Dwarven blacksmiths were all insanely skilled and ridiculously stubborn. Every one of them was a top-tier craftsman brimming with confidence and pride in their work. Because of that, they tended to bring a certain aesthetic to their trade.
These guys turned up their noses at everyday items anyone could forge but obsessed over crafting top-shelf masterpieces too expensive for anyone to afford. And then, if someone they didn’t like actually tried to buy one, they would throw a fit and shout them out of the shop.
If you tried to haggle, dwarves would never budge on the price. But if they took a liking to you, they might casually hand you something amazing for free on a whim. Thanks to that, they never made much money. But they boldly claimed that having enough coin to drink was plenty. In other words, they were terrible at business.
The forge, with its roaring crimson flame, was so blazing hot that just opening the door sent out a wave of heat that felt like it could scorch your skin. The dwarf inside swung his hammer without even breaking a sweat. People said dwarves were built rougher, physically and mentally, than other races. Seeing it firsthand made me kind of jealous. Summer heat wouldn’t faze anyone with a body like that.
“Don’t bring brats in here.” At the sight of the kid I brought along, the bearded dwarf clicked his tongue and returned to hammering metal.
“You’re lucky, tiny. He’s in a good mood today,” I said.
Tiny frowned. “What part of that made you think he’s in a good mood?”
“He didn’t throw his hammer at us for coming in, did he?” I grinned, and the kid’s face turned pale.
He was so easy to read. It was honestly kind of funny. No wonder that Magnan girl looked down on him. Well, it wasn’t like he had any real strength to speak of, so people underestimating him wasn’t surprising at all.
But what about this old dwarf? Word is, he’s been around for 110 years. That makes him the longest-standing resident here in Hiriyenka. What kind of verdict would a guy like him pass on tiny?
“Come on, don’t be like that, old man. He’s with me,” I told him.
The blacksmith shook his head. “Forget it. Brats should stick to playing with toys.”
“Ohhh, so dwarves have a thing for mocking kids? Like, ‘You’re just a little brat, so go play with toys while the grown-ups do their important work’? Wow. Look at you—such a high-and-mighty big shot. Can’t believe that’s what you have to say to a warrior who risked his life to take down three goblins. Guess that long lifespan really does make your standards sky-high. What’s that masterpiece you’re working on with your world-class forging skills? A nice ornamental sword, huh? Gonna hang it on some noble’s wall? Bet it’s worth a fortune!”
“I’m forging a barrel hoop. Every time you show up, I can’t get anything done.” The dwarf let out a deep sigh and finally stopped his work.
He didn’t seem all that motivated about what was on the forge. Even skilled dwarven smiths ended up taking on jobs like that sometimes. Talented or not, being terrible at business meant making nails, pots, or farm tools instead of fancy weapons if you were broke or got roped into something you couldn’t get out of. That explained why the shop was still open. If he’d been doing something and really didn’t want to be interrupted, he would’ve shut the place down.
“What do you want?” the blacksmith asked.
I grinned again. “Well, actually—”
“You shut up.”
Guess I ran my mouth too much. I shrugged and stepped back, then gave tiny a push forward toward the forge. He flinched at the wave of heat but walked toward the bearded dwarf. Well, this was more or less just part of the process. We could always go somewhere else if this didn’t work out, so I could afford to relax and watch.
“I broke my spear fighting goblins. Can you fix it?” the kid asked.
“Let me see it.” The blacksmith took the spear.
Is he in a good mood, or does he just think this is better than working on a boring job? Nah, the old man’s clearly soft on kids. If anyone else had asked, they would’ve gotten an earful. Of course he can fix it. Asking a craftsman something like that is like insulting him.
To be honest, I didn’t really get dwarves as a race. There were almost always a few dwarves living in all of the decent-sized human towns I’d been to. They tended to settle in as craftsmen, like blacksmiths, carpenters, and artisans, or they did physical labor as lumberjacks and miners. They weren’t always itching to travel like halflings or holed up in their own secluded dwellings like elves.
