The Mountain Doesn't Hate the Sky (4): The Dwarves' Convenient Tool
Searching for traces of the gods' king, Baal, using the dwarves' information processing panel... wasn't easy.
While digging through mythology records, related documents would pop up beside me, drawing my eyes away. Then related documents to those, and more related documents from them... distractions like that kept pulling me in.
Honestly, half the time I spent in the dwarven archives was on those "related" docs, not the ones I was actually searching for.
And the scope of those related infos? Way too broad. Why the hell was there a treatise on the breed of the Pantheon guardian god Sirius?
Well, no helping it. As someone who'd once studied theology, I knew the value of all those books in the dwarven archives... I couldn't miss even the tiniest detail.
They were just too precious to overlook.
Like that, a day passed, then two. Finally...
"Phew... nothing at all."
I learned that the dwarves had zero info on the King of Gods—or Baal, by name.
Even the dwarves' vast knowledge fell short? But if that's the case...
Where else could I find leads? Elves?
But elves are even more insular than dwarves. Even if I got permission to enter Alvheim—and that's months for a human with no connections like me...
Unfortunately, I had no ties to the elves.
Just a dead end.
No dwarves, no elves... Who else might know about the gods' king Baal? The God of Wisdom? Nah, can't risk that.
If word got out I was hunting a god buried in history... it wouldn't end with just death.
There's a reason things get buried.
I let out a small sigh. What now? How?
It felt like staring down a dead-end alley, the path behind me a tangled maze—I couldn't tell which way was right.
Was this the limit of mere human effort?
Hwang Dong-gyeong, who'd come to check on my sighing self, clicked his tongue and said, "What? Given up already?"
"Hwang Dong-gyeong."
"The archaeologist I knew never quit at dead ends. Where'd that boar-like charge-ahead guy go, methods be damned?"
"Back then, there were clues. Faint ones. Not this blank wall."
He shook his head slightly at my words. "Don't you have a clue? That stone tablet fragment with the writing."
"But how's this chunk gonna give more than it already has? Unless it grows a mouth and talks."
"No mouth, but it can still tell us plenty."
Plenty?
"I already tried dating it from the tablet."
"And that's all? Tsk."
He gave me a pitiful look, then held out his hand. "Hand over the fragment. Dwarven tech can pinpoint when, where, and how it was made—even the quarry source."
His hand lacked the calluses you'd expect from a dwarf. Dwarves are thorough with favors and grudges, loyal to the end once they trust you... but this guy had already stabbed me in the back once.
Was handing over my one lead smart?
But right now, I had nothing else.
I sighed softly, pulled the cloth-wrapped chunk from my bosom, and placed it in his palm.
"Mm. Good call. I'll return it after tests. Oh, mind if I chip off a tiny edge piece?"
"Long as it's not the inscribed part."
He nodded, pocketed the wrapped fragment. "But... was it really that hopeless, to make you this despondent?"
"Didn't expect total erasure. Like every trace of the gods' king was carved out."
"Hmm... carved out, eh."
He pondered, then: "What if we look outside myths?"
"Outside?"
"If even the Pantheon Roster—listing every god—has nothing, traces were scrubbed clean from myth-related stuff. But non-myth sources might have scraps. Like... fairy tales for kids."
Fairy tales?
"Well, sure, many tales stem from myths, but..."
At least the ones I knew had no sky or similar figure.
They might've hidden the identity, but no direct sky mentions in what I recalled.
"Not in the tales I know. Unless it's some oral story from a far-off land..."
"Human oral tales, maybe. But dwarven ones differ."
He snatched my info panel, searched something, and handed it back.
"The tale I loved as a kid had it."
The screen showed a fairy tale fit for children.
Long, long ago. In an age when dragons smoked pipes, there was a tiny mountain.
A little peak risen from Mother Earth. It loved Mother Earth, who sometimes stern, sometimes kind, always provided for it.
Learning the world's vastness from Mother Earth's teachings, the little mountain lived happily with her.
One day, the lofty sky beheld vast Mother Earth and fell in love at first sight.
Captivated by the world's most beautiful and alluring Mother Earth, the sky thought only she could be its mate.
Ignoring its place, the sky schemed to claim Mother Earth.
……
Thus, thanks to the little mountain's feats, the sky's schemes all came to naught.
Mother Earth, moved by the little mountain's efforts, lifted it high, making it the tallest peak.
The little mountain, now called the Sacred Mountain, was tasked to watch lest impudent sky scheme again.
"Gaia! Too many kids losing parents!"
"What nonsense is this now?"
Sipping tea and nibbling bread leisurely with Sagarmatha, Baal burst in suddenly.
Hm. How many times was this? Did this idiot lack the concept of advance notice?
Sagarmatha always growled at Baal's visits, grating on my nerves.
Yet he popped up every time. No learning curve?
At least Sagarmatha was clinging to my waist, asleep—no fight this time.
"Kids without parents... Why bring them up suddenly?"
"But they're pitiful, right? Starving, collapsing without protection."
The gods' rampages had lessened, but ripples lingered. Many died caught in divine crossfire—including parents leaving orphans.
"Note: Life Temples are already sheltering plenty."
They'd shrunk lately, but orphan care swelled numbers beyond capacity momentarily.
Still, accumulated wealth and manpower handled it. Could pull from elsewhere if needed.
"But... kids growing up parentless are so sad."
"So, what're you planning?"
Baal beamed proudly. "Lend wisdom! How to raise them right?"
"Raise right...? Their life's difficulty spiked the moment they lost parents."
"Still... Gaia, you've got ideas, right? Kids scorned for no parents—pitiful."
Hm. Idea... yeah, this'd work.
"You become their father."
"Father? Me?"
"Yeah. Gods' king as dad? No one'd scorn his kids."
No human gutsy enough to diss the King's offspring.
"Brilliant! Lend my name, then?"
"Exactly."
"Then... lend yours too, Gaia! Dads need moms!"
My name? Hmm...
I glanced at Sagarmatha around my waist, sighed softly, and said, "For kids without moms. But just 'Gaia'—no Life Goddess."
"Yay! Thanks!!"
Well, for pitiful kids, lending 'Gaia' was fine.
So thinking, I stroked Sagarmatha's head—now awake.
"For those poor kids, don't hate Baal."
"Mm... don't hate him now."
"Really?"
"Just pity the fool craving the unattainable."
"Unattainable?"
"Something like that. Fine if Mom doesn't know."
Not sure what, but if Sagarmatha said so.
At least no more hating—relief for me, neutral as I was.
Thus, I kept stroking Sagarmatha's head.