Chapter 11
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: The Blacksmith's Desperation
-----------------------------------------------------------------
I was well aware that the hatchling standing before me had become the master of this region.
Of course, that didn't mean I needed to show her excessive courtesy.
The force they were building was powerful enough to pose a threat even to dragons.
The reason was simple.
Dwarves were the race that could handle Oriharcon, a material so difficult that even dragons struggled with it.
That meant they possessed an equivalent level of magical engineering prowess.
Superior magical technology could become a powerful weapon.
If they set their minds to it, obliterating an ordinary adult dragon would be child's play.
Normally, I'd have scoffed and dismissed anyone who said such a thing.
It wouldn't matter if she was the master of the territory.
No, if it was a young dragon, I'd have lorded it over her even more.
There was no reason whatsoever to tread carefully.
Yet the reason Dris didn't treat Eirana rudely was because she was none other than the granddaughter of Rakan, the former lord of this mountain range.
To the dwarves of this region, Rakan was akin to a benefactor.
That was why he needed to show respect.
Of course, even so, he had not the slightest intention of granting her request.
"No."
He flatly refused once more.
To Dris, a sword was no less than a work of art.
He'd kick out even renowned swordsmen from the mortal realm, so there was no way he'd hand one over to some novice hatchling whose skills were far removed from swordsmanship just because she asked.
'No way! To wield my life's masterpiece—even if it's that detestable elf—it'd have to be someone on Rocana's level!'
Thinking of the elf swordswoman shrouded in rumors, Dris nodded vigorously to himself.
Eirana silently watched him.
She showed no signs of anger or fluster.
That was because she had anticipated as much.
After tilting her head for a moment, Eirana spoke up.
"Do you happen to know who my maternal grandfather is?"
"I know it's Lord Elencan."
Elencan, infamous as Rakan's arch-nemesis.
Sometime ago, Rakan and Elencan had clashed massively in Rakan's own territory.
The surrounding area had naturally been left in ruins. The battle's aftermath turned the site into a frozen wasteland where ice refused to melt for a century.
That had happened about six hundred years prior.
Considering Dris's age of 1,273, he remembered it vividly.
But why bring up Elencan out of nowhere?
"I'll get you my grandfather's molar."
"If the materials are ready, I'll start work immediately. When will the materials be prepared?"
"No, how about we talk about that later?"
Eirana spoke with a blank expression, eyeing Dris who had suddenly grabbed her collar.
Dris glanced at Eirana's collar clutched in his hand, then released it.
"When will the materials be prepared?"
"Just now you said you wouldn't make it."
"Who? Me? When?"
Eirana stared at Dris, who looked back as if she were spouting nonsense, then stood from her seat.
"I'll ask another dwarf, then."
"I'll make it for you."
"No."
"I'll serve you well."
"Bye."
Rejecting him even more curtly than his own earlier refusal, Eirana headed for the door. Dris, who had remained seated until then, bellowed and scrambled across the floor on all fours, latching onto the hem of her pants.
"No! Don't go! Dragon Fang is mine! Mine! I'll make it! No! Please let me make it! Please! I beg you! Eirana! Dragon! Hatchling! Queen!"
Dris clung to her pant leg and hollered at the top of his lungs.
It was impossible to tell if this was pleading or a tantrum.
"Let go! My pants are coming down!"
Eirana yelled, clutching at her pant leg as it slid down under Dris's powerful grip, but he paid no heed.
His mind was utterly consumed by the thought of working with the molar of an ancient dragon over eight thousand years old.
Only when her pants were on the verge of slipping off entirely did Eirana finally lose her patience. With her free foot, she kicked him away and barely managed to shake him loose.
Watching the scene, Eirana sat back down for the moment.
As soon as she did, Dris scurried forward and plopped down before her.
"In this village, no other dwarf can handle material like that and forge it into a sword!"
"There are other dwarf villages."
"Those fools lack the skill! It would be an insult to Dragon Fang!"
Dris spat flecks of saliva as he bellowed.
Eirana shielded her face with a scrap of sheet metal rolling across the desk, successfully fending off the saliva barrage.
And then she spoke.
"I'm not even sure I can get it yet."
Even Elencan, who doted on Eirana, might hesitate to hand over a molar so casually.
"Just bring it to me, and I'll forge the finest sword you've ever seen. No one on this earth crafts swords better than I do."
His eyes blazed fiercely, as if they might burn holes straight through her.
Eirana silently regarded him, then nodded.
"Fine. But I'd like to have some say in the sword's design."
"It's your sword, so of course your input matters."
Dris shrugged it off nonchalantly.
To dwarves, a sword's appearance was a minor detail.
What mattered wasn't the look, but the essence of the blade it became.
Eirana nodded and rose from her seat.
"Then I'll go see Grandpa and come back."
