Dwarves Lose Their Minds Over New Tech (3)
"Come on, sit down, everyone! We've got something to show you!"
Gode, the dwarf, rounded up the dwarves of the forge and gathered them all in one place.
They'd each been quietly curious about the Pneumatic Hammer while pretending to work, so they took the prepared chairs without complaint, settling in with the gravity of judges presiding over a strict tribunal.
"Tsk tsk. What in blazes is he planning to do with that monstrosity?"
"Mages and their armchair theories, eh? Half of 'em never set foot on a proper worksite. How's a man supposed to build something decent without knowing the trade?"
"Don't even need to look. It's obvious as sunrise."
Grumbling every complaint they could muster, yet not a single dwarf left his seat.
Evidently, the work of the past few days had been more than enough to stoke their curiosity. And for all their muttering, their smith's eyes simply would not leave the Pneumatic Hammer.
Gode confirmed that every dwarf was present and nodded.
"All here. We can begin."
"Understood."
I stepped out before the dwarves.
The instant I did, they fell silent.
In the heavy quiet of the forge, the only sound was Gode's excited, ragged breathing. Even at its most flattering, the way they looked at me was far from warm.
It was expected. For dwarves who forged everything with their own two hands and believed that iron held a soul, a mage who could conjure things out of thin air was practically their natural enemy.
Convincing them would be no easy task.
They were people who had honed their craft their entire lives. The very fact that they'd never awakened magic meant they had never needed it.
That was how much pride they took in their skills, how much they exalted their profession as smiths. What chance did I have of breaking such stubborn creatures?
But it didn't matter.
"Today marks the day I've been waiting for, ever since I first set out to build this Pneumatic Hammer."
Because I was confident.
Confident that I would make prisoners of them all.
"This Pneumatic Hammer will make your work more efficient, and far easier."
Their expressions were a sight to behold. Every face said the same thing: Spare us the sales pitch you don't even believe.
Hm. Quick on the uptake, aren't they.
Frankly, whether the dwarves had it easy or not was none of my concern. The only reason I was introducing this thing was to capture their hearts entirely.
"A demonstration is worth a thousand words. No need for a lengthy explanation — let the Pneumatic Hammer speak for itself."
I shot Gode a look. He answered with a check mark drawn in the air by his round fingers and stepped up to the machine.
"This here Pneumatic Hammer is going to make your forging work very, very, very easy."
Gode stomped down on the pump set on the floor.
Whooosh─ With the sound of escaping air, the pump compressed, then refilled as it sucked in a great rush of air.
Creeeeak.
The sound of interlocking metal beginning to move.
The air drawn through the pump into the compressor was compressed, passed through the valve in the control unit, and traveled all the way to the pneumatic cylinder. Then — psshhhhk─ — a brief hiss of venting air, followed by a THUD!
The steel mounted at the top of the T-shaped Pneumatic Hammer came slamming down, striking the metal resting on the anvil block with tremendous force.
"Hammering a forge work means hefting that hammer above your shoulder and bringing it down, again and again and again. Doesn't your arm and shoulder start to ache?"
The hammer itself was never terribly heavy. But repeat it hundreds, thousands of times, and the story changed — just as a rifle that felt light at the start of a march would grow heavier with every step.
CLANG──! CLANG──!
The heavy mass of iron struck the metal on the block mercilessly. Having rehearsed many times over, Gode was already handling the Pneumatic Hammer with practiced ease.
"Those days are over now. Why? Because you have this Pneumatic Hammer. And I'll add this — not a speck of magic is involved in this process."
And then, with a low, heh-heh-heh chuckle, Gode carried on with his forging.
His expression was unsettling. His eyes had curved into crescents, and the beads of sweat gathered between his tightly pressed lips spoke volumes about just how much he was enjoying himself.
"Because I respect your pride in your craft, you see."
The dwarves could not tear their eyes away from Gode, utterly absorbed in his hammering.
Like a boy in the throes of puberty glued to a risqué magazine, they forgot even to blink, bewitched by the Pneumatic Hammer.
Called nicely, they were master artisans. Called less nicely, blacksmith-technique otaku.
For them, this craft was their livelihood, their hobby, their whole life.
'Not long now.'
Watching the dwarves fidget in their seats, unable to sit still a moment longer, I counted the victory as half won.
"Now then — shall everyone try it once each?"
And to drive the wedge home, I pulled one dwarf up by the hand and planted him before the machine.
He was dragged over grudgingly, listened to Gode's explanation, and gave the Pneumatic Hammer a try.
"……"
His face was easy to read. With the machine doing the punishing hammer work for him, his body would feel lighter. No question about it.
But that alone apparently wasn't enough to sway him, because he belatedly stiffened his pride.
"Hmph……! How hard can hammering possibly be, that a grown smith would stoop to using a contraption like this?"
"Is that so? Well, others may think differently, so by all means, give it a try."
Gode's demonstration had succeeded in whetting their interest — and since trying it out wasn't the same as admitting I was right, the dwarves each took a turn, one after another, unable to resist their curiosity.
Never mind the old saying that curiosity killed the cat.
When the trials ended, not a single dwarf conceded defeat. The only reactions were along the lines of, why on earth would anyone need this thing just to swing a hammer?
"Nothing more to see here, then. Off you go!"
The dwarves filed out in a crowd.
