Shining Gold (4): The Guardian's Most Important Condition
The most important condition for a guardian was trust. In that regard, almost all humans were immediately disqualified. After all, how many people could truly resist the lure of gold? Even Serpina knew her suspicions were overblown. Out of a hundred humans, ninety-nine might covet it, but roughly ninety-eight of them wouldn't actually reach for someone else's stash. Or maybe ninety-five... ninety? No, if not that, then surely eighty...
“...Sigh.”
Serpina let out a small sigh as she realized her doubts were spiraling out of control. Her head understood it was unlikely, yet her emotions kept bubbling up with the same questions: Should I double-check? Is this really okay? The other dragons she had known weren't nearly this bad. Having lived a life so far removed from a dragon's true instincts for far too long, she couldn't deny that she was now overly swayed by those freshly awakened drives.
Still, what choice did she have? If she wanted to travel, she needed a guardian to watch the house. A trustworthy guardian. Better to stay home than spend the whole trip obsessing over her gold coins and driving herself crazy.
The most reliable option was, of course, a golem. She had even considered leaving the job to Heemang for the time being. The logic was simple: you couldn't trust a cat with fish, but maybe gold coins were different. From everything she'd observed so far, Heemang's intelligence seemed high enough to understand a command like “protect the house.” Whether the little beast actually had the power to carry it out was slightly doubtful... but couldn't she just handle that part herself?
That plan sank before it even left the harbor, however, when Heerin announced she was taking Heemang on the trip too. That girl really was greedy in every possible way.
In the end, after circling back around, it was golems again. But the homemade golem Serpina created earned a scathing “bizarre appearance” review from Negin and promptly sank without a trace. Even for a dragon, it seemed crafting a convincing work of art from scratch was harder than expected. With about twenty years of effort she could probably produce something magnificent, but she obviously didn't have that kind of free time right now.
If making one herself was difficult, using one made by someone else was perfectly fine. Taking a pre-made shell and engraving the magic herself was a common method even back in Myursel. Dwarven golems in particular had excellent performance. Their smooth, sturdy joints made them perfect for holding the front line in the endless war against infinite mana.
The dwarves themselves grumbled about being forced to craft “dolls that can't even move on their own,” but no matter how much they complained, their hands never stopped working. When even dragons were raiding lairs for treasure, mere dwarves couldn't afford to be stubborn.
“Ah. Right. Dwarves.”
Serpina, who had been smirking at the old memories, suddenly hit on a good idea. When Narel had led her group to borrow Serpina's dimensional travel magic, there had definitely been a dwarf among them. Elves and dwarves cooperating during wartime was common enough, but seeing one side completely subordinate to the other was rare, so it had stuck in her mind. If they hadn't gone extinct over the past millennium, their line should still be around.
She could just find them and ask for a golem shell. Serpina contacted Narel right away. Since she still didn't have a smartphone, that meant trekking all the way to Shinsi to meet in person.
“Dwarves?”
“Yeah. I need one to make a golem for me.”
“Ah, a golem. There used to be a lot of that back in the old days. I remember.”
“So where are they now? They haven't gone extinct or anything, right?”
“Of course not. They've all settled down and are living comfortably. Though... they might look a bit different from what you remember, benefactor.”
“Appearance doesn't matter. As long as their skills are solid, it's fine.”
“Then there won't be any problems. I'll guide you myself.”
Narel led Serpina out of the alliance building and toward the place where they could meet the dwarves.
“But is it really okay for you to guide me personally? Weren't you busy?”
“That's exactly why I'm the one doing it.”
“?”
......
Dwarves were a race famous for their exceptional dexterity and strength. In medieval fantasy worlds, the greatest human artisans were said to rival the average dwarf. In extreme cases, even dwarf apprentices could match human masters. The dwarves of Myursel were not so different. They possessed craftsmanship no other race could match, and they carried immense pride because of it.
And those very dwarves had followed Narel to Earth. Over the thousand years that followed, with generations rising and falling, their primary stage had changed dramatically. Dwarf-forged swords were still called legendary blades and came with certificates of authenticity, but demand had plummeted compared to the old days. At best, the kitchen knives produced by the dwarves' collective company dominated the cutlery market.
