Chapter 144
Seong-Hwi and Muka chatted as they walked along the Ferrum streets.
“She has quite the fiery personality,” Seong-Hwi said.
“Keh! She’s just senile. It’s no wonder, considering that old hag is the oldest person in Ferrum!” Muka replied.
“That aside, are you sure?”
“About what?”
“The wager. I don’t know since I’m not a dwarf, but that Artisan’s Soul thing is pretty important, isn’t it? You mentioned it before, too.”
Seong-Hwi recalled Muka mentioning the Artisan’s Soul when repairing the blast furnace of his smithy in the Capital.
Muka nodded and answered, “Of course, it’s important. You could call it a flame, or the dwarves’ guardian deity.”
“Guardian deity?”
“Yeah. The priestess keeps it, and it can only be carried by a branch of a jujube tree that’s been struck by lightning.”
Seong-Hwi tilted his head in confusion from Muka’s explanation. If it were just an ordinary flame, Muka’s family wouldn’t have been so shocked when he wagered his right to use it.
“Does that flame increase the blast furnace’s temperature? Or does it imbue effects on items?” Seong-Hwi asked.
Muka shook his head and replied, “No. The Artisan’s Soul is a mystical flame that amplifies Mineral Force, the dwarves’ secondary force.”
“It amplifies Mineral Force?”
Seong-Hwi thought about Mineral Force, the primary reason the dwarves were known as the race of artisans. It was the ability to understand all minerals of the world. From what he had heard, it allowed dwarves to listen to the minerals’ voices, see their personalities and qualities, and even understand what form they desired to be forged into.
This power was exclusive to the dwarves. No other race could imitate it. Because of Mineral Force, items made by dwarves could bring out the full potential of their raw materials and could even imbue a new power.
“Yeah, there’s a huge difference in the resulting material between forging with and without the Artisan’s Soul,” Muka remarked.
“Are you sure you wanted to wager something that important?”
“Hmph, I just have to win! I’ll become an A-rank artisan and take that old hag down a few pegs. It’s not that I couldn’t do it, but I didn’t!” Muka complained as he walked along the street and turned to Seong-Hwi, saying, “The artisan exam is divided into the preliminaries and the knockouts. The preliminaries are judged based on the item you submitted, and you display your skills before judges and the audience in the knockouts.”
Muka grabbed the sword on his belt. It was the Two-Line Hwando that Seong-Hwi had previously used.
He continued, “This is more than enough to pass the preliminaries. The problem is the knockouts, which begin a week after the preliminaries.”
“Knockouts, huh?”
“11,103 people will be issued ranks over four weeks. Ten thousand people will fail in the first week and become D-rank artisans. A thousand people will fail in the second week and become C-rank artisans. A hundred people will fail in the third week and become B-rank artisans.”
“What about A-rank artisans?”
Muka smiled and said, “To become an A-rank artisan, you have to designate an existing A-rank artisan to have a contest with. The loser is demoted to B-rank.”
“Simple enough. Are you confident?”
Muka nodded and pointed at Seong-Hwi, saying, “I have you, don’t I?”
“Me? What are you talking about? I’ve never hammered metal in my life.”
Muka shook his head. “I’m not asking you to. I just want to borrow the power of your skill, Rust of Ruin.”
“You want to borrow the power of Rust of Ruin?”
“Yeah. As mentioned, we have five weeks, including the preliminaries and knockouts. I still have plenty of time until the final exam to test out the steel I’ve been developing. I will create a steel even more perfect and powerful!” Muka shouted as his eyes blazed with passion.
Seong-Hwi smiled and said, “Sure, I’ll help. In exchange, if you win your bet against your grandmother, can I take your right to wish anything of her?”
Muka tilted his head in confusion and said, “Well... I don’t mind, since I have nothing I want from the old hag, but... What are you gonna ask her?”
“Nothing special. I won’t ask anything unreasonable, so don’t worry.”
I’m sure someone as influential as Rika Haswell can prepare a table for negotiation with Steel King Bafor, Seong-Hwi thought.
The door would be slammed in his face if he blindly asked for a meeting with the Steel King, but it would be a different story if the Spare Ranker, Rika Haswell, the leader of House Haswell, a renowned house of the Red Hammer tribe, were to arrange the meeting.
It’s certainly possible. Rather, it might make the negotiation easier.
Muka thought about Seong-Hwi’s condition. He resumed walking and said, “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’d never ask for an unreasonable request. Huh? What’s going on over there?”
“Hm? What a mess.”
Seong-Hwi and Muka expressed surprise as they stared at the field of dirt, which looked out of place compared to its surroundings. Many dwarves mumbled in the surroundings, and a dwarf who seemed to be an investigator was shouting.
