Chapter 207 - The Flag is a Red Rose (2)

In the depths of the sea, as if light had never reached there.

Whitish bubbles were emerging.

As soon as they touched the water's surface, the bubbles burst, dispersing the breath they contained and merging into the mist of the same color.

-······.

If you look up from the depths of the sea, the undulating surface of the water soon looks like the night sky.

Just like what you see now.

Eyes that had been asleep in the depths of the sea moved slightly at the golden glow they hadn't seen in a long time.

Bubbles were rising from the darkness, constantly, without stopping. Probably, the denser than usual mist was due to the bubbles continuously rising.

***

"Oooh..."

The Nidavellir forge was filled with suffocating heat.

Nibelun exclaimed in amazement, watching the brass tubes emitting steam nonstop.

"I don't know how these things work."

"Calm down."

"How do they move by themselves? No matter how much I look, I don't see anything magical about it."

As Vlad and Nibelun surveyed the brass tube, they saw a row of bellows that seemed to be about the size of a ship.

The bellows blowing air on their own without anyone moving them gave Vlad a strange feeling of pressure.

"Why did you bring the cat by your side?"

"…It's not that I wanted to bring it with me."

Vlad sighed, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the blacksmiths who had been glancing at them for a while.

"The new armor you gave me is excellent. I thought it would be uncomfortable because of its size, but not at all."

"Humph. This young one already knows how to flatter. How brazen."

"I'm just saying I like it. Why are you getting so angry?"

Entering Rukhta's workshop, Vlad squinted his left eye towards the tall, old furnace.

There, peering through the world, was indeed a young lizard looking at Vlad, just as Baradis had said.

"By the way, what about my sword? It doesn't seem like anyone else can handle it."

"What did you leave me? Be content with the armor."

"I didn't leave you anything, but doesn't Jorge have something he left you?"

Although resorting to old connections was a bit petty, Vlad didn't want to miss the opportunity.

Because before him now was the most outstanding blacksmith he had ever seen.

Vlad had a vague suspicion that he probably wouldn't be able to sharpen his sword unless it was now.

"…Damn you."

When the old dwarf silently extended his hand, Vlad gladly smiled and placed his sword on it.

The young lizard, who was watching the scene, began to blink as if recognizing the sword Vlad carried.

"The value of life is something persistent. Even at this age, I can't stop."

"Sorry, but there's no one else who can help me."

The tone was direct, but the hand that received it was cautious.

Rukhta, who was examining Vlad's sword with sharp eyes, let out a small sigh to himself.

"No wonder."

The blue sword that the craftsman examined with his eyes was so shabby that it made Vlad worry.

The blade was dull enough to make you think it had been cutting enemies with ease.

"Just sharpen it. I'll find the materials I mentioned earlier."

"…Even with the materials, this sword can't be sharpened."

A blacksmith who says that although he has spent his whole life near the fire, he can't sharpen a sword.

Seeing Rukhta like this, Vlad was stunned and seemed perplexed.

"Can't even sharpen it? Is working with black iron that hard?"

"It's not that. It's not difficult in that sense."

A sword made by the priestess of the world tree calling an old blacksmith beyond the threshold of the underworld.

I thought it wouldn't be easy to handle because both the materials and the manufacturing process were unusual, but I never imagined even Rukhta would shake his head.

"Then in what sense?"

"It's not a matter of skill or materials. No one can sharpen this blade because…"

Rukhta, who was quietly looking at Vlad's sword, brushed the blade with his finger.

A humming sound spread through the forge.

It was a sound clearly audible despite all the surrounding noise.

"Because this isn't a sword."

"…What?"

"The one who made it made it look like a sword, but it's not."

With the humming of the blade, the little dragon began to shake its head happily.

Vlad, who had his left eye closed, could see faint rays of light coming from his sword following the sound.

"…I don't understand what you're saying."

"You're still too young to fully understand."

Rukhta suddenly moved away from Vlad and held the hammer he had set down.

Then the dwarf craftsman struck the glowing red iron without saying a word.

Vlad just watched Rukhta's back as he hammered without saying a word.

"You can't force a specific shape on a young possibility that doesn't know what it wants to be."

Clang! Clang!

Under the careless hammering, the red-hot iron gradually began to take shape.

An ingot of iron that was born as a meaningless stone but takes on a new form in the presence of fire and hammer.

However, it was not clear if the gradually changing appearance was really what it wanted.

"Take care. Today might be the last time we meet."

With those words, Rukhta simply concentrated on his work in silence.

Because he had given all the advice he could.

Whether or not Vlad, the sword's master, understood the advice was up to him.

"…Saying it's the last time, what bad luck."

