Chapter 97: Hammers and Hearts
The meeting had proceeded as well as it could have. Even with Seo-jin translating, it was a tense time, but the terms had been agreed upon. Thragdur did a surprisingly good job of pretending to be stubborn, demanding frivolous words be changed before he would sign.
But one part of it was a true benefit for Seo-jin, he finally figured out how to perform a contract.
He still had some guess work to do, but there were two main components he witnessed first hand. First is the ink needed was the demon's own blood. Second was the signing. The second party also needed to sign with their blood.
As for the specific details on how or why, he would need to figure that out himself later, but for now he had his first clues.
And wandering around the dwarven stronghold beneath the island, Seo-jin started to realize he would need to carefully think about the contract he would form with them.
'These people are anything but stupid. At some point we gotta figure a way to get them to the mainland.'
[Having them in the city would be hard to explain. Humans hate them remember?]
'Don't care. I want them to build me a base just like this.'
He followed the paved walkway curling along the wall of a vast underground chamber. The air carried the bite of metal and smoke. Heat radiated from the forges below, where dwarves worked in steady rhythm, their hammers striking like heartbeats against steel. The glow of molten ore cast their shadows tall and sharp against the walls.
He reached the next level down and stopped. The air was thick with smoke and heat, but it moved clean, drawn upward through massive steel shafts that vanished into the rock above. Every pipe, vent, and grate had purpose, built into the walls like veins through a body. Nothing wasted, nothing ornamental. Just function so refined it became art.
Great pistons drove the bellows, each motion slow and deliberate, the rhythm heavy enough to feel through the soles of his feet. Chains groaned as gears turned, hauling ore carts along suspended tracks that cut across the cavern like black arteries. The sound wasn't chaotic. It was measured, an order that came from long repetition, like a living machine built by stubborn hands.
The walls themselves glowed with a dull bronze tint, smoothed by time and touch. Runic inscriptions ran between the seams, not carved for beauty but to reinforce the structure, to keep the heat from warping the stone. Light from the forges caught the marks, flickering across them like pulsebeats.
Even the smokestacks had a kind of grace. Tall, narrow towers climbed through the chamber's ceiling, shaped to funnel exhaust straight up without choking the air. Their metal skins were blackened, etched with faint grooves that caught the rising embers and scattered them like sparks against the dark.
It was crude. Efficient. Beautiful in a way that only something unbending could be.
Seo-jin let his hand brush along the wall as he walked, feeling the faint aura of energy pulsing through the stone. Every inch of it spoke of purpose, and of the people who'd built it.
"This is impressive, your people haven't even been here long. To build all this in so little time... I'd call that luck. This island being a dead volcano was a blessing."
He didn't notice the shift in Brundar's face, or maybe he did and didn't care. The dwarf's jaw tightened before he answered.
"This place is shit. The ore's weak, brittle. If we were home, your eyes would never shut again from the sight. Our forges there would blind you with glory your kind couldn't dream of copying."
The edge in his tone was sharp enough to cut, but Seo-jin ignored it. He reached toward a nearby weapon rack, running a finger along the edge of a spearhead. The metal shined like wet stone, perfect down to the grain. Even without training, he knew quality when he saw it.
"You've got weapons like these, a whole army of them. You fight as well as you forge. So why didn't you wipe out the Snake Tribe the moment they arrived? Doesn't make sense."
He glanced around as he spoke. The chamber was full of warriors disguised as laborers, muscle bound and scarred, sparks reflecting in their eyes. Most radiated D-rank power, some even C. Dozens of them. A fighting force strong enough to match anything on the mainland. The Dead Hands wouldn't last a minute against them.
Brundar's lip curled, a low growl rumbling in his chest before he spat on the ground.
"If not for their magic, we'd crush them. Grind their bones and tan their hides for boots."
Seo-jin's brow furrowed. The dwarves' craft was legendary; their tools alone could match spells in power.
"What kind of magic beats dwarven artifacts?"
Brundar barked a laugh that had no humor. He stalked to a nearby cart, grabbed a lump of ore, and crushed it to dust between his calloused fingers.