“Ferrum has a sports field? Do you play football here or something?” Seong-Hwi asked.
“No, this street should be... Arcarin Plaza! Hey! What in the world happened?” Muka asked a passing dwarf.
The dwarf frowned and answered, “Some crazy bastard erased Arcarin Plaza in the middle of the night! I heard they absorbed all the metal in this area.”
“They absorbed metal?” Seong-Hwi mumbled as he thought about whether such a skill or item existed, but couldn’t think of anything.
“Sheesh, we get all kinds of crazy motherfuckers during every annual Ferrum Festival. Goddammit!” the dwarf complained as he turned around and went about his way.
Muka scratched his head and said, “Looks like we’ll have to find another way to the inner ring.”
Seong-Hwi agreed, “I guess so. That aside, they sure are fearless to commit an act of terrorism in Ferrum.”
The Steel Rice Grain in his breast pocket trembled innocently.
***
Hundreds of dwarves hustled throughout a giant workshop filled with the sound of hammering as they observed their blast furnaces with blazing eyes. Suspicious meetings had been taking place in the basement of the workshop.
“Hehe, kerek. Lord Abyete is waiting for your answer, Sir Hadafu,” said respectfully an ugly goblin with a scimitar on his waist and a bow on his back.
He was Jazathura, the leader of Clan Green Hunters, and the goblin who became a High Ranker after Tutobure’s and Natojax’s deaths.
A dwarf in silver armor with blue hair and beard snorted, “Hmph! Are you saying I have to hurry with my answer just because Abyete is waiting?”
He had a golden sword on his waist, wore an emerald-like helmet, black boots, and a whip sword on his thigh.
“N-not at all. Kerek, I was merely wishing for you to understand our situation...” Jazathura expressed surprise as he bowed so far down that his head almost reached his feet.
He grimaced as he thought, Dammit, dammit! What the hell?! Sorcery Hunter Jazathura doesn’t deserve to be treated this way!
He lamented his circumstances. Humilitas was currently at war against Nivalis alongside Cadaver. Countless goblins had died, and casualties were still rising. Abyete urgently summoned the goblin High Rankers from the second to the ninth to join the war. However, he was the only High Ranker being forced to prostrate himself in Ferrum.
I’d rather die on the battlefield!
He did not particularly want to help the High Rankers since they mocked him for being a replacement for the late Tutobure and Natojax to fill the ranking. However, dying on the battlefield was a hundred times better than sucking up to the monster before him with all his might.
“Keh, why wouldn’t I know Abyete’s circumstances? He took the wrong side, kekek! The war isn’t showing any signs of stopping, and Gula has placed Humilitas on the vanguard!” Hadafu said.
“T-that’s right! That is why we are desperate for your support, Sir Hadafu! Krrrk! Please take pity on us goblins!” Jazathura begged as he rubbed his hands together.
Hadafu stared at Jazathura with contempt and turned back to ask, “What do you think, son?”
Hadafu’s son replied, “Direct support to Humilitas is impossible, Father. Nivalis might consider it a hostile act.”
“Please!” Jazathura shouted as he kneeled, his fear overpowering his humiliation.
Lord Abyete will kill me if I don’t acquire their support! Kneeling is nothing compared to death!
Jazathura continued as he wept, “Blue Anvil and Humilitas are allies! Kerek! Please think about the mines, miners, and the sorcery we provide!”
“Hah, you make it sound as if we don’t compensate you! Blue Anvil has already done more than enough for Humilitas! Kazafu!” Hadafu turned to his son, Kazafu.
Kazafu explained coldly, “We smelted the ores from the mines using Blue Anvil’s arcane art, and created items for Humilitas with a portion of the mined minerals. We also paid the miners with Coins. That’s not all. We even dispatched our tribe’s artisans at Clan Trophy’s request and created a janateel alloy prison for them.”
“Exactly! We had to lie low for a while because those Clan Trophy bastards got caught!” Hadafu raged. “Only dwarves can make janateel alloys, so Bafor tenaciously searched for the culprit for a long time. The goblins are at fault for that!”
Jazathura slammed his head on the floor. “M-my sincerest apologies!”
He was beyond enraged that he had to clean up after Tutobure and Natojax’s mess, but there was no other choice.
“Although... Direct support may be impossible, but we can still support them indirectly, Father,” Kazafu remarked.
Jazathura raised his head, seeing hope in Kazafu’s words.
Hadafu crossed his arms and said, “Continue.”
“Yes, Father. Nivalis would undoubtedly remember if you and our tribe’s warriors went to the front lines. Biphatogenes is an arrogant and petty dragon, after all.”
“So?”
