say that anywhere else."
Shoulders slumped, I headed to my room at Vincent's icy tone.
The door opened to a ominous rattle.
Clatter, clatter.
A High Lich was engrossed in blueprints, bony frame rattling.
"Ophel..."
Shh.
Before I could finish greeting, she pointed at the door—without looking.
Out.
Wandering the walls with nowhere to go, a sharp voice halted me.
"Amazing place."
I turned to see Turka hugging a mysteriously acquired barrel.
I plopped down beside him.
"What's so amazing?"
"A kingdom in centuries-long decline, its vitality sapped—yet it has this."
His wrinkled gaze swept the fortress, lingering on rangers and knight candidates. I nodded unwittingly.
"Feels like a dragon's lair."
A dragon-slaying kingdom as a dragon's lair? Turka chuckled anyway.
I shrugged.
Discarded royal swords, handpicked and refined until broken, were reforged here. Hardy northern men forged into soldiers.
War rumors drew hot-blooded talents north too.
Still felt short.
Nowhere near enough against that empire.
"Seriously impressive."
Even the perennial freeze appealed, he added.
"No better spot for a new Eternal Furnace."
His confident tone drew my snark.
"Thought you'd forgotten amid the drinking."
Turka laughed it off.
His short, thick finger pointed southwest.
"Records say fiery veins run underground there. We'll build the new one: fiercer, longer-burning than the old—a true Eternal Furnace."
I objected.
"I haven't agreed yet."
"Not begging with empty words."
Turka gulped booze heartily and declared boldly,
"Forget your measly seven-story mage tower. Want a dungeon? We'll build one."