Chapter 203 - In Strange Tides (1)

The motion of the throat swallowing was vigorous beyond the trembling candle.

However, even through the alcohol-clouded gaze, the boiling anger within was unmistakable.

"We don't trust humans."

Although it was a banquet to welcome the guests, the atmosphere at the table where Joseph sat was heavy.

Even now, if you stood up and walked a few steps, you would find it filled with people joyfully drunk.

Joseph silently set down the cup he was holding, sensing an odd atmosphere, as if the space had been divided.

"Even so, the reason we sought you out was because we saw a ray of hope."

Fugitives and survivors, now risen as an alliance to liberate their kin, Nidavellir.

Olmukar, the great chief of Nidavellir, looked at Joseph, who was seated across from him, with an evaluative gaze.

"If we help you, can you become the next head of the Bayezid family?"

"…"

Olmukar wasn't making this offer to Joseph just because he had saved the young dwarves in the past.

It's because no one is as good at predicting what you want as what is clear.

For Nidavellir, Joseph's situation, who had been excluded from the competition for leadership and needed help, was an attractive enough alternative.

"Originally, we became what we are now because we relied on the lords of the west. Nidavellir will not repeat the mistakes of our ancestors."

They depended on others and thus ended up in this situation.

The dwarves, who had learned the lesson through painful years, now wanted to take the initiative themselves no matter what.

"If you promise to become the head of the Bayezid and meet our demands, we will provide you with the best possible support."

They could provide ships, technology, and even soldiers.

As long as in the future you follow our orders.

Although it would be difficult to oppose the Bayezid directly, if they used Joseph's banner to change the balance of power, Nidavellir could attempt it.

"I appreciate your kind words, Great Chief."

Olmukar was convinced that Joseph would have no choice but to accept his offer.

For Joseph, whose last chance depended solely on Nidavellir, this was his last resort.

If he didn't want to remain a loser, Joseph had to take his hand.

"However... I think you are somewhat misunderstood. That's not what I want from Nidavellir."

However, Joseph only thanked Olmukar for the offer and showed little interest.

Joseph, who set down his drink, only displayed calmness, like a gentle greeting, instead of the urgency of the crowd.

"Then, what brought you to this far-off place?"

Joseph, who said he didn't need a ship or an army, quietly took out a small letter in response to Olmukar's question.

A letter completely covered in black tone.

Even from the outside, it was a letter that seemed to contain all sorts of sinister things.

"That is..."

"This is a letter from someone in a city full of fog."

Joseph sent the ominous letter, placing it under a wine glass.

Now, black eyes without dark shadows looked at the war chief of Nidavellir.

"For this inevitable great cause, I would like you to lend me the divine tools of the dwarves."

"…What?"

It was Olmukar who thought he had control of the conversation, but that was just his illusion.

A strategist who knows clearly what he wants can be predictable.

However, Olmukar had no way of guessing what the young man sitting across from him wanted.

***

In Soara, in Varna, and in Sturma.

The tallest and largest building in the city was, of course, the church.

"…It's incredibly large. Just like the church."

And here, on the island of Lemnos, there was a building comparable to a human church.

The only difference is that, unlike the cool atmosphere of the church, it feels warm here.

[Because this is a forge. For dwarves, it's a place of faith and belief.]

The sound of hammering is constantly heard.

Vlad's mouth opened as he looked at the dwarves sweating and hammering all around.

The current scene, which was quite different from the back-alley forge, was truly like a new world that Vlad encountered for the first time.

"Welcome. Hey! Don't do anything else in a dangerous place!"

The old dwarf let out a loud shout while looking at Vlad, who was unable to recover his senses, staring around.

It was a warning to be careful, but to the listener, the sharp voice struck first.

"It seems everyone gets weird when they are in front of the fire."

[Let's call it craftsmanship.]

The name of the old man was Rukhta.

A person who has lived for a long time, knows many of the visions of the dwarves, and has been severely exploited by Gaidar in the West.

And long ago, he was a person who received a miraculous service that saved Jorge's life.

"Take off the armor."

"Why."

"Why why? What does it mean for a blacksmith to ask for armor in the forge?"

Rukhta led Vlad to the highest workshop, where only artisans could go up.

Several dwarves sighed as they saw Vlad daring to go up to a place they couldn't reach.

"Can you... repair it?"

"Yes."

Rukhta nodded slightly in response to Vlad's cautious question.

Although he was neither a blood son nor a successor by will, the only trace Jorge left was Vlad in front of him.

That's why Rukhta was willing to lend his hammer to Vlad.

