The iron gate to the Dwarven stronghold remained sealed, pressing its silent, massive weight against the silence of the mountain. Cedric stood alone, a single point of surface-world vulnerability against a fortress carved from the living stone. He knew that somewhere behind the metal, the Forge-Speaker—the Dwarf leader responsible for metallurgical decisions—was evaluating him, his offer, and the impossible scale of the Drake Mother hide.
Minutes stretched into an eternity, the only sound the slight whistling of the wind finding cracks in the stone. Cedric used the time not for anxiety, but for mental cataloging, running through the necessary negotiation points. He had to convince them that this was a partnership, not a transaction with a disposable human lord.
Finally, the heavy door retracted again, revealing not the two guards, but a single, older Dwarf. His beard was a tapestry of dark grey, interwoven with thick, dull Obsidian bands—the mark of a master craftsman who valued durability over vanity. This was the Forge-Speaker. His eyes, shadowed deep within his brow ridge, held the calculating depth of one who understood the intrinsic value of materials better than any king.
"Lord Cedric of the Dying Hold," the Dwarf's voice resonated, deeper and less gravelly than the guards, carrying the disciplined authority of one accustomed to commanding fire. [Translation Protocol Active] "I am Thoric Stonehand. You bring the skin of a beast said to be dead since the Age of Whispers. It defies record. Explain its worth."
Cedric presented the chilled slab of hide again, letting Thoric approach this time. He watched the Dwarf's hands, noticing the slight tremor of professional desire.
"Its worth is in its refusal to yield, Thoric Stonehand," Cedric began, adopting a posture of respectful exchange, not begging. "This material, taken from a Creator Beast, possesses a structure that resists natural decomposition and fire. My own current abilities allow me to keep it perfectly preserved—a condition no surface spell could maintain for more than a day."
He carefully stepped back, allowing Thoric to get closer to the material, a calculated risk.
"I am not seeking weapons built from this material, not yet. I am seeking a partnership. You will receive this hide, entire, along with the full skeletal structure of the creature, once we have secured the tools to properly process it without decay."
Thoric circled the offering slowly, running a gloved hand over the surface. "Exclusivity is a heavy word for a human lord. Your kingdom, Veridia, is built on paper promises and the whims of the capital. What guarantees a Dwarf clan that a more ambitious Lord, perhaps backed by the Demoness Queen you serve, won't arrive tomorrow and demand the remnants?"
This was the critical juncture. The lie about his servitude was already in place with Verian, but here, he needed to project untouchable, personal capability.
"My guarantee is that the Queen's agents see me as a failure already drowning in logistics," Cedric said flatly. "They want this territory to fail. They have sent Lord Verian to confirm my incompetence. They will expect me to send back reports of starvation and frostbite, not revolutionary metallurgical breakthroughs."
He paused, then played his trump card—a calculated reveal of his specialized advantage.
"Furthermore, Thoric Stonehand, I possess the means to enforce the terms myself. I command a resource that will guarantee your clan's safety in the peaks while you work."
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A/N - I am hoping this is how noble blood or medieval people talked formally. It's just so weird for me when I think about how they talk...who am I to judge, Have to write it for the story T_T.
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Cedric took a deep breath and initiated the demonstration. He focused the cold reservoir within him, not letting it lash out, but channeling it with absolute, minute control. A shimmering, translucent sheet of frost began to bloom outwards from his hands, coating the nearby section of the stone floor. It wasn't just ice; it was perfectly smooth, polished rime, incredibly dense, freezing the very dust in the air.
[Cryo-Mage Ability Activated: Controlled Application of Frost Shroud. Mana Cost: 20 MP.]
The Dwarves stared, not at the ice, but at the precision of the manifestation. It wasn't the uncontrolled blizzard magic of some wild sorcerer; it was an engineer's tool.
"This cold is not natural decay. It is controlled stasis," Cedric continued, his voice steady despite the exertion of perfect control. "I can keep this material suspended indefinitely. More importantly, I can use this to create an environment hostile to fire and rot. I am not asking you to trust a human lord's word. I am offering you guaranteed access to material that requires a Mage of my specific talent to maintain until you are ready to work it. Without me, the material decays. With me, you gain undisputed, exclusive rights to its mastery."
Thoric Stonehand finally met Cedric's gaze, a flicker of grudging respect in his eyes. He saw the logic. The material was too large, too complex, and too valuable to be risked with conventional preservation methods.
"A contract then," Thoric conceded, turning back toward the dark interior. "We do not swear oaths to kings, Lord Cedric. We swear oaths to the Stone and the Anvil. You provide the material, and you maintain the stasis field—or we deem the contract void. In return, the first item forged from the Drake Hide will be yours, once the process is complete. What will you request?"
Cedric had rehearsed this moment for days. He didn't ask for a legendary sword; that would demand too much immediate effort and draw too much attention.
"I require three things," Cedric declared. "First: Three masterwork Adamantine-laced Hunting Bows for my elite scouts—silent, durable, and capable of piercing thick winter pelts at range. Second: A full schematic and the necessary raw materials—which I will provide—for the forging of three heavy-duty siege-breaker rams, reinforced with your specialized alloys for defense against heavy fortifications. Third, and most critical: I require a full demonstration and schematic for the Dwarven method of Reinforced Dry-Stonework—the technique for building structures that can withstand a sustained siege without relying on unstable wood."
Thoric blinked, a rare display of surprise. "You ask for defense and scouting tools. You do not ask for a weapon of war."
"I ask for the means to survive the war already surrounding us," Cedric corrected. "The Barbarians are at the gate. I need walls that won't burn and arrows that won't break. Once the walls are secure and the immediate threat is managed, I will provide the second half of the Drake Mother for your true masterpiece."
Thoric Stonehand grunted, the sound almost an approval. "A strategist, then, not just a conqueror. Very well, Lord Cedric. The Obsidian Clan accepts your terms. You have secured the right to our labor, contingent on your continued ability to keep the prize from turning to dust. Come inside. The Forge-Speaker requires the material secured in his presence."
As the heavy iron door ground open once more, revealing the roaring, intense heat of the Dwarven forges, Cedric stepped across the threshold, leaving the cold of the mountain for the brutal, disciplined heat of innovation. He had secured his blacksmiths. Now, he had to prove he could survive long enough for them to finish their work.