"Yes!"
Dris nodded with such fervor it seemed his neck might snap.
Eirana, queasy at the sight, shook her head as she left—only to smack her forehead on the low doorframe of the dwarf dwelling.
After her talk with Dris, Eirana visited the dwarf village daily.
She had grown fascinated by their blacksmithing.
She had felt a similar curiosity when first visiting the elf village.
Dwarven life was utterly unlike that of elves.
Dwarves were dynamic and vibrant.
The antithesis of the elves' quiet serenity.
Elves sought harmony; dwarves chased progress.
Yet both races shared one trait: unparalleled affinity for magic and spirits.
Not quite matching elves, but dwarves were on intimate terms with spirits as well.
Especially with those of earth and fire—diametrically opposed to elves and their water and wind spirits.
Their magical engineering differed from elven arts too.
As a distinct race, dwarves had forged their own path in magic.
And at a glance, it specialized in demolition and reconstruction.
Dwarves had even birthed alchemy.
In a village teeming with dwarves barely reaching chest height as they bustled about, there were countless marvels to behold.
Another surprise: dwarf women were surprisingly adorable.
Dwarves weren't unattractive by any means, but juxtaposed against their burly, muscular males, the contrast initially threw Eirana for a loop.
And their strength was racial too; female dwarves packed tremendous power.
Eirana had nearly burst into disbelieving laughter upon seeing one heft a massive log onto her shoulder.
Sightseeing the dwarf village was endlessly entertaining.
Personally, she found it more enjoyable than the tranquil elf village.
Of course, problems arose.
The female dwarves pestered Eirana relentlessly.
Their bothering was straightforward.
They'd approach out of nowhere, begging her to try on their handmade dresses or don their rings and hairpieces—requests most unwelcome to Eirana.
One day, they'd even tried stripping her by force; she'd kicked her way to freedom.
She knew there was no malice, but her patience was fraying.
This applied to older dwarves, of course; with the young ones' accessories, she often relented and wore them.
Clothes were a hard no.
That day as well, young dwarf girls clustering at her waist giggled as they crowned her with a tiara of their making.
"Wow~ Lady Eirana, it suits you perfectly!"
"Wouldn't a sapphire look better for the center stone than a ruby?"
"Yeah. And silver for the frame instead of gold."
The three dwarf girls huddled, whispering and debating among themselves.
Eirana watched them with detached apathy.
"You really love making things, don't you?"
"We're dwarves, aren't we?"
They laughed in response to her words.
Then they huddled closer, murmured a bit more, bid her farewell, and scampered off.
As Eirana watched their retreating figures and scratched her head—
"Hmm. You must be coming here quite often lately."
"Gah!"
The voice from behind made Eirana jolt upright in alarm. She whipped around.
Spotting Erannis there, she sighed in relief.
"What, it was you, Mom?"
"What's with that half-hearted reaction?"
Erannis furrowed her brow at Eirana's words and tugged at her cheek.
Eirana grimaced, enduring the sting.
Erannis released her pinch and eyed her daughter.
"Still, you wore it despite hating these sorts of things."
"The kids asked. Couldn't say no."
"Hmm."
Erannis squinted, scanning Eirana from head to toe before lifting the tiara from her head.
"They clearly put real effort into this."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. Young dwarves' work is usually unskilled and crude. They went all out to hide that."
At Erannis's rather blunt assessment, Eirana quietly examined the tiara.
It didn't strike her as crude at all.
Uninterested in accessories though she was, it was undeniably pretty.
"Even so, the devotion they poured in suggests they were dying to see it on you."
"Why?"
At Eirana's puzzled look, Erannis smiled softly.
"An object only truly shines when wielded by the one it suits."
Dwarves were artisans who crafted.
Merchants sought profit through wares, but dwarves' sole aim was the act of creation.
And their joy peaked when a finely made item found its perfect bearer.
"Says the dragon who hoards treasure mountains at home..."
"That's a collection."
Erannis replied without mercy, settling the tiara back atop Eirana's head. She crossed her arms and nodded approvingly.
"Yes. Pretty. My daughter."
Eirana's face soured slightly at 'pretty,' but she held her tongue.
"I need to give it back."
"Huh? Didn't they give it to you?"
"Why?"
"They didn't take it back. Dwarves draw clear lines—trying something on versus gifting it. Leaving without a word means it's yours."
Eirana nodded.
"Alright, today let's play in the dwarf village—you and me, Mom."
"Doll play with me?"
"Yep."
Erannis nodded with a tender smile.
Eirana flailed to escape her mother's grasp, but a mere hatchling overpowering a full-grown dragon was out of the question.
In the end, securely in Erannis's clutches, Eirana endured a full day of torment: trying on every manner of clothing and accessory the dwarf village had to offer.