Because the dagger Vlad carried now was just a sample of his promise to return a favor he hadn't received.

"I don't have money."

"…I won't accept any money, so please give it to me."

When Rukhta said he would do it for free, Vlad quickly took off the armor along with his cloak.

I was already wondering if I should buy another armor instead of the elf armor that no one could repair.

"The furnace is here."

"He's my favorite."

Vlad smacked his lips as he looked at the familiar furnace hanging in the workshop.

It was a strange feeling to keep finding traces of Soara on an unknown and distant island.

If he had closed his left eye, he would have been able to see a young lizard wagging its tail at him.

"Leave your dagger and go. I'll take care of it."

"Then maybe it's black..."

Rukhta, who had aged, squinted as he saw Vlad trying to subtly ask for the sword.

Apparently, this fool thought it was just a sword.

"No sword."

"…Why?"

"Because there's no suitable material to handle that."

It was just a request to sharpen the blade, but Vlad felt embarrassed when he saw Rukhta talking about materials in such a grandiose manner.

"Do you even need materials to build a sword?"

"That's that kind of sword. Because it's still unfinished."

It had the appearance of a sword, but it was actually a possibility.

Rukhta simply averted his gaze while looking at the traces of the World Tree, with which he didn't know what to do.

To sharpen that sword and make it stronger would have required metal of that quality.

"Just go now. It will take a few days."

"…Alright."

I expected him to complain at least a little, but Vlad simply turned around, scratching his nape in embarrassment.

In fact, if you see Rukhta starting to focus on his work, you'll get the feeling that no one should disturb him.

"What do I have to do to use a sword like that? Tsk, tsk."

After seeing Vlad go down, Rukhta began to look at the armor he had left behind with narrowed eyes.

He was the guy who connected with Jorge, but he was an unusual guy in everything he wore and his way of swinging.

"Huh?"

Rukhta, who had been frowning while looking at the damaged area for a while, looked at the somewhat uncomfortable part and his eyes lit up.

Unlike the elaborate armor, there was a piece of metal with a different texture attached to the breastplate, as if it had been placed there on purpose.

-A knight who protected the lives of children.

A part of the breastplate made of a material completely different from the armor used.

There was a small phrase engraved there that reminded me of the old scene.

-When the children kept crying.

"…I don't know what they are like, but their personalities are exactly the same."

And even the actions.

Rukhta stroked the words "The knight who protected the children's breath" with his fingertips and shook his head.

It seems the dagger he made has found its rightful owner.

***

The harbor of the island of Lemnos, where the sun is now slowly setting.

Seeing the scene before him, Harven opened his mouth wide in disbelief. Although not as shocked as Harven, Otar and Nibelun, who followed him, also looked at the location of Zemina with expressions of surprise.

"...Otar. What am I seeing right now?"

"..."

"Is this a dream?"

The Zemina was on fire.

Due to the flames bursting out from all sides.

Seeing the Zemina, as brightly red as the hair of its namesake Lady, Harven's captain's hat fell helplessly to the ground.

"What are you doing?"

The speed was incredible for someone using a cane.

Before Otar could stop him, Harven finally grabbed the dwarf by the neck and started roaring like a scream with his eyes red.

"Crazy! Stop right now!"

"No, this is."

"Stop it, bastard!"

How many captains can maintain their composure before a burning ship?

The dwarf directing the work realized that Harven had completely misunderstood and quickly opened his mouth.

"This is not burning!"

"Save Zemina!"

While the late-arriving mage stood in shock and the captain went crazy, only the dwarf noticed that their intentions were crossed.

"You have to sterilize it with fire like this from time to time so the things that eat your hull disappear! Don't humans manage this?"

"You handle it by burning things!"

It was common knowledge for dwarves, but still unknown to humans.

Harven, who knew how to remove barnacles and algae from the bottom of a ship but had no idea about roasting a ship to disinfect bacteria, couldn't help but misunderstand what was happening.

"Hmm?"

In such contradictory common sense, while Harven and the foreman shouted, one of the dwarves silently roasting the bottom of the ship with a bundle of flames on his back discovered a pearl-like object emitting a strange light.

It seemed as if it had been glued, as it did not come off easily even when removed by hand.

"...Isn't this a pearl?"

Nibelun, who had been observing the dwarves' astonishing work for a while, suddenly wrinkled his nose.

This was because he felt a familiar gust of wind blowing along the sea.

A sense of mystery that only a mage could feel.

Only then did Nibelun's eyes begin to narrow strangely as he recognized the shining pearl.

The strange pearl that glowed on its own continued to blink as if sending some signal.

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