Chapter 151

The next few days after Ainz returned from his meeting with Demiurge were busy ones, with none of the three geniuses at hand, Ainz had to negotiate the terms of the integration of the dwarves into the Kingdom of Nazarick on his own.

However, as he sat at the patched up table with his new subjects, he found he had two key advantages. 'My time in sales 'and' as a salaryman in an alcohol heavy environment both work in my favor.' Simply put, they were the perfect people to negotiate with.

He plucked beer in abundance from his inventory and used one of his oldest tricks. "We only drink… when we've agreed on something."

This caught the dwarves off guard, "Will you not simply dictate to us the terms of our submission…?" The aged councilor asked, and Ainz looked at him from behind the mask he was nearly ready to remove and answered…

"No. There need to be benefits for you here, or you will want to leave one day. I want 'you', not merely your mountain." Ainz replied, and unwittingly won over the worried elder in a single sentence.

They licked their lips as they looked over the frosty bottles, eyes as big as saucers, and as a measure of goodwill, Ainz suggested they bring another glowstone into the room to brighten it up.

"Agreed!" They said in unison and each reached for the first bottle before even calling for a stone to be brought.

So he removed the mask, offered up the bottles, and did what salarymen did best, he proceeded to drink the dwarves under the table with one bargain after another. Thanks to the intoxicating effect of the alcohol of Nazarick thick in their heads, they negotiated very lightly.

By morning on the fifth day they agreed. "The dwarves will pay taxes collected annually to the Kingdom of Nazarick. These taxes may take the form of raw ores, or requested finished goods, as well as coins of true weight. The Kingdom of Nazarick will in return establish the security of trade routes, and accept responsibility for the safety of the shipments. Furthermore the dwarves will accept the use of Nazarick labor forces as their King sees fit to provide, and pledge fealty and obedience in all matters of policy both foreign and domestic, with no laws of the dwarves contradicting the laws of His Majesty or the Kingdom without special Royal Decree of Nazarick's throne."

"It will be further provided that the King of Nazarick will act to protect the dwarves using such military forces at his disposal, with dwarves obligated to provide full support in those endeavors, and bear the cost of their own defense, including repaying any debts incurred in addition to annual taxes. Travel may be conducted freely without papers, and the practice of slavery will be barred from use as a penalty. All violent criminal elements, when sentenced, will be dispatched to Nazarick for confinement or disposal such as the throne deems fit."

The more the dwarves agreed, the drunker they got. The forgemaster, when deep in his cups, swaying on his seat, held up the bottle with the devil on the front label and pointed at his new King. "Ahll work real hard for yah… thish the besht beer evah, an they say yah can tell alosh about shomone by ther drinkin. Ahm the besh smith ther ish, an ah canna wait tah prove it!" he hiccuped several times, and Ainz sipped politely while the old forgemaster spoke.

"That's quite a boast." He smirked, it felt good to bare his face for once, and by the time anyone knew, Ainz felt confident that the rest of Nazarick would already be informed and have come round. Demiurge's acceptance touched Ainz's heart so much that the fear was replaced by warmth, and it was matched only by his shame in telling Albedo last. 'I've done the most to harm her, and because of that I've punished her more by trusting her the least… I can't delay long in telling her the truth. Whatever she does… whatever she does… I have to just accept it.'

It was a dreadful thought, and he covered it by answering the Forgemaster's boast and reaching into his pocket dimension. From it he drew a small green knife and a small green ingot. "Do you think you can work this? It's not the best of the ores we have in Nazarick but… so far nobody outside of Nazarick has even seen it."

The Forgemaster still swayed in his seat, but as the ore and the knife slid down the table with a long scraping noise, his eyes took on a professional look that only the master of a craft could attain.

He set down the beer bottle, after chugging the contents which remained with several steady and audible gulps, then picked up both the ingot and the knife. "I… dunno." he looked them both over with a critical eye. He cut the ingot with the knife of the same shade, looked at the mark it drew along the surface, then took out his own blade from its sheath on his belt. Steel at a glance, good steel, he drew a line beside the mark made by the green bladed knife. He frowned, he ran the blade back and forth several times, then set the ingot down and pressed harder, grunting with effort as he tried to mark the ingot with his steel.

"This idn't ahmantite… manatite.. Adamanite… hell you know wha ah mean… but it's strongyer by a lot… even manatite.. Ada...that one, will aleast leave a mark!" He hiccuped again.

"Can ah keep em… maybe work withem a bit, see what I can do?" The Forgemaster asked.

"Of course, and if you can't, and give up…" Ainz set his own bottle down and reached for another, "Come to Nazarick, perhaps we have something to teach you."

"Course… course… ah'd never jus… run off with it… course." The Forgemaster stammered, and then quickly stored both the knife and ingot away again.

He then held onto his smile his eyes, already glassy, went blank and he fell face first onto the stone table and began to snore. There was the faint 'crunching' noise when he hit, and a little blood seeped its way out into view, but the other dwarves didn't seem to notice or care.

"Is he… alright?" Ainz asked, seeing the way the others acted.

"Oh aye, majesty, aye…" The oldest of their council said. "Prolly," he took a long, deep draught, "just a broken nose, it appens when yer a lightweight like im… course it appens to all of us now an again, nothin a little magic can't cure. Now… one las clause ere… then we drink till we sleep an all get broke noses…" He and the remaining dwarves all licked their wet lips, flecks of beer foam was caught in most of their beards, and their glassy eyes sparkled at the final condition.

"No taxes on the trade in beer, production or shipment, an course… ah… one wee lil measure… ah hope ye can fergive… jus… one lil time per year, say… ta mark this treaty… yah send the council a gift of beer from yer home, ye know, jus a cask or two between friends ta show ye friendship to us all…"

"Agreed." Ainz remarked, and the entire council cheered… save for the snoring Forgemaster, their bottles went up and tilted high as their heads went back to drink every drop. It went on, and on, until true to the old councilor's word… they one by one fell forward onto the table and broke their noses as they passed out.

Ainz was finally alone in being awake. 'Dwarves… they're a very interesting people… I probably could have won them over just by trading them beer and then cutting off the supply unless they surrendered.' Ainz laughed at the thought, and then got up to return to his quarters and set himself to sleep.