Secret Weapon
All eyes were on me. From amid the crowd, the dwarven chieftain Kelt and his clansmen began to stride forward.
"The dwarves!"
"What have they made?"
"They're the smithing race—surely they've forged something incredible!"
The anticipation pinned on them was immense. Dwarves had always maintained a reclusive society, avoiding contact with humans except when buying what they needed. With that lore, their creations commanded sky-high prices and often stole the spotlight at auctions.
Chieftain Kelt's face brimmed with smug confidence. He was already convinced he'd leave our territory and return to their homeland.
"Heh heh, human lord Aron the Count—if you win today's bet, we'll pack up and head straight home. As a special bonus, we'll even hand over the houses and workshops we built. Our artisan race never half-asses a forge! Even that alone's a win for you, right?"
"You're not going anywhere."
"What, you planning to break a promise before the gods?"
"As if. My invention's guaranteed better than yours."
"Puhahaha! This punk's clanging hammers in front of dwarves!"
"Puhahaha!"
Not even the other dwarf smiths dreamed of defeat. Their blind certainty of victory was pure arrogance—and they'd learn just how massive that hubris was soon enough.
I gestured, and soldiers hauled over a chair. Judging would take time; might as well sit.
"You first?"
"Fine by me!"
Kelt snorted and waved. Something shrouded in cloth—at least fifty meters long—rumbled in, pulled by just nine horses. The territory folk's hype exploded like a revolution had dawned.
"A carriage?! One pulled by nine horses hauling dozens of tons!"
"N-No way dwarven tech could make something like that."
Kelt whipped off the cloth without pause.
"Whoaaa!"
The crowd's awe erupted. The carriage hovered mid-air, its frame gleaming with blue-tinged mithril alloy that must've cost a fortune. Its design evoked a unicorn soaring skyward—the dwarves had sculpted it in that image. That artistry could've swept any design contest.
If I didn't have Savitri's blessing, I'd have been smoked on looks alone.
Even the gods marveled at the spectacle.
The gods seemed taken by its beauty and utility too. But I spotted its fatal flaw instantly.
"Damn, that's slick. Too bad mana stones aren't candy—you'll burn more fuel than you haul."
"Heh heh, it guzzles 'em, sure. But in a pinch, lord, what beats this for transport?"
"Fair point."
My easy concession puffed them up more. Noses to the sky.
The levitating carriage zipped along. The horses charged without strain—their top speed set the carriage's limit. Without my plane, I'd have lost for sure. No clue how many mana stones it ate, but anywhere horses could gallop, it'd deliver fast and free.
Still, horses were living things—obstacles would ground it. Even so, it'd revolutionize the territory. A mana engine might refine it further... something to ponder later.
"Lord! Just admit defeat here? Nothing's topping this."
Kelt and his smiths bellowed with laughter, already plotting homecoming feasts.
"Sorry, no dice. Bring it out!"
A massive crate rumbled in on a cart. Wings made it huge; when revealed, even the dwarves—and gods—gawked.
Gods split hairs on what it was, but agreed: a beauty. Sleek curves, alien geometry unseen in this world—pure modernism. To locals, it was Andromeda-level avant-garde, sparking head-scratching whispers.
Kelt snorted. "Not of this world's design, that's for sure. Beautiful, I'll grant. Gods'd agree. But what is it? Wasted time on a sculpture?"
"Think so?"
I climbed into the cockpit. Engine roared to life, propeller whirring. Wheels spun, accelerating fast.
"Huh?"
Dwarves' eyes bulged. They'd banked on horses or manpower—never a mana engine.
Some eyes sparkled with interest. Still, not revolutionary yet.
"Hmph! Solo transport's niche! Those massive wings block short trips anyway!"
"Heh heh heh! Our win!"
"Homeward!"
"Ooooh!"
But the plane rocketed, lifting skyward.
"Gahk!"
"Wh-Wh-What the—!"
"It's flying!"
Dwarves reeled. Gods freaked next, opinions flying.
Jackpot. Build-up paid off—I'd frenzy-induced god-rage success.
Mahadev, God of Destruction and Regeneration: 125,000 Karma donated.
Venus, Goddess of Love: 128,000 Karma donated.
…
Bibian, Goddess of Wisdom: 130,000 Karma donated.
Savitri, Goddess of Music and Arts: 180,000 Karma donated.
Vulcanus, God of Blacksmithing: 250,000 Karma donated.
Perfect! Great! Gods showered praise.
Time to seal the win.
Kelt and smiths knew they'd lost the instant the plane appeared. Flying? Those wings enabled it; the whirring prop thrust; mana engine accelerated to ascent. Unthinkable.
"Hah!"
"Ch-Chief, we're screwed."
"Wait. Gods haven't judged. Practicality's ours!"
Screeeeech! It blazed at insane speeds.
Whirr. Rear hatch opened; crates parachuted down. Kelt groaned—parachutes too?
Aerial resupply. Plows any terrain, drops small high-value loads. Utility off the charts.
Kelt sensed defeat. But the plane wasn't done.
Wings glowed; fireballs formed, slamming a barren hill.
BOOM!
"Madness!"
"Aerial bombing?!"
Dwarves quaked. Transport, airdrop, airstrike—all in one. Beat that? Terrain-proof mobility was god-tier.
Kelt's face twisted beyond repair.
"...We're fucked."
RUMBLE! High-altitude fireballs gravity-boosted for massive impact. Magic met science—no complex math needed. Obvious: gravity amps destruction. These weren't normal fireballs.
Dwarves had to concede now.
Flash! Light engulfed me. Amid god-frenzy, Mahadev kept his word.
Savitri, swept up, gifted too. Morale-booster flute? Better than nothing.
Just land safe now. Rolled the prepped runway, touched down smooth. Cheers erupted as propellers stilled.
Dwarves? Funeral vibes.
Before they stirred, heavens parted—Vulcanus boomed.
Aron's victory. I commend thy artisan's spirit.
"Ooooh!"
Crowd roared. I pushed through to Kelt. He flinched.
"Can't defy the gods, right? Pull yourself together, sort your head. Then swear loyalty. For your sake."
"...Life's twisted now."
Damn right. Yours just got rerouted—daily grind for the territory from here on out.