Vlad slowly began to walk the path he had traveled, looking at Rukhta's back without saying anything else.

All the blacksmiths he saw upon leaving seemed busy.

It looked like everyone was sharpening their iron in preparation for the upcoming storm.

***

"The Barbosa fleet has entered our waters."

"According to the report, the fleet numbers at least 40 ships."

The complexion of the chiefs began to darken as they heard the report from the side.

More concerning than the number of ships was the fact that the fleet would likely carry at least a thousand soldiers.

However, the number of Nidavellir forces that could oppose them was only 7 battleships and hundreds of dwarves, so the atmosphere in the conference room was understandably tense.

"…The inevitable has arrived."

However, even now as the crisis approached, the eyes of War Chief Olmukar showed not the slightest hesitation.

Not only Olmukar, but everyone here knew that something like this would happen someday.

They just hoped that day wasn't today.

"When will Barbosa's fleet arrive?"

"If they don't lose their way and come directly… probably in less than three days."

"Three days."

It was that close.

The distance between humans and dwarves was that short.

Some chiefs still cautiously suggested waiting for the storm to pass, but Olmukar sensed they could no longer avoid the threat from the Golden Duke.

"Joseph Bayezid. Does the proposal you mentioned still stand?"

"Of course, War Chief. We in the North still want to have close ties with Nidavellir."

"Then, could the North provide us with some support against this threat?"

"We could, but time would be a problem."

The enemy was now within reach, and for the North, the only closest port was Nassau.

It was practically impossible to get ships to sail there in just three days.

"I understand. I just want to send at least the children, women, and the elderly to a safe place. Is that possible?"

The idea of a desperate retreat only applied to the warriors. As the leader of Nidavellir, Olmukar had to think about the future and planned to evacuate at least the most vulnerable.

"I respect the War Chief's choice. If that's the case, Bayezid's discretion alone will suffice."

"Thank you."

According to the old saying of the dwarves, only those who lend a hand in times of crisis are true friends.

Although the North and Bayezid had something they wanted, receiving this level of favor showed they were completely different from the West.

"Gather all the ships you can, except the warships. Even fishing boats will do."

"Understood, War Chief."

From the most perfect era of dragons to the current era of empires, there have always been beings trampled underfoot in the great world, in every time.

Only the names of those who trample them have changed, but in a reality that has not changed at all, the powerless must once again leave the island that was their home.

"Why this atmosphere? We know what we must do, so it's better this way!"

Bang-!

As in the distant past, the first war chief once again told his compatriots to prepare for a long retreat to safety. He made no effort to hide his trembling lips, filled with rage.

"If they approach, we will face them, and if they threaten us, we will destroy them! There is no other way!"

As Olmukar prepared for his last fight, passionate words came out of his mouth like molten metal.

"This island is the last hope! If we lose even this place, our descendants will spend their entire lives wandering like the beast men who have lost even their hometown to return to!"

We cannot repeat the same mistakes as before.

The elders nodded at Olmukar's words to prepare for the final resistance.

The only thing that can save you is yourself.

The Nidavellir Dwarven Liberation Front was a place where those committed to this gathered.

***

Unlike yesterday, the island of Lemnos began to be busier.

This was because everyone here knew there wasn't much time left to leave the island and avoid the approaching storm.

"This is the first time I've seen an evacuation procession."

"Me too."

"Where?"

"A place called Wisteria Village."

It was the same scene as back then.

The current scene was of elderly people carrying their burdens on their backs and women busily moving, holding their children by the hand.

At the port, there was only a heavy atmosphere, where everyone tried to keep pace.

"How many of us are there?"

"About 50, surprisingly few. Everyone knows the Zemina needs repairs."

Harven seemed devastated by the reality of transporting unexpected refugees, let alone the compensation he expected.

However, the reason he didn't show it might be because he was considerate of the children passing by.

"Take them to another ship."

"Huh?"

"Don't take any refugees."

After observing the refugees for a while, Vlad saw a group of blacksmiths boarding a ship carrying a familiar high furnace in the distance.

When he closed his left eye, he saw a young lizard sticking its head out of the old furnace, looking depressed and dejected.

"Why? There are already not enough ships."

Vlad nodded as he watched Baradis looking at him from the ship.

A revelation from a priestess that can only be recognized when encountered.

Vlad, who had already experienced a revelation once, decided not to ignore the warning his intuition was telling him.

"I have a bad feeling."

The port behind the sunset was filled with ships leaving the island.

Following them, the Zemina began to slowly unfurl its sails.

Only the pink flag fluttering above the billowing sails pointed toward the island of Lemnos.

____

Join the discord! 

https://dsc.gg/indra

____