Hot Hammer
After Walter started his number tag duel, Res and I wandered around Breath of Fire looking for blacksmiths that were supposedly somewhat famous. But every place we visited gave the same response.
"Hmm... I could make something similar, but this level of precision? That's tough."
"No way. You'd need someone like Lonely Hammer for this."
"Ha, a dwarf who can make something like this? Never heard of it. Is this a new work from Lonely Hammer?"
A few blacksmiths even tried making samples on the spot, eager for the challenge, but none were up to medical standards. In the end, we had no choice but to head straight to Lonely Hammer's forge.
"Maiiiineeer, wouldn't it be better to just go back to Lonely Hammer? These blacksmiths' skills were total BS! Walter can wait."
Res, perched on my shoulder, grumbled with a face full of disappointment.
"I think so too. We bought some snacks to eat while waiting, so let's grab a room at an inn fir—"
BOOM!CRASH!KABOOM!
I figured even with Walter's strength, we'd be waiting at least a few weeks here, so I was planning to check into a nearby inn before heading back to him.
"M-Maiiineeer! Did you hear that? That huge noise from Lonely Hammer's forge over there!"
"Damn it, hold on tight!"
With Res clinging to my shoulder, I bolted toward the source of the sounds, panting hard.
BOOM!CRACKLE—BOOM!CRASH!CRUNCH—CRACK CRACK!
"My morningstar shows no mercy. If you don't wanna make some orphans, don't draw that sword, punk."
"Bullshit! My blade's got no eyes! You'd better hand over that number tag nice and easy!"
BOOM!CRASH!BOOM!CRASH!CLANG!SCREECH!CLANG!
"Daring to mention number tags with that pathetic skill? Go roll some pasta instead!"
"The dead don't talk!"
SCREECH!CLANG!CRACK!BOOM!
'What the...?'
Far from some orderly number tag duel, the scene unfolding before us was straight out of a battlefield. Shouts, screams, and the metallic tang of blood sprayed from skirmishes breaking out all along the long waiting line.
"Damn it, Res! Can you sniff out where Walter is?"
"N-No idea! Too many people! And it's too noisy!"
"You're an animal, right? Focus on your sense of smell instead of hearing! Where's Walter!"
"D-Dummy! How am I supposed to know by smell? I'm not an ani— a dra... sniff sniff. Over there! That way—I smell him!"
Res really was part animal after all. Following her dog-like nose, we pushed toward the front of the line—and further front still. Fewer people were dueling up here than in the back. After advancing quite a ways with Res flapping her tiny wings and sniffing for Walter's trail, her snuffling suddenly stopped.
"Maiiineeer! Th-There! Found him! It's Walter, Walter!"
"Haa... good thing. Wil...?"
Res's stubby little finger pointed at a head of short, pale gray hair. It wasn't super close, but I could tell it was him. But when Walter turned toward us, his clothes soaked in blood, I swallowed hard instead of rushing over.
"You've arrived, Director?"
"Getting distracted mid-fight? Back of the line with you!"
"W-Walter! Behind you!"
WHOOSH! I yelled as a sword streaked through the air like a straight line, slicing the wind.
SLASH—THUD.
"Gahk..."
But for some reason, the one collapsing with blood gushing from his chest was the guy who'd swung at Walter.
"...W-Walter, you okay?"
With Res trembling and glued to the back of my neck, I approached Walter cautiously.
"Of course. In a number tag duel, taking your opponent's life means you're banned from Lonely Hammer's forge forever."
"But... your clothes are covered in blood."
"Ah, this? Sometimes sore losers charge in, so a bit splashed on me."
"..."
Walter's armor front looked like it'd been doused in red paint, but at least it wasn't his blood. A relief. Though he was still terrifying.
'Walter... is way stronger than I thought...?'
Four months ago, when we first met, I'd had no real gauge of his strength. Just figured he was a rich, confident adventurer. But maybe he was even stronger than I'd imagined.
"Director, please wait just a bit. Only ten left. It might splash, so step back further."
"Ah, yeah..."
My heart pounded at the thought of watching more of Walter's swordplay, but thankfully, his blade didn't taste more blood.
"I won't challenge that skill. Go ahead."
"Urgh, I'm out too."
"Step forward."
"After you..."
People handed over their number tags without a fight, and in just minutes, we were at the front.
