Good for the Body and Tastes Good - Kyaaak!
Pellelian was foaming at the mouth more often these days. Just moments ago, I'd scolded him not to overreact.
Saaak!
But this time, even I couldn't help but foam at the mouth too.
The Treasure Room. The secret chamber where Pellelian kept the armaments meant for his guardians. Humans clearly hadn't noticed its existence. There were no torches like in the other areas. No glass display cases over the weapon racks. No rearranged pathways for smooth viewing. Above all, it looked like no one had entered the room in ages. Dust had piled up thick in every corner. A long trail marked my path through it.
Preservation magic has been dispelled.
Probably collapsed when we broke the security spells.
There's a thing where, once a person's anger hits a certain level, they actually calm down instead. Pellelian was like that right now.
'So all the weapons here were looted long ago?'
That was why both Pellelian and I were foaming at the mouth. The Treasure Room was empty. Completely, spotlessly bare. Only the dusty racks greeted us.
Yeah, doesn't look like humans stole them.
To force this place open, you'd need at least the blueprints. Otherwise, it'd collapse.
Pellelian was certain of that. Half the weapons left outside were already gone too—probably taken by humans. But they'd surely never found the Treasure Room, so where had everything gone?
'You said dwarves built this dungeon, right?'
Yeah.
Bluebeard. Lord of the Anvil. Flamehammer.
That dwarf I hired with a fortune.
His rage erupted like fire from his mouth.
He betrayed me and stole my things—!
Pellelian's body was tiny now, his head oversized like an SD character. I wondered if he, of all people, should call dwarves "dwarves" derogatorily.
Snake!
'Yep.'
Time to collect blood debt.
Time to pluck those traitor dwarves' beards and behead them in judgment. Justly! And reclaim our lost treasures.
Pellelian cried out for bloody vengeance.
Their mine seems to still be nearby. Let's raid it.
Go hold Bluebeard accountable! Me, Pellelian, and you, Ouroboros!
'Uh... That Bluebeard—is he the dwarf king?'
Fool. Dwarves have no kings!
'But you called him Lord of the Anvil.'
Just his epithet! He's merely the overseer of the mine dwarves. Like a chieftain!
'A king-like figure...'
We're storming in right now! Time for a massacre.
Dye the mine with dwarf blood!
My ears were ringing. I cleared my throat.
“Sak, sak.”
What!
'Let's calm down first.'
Not that calming down was easy, but Pellelian wasn't some senile old fool who'd lived his years solely through his ass. He forcibly suppressed his rage.
'Wouldn't it be tough for you alone to storm the mine and confront that Bluebeard dwarf?'
...Lacking confidence? I didn't think you were like that.
Basic Nine Formations of Terrain Deployment.
'Honestly, we're not even sure the dwarves took the weapons. And if they did, they might still have them.'
Urgh.
Dwarves excel at crafting weapons, not wielding them. Sure, dwarf warriors' bravery is renowned, but why take my weapons?
No motivation, eh?
Pellelian glared at me. It wasn't about motivation; I just wanted us to think calmly... As I tried to explain, he spoke very calmly.
The dwarves took them. Absolutely certain.
'Really?'
I commissioned Bluebeard for a sword-and-shield pair and a spear. All forged with Celestium.
What was Celestium? As I wondered indifferently, Pellelian explained.
A metal you couldn't mine from the mountain even till it dies. The one those short blacksmiths crave most. Star Iron armaments.
'Star Iron, Star Iron... Huh?'
My scales bristled all over.
'Meteor Iron?'
Yes. Extracted and refined from meteorites.
'So that sword you had made... a Meteor Iron sword...?'
How could a sword-walker refuse a Meteor Iron sword? Even if I was a Demon Sword Snake.
Indeed. A famed sword worthy of a grand name if released to the world.
A peer to Ganjiang, Moye—a heavenly blade right here.
And now, dwarf blacksmiths had stolen it. My body trembled. Pellelian smirked triumphantly.
You said it: what's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine.
Pellelian had found the chink in my heart. Like a devil whispering.
'Right...'
You wanted a proper longsword, didn't you? Right?
