The Blacksmith's Hammer
After passing the mushrooms and moss to the dwarves, I pulled out the final gifts I'd prepared for them.
"What are these?"
"Things I made thinking they might help you out. Take them."
I handed a one-handed hammer made of black metal to the dwarves' representative.
"This... is a hammer?"
Hmm, they recognize it at a glance. Well, primitive stone hammers already exist, after all. Though the material is completely different!
This wasn't made from the most advanced material they knew—bronze—but from genuine steel! And not just any steel, but steel that had undergone some inexplicable change due to my mana!
"Someday, you will discover a new metal. One that barely melts in flames hotter than any fire you handle now. Hammers like this one will be used to work that metal, so I made it ahead of time for you."
The dwarf gripped the black hammer I'd given him. It was forged from steel altered by mana. I'd thought of how silver changed under mana and wondered what steel would become—resulting in something far sturdier than I'd imagined. Even when I gripped it in my true form, it held up perfectly, which was pretty impressive.
I was curious how mana could transform ordinary steel like this. On top of that, it had bonus properties: it completely repelled mana, and it was heat-resistant enough to withstand steel-melting temperatures. It was the perfect blacksmith's hammer, wasn't it? Though it felt a bit short for use as a weapon... Still, not entirely unusable.
Well, it wasn't flawless. The mana repulsion meant I couldn't enchant it with spells, and it was quite heavy. But with dwarven strength, they'd handle it fine.
"When you find that metal, heat it in fierce flames and pound it with this hammer. The metal, tempered by endless scorching fire and this unyielding hammer, will be reborn as the tools you desire. Let this be proof that you walk a new path."
At my words, the dwarf hesitated before speaking.
"Will... we be able to find that new metal?"
"Of course. But I won't tell you what it is or its properties. I only reveal its existence. The rest is for you to discover yourselves."
"Of course. That's more than enough. The rest is our responsibility."
The dwarf grinned beneath his beard, hefting the hammer. Dwarves and hammers go together like nothing else. Naturally.
"And this is a bellows, to more easily feed wind into your flames."
Originally, I'd planned to infuse them with spirit affinity to handle fire spirits... but for some reason, the spirits wouldn't listen to them. The earth spirits at least followed Sagarmatha's orders as their parent and protected the dwarves from rockslides. But fire and wind spirits ignored them completely.
In the end, the dwarves had to stoke and enlarge their own fires. Seeing them fan desperately like that was pitiful, so I made this bellows. Just a simple accordion-style one, no magic whatsoever. Give them something like this to grasp the principle, and they'll replicate it.
"Hold both sides like this, expand it, then squeeze, and wind comes out here. Far more efficient than fanning by hand."
"Ooh... What an ingenious device. And the gust it produces is incredibly strong."
"Yes. Use it to feed your flames, and you can raise even hotter fires. Make more just like this and share them with the other dwarves. The structure isn't complex, so you can easily copy it."
In short, it was a prototype.
"To give us such precious items... Thank you. Truly, thank you!"
"Mm. Work hard. I have high expectations for you."
Well, I've laid the foundation for the dwarves I remember... Now I just need to watch how they develop from here.
The rhythmic song of iron and hammer filled the underground city.
Dwarves tamed the ravenous beast called flame with the skill of seasoned trainers, building it up masterfully as they heated lumps of metal in the fire. They clamped the glowing red-hot metal with tongs, placed it on the anvil, and brought their right-hand hammer down.
Clang!
A hearty cry of iron. Normally, the metal lump would barely show a mark, but softened by the flames' jaws, it began to change shape.
Once. Again. After repeatedly reheating and hammering the metal into the desired form, they quenched it in a bucket of oil. Thus, the lump gained even greater durability.
The entire process was like a work of art.
"The dwarves' smelting skills are truly artistic."
The Hero marveled at their craftsmanship. Black iron—or adamantium, as it was called—was said to be impossible to melt with ordinary skill, yet they refined it with ease.
"My dad's handiwork, right? He lost the master blacksmith spot by a hair—bad luck."
"Don't blame your lack of skill on luck. A loss is a loss. Next time, I won't be defeated."
The young dwarf girl assisting the blacksmith grumbled with dissatisfaction.
"Honestly, it was bad luck. How was Dad supposed to know he'd dig up that ultra-pure mithril ore right there? Without it, Dad would've won."
"Sagarmatha sided with him."
The blacksmith murmured softly, pulling the oil-quenched metal from the bucket to inspect it. A black round shield—but not yet complete. Silently, he thrust it back into the flames.
"The black iron ingot you brought has unusually high purity, so I'll have to work it in stages. Sorry, it'll take a bit longer."
"That's fine. We're staying here a while anyway. But make sure it's solid. It's a shield for a precious comrade."
"Don't worry. Dwarves don't go back on their word."
The blacksmith pumped the bellows again, stoking the flames brighter. They roared hungrily, swallowing the black shield.
Before those flames, the blacksmith asked the Hero in a low voice.
"So, Hero. Can you defeat that Demon King?"
The Hero didn't answer. He himself thought it reckless. Countless monsters rampaged forth, several nations already fallen. Half the world in the Demon King's grasp—a hopeless situation.
Yet the Demon King tempted humanity with sweet words: give him what he wanted, and nothing else mattered. But his demands were unacceptable.
Thus, someone had to strike him down. No matter the risk. Someone had to do it.
Even if it meant burning their own life away.
"Quiet one, eh? Far more trustworthy than smooth-talkers."
The blacksmith seemed to approve greatly, grinning deeply beneath his beard.
"I'll talk to the Dwarven Merchants' Guild. Get your party's gear here. Nothing better exists outside legends."
"Thank you."
The Hero expressed his gratitude softly.
"Let me see... Your party's five members, right?"
"Dad, that includes me, you know?"
"Mm. Six, including my unreliable daughter. All different races, too. Even the Dragon Priestess, the Life Church's forbidden treasure after centuries—the height of splendor."
The Hero nodded faintly at the blacksmith's words.
An elf, the finest spirit mage and archer contracted with spirits of light and darkness. A young but mighty dwarf warrior and blacksmith assistant. A steadfast lizardman great warrior who wouldn't retreat even against a thousand foes. A fox beastkin awkward with others but fulfilling her role perfectly. And the Dragon Priestess, the Life Church's treasure who revived him after death.
Especially her—without the one who saved him from a monster ambush... no, from actual death... he and his comrades couldn't have gathered like this, marching toward the Demon King.
"They're all precious comrades."
Murmuring softly, the Hero steeled his resolve.