Chapter 48
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 48
Chapter Title: Roberduke
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Ride southeast from Bern for nearly ten days, and a great, nameless mountain of stone would greet travelers.
Behind this impressive stone mountain, with its sheer cliffs and precariously hanging rock formations of all sizes, lay a small, sturdily built city.
Roberduke.
If you were to grab a passing poet and ask for a one-line review, he would likely say with a terribly smug expression:
“A sanctuary for dwarves, nestled in a natural fortress.”
As for the question of how it became a city of dwarves, historians would say this:
“Long ago, dwarves gathered one by one at the temple of Duermyure on the stone mountain, and this was the starting point for the city's development.”
Of course, to the average person, such details were of little interest.
Putting aside talk of natural fortresses and temples to Duermyure, the image of Roberduke that came to people’s minds was far simpler.
A grand workshop where eccentric craftsmen gathered.
Oh, and they would add one more thing, spitting on the ground as if in disgust.
Those rude dwarf bastards.
***
At the entrance to the stone mountain, a pair of cliffs faced each other. A bronze gate stretched between them, shimmering in the sunlight.
Gaspal, the gatekeeper guarding the bronze gate, narrowed his eyes at the sight of three horses approaching in the distance.
Approaching the city of the short-legged on horseback?
Nine times out of ten… no, a hundred out of a hundred, they had to be humans or elves.
It wasn't a difficult process of elimination. Dwarves, due to their stature, might ride donkeys, but they couldn't handle horses that large.
Since it was unlikely that high-nosed elves would deign to visit this place, Gaspal concluded they were probably human travelers.
He fiddled with the handle of the axe slung over his shoulder and slowly sized up the uninvited guests who had dismounted and were now walking toward him.
Then he wrinkled his nose.
…A dwarf?
He saw a dwarf, who had just barely dismounted with the help of a slender human, quickly lean against a wall. *Blech*—a thin liquid spewed from his mouth.
As if accustomed to it, one of the companions who had been watching the dwarf vomit strode toward the bronze gate.
*Damn, he’s huge.*
Even to Gaspal, who wasn’t good at gauging human heights, the man’s build was extraordinary.
“Halt.”
Pleased with the rather dignified tone of his own voice, he continued.
“Do you even know where you are?”
“Roberduke.”
The reply was curt.
Feeling a sudden pang of ill-humor, Gaspal hawked up a wad of phlegm from his throat and spat it onto the ground with a *thwack*.
“So you do. Then, do you also know what a non-dwarf must do to enter Roberduke?”
The man standing before him simply shrugged.
“Prove I’m worthy?”
“…That’s right.”
“Still as needlessly difficult as ever.”
The man’s tone irked Gaspal, so he deliberately twisted his voice into a sneer.
“Well now, from the way you talk, it seems you’ve visited Roberduke before… but since you can’t present a pass, I take it you didn’t make it through?”
The man nodded nonchalantly.
“My level was too low back then.”
*Well, look at this guy.*
Gaspal narrowed his eyes at the man, who responded to his intentionally provoking words with a cryptic remark.
With experience honed over many years as a gatekeeper, he could tell the man wasn't trying to hide his feelings but genuinely didn't care at all.
Usually, such cases were underpinned by an overwhelming sense of confidence.
Gaspal cleared his throat briefly and said.
“Ahem, from your appearance, you seem to be a warrior. Do you have anything to present? For your information, the last guy who passed had the head of a monster wolf he’d killed hanging from his belt…”
As he spoke, he suddenly realized his vision had cleared up and patted the back of his head.
His helmet was gone.
“Huh? What? Where’d it go?”
Gaspal looked around frantically before his eyes widened, spotting his helmet in the man’s hand.
“When did you…? Don’t tell me… you’re a mage?”
*Of all the things to be called.*
The man, Luon, was so dumbfounded that he let out a small smile.
“That’s quite a leap.”
“You’re saying you’re not a mage? Then when did you take my helmet…?”
“When you spat on the ground.”
“What?”
Gaspal blinked stupidly.
Ignoring him, Luon wrapped both hands around the helmet he held in one and squeezed with all his might.
