Chapter 117: The Dwarf Girl, Perka (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 117: The Dwarf Girl, Perka (3)
Clang! Clang!
Here, in a forge, a dwarf hammered away at iron.
Beads of sweat, pouring down like rain in the scorching heat, trickled down the deep wrinkles of his forehead.
His bushy beard, a symbol of dwarven pride, was unkempt and matted, swinging like a clump.
His thick hands were covered in burns and calluses, with not a single spot left unscathed. With all his might, he swung the hammer known as a blacksmith's very soul, an extension of his own being.
CLANG—!
The dwarf's name was Thorvar.
He was one of the Seven Meisters who represented Doomheim. Meister was a glorious title bestowed only upon the greatest of blacksmiths. To be a Meister, revered and envied by all, was every blacksmith's dream.
Thorvar was no different.
The weapons born from his hands were not mere tools, but works of art, masterpieces—
CRACK!
—or rather, what was supposed to be one had just been crushed.
He had failed to control his strength, his emotions seeping into his hammer blows.
To make such a basic mistake, one worthy of an apprentice blacksmith. Thorvar, especially, was famous for being cold-blooded and never made such errors.
All of this was because his daughter had vanished overnight.
Thorvar's daughter, Perka.
His only flesh and blood, who had gone missing half a year ago.
She was a pain in the neck, and the sight of her eating did nothing to fill his own stomach, but family was family. The worry that something terrible had happened to her would occasionally cross his mind.
“Hoo…”
Thorvar wiped his sweat-drenched brow with his forearm.
In this state, it seemed impossible to continue forging. It felt as though these emotions and this heat would not subside unless he submerged his entire body in cold water.
Thorvar hung his hammer on the wall, left the forge, and went into his house.
The layout of dwarven homes was invariably the same. Rectangular houses of identical size, as if measured with a ruler, each with a forge set up in the backyard.
It was a setup optimized for dwarves, who spent all their time, save for eating and sleeping, in the forge.
“…”
After glancing at Perka's room, Thorvar was about to head for the bath.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound of knocking on the door.
It seemed he had a visitor.
Could it be Logan from the house across the way?
He had commissioned a necklace as an anniversary gift for his wife.
Married for over fifty years, and the embers of their love still burned so brightly. Truly an admirable man.
Thorvar grabbed the necklace and opened the door.
“Ah, Logan. Here for the necklace? I was just wondering when you'd come to pick it up. Here's the it…em…”
Thorvar blinked.
His eyes met those of the girl standing before him.
Perka's lips twitched into a smile.
“Uh, Father. I'm… home…”
So mortified by her own appearance in the dress, Perka couldn't speak in her usual manner.
Thorvar's eyes widened. He looked Perka up and down, taking in her appearance, and then…
Clack.
He shut the door.
Then he blinked a couple of times and rubbed his eyes.
“I must be losing my mind.”
Was I really missing Perka so much that I'm starting to see things?
I must be getting sentimental in my old age.
I need to snap out of it with some cold water.
BANG! BANG!
“F-Father! It's me, your daughter, Perka! Please open the door!”
“You may look like my daughter, but Perka would never wear something like a dress. And she's not that pretty, either. Don't you ever pull such a tasteless prank again.”
“W-Well, that's true, but…”
The stinging truth pierced her heart.
Just what kind of life had she led?
Perka had to reflect on her past.
She had inadvertently admitted it, but even Perka didn't feel great about being treated like an imposter by her own father. She found a way to prove she was Thorvar's daughter.
“Ah, the burn on your forearm, Father! You say it's an honorable scar from forging, but you actually got it while making a fuss cooking—!”
“It really is you. In fact, I never doubted it for a second. Now, I'd be very grateful if you'd lower your voice.”
Thorvar threw the door open, cutting Perka off. Since the woman before him was recounting a story only he and his daughter knew, he had no choice but to believe her.
Thorvar calmly examined Perka's appearance once more.
‘This is my daughter…?’
Looking closely, her physical features were identical to Perka's.
Still, it was hard to believe.
“So, you disappeared without a word to go gallivanting with the humans on the surface, I see. And now you've returned after half a year with a man in tow.”
“W-Well, about that…”
“There seems to be a misunderstanding. We are not in that kind of relationship. I am the slave trader, Karami, and I am Miss Perka's master.”
“What?”
“Meister Thorvar. I've come to make a deal.”
