Vol. 6 Ch. 47

Having successfully entered the dwarven territory, Leon and Rosvisser walked behind the patrol guards, leading Aju along with them.

The dwarves’ dwellings were primarily igloos. In such an extremely cold region, these ice houses were actually excellent insulators, effectively shielding them from harsh blizzards.

Along the streets, many silver-armored merchants were displaying weapons of various kinds. Without exception, all of them were of the highest quality—masterpieces among masterpieces.

As Leon and Rosvisser strolled through the dwarven village, their presence inevitably drew attention. The “small” couple stood out among the much larger dwarves, earning them curious and scrutinizing gazes.

Leon quickly noticed that, beyond curiosity toward foreign races, there was also hostility and resistance in those stares.

Rosvisser noticed it as well.

Exchanging a glance over Aju’s back, the couple silently acknowledged the situation before Leon broke the silence.

“By the way, you mentioned earlier that two outsiders have been harassing your territory recently. Could you tell us more about that?”

Leon had a hunch that this hostility from the dwarves might be linked to the unknown outsiders the guards had mentioned.

The patrol captain walking ahead responded,

“Ah, yes. A pair of rather suspicious individuals suddenly appeared in our lands.

“They never stated their race, but they immediately demanded that we hand over a so-called ‘key that should have been left behind.’ The problem is… we have no idea what they’re talking about.”

“‘Key’…? And those wretches?”

Leon had actually heard of that term before — Rosvisser had mentioned it once when she was explaining the Primordial God Samael to him.

Samael was the God of Time, permanently imprisoned upon the Throne of Time in order to maintain the stability of the timeline.

“But what kind of ‘key’ are they talking about?”

Leon turned to Rosvisser, but she also shook her head.

“Did they use any specific kind of magic?” Leon asked next.

Using magic to search for a key wasn’t uncommon — it was one of the more direct methods available.

The patrol captain hesitated for a moment before replying,

“We… we’ve never seen anything like it before. It was… strange, in a way I can’t quite describe.”

After a short pause, the captain let out a self-deprecating chuckle and added,

“Then again, maybe it’s just because we dwarves are too isolated from the world. Our knowledge is limited.”

Leon exchanged a few more polite words but didn’t push further.

After walking for some time, the patrol squad finally led them to a massive igloo and stopped in front of it.

“The chieftain is inside. The three of you may enter.”

“Alright.”

Leon acknowledged with a nod but didn’t step inside immediately. Instead, he took a moment to scan the surroundings before leading Aju toward an ice pillar near the igloo’s entrance.

Patting Aju’s head, Leon said,

“Wait here for us. We’ll be back soon.”

Aju exhaled, its breath forming a small puff of white mist in the cold air. That was as much of a response as Leon would get.

Satisfied, Leon and Rosvisser finally stepped into the grand ice chamber.

Inside, the furnishings were not much different from those of a typical household — except for the sheer size of everything.

At the far end of the chamber, the Dwarven Chieftain sat upon a throne made entirely of ice.

Whether it was to reinforce their cultural identity or for some other reason, the enormous frozen throne looked ridiculously uncomfortable.

“…Wouldn’t they get an upset stomach?” Leon muttered, leaning toward Rosvisser.

Rosvisser wasn’t quite sure why the dwarves were so obsessed with ice furniture either. She subtly curled her lips and whispered back,

“Maybe their bodies are just… built differently from ours.”

“Oh, makes sense.”

The chieftain finally spoke up, his tone formal yet welcoming.

“Welcome, Silver Dragon Queen and Silver Dragon Prince. It is an honor to have you grace our halls. My apologies for not preparing a more fitting reception.”

The moment Leon and Rosvisser entered, the chieftain stood up from his icy throne.

However, Leon couldn’t help but suspect that he wasn’t standing purely out of respect — sitting on that huge block of ice for too long had to be uncomfortable.

After exchanging the usual pleasantries, Leon decided to get straight to the point.

“Chieftain, I’ve heard that the Dwarven Clan is made up of peerless craftsmen, capable of forging and repairing any weapon in existence.

“So… would it be possible for you to restore this blade for me?”

Leon reached behind his back and unsheathed Thundercloud Blade, removing the black cloth covering it before carefully presenting it to the chieftain with both hands.

The Dwarven Chieftain, standing four meters tall, bent down and extended a massive hand, carefully grasping the delicate-looking weapon between his thick fingers.

Examining the blade closely, the chieftain’s expression darkened.

“This blade…”

Leon instantly felt his heart drop at the chieftain’s grim reaction.

“Chieftain… are you saying it can’t be repaired?”

The chieftain shook his head slightly.

“No, it can be repaired.”

“Then… what’s the problem?”

The chieftain’s gaze remained fixed on the blade as he explained,

“The core material of this weapon is warsteel, a rare alloy. However, it has also undergone a unique enhancement process, making its internal structure far more complex than ordinary weapons.”