“However, it would be no problem to provide them with items, no? Not only would no one know who made them if we erase our tribe’s mark, but Abyete would be indebted to us.”
Jazathura did not miss the opportunity and shouted, “Item support! Kererek! That is more than enough! Dwarven items will boost Humilitas’s combat power severalfold! Lord Abyete will also undoubtedly repay you for your assistance!”
“Hmmm...” Hadafu pondered and said, “Without even an advance payment?”
“W-we will do anything you ask, as long as it is within our capability!” Jazathuira shouted.
“Anything?”
“Yes! Anything!”
Hadafu chuckled, “Ahaha! I just thought of a good idea. Kazafu! Have you applied for the artisan exam yet?”
“I have, Father.”
“We will have the majority of seats in the Faber conference if you become an A-rank artisan. Only then can we drag Bafor down from his throne and monopolize the Artisan’s Soul!”
Hadafu’s eyes shone impurely. He was the Ten Thousand Arms, third in the dwarf ranking and eighty-eighth in the World Ranking. He was stronger than Abyete, who was ninetieth in the World Ranking.
“Bafor... The bastard! How dare he monopolize the Artisan’s Soul?!” Hadafu screamed.
He was always inferior to Bafor, as an artisan and as a warrior. He believed it was all because of the Artisan’s Soul. He couldn’t defeat Bafor as long as Bafor had exclusive use of the Artisan’s Soul.
“He will be impeached at the upcoming Faber conference! Are you confident, Kazafu?”
“Of course, Father.”
“Gahaha! That’s my boy! I have faith in you, but... One should never shy away from a more surefire option if there is one!” Hadafu stared at Jazathura and continued, “Green Hunters, was it?”
“T-that’s correct! Krrrk! All three hundred members of Clan Green Hunters are staking out in Ferrum!”
“I will give you a list of names, so kill every artisan on it.”
“I beg your pardon...?”
“Did I stutter?”
“N-not at all! Kerek! It’s a simple task. We are experts at such jobs!” Jazathura claimed.
Hadafu smiled and thought, If I kill every artisan who can match Kazafu... His chances of becoming an A-rank artisan will rise even more.
The Faber conference consisted of one hundred A-rank artisans and Bafor, the only S-rank artisan, to discuss the future of Ferrum. Blue Anvil had made allies, bought, and blackmailed so they could occupy fifty seats. All that remained was to occupy one more seat.
“Very well. If you kill the artisans, I will consider that the advance payment,” Hadafu said.
“Thank you... Thank you very much!” Jazathura shouted as he repeatedly bowed.
Hadafu smiled and thought, Even if they’re caught, we can just blame the goblins for it. I will drag you down from your throne at last, Bafor!
***
“Huff! Huff! Cough!”
This was the Iron Shrine, the most hidden place even inside Ferrum’s inner ring, located deep inside the Golden Iron Palace. The pillars were gold, the floor was silver, and the roof was platinum.
At the center of the luxurious shrine was a rusted steel dish. Branches of a jujube tree struck by lightning were piled around the steel dish in a square, and above it was a flame blazing silently. It was the Artisan’s Soul, the mystical flame worshiped by dwarves, of which its color reflected the heart of those who looked upon it.
“Cough! Cough! Huff! Urgh... I somehow managed to prepare the Artisan’s Soul for this year’s Ferrum Festival, but... At this rate...” a female dwarf mumbled as she stared at the Artisan’s Soul burning on the steel dish.
She was only skin and bones, her hair had turned deathly white, and blood poured from her mouth. Only her bright green eyes showed that she was still alive.
“O Ustrina, God of Blacksmiths! Please allow me one more year of life!” Lilar, the dwarf woman, desperately prayed to the Artisan’s Soul.
A dwarf watched as he hid behind a pillar. The strands of his dark grey hair and beard were as hard as steel cables, and his eyes were the same color as Lilar's. He turned away after a while of staring at Lilar and left the shrine.
Lilar is reaching her limit... We need... a new priestess, the man thought.
He suddenly stopped in his tracks in the hallway and mumbled despairingly, “A new priestess? My only daughter is dying, and I’m only thinking about the future...”
He was Steel King Bafor, the greatest craftsman to ever exist in Adamas, first in the dwarf ranking, and thirty-fifth in the World Ranking.
“What’s the point of being a king... if I can’t even protect even one thing that’s precious to me?!” Bafor clenched his hammer-like fists, standing still with his eyes closed. He sighed and mumbled, “Do I have no choice... but to accept their demands?”
Can I betray everyone for the sake of one?
Whichever he chose, all that awaited him was a miserable tragedy.
“The Artisan’s Soul that I see is pitch-black... with no future ahead.”