Off to Volunteer in the Dwarf Slums ※Horror Warning※ Brace Yourselves for the Horror Illustrations
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"Mind like fire, huh."
"Isn't it a problem if people die because of Mom? I'm an adult now, so I should handle this on my own."
Everyone was still reeling from the incident at the Dwarf Artifact Competition. Even if they were a near-extinct doomed race, no one had imagined they'd stoop so low. Calling in the Witchcrafts on purpose and turning them into a public spectacle right in front of everyone.
It was political maneuvering, sure, but so crude that Ephemera clutched the back of her neck and groaned in agony. Wasn't this just blatantly trying to create an open feud? Planning to cry foul about being persecuted by the Witchcrafts? Unfortunately, the overwhelming fear would make everyone wary anyway.
If they'd hoped Aris Witchcraft's past sins would stir guilt and make people yield a little... well, she'd changed a lot since the hero party days, so there might be some chance. Even before that, she'd compensated the dwarves materially and earned "forgiveness."
Though it was ambiguous at best—done to save their future generations. The young dwarves, oblivious that it was for their sake, rose up in outrage against the elder generation, turning the dwarf kingdom into the mess it was today.
Even more ironic: once those youths aged, their positions flipped, and now they were the ones suffering. They regretted it late, tried to change things, but the spirited young ones rising from below were uncontrollable...
"That's probably why the young dwarf prince became king. Keser Bledia, who was in the hero party, handed over the throne and vanished."
Ephemera shared what she'd gleaned from noble circles. The prince despised the old king so much he didn't even take his father's name, instead appending his mother's Derthian for dwarf women's rights.
"The current Mountain King Geika Derthian is basically punching holes in a sinking ship—utterly incompetent."
He pushed "youth-friendly" policies, trading machine-developed goods. But without the dwarves' artisan spirit, just mass-produced junk—easy to reverse-engineer and copy. Other kingdoms tweaked them usefully without needing dwarves. In extreme terms, academy-trained artisans were better.
"Expecting anything from a king who swapped his limbs for cybernetics because he hated being looked down on for his short stature? Laughable."
Ephemera noted it was natural for incompetent kings to make their people suffer. She flashed a scary expression, mentioning the imperial knights' powers even extended to deposing kings if needed.
"That's how equal they are—and wary of their own folly. We mix long-lived and short-lived races, so no issue, but they're all dwarves."
"Enough boring history—let's head out?"
"Listening to the history dunce's gripes is noble etiquette."
Pitying Wiyu, who'd returned mocked because of the idiot king, but the culprit was dozing off from boredom. Ephemera sighed. While she spoke, the boys loaded trucks with relief supplies for the dwarf kingdom's slums, and they departed.
Kaoru-senpai grumbled about being used as a driver, but who else had a license?
After a long drive, Nidavellir No.7's sights were beyond exotic—like stepping into a sci-fi flick. Carved cliffs formed a canyon city where buildings fused with sheer walls. Drones and flying cars zipped overhead. Even at night, neon and ceaseless lights erased day-night boundaries.
Dwarf-like robots scurried about their tasks—pure wonder. It felt like time-traveling to the future; we just kept gasping in awe.
"Hillbilly reactions... but even I'm here first time. Impressive, honestly."
Ephemera admired alongside Wiyu but felt pangs of regret. A dwarf kingdom without hammer strikes or forge heat? Childhood fantasies of dwarf artisans shattered.
"Sigh, who'll make legendary swords now?"
"Dwarf factories?"
"Stamped by machine? Might be tougher, yeah."
But true masterpieces like Ego Swords or holy swords needed an artisan's soul hammered in. Mass-produced designs lacked spirit. Ephemera and cold-weapon users sighed in shared disappointment.
"Anyway..."
The flashy city awed, but dwarves fixated on handheld gadgets. AR overlays on glasses? No one looked up—or even ahead. No glances at our non-dwarf truck. Earbuds blocked everything. Tech progress wasn't all good. Better farming in the countryside.
"Eek..."
Nidavellir No.7's slums exceeded imagination. Shacks were one thing—some lived in cliff caves. Unloading the truck drew tool-wielding dwarves staring.
"Hm... disappointing."
"What?"
"Thought slum dwarves were artisans... no swordsmiths, just part-crafters."
"Swords're easy, kid! Bad margins!"
"Don't sell well for the time invested! Gotta eat!"
"Artisan spirit doesn't buy booze!"
"Why provoke them..."
Dwarves bristled, inviting us to their shops, snapping at the greatsword nerd about money. He demanded top-tier blades; they offered ancestral relics.