Pausing, the chieftain traced a finger over the blade’s fractured surface and continued,

“While this external damage may appear to be just one deep wound, the truth is… when the blade sustained this injury, the force behind the attack shattered the entire internal structure.

“In other words, though the blade still appears intact, on the inside — it is already nothing more than countless broken fragments.”

Upon hearing the chieftain’s words, Leon and Rosvisser couldn’t help but be shocked.

“Chieftain, are you saying… my sword will shatter the moment it’s touched?”

“If it were only a matter of residual force, that would be an exaggeration,” the chieftain admitted. “However, even for a weapon forged from warsteel and later upgraded through Clauraban’s enhancement process, the damage it sustained was simply too immense.”

“The fact that it didn’t break on the spot is already a miracle in itself.”

“So… you’re saying that it might as well be broken?”

The chieftain nodded. “Whether it’s Silverblade, Reforging, or any other technique, even after restoration, the shattered inner fragments will have to be carefully reassembled.”

“The process is extremely difficult — not only would it require over ten of our senior craftsmen working together, but it would also take nearly a full month to complete.”

Rosvisser arched an eyebrow. It seemed she caught onto something hidden in the chieftain’s words.

“How much?” she asked directly.

When dealing with dwarven merchants, it was common practice to exaggerate the difficulty of a job to inflate the price. Rosvisser had no intention of beating around the bush—if they wanted money, she would rather settle it upfront.

The chieftain let out a low chuckle.

“You misunderstand me, Silver Dragon Queen.”

“The dwarves have survived on this frozen tundra for over a thousand years. Resources here are scarce, and there is little opportunity to amass wealth — even if we wanted to.

“More importantly, our craftsmanship is our pride. We do not pursue gold, but rather the pinnacle of our art.”

Leon’s mind raced. He immediately understood what the chieftain was truly getting at.

“So what you’re saying is…” he cut in, “…if you fail to restore my sword, it will tarnish the reputation of the Dwarven Master Craftsmen?”

The chieftain’s eyes glinted with understanding.

“Exactly, Your Majesty.”

Leon and Rosvisser now fully understood — the dwarves never took unwinnable battles.

Even with their legendary forging skills, they valued their reputation above all else.

Considering the severity of Thundercloud Blade’s damage, it was understandable that they would refuse the job rather than risk failure and disgrace.

Moreover, the dwarves weren’t as ill-tempered as the rumors suggested. In fact, they had been exceedingly polite — even their rejection was phrased diplomatically.

“Alright,” Leon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Looks like we’ll have to find another solution.”

“My apologies for making you travel all this way, Your Majesties.” The chieftain’s voice remained respectful. “At the very least, why not stay and rest for a few days before leaving?”

“Thank you for your generosity, but we’re short on time,” Rosvisser replied. “We won’t linger.”

“I understand. I’ll arrange for an escort to see you out.”

The chieftain lifted Thundercloud Blade, straightened his massive frame, and was just about to summon his men..

When suddenly:

CRACK! POP! SIZZLE!

A loud commotion erupted outside the icehouse, accompanied by crackling noises, like something smelting in a forge.

The chieftain’s brows furrowed deeply. His voice was low and commanding.

“What’s going on out there? Why is there so much noise?”

Without hesitation, he strode toward the door, his massive boots crunching against the snow.

Leon and Rosvisser exchanged a glance before following him outside.

The moment they stepped out, they saw a crowd of dwarves gathered in a tight cluster near the edge of the icehouse, all talking excitedly amongst themselves.

“Is it really — the Sacred Beast?!”

“No doubt about it! It’s the very same one recorded in our ancient texts!”

“Doro! You idiot, how did you become a patrol captain if you can’t even recognize our ancestral sacred beast?!”

“Ah,I — I didn’t know!”

“…”

“What’s all this about?” The chieftain’s deep voice rumbled across the square.

“Ah, Chieftain! You’ve arrived!”

The dwarves immediately parted, clearing a path for him.

The panicked patrol captain, Doro, stepped forward and saluted hastily.

“Chieftain! We — we’ve found the Sacred Beast that was thought to be extinct! It’s — it’s right there!”

“WHAT?!”

The chieftain’s expression changed instantly.

Hearing those words, his previously calm demeanor vanished — his body tensed, his huge strides kicking up billowing clouds of snow as he rushed forward.

Leon, standing not far away, was utterly baffled.

“…Did they just say ‘Sacred Beast’?”

Rosvisser, deep in thought, responded after a brief silence.

“Before we came here, Claudia mentioned that the dwarves have some rather unique traditions and customs.

“I’m guessing that Sacred Beasts are highly revered in their culture…”

She paused.

“But...”

“But what?”

Leon scratched his head in confusion.

“If they revere Sacred Beasts so much… shouldn’t we have seen one somewhere on our way in?”

Silence.

Leon’s hand froze mid-scratch.

At the exact same moment, Rosvisser’s eyes widened in realization.

Their gazes snapped toward each other.

And then, in perfect unison, they blurted out the exact same thought —

“THEY CAN’T MEAN!”