Thorvar narrowed his eyes, looking back and forth between Karami and Perka. Perka hung her head like a sinner.
Thorvar quickly grasped the situation.
It seemed his troublemaker Perka hadn't been fooling around, but that something had happened to her.
“What? Is that Perka?”
“Looks like it. But who's that man?”
People began to gather one by one, drawn by the spectacle.
This was not a good place to talk.
“Let's talk inside.”
*
Dwarven furniture was generally different in size.
Because dwarves have relatively short legs, their furniture was quite low to the ground. Elsewhere, Karami might not have found a single chair that fit him, but Thorvar's house had Perka.
There was a chair made specially for Perka, a half-dwarf, so her master, Karami, sat there. This naturally left Perka standing.
“…”
A vein throbbed on Thorvar's forehead. He was thoroughly displeased that a man of unknown identity had taken his daughter's seat.
He sat in the chair closest to his hammer, ready to smash Karami's head in at a moment's notice.
“…Let's hear the whole story, from beginning to end.”
Perka explained what had happened half a year ago.
How she'd wandered far from home out of boredom, been captured by slave hunters and forced to work in the mines, and how Karami had found and purchased her.
Thorvar, who had been certain Perka had just run off to play without a word, felt his pupils dilate slightly. There were circumstances he hadn't known.
“So when you say ‘deal,’ you mean you'll return Perka in exchange for something.”
“Precisely.”
Thorvar quickly regained his composure.
He didn't know what gave this man the confidence to walk into a den of dwarves, but he saw no reason to agree to any deal. He could just take her back by force.
Just as Thorvar's hand was quietly moving toward his hammer…
“I would advise against doing anything foolish. Miss Perka and I are bound by a master-slave contract. I've taken out an insurance policy, just in case. Please keep in mind that if something were to happen to me, I cannot guarantee Miss Perka's safety.”
“…”
Thorvar had no way of knowing if it was the truth or a lie.
He couldn't gamble with his daughter's life.
He had no choice but to at least hear what the man had to offer.
“Fine. Spit it out.”
Karami smiled faintly.
“It's nothing too grand. I'd just like to take some of the Flame of Magmora.”
Thorvar's face crumpled into a scowl.
The Heart of Magmora, a symbol for dwarves much like the World Tree is for the elves. For a human to take its flame was unthinkable.
It was the equivalent of asking to cut off a branch from the World Tree.
“The Flame of Magmora is forged from the very soul and spirit of the dwarves. It is not something that can be handed over to one who is not a dwarf, not a benefactor, and certainly not a blackmailer.”
“Blackmailer? I not only saved your daughter from rotting away as a miner for the rest of her life before being sold to a brothel, but I also personally brought her home. If that doesn't make me a benefactor, what does?”
“A slave trader, so you must have sold your conscience as well. Get the hell out. I don't negotiate with slave traders.”
“So your pride as a blacksmith comes before your daughter? What a heartless father. Isn't that right?”
Karami, who had already anticipated this to some extent, shook his head as if to say what can you do? and looked at Perka.
Shocked, Perka's pupils trembled, darting from side to side. She knew her father was stubborn, but she looked as if she'd never imagined he would prioritize anything over her.
“I respect your decision, Meister, but I have my own reasons for being unable to give up.”
“What do you need the flame for?”
“Nothing grand. I'm simply going to wake a princess sleeping in ice.”
His words were puzzling.
What was this about sleeping in ice, and who was this princess?
Thorvar didn't take Karami's words at face value.
He was certain the man was hiding his true intentions.
Of course, from Karami's perspective, he was being completely honest, without a single lie to the heavens. To melt the ice frozen by an ancient dragon's curse, the Flame of Magmora was indispensable. According to Karami's data, at least.
To obtain the flame, he needed a Meister's permission.
There were seven Meisters in Doomheim, so it didn't have to be Thorvar, but the 'Thorvar route' was easier than the other six.
Besides, there was an accessory he needed made later, making Thorvar the most suitable choice. However, Thorvar's stubbornness was stronger than Karami had anticipated.
‘Should I try finding another Meister?’
Just as Karami was about to adjust his plan, Thorvar opened his mouth, his voice heavy.
“If you truly need it, I can suggest another way.”
“Oh? And what might that be?”
A method suggested by Thorvar himself.
That was welcome news.
“You will marry Perka and become my son-in-law.”
It was a plan otherwise known as: Getting Rid of a Troublesome Daughter.