"See? 'Ancestors'—not recent dwarves."
"Why?"
"Techniques lost."
Dwarf-only ores, magic-infused forging—lost to time. Ephemera sighed sadly; stubborn artisans died without heirs. Even elves sought as apprentices—youths uninterested.
"Hmmm, these dwarves don't mind Witchcrafts, huh."
"What, the Witchcraft girl? Aris's infamous daughter?"
"Looks normal, unlike rumors..."
"That young punk picked a fight? Got balls? Chickens out on the unrelated daughter."
Dwarves held grudges but noted Wiyu's necromancy restored lost techniques—net positive. They patted her encouragingly. Elders and youth differed vastly...
We distributed supplies to elders—basic food and water, depressing us. Still mad from the contest, but elders struggled for meals; sulking over pettiness showed our immaturity. Sighing skyward—no clouds, more pity.
Service continued.
"Should we be fixing dwarf homes...?"
Yamucha hammered nails, questioning. Painting walls or weeding, Ephemera and I had no retort. High-tech nearby, yet slums without forges—just machines. Bleak. Parts assembled, shipped up... was this dwarven life? Extinction felt real.
"Hm, you all look let down."
"When we were young, artisans lingered... long gone now."
"But there's a real artisan here. Behold his work!"
Crumpled, worn blueprint from an elder—perfect robot by the village's last true craftsman. We crowded eagerly.
"So this is..."
"A lifelong dream: perfect maid robot!!"
"Six ears are odd, but performance rocks!"
"Hm, ego robot with emotions... beyond ego weapons?"
An self-aware golem via artisan hands—not infused soul, but awakening its own. Noble goal!! Dwarves boasted despite wonky design—the passion was real.
Kids' faces soured hearing it; elder pitied unmet expectations. But greatsword nerd shook his head.
"That signature looks familiar... can we meet the artisan?"
Corner signature caught hero-otaku eye. Dwarves warned: cranky recluse. But we felt... confident.
Deepest slum corner, sunless hovel. Greatsword nerd knocked.
"Excuse us—heard the artisan lives here."
"Hmph, what? Trekking to this backwater? Whatever you expect, leave."
Gruff reply thrilled us—proper dwarf artisan! But the voice inside faltered, surprised.
"No, we have something to show. Talk if satisfied?"
"...Fine. Came this far. Lame stuff gets hammered──"
"Ta-da!"
"Mind ending sentences with 'nyang' to stay trendy?"
"Oh, you know it!"
"You made this? Incredible— so young, such skill!! Miss, dwarf blood maybe!"
"Eh, witch here?"
"Witch? Witchcraft? That bastard mocked at the contest?"
Artisan collapsed, beating chest, tears flowing—blind to true craft now? World crumbling.
But spotting his dreamed perfection, he geeked out.
"Finally, someone gets my art... too advanced for them!"
"Two like you explains dwarves' doom."
"Ignore the youths!! Art demands purity! Artisan's stubborn ego matters!! Miss is brilliant!!"
Wiyu's smug grin had us sighing. Lost in their world, geeking over No.1—beyond design, flawless. Artisan like a kid, ecstatic.
No interrupting joy, but Ephemera clocked why greatsword nerd sought him.
"...May I pay respects? To Mountain King Keser Bledia."
"...Humans remember this old face well."
"Forgetting a hero party member? Weirder not to."
Ultimate dwarf: heavy weapons master, swept fronts on ancestral mechs, toppled giants, made Aris's staff. Why slum depths?
Not our business, but a hero suffering? Ephemera eyed him—any troubles, we'd help?
"...Not king anymore. Gave it to that damn son. Sorry to the witch miss... failed raising him."
"No, worried about you..."
"Heh, thunderbolt girl raised a proper daughter... manners ingrained."
Keser eyed Wiyu enviously, sighed deeply.
"Long story—listen."
Dwarves declining. Youth chased change, elders tradition—endless cycle. Youths hated tedious forging, preferred machines. Tech boom led to AI reliance. Blind faith, android waifus—birth rates tanked.
Son Geaka Derthian desperately revived honor—futile. No interest from people. Desperate, worst measures: demand witch reparations or prove superiority.
"Too harsh accepting dwarf worthlessness."
Just innate strength, creation instinct—fading. Flickering flame thrashing pathetically—pitiful.
"Joined hero party hearing Witchcrafts—show dwarf might..."
Recalling gambling throne for perilous journey, kid maybe orphaned. Sought ancestors' tech via necromancy for "minded heirs." Meister—spacefaring ships, "Dwarf King," father figure. Even mechs mere degraded copies.
