Stamp
At 'Rendor's Hammer', Valentia's finest forge, the dwarf Rendor stared in bewilderment at the boy who had arrived clutching the duke's order. The child had strikingly pale skin that contrasted sharply with his jet-black hair and eyes—an unusual sight indeed.
"Remake it to fit you? This masterpiece I've poured nearly half a year into for a Superior-grade knight?"
"Yes, sir. You can see that on the order, right?"
The boy's defiant tilt of the chin, staring up at him so brazenly, only amplified Rendor's disbelief. The real problem, though, was that the order was genuine. For Rendor, who wasn't even one of the duke's retainers, this was just contractual work. Still, he couldn't stomach seeing his pride and joy—a work infused with a dwarf craftsman's soul—reduced to some kid's toy.
"I'd rather pay the penalty fee... Ugh, damn it."
But the item in question came with a penalty fee that was no joke. And to top it off, it was a battle hammer—the least popular weapon around. Sure, it was an artifact, but who would buy it back even at material cost?
"...This is driving me insane."
Rendor's mind swirled in chaos, the boy before him already forgotten. Then—
"I'm better than that Superior-grade knight anyway, aren't I?"
The absurd claim snapped his attention back. "Kid, do you even hear yourself...?"
Rendor scowled irritably, but when a wisp of blue mana rose from the boy's fingertip—
Whoooosh.
—his jaw dropped. Once the boy proved his prowess, Rendor's attitude flipped 180 degrees. Handing his creation to a ten-year-old genius rather than some middle-aged Superior felt far more satisfying.
Of course, not without a few hiccups along the way.
"...An Expert? Kid, are you older than you look? Or maybe a half-dwarf—explains the short stature...?"
"Don't say creepy stuff like that!"
A bit of grumbling, but for the sake of acquiring an artifact, Tiny didn't mind.
"So why a warhammer? Even mana users strain their muscles with those—stunts your growth. Explains why you're so short."
"I'll grow plenty. And I'm used to it—it's more than enough."
"Used to it? What, from a blacksmith family? Ever hammered metal before?"
...Not metal, but plenty of people and monsters.
Tiny chuckled inwardly and shook his head. "Enough chit-chat. Show me the goods. I heard it's mostly done."
"It's sized for Sir Drexler, so it'll be as tall as you are."
"Perfect. Anything shorter wouldn't feel right swinging it."
"Even mana users need to be at least 30cm taller than their weapon. Unless you're fighting monsters, oversized gear is just... showy."
"I will be fighting monsters."
"...Pointless for... Damn, that fierce look in a kid's eyes—you've actually hunted some, haven't you?"
"I have."
...In my past life, anyway.
"At your age? Ha, it really seems like it. You're one weird kid."
"It's true."
"Yeah, my eyes say so too... Hard to believe, though."
Dwarves naturally developed True Sight upon reaching adulthood by their standards. It let them sense emotional fluctuations in speech, discerning truth from lies to a degree. That was also why dwarves generally disliked humans and elves—humans lied too much, and elves' emotions were too subdued to read clearly.
In his past life, the dwarves Tiny had dealt with eventually grew wary of him.
"Ugh, your type is the worst for us. You spout bullshit so confidently, it all sounds real."
His comrade, the dwarf Hainen—wielder of the First Hammer—had explained it once. Anyway, this dwarf running a forge in a human metropolis was a rare case.
"Fine, a contract's a contract. Follow me."
Claaank.
The moment Tiny laid eyes on the massive hammer glowing faintly blue on Rendor's workbench, his own eyes sparkled.
"...Impressive. Already this close to done?"
"Not quite tuned yet. Auto-repair, impact amplification... And a defensive enchantment to boost Sir Drexler's specialty—defense. Hm? What's with that look, kid?"
"...N-nothing."
"Nah, it's obvious. You brute-force types don't care about defense, huh? Can't be helped. Changing the runes now would throw off the mana balance."
"I know. Guess it'll do. Artifact warhammers aren't exactly common..."
On this continent, battle hammers were a dwarf specialty—other races treated them as fringe weapons. Artifacts were especially rare. Even skimming his past-life memories, he couldn't recall any dungeon drops of warhammer artifacts.
That's why finding Nocturne in the Great Labyrinth had thrilled him to no end. And this one...
"No fool would turn down an artifact with three 4th-circle spells etched in."
At this point in time, it was almost too good for him. But then Rendor dropped a bombshell.
"...Truth be told, we have another artifact warhammer here."
"...Pardon?"
"Ah, forget I said that. My son made it—useless thing. He crafted it for himself but left it 'cause he couldn't lift it."
Two warhammer artifacts in one forge? Ones he'd rarely even seen in his past life? Usable or not, curiosity piqued.
"Could I see it too?"
"It's made from compressed black steel—the stuff infamous for its weight. Even picking it up's a chore. Plus, he slapped on a weight-amplification rune to one-shot foes. Total dud as a weapon."
Oh ho?!
"...Now I'm even more curious. Please, show me."
"What part of that didn't you get? Compressed black steel plus weight amp? A hammer your height weighs well over 100kg."
Rendor's warnings made sense. Even a warhammer his size usually topped out at 10kg. Heavier meant harder to swing and more stamina drain—drawbacks outweighed benefits. Mana users rarely exceeded 30kg; in high-level fights, mana output and technique trumped raw weight.
But talk of a 100kg+ hammer lit Tiny's eyes up.
"Whoa, that's right up my alley! What else it got?"
"Impact amp and auto-repair... but seriously, it's worthless."
"Awesome! Perfect for me. Let me see it!"
"...You're no normal kid either. Fine, follow me."