That alone was an impressive achievement, but pride was pride. Just kitchen knives? As the era changed, dwarves stopped obsessing over weapons. There were countless industries that required skilled hands, and plenty of arenas where dwarves could shine. Mold-making, materials engineering, precious metalwork, and more. Some dwarves had even entered the art world—once dismissed as a weak, fragile field—as culture evolved.
And the field most dwarves living in Shinsi engaged in these days was research. What material produced metal with the highest mana conductivity? Was it possible to achieve both physical hardness and magical efficiency at the same time? That was the sort of question they studied.
One of the senior researchers there, Ermoten, was diligently reviewing reports and handling paperwork as usual today.
“Paper, paper, more damn paper. Screw this. I can't take it anymore.”
Ermoten grabbed the beer mug at his side and drank it down irritably. Drinking during work hours was strictly forbidden by lab rules, but he couldn't endure it without at least a little beer.
“If I'd known it would turn out like this, I never would have accepted that promotion. To think I'd trade solid, smooth metal for this flimsy garbage.”
His grumbling showed no signs of stopping. When he first joined the lab, he'd assumed it was racial discrimination that most high positions were held by other races while dwarves were clustered in junior roles. He had even loudly declared that he would show everyone the greatness of dwarves.
Now he understood. Those dwarves hadn't failed to rise because of discrimination—they had refused promotion. The higher the position, the further you moved from metal and the closer you got to paper!
No wonder no one had been jealous when he, with relatively little seniority, got promoted first. They were all thrilled. Of course they were happy—who would complain when someone else volunteered to take on the hated work?
“Ugh. Seriously.”
Ermoten sighed and downed another glass. He'd already lost count after ten. If anyone caught him he'd definitely get chewed out, but part of him almost hoped for disciplinary action and a demotion.
However, he could never have imagined what this angry drinking session would bring.
“...Hm?”
While knocking back a glass of beer for every document, Ermoten suddenly felt his heart pounding strangely. It was beating faster than when he'd first met his wife and fallen in love all those years ago. The urge to bolt from his chair was almost overwhelming.
“What the hell? I haven't even had twenty glasses yet.”
Ermoten stroked his proud beard, sinking into puzzled thought. Had he really gotten so old that he couldn't handle his drink anymore? He hoped not. Or maybe he'd simply stared at too many documents? That seemed more plausible.
“I'd better take a half-day. If I say I'm not feeling well, they'll let me go.”
Muttering to himself, Ermoten stepped out of the room. But the hallway was strangely quiet. By this time of day, it should have been noisy with the familiar sound of some dwarf researcher getting caught secretly drinking during work and being scolded.
The usual scene was missing. Something was off.
“What is this? Hmm...?”
Despite his confusion, Ermoten continued down the hallway. The beer he'd nervously gulped down had left him in a somewhat generous mood. Strange things happen sometimes in life, he told himself, and didn't think too deeply about it.
He really shouldn't have done that.
“Ah. Found you.”
The woman's voice came from behind him. Ermoten felt his spine freeze solid. Though the voice itself was beautiful, to his ears it sounded as creepy as an elf's seductive whisper.
“Hey. You're a dwarf, right?”
Creak. Creeeeak. It felt like the sound was coming from his own vertebrae. Trembling with an inexplicable surge of fear, Ermoten still found himself turning around in awkward, jerky movements, unable to ignore the voice.
What he saw were two women. One had green hair and long ears—the classic appearance of an elf. Her face looked familiar, but Ermoten had no mental bandwidth to dig through his memories right now.
The problem was the other one. Sparkling silver hair and blue eyes. On the surface she looked completely human. But he knew. The instinct he thought had been diluted through generations of mixed blood screamed in warning. Blood memory replayed a nightmare he'd never personally experienced: the despair and terror of watching gems and gold—mined with sweat and beer—snatched away in an instant...
“D-Dragon?! Why?!”
Ermoten screamed and fainted on the spot. Just before his vision went black, he realized why the lab had been so quiet. The other dwarf bastards must have run away ahead of time.
His crisis detection instincts were, as usual, one step too slow.
“...What? I haven't even said anything yet?”
“Haha...”
In the hallway, only one collapsed dwarf and two bewildered women remained.