"What artifacts? We can't make anything worth a damn with this garbage. And before the rift, our forge didn't produce swords or shields."
Everywhere Seo-jin looked, forges burned and anvils rang—nothing but weapon work from wall to wall. The mention of something else threw him off.
"What did you specialize in before?"
"Siege Golems. But we lost it all when the dungeon broke."
Seo-jin pictured it—massive constructs crumbling in fire and ash, dwarves buried under their own machines. The image almost made him grin.
'Lilid would love this.'
[Stay focused.]
'You're no fun.'
He smirked to himself, watching the dwarves hammer and haul ore. The whole reason he was here was simple: gather as much information as he could about the dwarves before Lilid finished swelling her brood. Then, when the time came, the dwarves would die.
The irony didn't escape him, playing spy for a spider queen who'd already been marked for death.
Still, he couldn't help a small flicker of disappointment. Seeing one of their golems in motion would've been something. The thought lingered long enough to pull another question from him.
"I have to wonder—how'd you all end up in one anyway? From what I know, finding dwarves inside a dungeon is supposed to be extremely rare."
A few nearby dwarves slowed, hammers freezing mid-swing. Their auras sharpened like drawn blades before they returned to work.
'Guess I hit a nerve.'
Brundar's patience cracked across his face. He was already tired of this tour, of the demon, of the questions, of pretending to care.
"You shouldn't ask so many questions."
Seo-jin fell into step behind him. He wanted to press, but he held it in. There were bigger things coming, and for now, silence served him better than truth.
He walked on, eyes tracing the forges and racks of sharpened metal. The craftsmanship was flawless, steel shaped with purpose, edge and symmetry in perfect balance. But as he looked closer, something didn't add up.
Every blade, every breastplate, every axe, was being melted down and thrown back into the flames. Whole racks of finished work waiting to die in the same fire that birthed them.
His brow tightened. A low heat crawled up his throat...it was waste. All of it. Pointless, deliberate waste.
His voice cracked through the clang of hammers.
"Why destroy what you've already made? Explain this."
He stepped toward one of the smiths, hand half-raised to grab his shoulder, then froze when the dwarf started laughing. The others joined in, deep rumbling chuckles echoing across the forge.
From near the main anvil, a broad-shouldered dwarf shouted over the din, voice dripping with amusement.
"You see with elf eyes, demon. These are rejects. Trash metal. You'd rather we hang 'em on a wall?"
"Use them."
Seo-jin snapped.
"You've got a war coming, or did you all forget?"
No one answered. The clang of metal swallowed his words as another dwarf lifted an axe, the finest he'd seen—perfect weight, perfect balance—and turned to throw it into the forge.
"Stop, you stupid little—! Toss that in and I'll—"
"A heart!"
A sudden shout cut him off.
The whole chamber turned. A young dwarf, barely old enough to grow a full beard, held a glowing pauldron high over his head.
"By Drom's nuts, I did it! First one, boys! Look!"
The forge's light dimmed against it. The metal pulsed with a dark, steady glow, something wrong and alive in the way it breathed. Seo-jin's eyes locked on it. Even without touching it, he could feel it was different. Whatever that thing was, it wasn't ordinary steel.
Brundar was the only one who didn't rush forward to see the armor. He stood beside Seo-jin, arms crossed, voice carrying a quiet pride beneath its gravel.
"That's why we melt them. Without a heart, they're hollow. Not worthy of our race. We take no joy in destroying what we make, but the ore here is weak, barely metal at all. Creating something with a heart's near impossible. What you're seeing now is the first one we've managed since arriving."
"A heart's an artifact, isn't it?"
Brundar shook his head slightly.
"Depends on who you ask. What humans call artifacts differ by race and realm. For us, our works live when they gain hearts. That's what gives them power. A smith must form a bond in the process—only then can a heart be born. The purer the ore, the better the chance. But with this rock..."
He trailed off, frowning as if chewing on the right words.
The sudden willingness to talk caught Seo-jin off guard. Usually the dwarf spoke like every word was being hammered out of him. But talking craft stirred something in him, pride, hunger, maybe both.
