Chapter 47: An Unusual Bet (1)
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
“Kuwaaak! Th-that huuuurts!”
“Huh? But I don’t wanna stop.”
Smack!
“Kuhuk!”
In the end, the chieftain spat up blood. Had I hit him so hard his ribs cracked?
The gods stayed silent throughout the process of “educating” the chieftain. They’d gone wild at first when I’d beaten the lords senseless, but after slapping the pope, even this level of violence barely registered anymore. Whether human or god, everyone ends up craving stronger thrills.
In hindsight, maybe slapping the pope should’ve been my trump card. But no turning back now. Craving stronger stimulation meant anything less would just disappoint them. So I had to keep riding the thug train, ramping up the intensity.
All that was left was schooling Kainus or chasing down some demon lair to beat the shit out of them.
The chieftain rolled across the ground from the beating and crashed into a corner. The dwarf warriors had seen my power firsthand—no one dared step up now.
Thud. Thud.
“G-get away!”
“You lot deserve death for not showing respect to Vulcanus. But as ones blessed by the gods, I can’t just rip you all apart... so maybe I’ll make an example of your chieftain bastard and kill him?”
“Kuhuk! Why the hell are you... doing this...”
“Lemme explain. Right now, that lunatic Odin is rampaging in the heavens, trying to become the one true god. Thanks to him, I’ve been shrinking his faction. You dwarves need to come to my territory and join the gods in their great cause.”
“Grrrk... ugh, then why didn’t you just say so from the start?”
“Would you have listened if I had?”
Celt chewed his lip. The gods watching from above chuckled in satisfaction. There was no flaw in my words. Even Vulcanus agreed. Unifying the continent and wiping out Odin’s forces would weaken him. My justification was airtight.
This was the basic stance of a rampaging bastard with a righteous cause.
“The walls are down anyway. Pack your shit and follow me.”
“You damn...”
“What was that? I must’ve misheard.”
“N-no, of course! The lord must’ve misheard because his ears...”
Crack!
In the end, Celt took a blow to the head and passed out.
Chieftain’s house.
Celt woke from his stupor feeling surprisingly light-headed compared to the beating he’d taken. His warriors had gathered here, and he tilted his head.
“Weird? I’m sure that bastard knocked me out.”
“Ugh, Chieftain, that guy’s divine power is incredible—he saved your life.”
“Saved me?”
“Hard to believe, but Aron Blaine is definitely blessed by the gods.”
“Ha! The world must be ending. How the hell does a guy like that get divine favor!?”
It was utterly unbelievable. Aron Blaine—the man who raped women in the streets and tore people apart just for eye contact. Why the fuck would the gods bless him?
The warriors offered their guesses.
“Odin’s been acting up so much, they had no choice but to recruit a knight of Herculean strength?”
“A desperate measure?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Ugh, so we’re dragged into the gods’ war to clean up after that rotten fucker?”
“‘Clean up’ is a bit crude, but yeah, that’s the essence.”
“How the hell did we end up like this?”
“Makes you think even the monsters were brought by that piece of shit.”
“Hmph! Damn right!”
“Anyway, the tribe’s prepping to move. If we don’t, Aron’ll brand us heretics and slaughter us all.”
“Son of a bitch!”
Celt had no choice but to stand.
He declared to his warriors, “We’ll follow the gods’ will and move, but we won’t sell our souls to that human scum!”
“You call that resolve? Our creations won’t have soul in them anyway!”
“Right on!”
And so the dwarves steeled themselves.
A refreshing afternoon.
Leading the dwarves took two days to reach the territory. Three thousand of them migrated en masse, with heavy loads and gear that slowed us down considerably. Factoring in my instant flight, it was a massive time sink.
But the haul was huge. Not just a few captured dwarves to work—not a whole tribe.
Work them to death, and we’d rake in fortunes. Amon’s eyes would pop out.
As we entered the territory, retainers swarmed, and locals poured out to gawk.
“No way—dwarves coming in a group?”
“The lord must’ve brought ’em.”
“Dwarves are too proud; they’d die before becoming slaves, right?”
“Rumors are just rumors.”
The dwarves glared at the humans with hostility. Mixing them fully might cause issues, so separate housing was needed.
“My loooord! You really brought them!”