*Crr-unch—*
“Wha—?”
Gaspal’s jaw dropped as he watched his helmet begin to crumple like paper.
Tossing the instantly crushed helmet to the ground, Luon remarked.
“It’s much sturdier than I expected. Is it because it’s from Roberduke?”
“No, that’s…”
Mouth agape in disbelief, Gaspal nudged the fallen helmet on the ground with his foot.
The unyielding hardness of the metal under his sole seemed to confirm that what he had just witnessed was no illusion.
Just then, Luon spoke.
“I’m not the type to proudly carry around the corpses of monsters I’ve killed. I wonder if this is proof enough.”
Slowly lifting his head, Gaspal’s trembling lips barely managed to form the words.
“…It is sufficient.”
Next up after Luon, who had demonstrated the monstrous strength to crush a gatekeeper's helmet with his bare hands, was Igor.
“To manifest my divine power just to show it to someone… Ah, Mother, forgive me.”
Soon after, a soft light emanated from his clasped hands and gently settled over Gaspal, who was still in a daze.
Thanks to this, Gaspal managed to calm his racing heart and slowly nodded.
“You may pass as well.”
This left Kyle in an awkward position. He hesitated, grabbing the shield on his back.
“Mr. Gatekeeper, do you happen to know any magic?”
Just then, Strabo stepped forward.
“Let’s just say this one is with me. A dwarf can bring one person of another race with them, right? That rule hasn’t changed, has it?”
At his words, Gaspal tilted his head.
“That privilege only applies to dwarves native to Roberduke. Are you from here?”
When Strabo silently nodded, Gaspal asked.
“Who is your father, and what is your name?”
Strabo faltered for a moment, then slapped both his cheeks with a resounding smack before speaking.
“Strabo, son of Garan. Strabo Bolund.”
At the reply, Gaspal’s eyes widened as if they would pop out of his head.
“What did you say?”
He shrieked, looking even more surprised than when his helmet had been crushed.
*So he wasn't the son of an ordinary family?*
As Luon tilted his head in thought, Gaspal asked in a trembling voice.
“Your proof?”
“Here.”
Strabo pulled off the silver ring that held the ends of his braided beard in place and held it out.
The gatekeeper took it cautiously, staring down at the ring in his palm with a serious expression before his face hardened.
“…It is indeed a Bolund family ring.”
“Can we pass now?”
Gaspal sidled away, nodding.
“You may.”
***
Roberduke had no space that could be called a stable, so the group led their horses by the reins, following Strabo’s lead.
Watching the dwarf hurry ahead on his short, tireless legs, Kyle whispered.
“The gatekeeper’s reaction was pretty intense… What’s his story?”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
Luon replied nonchalantly and turned his head.
As if to represent the classic fantasy cliché of dwarves being skilled craftsmen, the buildings lining the streets were all large and beautiful.
Kyle tugged on Luon’s shoulder as he was admiring a wall adorned with an ornate bas-relief mural.
“Luon, Igor, look at that.”
Turning his head in the direction Kyle indicated, he saw a giant statue come into view.
It was a dynamic depiction of a giant whose hair and beard blazed like flames, swinging a hammer held in his hand with all his might. Luon couldn't help but mutter.
“…Impressive.”
Igor said.
“That’s Duermyure. The god of the anvil and the flame.”
“Just from the statue, he seems like someone with quite a temper, don’t you think? Right, Luon?”
Luon nodded lightly, looking up at the statue.
The sculptor's skill was so exceptional that the eyes of the inanimate block of stone felt as if they were alive.
He suddenly recalled the priestess’s words from before.
*‘Those who watch over us alongside my Mother have a profound interest in your journey.’*
*Are you watching me too?*
He asked inwardly, but there was no reply.
Instead, he heard an unpleasant whisper.
Kill your parents, kill your siblings, kill your comrades, and drench yourself in their blood—some nonsense like that. Luon’s brow furrowed.
*Shut up.*
Pushing away the whispers that tickled his mind, he let out a faint sigh and glanced at the holy sword hanging at his hip.
For it to be acting up like this without being touched meant the situation had clearly worsened.
“…This is a headache.”
Just then, Strabo spoke.
