A few days later, Linden and the others returned, much sooner than expected. Belamus had assumed the process of clearing names and spreading truth throughout the royal court would take far longer. Their swift return left the group pleasantly surprised.
Even more unexpected was the news they brought.
Apparently, the information had been accepted rather easily. The court had believed them. Mimi’s supposed curse, the lies about Gagagamoor, the truth about Lazalit: it had all taken root far faster than anyone had dared hope.
An official summons had been issued. Mimi, the members of Gagagamoor, Rugen, and even Belamus and his companions were all requested to attend the royal palace. Not by decree, but by personal invitation. The king himself wished to meet those who had saved Princess Mimi and, by extension, the Kingdom of Crystia.
It was a surprising turn, but a welcome one.
For Belamus, there was an added bonus. Entry into the dwarven kingdom had always been restricted, but now, they were being welcomed as honored guests. With that, a long-standing barrier had quietly crumbled. Trade and cultural exchange might finally be possible. The idea thrilled him, and he found himself eagerly anticipating the journey ahead.
They crossed into the dwarven kingdom several days later.
“Whoa, this is amazing!” Delarosa burst out, eyes sparkling as she took in her surroundings. It was her first time seeing a dwarven city, and the novelty hit her all at once.
The place bustled with life. Dwarves filled the streets, working, selling, shouting across the market stalls. Everything felt compact and efficient, yet brimming with tools, gadgets, and crafts none in the group had ever seen before.
Belamus couldn’t help but feel a similar pull of curiosity. He would have loved to explore, to really take in the culture, but now wasn’t the time. The royal summons came first.
On the road to the palace, one particular sight made even Belamus pause. A large iron carriage rolled past them, rumbling steadily over the cobblestone path. It wasn’t pulled by horses or anything at all.
“What… is that?” he murmured.
It was called a car, apparently. A recent invention, still a luxury limited to nobles and the wealthy elite. The one they saw was moving slowly, but they were told it could go much faster. Still, there were safety concerns; excessive speed might lead to accidents. Pedestrians had already been hit in a few unfortunate incidents, so restrictions were tight.
The Kingdom of Crystia was preparing for the widespread use of cars. Roads would need restructuring. New laws would need to be written. Belamus was fascinated; modernization was coming to the dwarven lands faster than he’d ever imagined.
Eventually, one of those very vehicles carried them to the palace.
It wasn’t a towering marble fortress like human capitals tended to boast. Instead, it was compact, fortified, and built entirely of blackened steel, every line of it etched with craftsmanship and function. It was solid, powerful, and undeniably dwarven.
Inside, the group was ushered into a grand hall where the king stood and smiled, already waiting for them.
The king of Crystia stood tall, his presence as solid as the steel walls that surrounded his hall. A magnificent white beard framed his weathered face, giving him the stately gravitas one expected from dwarven royalty.
Ceremonial thanks were offered, and with them, gifts. Belamus had secretly hoped for something crafted by dwarven hands, some rare tool or mechanical marvel that bore their legendary craftsmanship. But instead, he received a gemstone.
It was exquisite, no doubt, brilliantly cut and shimmering with value. Still, he couldn’t hide a flicker of disappointment. It’s beautiful, he thought, but not exactly… interesting.
Mimi, too, was welcomed formally. The courtiers were gracious, the dwarves respectful, and the king offered his apologies, though veiled in the language of diplomacy.
Belamus noticed it right away, the stiffness in Mimi’s shoulders. The polite, practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
After all, this was the same king who had once stood by as whispers of a “curse” spread, and who had nearly let her die because of it. Even if he’d been manipulated, even if it had all been Lazalit’s scheme… it wasn’t a wound that a single ceremony could erase.
Still, the tides were turning.
The members of Gagagamoor were finally recognized for their efforts, and for the first time in generations, they were free to move about Crystia without being hunted. Their joy was unmistakable. And so impressed was the king by their strength and loyalty that he offered them a place among his vassals. They accepted on one condition: they would serve under Princess Mimi, and her alone.
Mimi had clearly not expected that. Her eyes widened, and her smile turned uncertain as she nodded. “Y-Yes, of course,” she stammered, clearly flustered by the ever-growing number of retainers she was expected to lead. But how could she refuse? They had fought for her, suffered for her, and now wanted to serve her. She couldn't bring herself to turn them away.
Later that evening, a feast was held in their honor. But there was a problem: none of the food was made with humans or goblins in mind, and the dwarves, while master craftsmen, were evidently not master chefs for non-dwarven palates. In the end, Belamus and his group resorted to cooking their own meals over a borrowed hearth. It wasn’t elegant, but it was warm, familiar, and oddly satisfying.
The next morning, Belamus found a quiet moment alone with Mimi.
“This is a fascinating kingdom,” he remarked, gazing out over the city’s layered stonework and glimmering metal towers. “So many tools and inventions I’ve never seen before.”
Mimi smiled softly. “Is that so? I don’t really know what’s interesting and what’s not… I’ve only ever lived here. But if you’re enjoying it, then I’m glad.”
Her voice was light, but genuine pride lay behind her words. It meant something to her that someone she respected valued her home.
“I helped you,” Belamus said, folding his arms, “not only because I wanted to protect you, but because I wanted this.” He gestured around them. “Trade. Connection. If things continue as they are, we might actually make it happen.”
“I think so too,” Mimi said with a nod. “Word’s already spreading. You’re being called one of the heroes who saved the kingdom. No one’s going to oppose you making a trade agreement now.”
That was reassuring. But even so, Belamus couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. Crystia had much to offer: cutting-edge technology, rare tools, enchanted artifacts, and most importantly, orichalcum, a precious metal used in the forging of legendary weapons.
What could Beresdral offer in return?
Not much, Belamus admitted silently. Not yet, anyway.
Originally, Belamus had planned to offer Merune fruit and other human-grown foodstuffs as trade goods if the opportunity ever arose to negotiate with another country. But now that he was in Crystia, it was clear such items would hold little value.
After all, dwarves didn’t eat conventional food; they consumed metal. That alone made most agricultural exports meaningless.
So, what do we offer in exchange?
At present, Belamus simply didn’t know enough about Crystian society to answer that. There was always a chance that human foods like Merune fruit might have some alternative value—alchemical, medicinal, or even industrial—but until he learned more, it would be reckless to assume.
He’d decided early on: Before negotiating anything, I need to understand Crystia better. Their needs. Their economy. Their gaps. That information would come with time and careful observation.
As he stood pondering trade strategy, Mimi stepped forward, her expression earnest and her voice steady.
“Belamus… If it weren’t for you, we never would’ve stopped the disaster in time.” Her words held the gravity of someone speaking not just for herself, but for her entire nation. “On behalf of the Kingdom of Crystia, I thank you.”
She bowed deeply, with grace and sincerity befitting a royal.
“And personally,” she continued, lifting her head, her tone softening, “I owe you my life. You’ve saved me more times than I can count. I’ve done nothing but rely on you, haven’t I? One day, I’ll repay this debt. I promise.”
Belamus shook his head slightly. “I didn’t help you to earn a debt,” he said. “I only hoped this would lead to something more lasting: peace and trust. If Crystia and Beresdral can build a strong relationship, that will be enough.”
Then, he extended a hand.
Mimi didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and took it, her fingers curling tightly around his.