Kane’s grin stretched ear to ear. Dwarf-forged goods fetched top coin across the continent. Dwarves were rare, and they rarely parted with their masterpieces unless trading essentials. Setting up workshops here to mass-produce them? Kane knew it’d mean riches, hence the smile.
“Control that face, old man.”
“Kekeke! Becoming rich is a sure thing—how could I keep a straight face?”
“Drooling like that at your age? They won’t listen to a geezer like you.”
“Didn’t you capture them as slaves?”
“As if. They came on their own, moved by my virtue.”
“Hohoho! I knew it! Your lordship’s faith is unmatched. The gods are moved to bless you—how could lowly dwarves resist?”
The old man was flattering hard in his excitement.
Passing some officials, I ran into Sharel.
“Oh, you’re back?”
“That’s all you’ve got after ages apart? ‘You’re back’?”
“What, should I go, ‘Dearest sister, you’ve suffered so much,’ and pat your head?”
“Ugh, that’d make me puke more.”
That was our reunion. It looked like bickering, but it was heartfelt enough.
I had Kane allocate a spacious clearing for the dwarves. Craftsmen by nature, they’d clear it themselves and build homes and workshops. Beyond that, not my problem.
“But aren’t you happy?”
“Happy? No.”
“Why not?”
Sharel managed the merchant guild. Amon’s guild covered us, but it wasn’t enough, so she ran our own. As head, dwarves should thrill her.
But she looked sour.
“Dunno how you got them, but dwarves never submit to humans, even in death. Their works’ll lack soul. Who’d pay top dollar for soulless junk?”
“Uh... yeah, that won’t do.”
“Exactly why it’s no good. That’s why dwarf goods are pricey—they mass-suicide as slaves.”
“Still, won over by my virtue, they’ll make masterpieces.”
“If you weren’t blood, I’d curse you out. Your virtue?”
Discussing my virtue with Sharel was a stretch. She was still salty about me ripping apart her fiancés.
“So, no way around it?”
“Only bind them with their own promises. By pricking their pride.”
“Their pride?”
“Yeah, they’re smiths. Bet on their pride—what happens?”
“Oho!”
My lips curled. Sharel looked uneasy at my grin—my smiles always meant bodies.
“Why the scary face?”
“Heh heh heh. Perfect. I’ve got just the thing I wanna make.”
Dwarf residential area.
The sun dipped behind the mountains, but dwarves were already clearing land for temporary homes. Hundreds of simple single-story wooden houses sprang up—impossible quality and practicality for one day. Tomorrow, they’d build permanent ones.
Any lord material described dwarves with cheat-level skills. Mine did too: worshippers of smith-god Vulcanus, artistic talents churning out items at insane speeds—fantasy’s top engineers. Seeing it in person was mind-blowing.
Sharel, watching beside me, showed doubt.
“Betting against those guys? On something with engineering?”
“Heh heh heh. Watch. You’ll be shocked.”
“Hmph, whatever you make, dwarves’ll crush you.”
“Wanna bet?”
“A thousand gold you lose.”
“A thousand I win. And one wish granted.”
“Easy money.”
Sharel didn’t even consider me winning. Another talented mage under my thumb? Fine by me. She’d regret today’s bet.
We entered the dwarf area. They scowled like they’d eaten shit—pure hostility. Like cattle to the slaughter, faces twisted. It only fired me up more.
“Having a nice evening?”
“Grr, what do you want?!”
“Aigo, how’s the spot I hit? Mouth still works, so maybe the lesson didn’t stick.”
“Hmph! You dragged us here by force, but we dwarves won’t abandon our pride!”
“Oho, just like the rumors.”
Two days ago, he’d been polite from the beating; now his mouth was back. More education? Nah, better not crush morale too hard—they’d slave here forever.
“Hey, Chieftain, wanna hear a way out?”
“For real?”
“Beat me in a bet, you all go free. Lose, and you’re my people forever—laboring eternally.”
“Tch, if it disadvantages the tribe, I refuse!”
“Won’t be. Tests craftsmanship. Make inventions in three days; judge on uniqueness, artistry, practicality. Fair?”
“Huff!”
Celt snorted hot breath. I’d struck the reverse scale of artisan pride, proposing a bet they couldn’t lose. If they didn’t bite, they weren’t dwarves.