"It's like this, fine ore listens. It's smart metal. You can speak to it, shape it how you will. This stuff? Dumber than stone. Like talking to an elf—waste of breath."
Seo-jin almost laughed.
'Now he's cracking jokes. Good to know what loosens his tongue. Might make him easier to handle later.'
Brundar's eyes kept drifting to the group around the young smith. The first true piece they'd created since their fall was enough to shake him, but he didn't move. He stayed close, bound to his duty.
Figuring he'd give the dwarf what he wanted, Seo-jin walked forward, tone smooth and measured.
"That makes sense. If there'd been anything of value here, the humans would've stripped it already. You're lucky no B-rank or higher dungeon's have dropped nearby yet. But that's where I come in. Soon you'll have proper materials—high-grade stock to fill your halls with artifacts again."
The forge quieted. Some dwarves turned from their work, eyes wide. Others stayed skeptical, but the spark was there, hope under their scars. Seo-jin could feel it.
'They're starving artists. And I'm the only one able to provide what they need.'
Despite his words, every eye in the forge turned back toward the young dwarf clutching the pauldron, the air thick with heat and awe. Even Brundar—usually stone-faced—moved closer, gaze locked on the piece as if it were sacred. Seo-jin could see why.
The pauldron was nothing short of beautiful. Its surface rippled like hammered bronze shaped to mimic layered scales, each ridge catching the forge glow in sharp, golden cuts. Along its edge, fine etching framed the metal, clean and precise, almost reverent. It was shaped in the likeness of a creature's face, something primal and horned, every contour alive with texture.
From the murmurs, he pieced together its inspiration—a beast from the Fae Realm called a Huachiv, what humans named the Night Goat. The creature's legend was burned into the piece: twisted horns, scar ridges like bark, a presence meant to invoke fear.
Ignoring the system's steady droning about the monster's physiology, Seo-jin triggered Inspect. His vision flashed with faint runes and numbers. His expression shifted.
'That's it? Only F rank?'
He almost said it aloud. But a voice behind him cut through the noise.
"If you make that face, you might offend someone."
'How'd he get behind me?'
Seo-jin turned, hiding his surprise behind a thin smile. Thragdur stood there, still as stone, eyes faintly burning with molten reflection.
"No offense meant. Working with such weak ore and still managing that… it's worth respect."
The Forgemaster's tone was calm—measured—but there was something in his gaze that prickled Seo-jin's skin.
"The skills of my clan is known across our kind. What you've just seen would make any true smith's soul cheer."
Seo-jin nodded, smile polite but empty. To him, it wasn't worth cheering. The time, the loss of steel...waste hidden under pride. Even an D-rank user could have made good use of the discarded blades.
He drew a breath to ask if any pre-dungeon artifacts survived, but Thragdur had already turned away, his upper arms folded behind his back, the lower crossing over his chest as he strode toward the center of the forge hall.
"I saw you wield cleavers. Not a common weapon choice."
The Forgemaster said without looking back.
Seo-jin followed, keeping pace.
"I like to be close to what I'm killing. Call it a preference."
The old dwarf nodded once, stopping before the largest forge in the hall, the only one cold and dark until now. Its surface was engraved with deep runes, every line glowing like veins of fire under skin.
"I share that preference. And with my skin being blessed by the forge god, armor never interested me. In truth, the only pieces I've ever made are my gauntlets—and even they were forged for striking, not for defense."
He reached for his hammer. Behind them, the forge hall still buzzed with laughter and praise for the young smith. The noise died the instant Thragdur's hand touched steel.
"And I hear you fight naked."
His grin was brief, shadowed by the firelight.
"After watching your three strikes, I had an thought."
He slammed his fist against a rune carved into the forge's side. The stone erupted in red light, flames blooming outward in a breath of heat.
"Our benefactor can't walk into war bare-skinned."
Thragdur raised his hammer.
"Let's fix that."
A deafening crack split the chamber as the hammer struck the anvil.
Seo-jin tried to hold his composure, but the sound hit something deep inside him. His lips twitched, the edges of a grin fighting free.