To swing a sword, you need a famed blade. Ever heard artisans don't care for tools?
'Yeah.'
Utter bullshit. Paupers who can't afford good tools envy the haves.
The greatest knight I knew wielded the strongest famed sword. And Reverse Heaven Archmage Pellelian had a staff of phoenix feathers and mermaid pearls. Spot on. His words pierced my heart.
The more I learned about Pellelian, the more he seemed to know me. Like a serpent tempting with sweet words—ironic, since I was the snake.
A sword you deserve. That's why I brought you here—to give it to you.
'Really?'
Yes! Think I'd wield it myself?
Hero Slayer qualifies for a Celestium sword.
Meteor Iron sword. What did it look like? I wanted to see it. So, confront Bluebeard? I didn't know how many dwarves there were, but I wasn't some pushover monster anymore. Giantify, threaten up front—maybe they'd return the stolen sword. No need for massacre, but we had to demand answers sternly.
As I spun fantasies, Pellelian dropped a bomb.
That insolent dwarf's probably already melted the Meteor Iron sword and armaments.
“Saaak!”
Why else steal mine? Into ingots or new items by now.
My world crumbled.
'What do we do!'
Go! Demand it back! Make them cough up Celestium and forge a new sword properly!
Tempting. Pellelian's final blow landed.
No need to fear. Whatever gave them the gall to steal from me... they probably think I'm dead.
Mage contracts aren't broken lightly.
True, Pellelian wouldn't go down easy.
Just face him. Bring me before Bluebeard's mug, and I'll rip every beard hair and double the penalty fee.
He won't dare harm you.
I didn't know what he'd do, but his confidence was reassuring.
'...Alright.'
Let's go. To reclaim my Meteor Iron sword—from the dwarves' underground city.
But how to get there? Storm the dwarf mine, meet mine lord Bluebeard, demand penalty for breaking the contract with Pellelian, get a custom Meteor Iron sword made.
Easy to say, but the method was the issue. First, how to enter the dwarf mine.
I asked Royle.
“The Red Anvil Mine, you say.”
Royle answered while drying his wet hair. After leaving the Treasure Room, I'd slipped back into his coat. He claimed he'd left it behind and carried me out as-is. Bodies and clothes damp, but perfect teamwork.
“Dwarves who've held that mountain since before Kalea City existed. Famous for quality armaments... but...”
But?
“They sealed the mine and vanished decades ago.”
Pellelian's eyebrow twitched.
Those bastards hid because they fear me.
Didn't seem likely. I asked why. Royle looked troubled.
“We don't know much. Dwarves are so arbitrary... each mine has its own culture. Ah, the lord's name is indeed Bluebeard.”
Sealed mine—no way in? Probably not. Dwarves needed to eat too.
“They herd livestock inside, but trade small-scale. That's why beer in Kalea City costs a fortune.”
Herding inside a mine? Curious, but not important.
“Yes, every week on set days, a few dwarves emerge for beer. They trade refined metal ingots or simple tools. Even dwarf picks sell high. Trading with dwarves is my dream! I'll build a proper caravan. The Riddle caravan of Royle and Amaen!”
Royle beamed about unasked dreams. Wanted to be a magnate? Get rich?
“Me too. I'll help Dad become one.”
Smart Amaen chimed in. I patted his back.
Seemed tough to infiltrate alone. Sealed tight with sturdy iron doors usually. Only chance: beer delivery.
Then... hmm. A plan formed. With Stealth Lv10, I'd find a way in.
I wrote on the notepad in ornate script with Transparent Hand—now second nature.
'Human.'
Amaen's eyes sparkled at the profound words. Bit young for chuunibyou, but...
'Greed kills humans, yet makes them prosper beyond other races—a virtue.'
'I fancy your greed, Royle.'
“Th-thank you?”
'I'll enter the short-folk's mine to collect Bluebeard's debt. You have a task till then...'
Ambitious but poor merchant Royle. From what I'd seen, decent heart and decent wits.
I raised my tail. Thanks to sub-space ring, a dramatic scene unfolded.