"Faster than expected. Shall we, Director?"
"Y-Yeah... good work."
Riding Walter's bus for a free pass left my conscience stinging. But you can't kill with glares. I recited the Heart Sutra in my head, seeking inner peace.
"The forge is surprisingly small, huh? Lots of people coming and going inside, but Lonely Hammer works alone?"
"Hm... not sure. Rumor says he runs it with apprentices, but yeah, it's smaller than thought."
From the front, Lonely Hammer's forge looked like a shabby little hut overgrown with vines. Unlike other smithies, no hammering, no roaring furnaces, no shouts—odd. Then:
Creeeak—
The door opened.
"Number 15, come on in with your tag."
"Yes! Here's 15!"
We followed the dwarf usher inside, but it was eerily quiet.
"First time?"
"Yes."
"See the square lines on the floor? Stand inside."
Stepping into the empty central floor markings, it descended like an elevator.
"M-Maiiineeer..."
"It's like an elevator. Don't worry."
Rumble—
The open-top platform descended deep before stopping.
"Here we are. Welcome to Lonely Hammer's forge."
"Whoa..."
"Oh..."
One wall slid open like automatic doors, revealing a breathtaking sight. Despite the depth underground, the vast space felt aboveground. Dozens—no, hundreds of dwarves hammered and tempered metal in a grand spectacle.
CLANG—CLINK—CLANG—
"Master, number 15 here."
The usher dwarf led us to a dwarf with a long, streaked-white beard.
'That's Lonely Hammer?'
His arms bulged with muscle, age indeterminate. He ignored us, hammering relentlessly.
CLANG—CLINK—
"Master will consult right after this. Wait a moment."
"Got it."
With the usher gone, I watched, mesmerized. True to his name, the elder dwarf silently battled fire and steel.
"Whoaaa, so cooool."
"Yeah."
Even to my untrained eyes, Lonely Hammer sweating over the metal looked like an artist, not a craftsman.
"Aigoo? Customers? Thanks for waiting. I'm Lonely Hammer. Who's the client?"
"Me."
He gripped my hand roughly, shaking it vigorously.
"Heh heh, welcome! So, what do you want made?"
"What I'm requesting is..."
With bated breath, I handed over syringe-like disposable medical tool samples, explaining their use, function, and required durability.
"Hmm... intriguing. Hold on."
Studying them intently, he called apprentices for materials I didn't recognize. Soon, with everything ready, he began kneading, carving, and hammering. My expression soured.
'Even here... a bust?'
None of my samples could be forged. His hammering made my head throb.
"Take a look. Rough prototype, but this the vibe?"
"Lemme see...?"
My bleary eyes widened at the sample. Thickness, thinness, feel—identical to my syringes.
'No way... How with a hammer?'
The others matched too. Items impossible with brute force. A moment proving why dwarves—and Lonely Hammer—were supreme.
"Perfect! I'd like ten thousand each. Timeline and cost?"
"Payment first: mid-next-next year at earliest. Cost is—"
"W-Wait, mid-next-next year?"
"Heh heh, definitely first-timers."
Stroking his faded beard, he chuckled heartily.
"My rep means even the fastest is one-and-a-half to two years. If urgent, try my apprentices?"
"Apprentices?"
"Feels like self-praise, but they're prepping to inherit my name. Some match me. Come see."
He shoved my back—er, thigh—with his meaty hand, introducing them. But their samples fell short of his.
'Better than other smiths, but these are medical tools. Can't risk subpar... Cold Hammer's closest?'
Beards hid ages, but Cold Hammer, his prized apprentice, came nearest.
'Not smooth enough. Extra decorations—artistic stubbornness, maybe...'
"How's that? Cold Hammer's usable, right? One of my best."
"It is, but... Any better apprentices?"
"Hm... One more. Honestly, skill-wise, might surpass me."
This dwarf knows business! Hiding a superior talent till now!
"Who? I'd love a sample—or commission—from them."
"That one's... better meet in person."
He led us to the rearmost corner.
CLANG—CLINK—CLANG—
A smaller-than-average dwarf hammered oblivious to our arrival.
"Master? What brings you?"
"Doing well? Greet them—this is my prized apprentice, Hot Hammer."
The one Lonely Hammer pointed to hobbled over on crutches.
'...Legs immobile?'