Perhaps sensing the finality in their retreating backs, Gode asked, worried. "Are you sure it's all right to just leave them be?"
"Yes."
I smiled, entirely at ease.
I had never expected to captivate them on the spot in the first place. This wasn't some drug — how could a single trial hook them into full-blown addiction?
But this was enough. Let me tell you a little story.
There was once a country ranked the happiest in the world.
That country was by no means wealthy like the developed nations of Europe and America. Quite the opposite — it was a land cut off from modern civilization, its people living lives closer to the primitive than the present day.
So why were they the happiest?
The most popular theory was simple: because they were severed from the outside world, they had no one to compare themselves to.
Bearing that theory out, the country's happiness index plummeted after social media was introduced — a nation that had once ranked first in happiness found itself ranked ninety-fifth.
That was how dangerous comparison was.
And the point I wanted to make was simply this:
"Once a man has tasted ease, his discomfort reveals itself."
Just wait and see. Watch how those dwarves react once the reversal sets in.
CLANG──! CLANG──!
From the early hours of dawn, the ringing of hammer on iron echoed through the smithy.
Sweating in fat drops, a dwarf beat at glowing-hot metal, happily enjoying his forging as he did every day…… or rather, not happily at all.
'Wh-what is this?'
Something felt wrong. For some reason the hammer felt heavier than usual, and the arm and shoulder driving it down seemed to scream with every strike.
'Am I coming down with something?'
That was the moment.
Suddenly, a memory that did not exist flooded the dwarf's mind.
CLANG──! CLANG──!
The place was familiar. The usual smithy, thick with heat and the song of iron.
"Hahahaha!"
The self in that memory, unlike the self of now, was in the middle of blissful hammer-time.
Pounding the iron, shaping it, making it harder still. That happy session at the forge — a thing you might call the dwarven equivalent of sex itself.
Until just days ago, he'd worn that same joyful face while he worked. So why was that fellow so happy?
Just as the suspicion began to smolder, the blurry scene sharpened into focus — and the reason became clear.
"This is effortless! Why did I never notice how miserable I was until now?!"
The self in that memory held no hammer in his hand. Beside him was not the soulmate he'd carried in his pocket every day of his life.
CLANG──! CLANG──!
The one forging alongside the dwarf in place of his hammer was that thing from yesterday. The Pneumatic Hammer — that gleaming hulk of a body, slung with a hammer big and magnificent.
'Why?'
The dwarf could not understand it. Why, after a lifetime beside his hammer, was he committing adultery with that swaggering machine?
And at the same time, a strange sensation stirred in him. The memory of yesterday — of when the mage called Owen had unveiled the Pneumatic Hammer, and he had tested the thing at the man's suggestion.
That ease — striking iron without swinging a hammer — once recalled, kept flickering at the edges of his mind, refusing to fade.
"Aaahh……"
The hammer slipped from the dwarf's grip.
Clang-er-ang.
The metal head struck the floor and bounced several times.
"It can't be……"
That ease, once tasted, could not be forgotten no matter how hard he tried. It chained itself to his thoughts, tail chasing tail, until it filled his head to the brim.
And then —
When he came to his senses, he was somehow standing before Owen.
"Is something the matter?"
'What have I been……!'
For a heartbeat his eyes rolled back, and he nearly did something he would have regretted.
"Nothing at all."
The dwarf turned to leave as if nothing had happened.
But.
'Why am I — again?'
His feet were rooted to the floor, refusing to move. His mind barked the order to go, but his body defied it.
"Didn't you come here because you needed something?"
Needed something……
"……"
Every thought in the world crashed through him. His pride as a smith. His love for the hammer that had been with him through the long years. The dignity he'd put on before Owen just yesterday. The comrades who shared his convictions.
Faith — or betrayal?
After his long agonizing, drowning in unspeakable shame and humiliation, he surrendered at last to a desire he could no longer contain.
He made his plea to Owen, who sat back with his legs crossed in grand disdain.
"Give it to me……"
"Give you what? I'm afraid you'll have to say it plainly."
"Give it to me……! That Pneumatic Hammer — give it to me! Let me strike iron with that big, magnificent hammer again — kung! kung! — easy and sweet! I'm begging you!"
Owen smiled, as though he'd been waiting for exactly this. It was the wicked smile of a devil.
"Of course."
KUNG──! KUNG──!
"You there! What in the world is going on?!"
The dwarves, arriving at the smithy that morning, found their comrade forging with the happiest face imaginable and came running.
He was using the Pneumatic Hammer Owen had introduced yesterday. The man who'd been happily swinging a hammer just a day before had cast aside the tool he'd once cherished like a lover.
"Ahh, you're here, are you."
The dwarf deep in his work turned his head. Unlike his flustered comrades, he explained the situation with perfect composure — with an almost transcendent serenity.
"I'm sorry. But I've become a man who can no longer forge without this Pneumatic Hammer."
"Wh-what did you……"
"You'd best accept it too. It'll be easier that way. This fight was decided before it ever began, you see. We — dwarves — are simply creatures incapable of refusing the Pneumatic Hammer."
"You — !"
"No use pleading with me. My heart cannot be turned back."
Apparently with nothing left to say, the dwarf turned back to his work. And watching him forge away, giddy as could be — with the Pneumatic Hammer, not his hammer — his comrades could only stand there, aghast.
The fallen form of the man who had loved hammer-work more than any of them.
It was the worst possible reunion.