“Here we are, my friends.”
He had stopped in front of a large smithy from which waves of intense heat emanated.
“Shit… I ended up coming back after all.”
Luon placed a hand on Strabo’s shoulder as he muttered dejectedly.
“Let’s go in.”
“Luon, if anything happens inside, you don’t have to go out of your way to help me. I’ll confess now, but I did something that I deserved to get beaten for… no, to be killed for.”
With that, Strabo stepped into the smithy.
“Wait out here. And keep an eye on the other two.”
At Luon’s words, Nightmare snorted and nodded, then pointedly whipped its head around. The other two horses flinched and scurried into a corner.
It seemed Nightmare had already established itself as the leader.
Luon let out a dry laugh and was about to step inside the building when—
“Aargh!”
A scream erupted, and Strabo was flung out the door.
After tumbling for a good while, he finally regained his balance, clutching his chest.
“Ah, Father, please, calm down…”
A gruff voice cut him off sharply.
“What? Calm down? You son of a bitch, even boiling you in filth wouldn’t satisfy me. How dare you crawl back here!”
A white-haired dwarf, clutching a two-handed hammer, stormed out the door.
He had a brawny, muscular body that didn't match his wrinkled face. His exposed shoulders and forearms, in particular, were easily a match for Luon’s.
Intimidated by the dwarf’s blazing eyes, Kyle muttered to himself.
“…Damn it, what fresh hell is this?”
Just then, the dwarf kicked off the ground, leaped into the air, and swung his hammer with all his might.
Strabo, who had quickly rolled away to dodge the attack, yelled.
“Let’s try to talk this out! This isn’t romantic at all!”
“Romantic? What damn romance!”
The dwarf roared, twisting his torso to swing the hammer in an upward arc. It was a nimble movement that belied his age.
*Should I intervene?*
Luon considered it for a moment but decided against it.
He remembered what Strabo had just said, and he had no desire to meddle in someone else’s family drama without knowing the full story.
The others seemed to share his sentiment, as no one else stepped forward.
Just then, a dull thud echoed from Strabo’s shoulder. The dwarf, who had relentlessly pursued him, had finally landed a hit. He shouted, panting.
“It wasn’t enough that you ran away, abandoning our glorious family trade to become some worthless druid… but what? You ran off with the family heirloom? You crazy bastard!”
Clutching his shoulder, Strabo quickly spoke up.
“I-I’ll spend my whole life atoning for that, so please, just listen to me! My friend’s holy sword is messed up, and we need your help, Father!”
At those words, the dwarf, who had been raising his hammer high, froze.
“What did you say?”
Sensing an opportunity, Strabo quickly pointed to Luon’s hip.
“That sword!”
At the desperate cry, the dwarf’s head swiveled around. His gaze shifted back and forth between Luon’s face and the holy sword before he suddenly threw his hammer to the ground.
“This is a holy sword?”
The dwarf strode over and looked up at Luon, adding.
“Hey, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to touch your sword. Would that be alright?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s not that I’m being stubborn, but you’ll be in big trouble if you touch it now.”
The dwarf chuckled at that.
“Why? Afraid it’ll eat me alive? It’ll be fine for a moment, so hand it over.”
The dwarf’s tone suggested he had already seen through the sword’s condition. After a moment of hesitation, Luon unfastened the holy sword and handed it to him.
“Ten seconds.”
“…So demanding. Fine. Have it your way.”
Before he had even finished speaking, the dwarf snatched the holy sword.
His face instantly hardened, and his body began to tremble violently. Luon quickly snatched the sword back and pushed the dwarf’s forehead.
He collapsed to the ground but quickly came to his senses and raised his middle finger at the holy sword in Luon’s hand.
“I’ve never met such a disrespectful bastard. Kill my parents and do what? My parents died fifty years ago, you son of a bitch.”
Luon extended a hand to the fuming dwarf.
“What did I tell you?”
The dwarf took his hand and pulled himself up with a shrug.
“Hmph, it’s been a while since I’ve seen an Ego Sword, so I got a little greedy. My apologies.”
Luon’s brow furrowed at the unexpected words.
What? What kind of sword?