Clink. Gold tumbled from my tail. Dozens of times the pure gold bars I'd given Royle piled on the cabin floor. Part of Pellelian's dungeon loot.
“Th-this! For me...?!”
'An investment. Not a gift.'
“Of course, of course!”
Gold reflected in Royle's eyes. Naked greed, yet sincere.
'This comes with a job.'
I consulted Pellelian.
In the capital, cash them at value. Shave the ancient coins' surfaces with a knife to obscure them.
Lower value, but safer for shady dealings.
Tell him to rent a warehouse in the capital. Need a base to turn money.
Don't skimp on deposit for cheap dumps.
Bluebeard penalty would need storage too. Better raw goods than gems from dwarves—warehouse essential.
Pellelian and I already had a plan.
Keep ties with your goblin pals too. Later on that.
I instructed Royle on the rest. His mouth gaped, tears like chicken droppings streamed.
“Royle Riddle swears on his life not to betray your trust.”
More intense than one gold bar. But if just thanks, it'd be underwhelming.
“Wait a moment!”
Royle snatched my pen, scribbled furiously. What emerged: a contract.
“Can't promise such huge investment verbally. Read it over. The contract.”
Investor: Ouroboros (and affiliates)
Recipient: Royle Riddle and Riddle Caravan
Investment Amount: Substantial gold reserves (detailed inventory attached)
Profit Share: [X]% to investor post-recovery
Repayment Term: Within [Y] years, or upon milestones
Usage Plan: Coin shaving/cashing in capital; warehouse rental; trade expansion (beer, tools, future dwarf dealings); goblin network maintenance
Confidentiality: Recipient's knowledge of investor's identity strictly secret
Breach Penalty: Full repayment x2 + asset forfeiture
Details galore: investment, profit split, repayment timeline.
“Funds usage plan like this.”
Plans poured out smoothly. He'd clearly plotted what to do if rich.
Hm, seemed amateurish, but no mere chaff.
Even stingy-with-praise Pellelian approved. Royle astutely added secrecy clause on my existence.
To his anxious gaze:
'A contract. So very human.'
“Then...”
'Excellent.'
I'd only signed part-time job contracts before, but I signed dramatically—like a snake crawling. Suited me.
“Thank you! I won't disappoint!”
Royle hugged Amaen, spun joyfully. Amaen beamed too.
'Also, find out when dwarves exit the mine.'
“Got it!” Royle dashed out. Time for me to prepare.
I eyed the flowerpot on the windowsill. No sprout yet. Worrying. What would grow? Would it sprout? Curious.
Soon, Royle returned.
“Found out.”
He said urgently.
“Tonight!”
'What!'
Hurry. I stowed Kkubugi's flowerpot in sub-space.
“You really want to see for yourself... no helping it...”
The potbellied man looked troubled. Royle, grasping the meaning, stuck close shamelessly.
“Please, I really want to meet the dwarves.”
A few silver coins passed to potbelly.
“Aigoo, not why I said it...”
Royle now tossed silvers casually. Potbelly pocketed them slyly.
“Talking to dwarves is useless. They don't say a word to us.”
“Yes, just when they take beer. See their faces.”
“Hoping to get familiar for trade? Not the first. Don't expect much.”
“Yes, yes.”
Royle's beer was top-grade, sellable to dwarves. Today, the oak barrels went to them.
Royle bribed aptly to observe delivery.
“Coming.”
Screeech—the mine mouth opened, dwarves emerged. Carrying metal ingot crates. Sturdy folk, hefting heavy loads easily.
Thud! Crates down, they eyed oak barrels. Bushy-bearded lips twitched.
“Beer?”
“Yes, twenty barrels.”
Dwarves were taciturn. Nodded, rolled barrels in.
Meanwhile, potbelly inspected ingots. Grinned ear-to-ear. Overkill for beer price.
Royle, who'd begged to watch, stayed quiet. Just confirmed barrels loaded properly.
But sweat trickled down his back.
'He okay?'
My plan was extreme: hide in a beer barrel, enter mine.
'Won't drown in beer, right?'
Low-alcohol, but no safe plan. Royle could only pray for my safety.
One snake-booze barrel rolled into the mine.