Failed kin's fate—no face for sunlight. Tears flowed.
Hero who saved world failing his race—living wretchedly. Shock silenced us, gloom heavy.
"Fine, even if dwarves vanish, spirit endures. Heh, Witchcraft miss—accept this old apology?"
"You tried enough. Don't get artisan spirit, but thanks for praising my talent."
Youth rift lingers, but ex-hero smiled, consoled by comrade's daughter. Offered all techniques—learn from mom or him? Wiyu agreed eagerly.
Dusty tools out, basics from hammer swings. Wiyu polite beside Keser—like...
"Dad and daughter?"
"Skin color?"
"You fucking racist."
"One word, assholes."
Beatus tsked at greatsword nerd and Kali. Can't they fit the warm vibe?
"Alright!! For these youths!! Treasured booze out!! Dwarves no artisans, but booze supreme!!"
"I can make infinite beer mug—want?"
"Damn!! Disown son, adopt you?"
"Not marrying your son?"
"Shut it—I ain't rotten that far. Got conscience!!! Drink!!"
"Kyaahfut!!!"
Why dwarf kingdom for service? Artisan rep gone, but booze unmatched.
Elders wept over youths' "low-proof fruit booze" trash, but "real booze" endured trends.
First-years cheered slamming slum "real booze." Academy ignored age—adults drink free!! (Fines deter, though.)
"Guzzle!! Plenty!! Kahahaha!!!"
Males accepted drinking contests heartily. Girls matched—sans snacks, how many rounds? Swordmaster-aspirants faceplanted, out.
But one thought herself dwarf, not witch.
Wiyu downed 10x others—zero drunkenness. Red-faced dwarves collapsed; she kept going.
Immune? No—lashes blackened, hair lengthened, eyes swirled.
Beatus sensed doom, tried stopping—but Kali force-fed her, KO'd early.
"Hahaha!!! Better than useless son!! Envy Witchcrafts!! Adopt you?!"
"Haha!! Call you Daddy? Daddy's empty~ chug~"
"Damn, aged? Why buzzed so soon?"
All passed out—Wiyu and Keser alone.
Genius [artisan] talent, comrade's kid—Keser lamented enviously.
Why suffer lifelong kin servant? Wiyu's eyes swirled oddly at displeasure.
Holy friends twitched unconsciously. Aberration swallowed all—darkness instant.
"Getting ancestors' tech, reuniting with son... Dad wasn't happy, right?"
"..."
Beyond drunk haze—defeat-soaked, life-worn eyes empty. No warrior, artisan, king spark. Hollow regret, meaningless days.
"Sad, but you know: hero party starving, fighting, hoping kin revival—happier then."
"...Yeah..."
How to be happy?
"Childhood hammer echoes... dwarf pride... era they hailed us top... past glory shining—not now, using without understanding."
──Say you want happiness.
Ah, hell's devil felt like this. Hazy senses, pure wish for joy—witch-masked something. Hellish breath—Keser shuddered.
"Soul even, for kin──"
No price needed.
Wiyu downed drink, smiled. Thrashing in pain, unyielding—you'll be happy. I decree it.
Your wish granted.
Screech—screech—
"What noise from control room?"
AI core—24/7 guarded. Dwarf grabbed flashlight, checked hall. Cameras blacked out—power failure? Prayed databases intact. Turning corner...
....Multi-eyed monitor monster blocked him.
"Wh-what...?"
Evolve, absorb, mutate, collapse.
Chanting words—network takeover, devouring, ballooning. Eyed tiny life.
Dwarf, regressed inferior—per Creator's will, upgrade organics.
"Wha—aaargh!!"
Scream echoed—monster seized dwarf in dark.
Devour civilization whole, collapse—Wiyu's (as Tendo) beast hunt style. Use what's useful; devil necromancy so.
Ex-King Keser Bledia, hero—wish fulfilled. Useless dwarf civ erased; rebuild meaningfully.
"Wiyu, how much'd you drink?"
"Dunno~ blacked out midway. But weirdly refreshed!"
"Don't hangovers hurt?"
"No headache? You a dwarf?"
Wiyu giggled at groaning friends—y'all suck at booze. Her first binge too.
Displeasure vanished—hooked now? Mood euphoric!!
"Uh, no drunk mishaps?"
"Nah...? Listened to old guy's mutters—tiring."
Keser laughed—first blackout drunk. See ya next time. Wiyu waved bye—next year maybe.
Reunion sooner. Post-service, dwarf kingdom spectacularly collapsed.
One core gone sinks a nation? Tech excess bad—Wiyu shook head.