Was it a sense of leisure that came with a long life? Or was it some kind of cultural tradition? I didn’t really know. Whatever the case, they left their own kingdoms behind and settled down in human towns, almost like they were blending in.
“Hmph. Sloppy technique.” The bearded dwarf snorted after inspecting the spearhead. “You forced the tip in at a bad angle and shattered the bone by brute force. The chipping on the blade’s rookie stuff.”
“You can tell just by looking?” Tiny stared in disbelief, clearly impressed that the dwarf could judge his skill just by examining the weapon.
That was craftsmen for you. Their eyes were sharper than any scout. One of them had once scolded me for what felt like hours just because I had bounced a throwing knife off a rock.
The old man grunted. “With those skills, I’m surprised you’re still alive.”
“I agree,” said the kid.
“Then why did you fight?” The blacksmith’s voice was deep, with a weight that seemed to shake the floor. “You fought out of anger, didn’t you, boy?”
The furnace flames roared higher. Maybe the fire spirits responded to his emotions, heating the room like fury itself and casting a blistering glow.
“Yes.”
From where I stood at the entrance, I could only see the kid’s back. So I had no way of knowing what kind of expression he was making. But that was a surprisingly bold voice for him. Not bad at all, tiny.
“Hmph. I hate eyes like that,” the blacksmith grumbled. “The worst. Figures you’d bring me trouble, Chikka.”
Wow. He trusted me more than I’d thought. Guess he knew I wouldn’t bring someone here unless they were real trouble.
“I’m sorry,” the kid said.
“Don’t apologize. That’s pathetic.” Even when speaking to a child, the dwarven smith stared him down. There was no mercy in his voice.
What did this old dwarf read in that spearhead? Or was there something about how tiny answered him?
The blacksmith’s response was very sullen, extra earnest, and extremely rigid. Like speaking that way was his duty. “You had your reasons. You had your righteousness. You were angry, and you fought with no hesitation. That’s naive, textbook logic for an ignorant brat. Letting yourself be ruled by that anger is easy. ‘My anger is justified. I’m not wrong, no matter what kind of mess I make.’ Your spear is the result of that thinking.”
I still couldn’t see the kid’s expression. From where I stood, I only saw the back of his head. It seemed like he was listening in silence.
“Anger will burn your enemies. It will also scorch everything around you before taking you too. In the end, all that’s left is ash.” With a clink, the blacksmith set the spearhead down on a stand beside the forge. Flames reflected off the blade in a glowing red. “I feel bad for any weapon you wield. You’ll break every last one. No matter how carefully it’s forged, you’ll ruin it. You’ve got the eyes of someone like that. So do me a favor and don’t buy anything from this shop.”
I narrowed my eyes with a small grin. Good for you, tiny. That means he’ll sell to you. Not that you can afford anything from this shop yet.
Weapons were tools for battle. Sure, it was nice when they were taken care of. But they were better off used and worn down than collecting dust. Fulfilling their role before breaking—that was when a weapon was truly complete. The grumpy old man’s worldview ran along those lines, and that kind of craftsmanship-as-a-creed was just so very dwarf.
As I grinned to myself, the bearded dwarf clicked his tongue and shot me a glare. The guy was terrible at business. Was that any way to treat a customer? No matter how skilled he was, just that look in his eyes would be enough to send plenty of folks running.
“No money, no skill, no talent. What a shitty customer. Bring someone better next time.”
“Glad to hear he made an impression,” I replied, smirking.
The kid blinked at our exchange in confusion.
Hey, he called you a customer. That says everything.
“Well then, old man. I’ll leave the repairs to you. Make it quick if you can.” With a casual wave, I tugged on tiny’s arm and pulled him out of the shop with me. If we stay any longer with that stubborn old blacksmith, who knows what kind of nasty remarks he’ll start throwing at us. No more long-winded lectures for me, thanks.
“Come back this time tomorrow,” he called after us.
Oh? I was so surprised I almost blurted something out. The old man was putting off the barrel hoop job and taking care of the spear repair first. They say dwarves can hear the voice of the iron. That chipped spearhead must’ve told him so much, he was itching to get started.