Rendor regretted the slip but headed off anyway, hoping to offload the warehouse eyesore for the pricey commission fee.
They arrived at the warehouse.
Creeeeak.
As Rendor unlocked the heavy door and shoved it open—
"In there..."
"Whoa!"
Tiny spotted the black-sheened warhammer deep inside and bolted to snatch it up before Rendor finished.
Grrrind.
"Whoa, heavy."
The head, man-sized, sported a spear-like spike at center, flanked by serrated faces like saw teeth. Its brutal design screamed "smash to pieces."
...Just like Nocturne. A bit smaller, though.
The similar shape made it a perfect fit.
"It's... perfect."
Sincere praise from Tiny, but Rendor just frowned.
"Hmph, as expected... Can't even lift it properly—how you gonna swing it? Put it down. Back to the original job..."
Rendor clicked his tongue, shaking his head—until a jaw-dropping sight hit him.
"...Holy—!?"
Whoooosh. Swoosh. Baaang!
The boy swung it a few times, then created afterimages with one hand.
And then—
KABOOOOM! Rumble rumble.
"H-Hey, kid!! You'll bring the place down!!"
The casual floor smash cratered the ground. As Rendor yelped and leaped back—
"It's amazing!!"
Tiny, nearly collapsing the warehouse, rubbed his cheek against the head in ecstasy.
...Perverted brat?
Rendor wiped cold sweat but forced a grin. "Honestly... I wasn't thrilled about reassigning the owner mid-project either."
His sturdy forge held—floor cratered, but that was it. Offloading the junk took priority.
But Tiny wasn't done.
"Can you make it so I can attach a handle of equal length?"
"...What?"
"For when I grow taller—or to extend for big beasts. Same materials and mana tuning, of course."
Free profit turned into extra work.
...But clearing that thing plus pay? Jackpot!
Rendor calmly calculated. "...Then the balance and remainder to the duke's house?"
Tiny nodded without asking price. "Yep."
Rendor's face bloomed. "Hahaha! Knew I had you pegged! You're going places, kid! Hahaha!"
Thwack thwack.
The dwarf's thick hand slapped his back—painful, but Tiny beamed.
'Perfect till I reclaim Nocturne.'
Great weapon snagged, no need to steal Drexler's—and better than ordered, so the duke would approve.
"You sure you can tote that around?"
"Of course!"
Overconfident, but a hitch: the hammer was taller than him.
Grrrind.
"Puhaha! See? Gotta drag it!"
Ignoring Rendor's gut-busting laughter, Tiny found a warhammer belt in the corner and strapped it on. Hooked to the back buckle, the head rested at his hip, handle poking over his head.
Couldn't reach the end over his shoulder, but gripping mid-shaft to draw was easy. A quick release mid-swing caught the pommel naturally.
"Good enough. Oh, and handle that extra request well."
Rendor eyed the fluid motions, hesitant. "...You've really used one a ton, huh?"
"Told you."
"At your age and size? Impossible... But it rings true."
Rendor looked baffled; Tiny just grinned, satisfied.
'On grown Wolrang? Even a 2m one would be fine.'
With this and Wolrang, he could handle foes two ranks above. Intuition—no, certainty.
"So, how long for the handle?"
"Hm? At least a month..."
"Two weeks, please."
"Hey! Who said you decide—"
"Just the shaft—no engraving needed. Shaping's quick; the rest is polishing time."
"True, but... Damn kid. Met other dwarf smiths?"
"Yes."
"Huh? True again... At your age?"
"Weapon found its master—discount for clearing junk?"
"...That was the plan, punk."
Rendor smacked his lips, exasperated. Dwarf smiths sold to the "right" owner at a loss—not suckers, but hoping their creation shone brightest.
...Hainen's excuse in my past life.
'Sucker,' I thought. But if it's for me, it's friendship.
He'd liked dwarves before—and now, a new dwarf pal. Though this one's thoughts differed.
"...Why the creepy stare?"
"Nah, just thrilled with the score. I'll swing by in two weeks for the part."
"...Sounds real, but rubs me wrong."
Rendor grumbled but waddled to see him off. At the door, Tiny remembered a forgotten question.
"Oh, what's this warhammer's name?"
Artifacts had names; he'd make one if not. Rendor muttered faintly.
"...Stamp."
"Stamp? ...Pretty straightforward name."
A people-smasher called Stamp! Tiny burst out laughing; Rendor looked wistful.
"My son Grandal named it."
Cough.
"...On second thought, fresh young vibe. Simple's best!"
Unexpected twist; then he recalled—
'He said his son "left" it 'cause he couldn't lift...
"Uh, your son... what happened to him?"
Rendor sighed gloomily. "Ran away."
"...Pardon?"
"Told you. Made it for himself, couldn't lift it, left."
"Wait, not dead—just... gone?"
"What? You want my son dead?"
"Ehe, no way! As long as he's healthy, right? Ha. Ha. Ha."
Rendor eyed the awkward laugh, then chuckled and patted his back.
"Eh, fate or whatever. If you see him, pass word."
"...I suck at spotting dwarves."
"Brat, at least... Ugh. He'll recognize his hammer."
"Dwarf instinct?"
"...You know it? Yeah."
He'd heard dwarf instincts defied logic. But he'd seen Hainen botch via overreliance on True Sight and gut. Probably hype from their style. Yet Rendor's words oddly resonated.
'Grandal...'
More dwarf contacts never hurt. Sucker or not.
"Sure, if I meet him. See you in two weeks. Two weeks!"
"Tch, cocky runt. Scram!"
"Haha. Take care."
Gruff farewell from the stout dwarf; polite bow from the short boy. Similar smiles lit their faces.