Raine stood quietly in the Shadow of the curtain, quickly grasping the situation.
The Dwarf was short on cash and couldn’t afford the three Silver Lions to repair his War Axe. Thus, he had come up with the idea of using his proud bellows technology to offset the labor cost. However, this undoubtedly deeply offended the dignity of an Old Blacksmith of the Human Race.
Although both men were bullheaded, glaring like two bulls about to lock horns, the Dwarf had noticeably lost some of his steam. Even though he continued to talk tough and defend his "craft," Raine could tell that the Dwarf knew he was in the wrong and wouldn’t actually resort to throwing punches at Old Kent.
This scene couldn’t help but remind Raine of a famous saying describing the Dwarf personality: "Dwarves only recognize two paths: my path, and the wrong path."
Their rock-like stubbornness manifested on the battlefield as the courage to never retreat, and in engineering as an almost paranoid pursuit of perfection. Because of this, Dwarf Forging techniques were renowned across the continent, and Dwarves themselves were viewed as perfect adventuring partners due to their creed of never abandoning a comrade in times of crisis.
The problem was that the Old Kent before him was equally famous in Mottled Town for his stubbornness. Otherwise, Water Bag Fizz wouldn’t have privately described him as being "as stubborn as an Earth Dragon."
His face full of curiosity, Raine crossed his arms with keen interest, wanting to see how this farce would unfold. As for stepping forward to mediate, he didn’t think he had enough strength or face to pry apart two brawny men as stubborn as bulls.
"My craft is garbage? Open your eyes and look closely, Earth Person!"
The Dwarf’s roar snapped Raine back to reality. With a muffled THUD, the Dwarf violently slammed the metallic Great Shield from his back onto the oak workbench, causing the tools on the table to jump.
Standing on his tiptoes, he jabbed a thick finger at a conspicuous dent on the surface of the Shield. "This ’Mountain Wall Oath’! It once blocked a fatal blow from a damn Earth Element deep underground for me!
"The Flame that forged it, the techniques that tempered it—they are the very inheritances of my Clan, the ’garbage craft’ you speak of!
"All the shiny scraps of iron in this Blacksmith’s Shop of yours, fit only to hang on the wall as decorations, added together can’t even match half of its battle-tested glory and resilience!"
Old Kent scoffed coldly. His gaze, originally filled with sarcasm and impatience, swept over the Shield, preparing to use even more caustic words to crush this dwarf’s ridiculous pride. However, his words and all the anger churning in his chest died in his throat in an instant. His eyes were drawn like magnets, rigidly fixed on the edge of the Shield.
There, a Dwarf Clan Emblem that should have been intact had its top-right corner precisely chiseled through by some sharp instrument, leaving only a mottled shield-shaped mark surrounded by a broken lightning bolt.
As a seasoned Old Blacksmith, he knew exactly what that meant. It was the shameful notch of a Dwarf exile, belonging to a soul forever forbidden from setting foot in their homeland.
Raine also noticed the destroyed corner of the emblem and couldn’t help but freeze, thoughts about the fate of exiled Dwarves instantly flooding his mind.
It turned out that this stubborn and obstinate Dwarf was just like the bandanna-wearing Grim Blacksmith before him—a lone wolf abandoned by his homeland.
For a moment, only the CRACKLE of the Flame remained in the Blacksmith’s Shop.
Old Kent looked quietly at the Dwarf, his gaze seemingly piercing through that thick, fiery red beard to see the soul hidden behind it, struggling to survive in a foreign land. Lonely, lost, and only able to secretly gaze in the direction of his homeland in the dead of night.
Exactly like himself.
He stopped arguing over the price and ceased reprimanding the other party’s offense. Instead, he silently walked to the corner and carefully extracted a piece of Cold Iron gleaming with a faint blue luster from the pile of highest-quality materials.
He clamped the Cold Iron firmly in his tongs and shoved it into the furnace. Although the Blacksmith Apprentice didn’t understand what was going on, he hurriedly ran outside to pull the bellows.
With a WHOOSH, the Flame flared up, abruptly turning a blinding white as the room’s temperature sharply spiked.
This scene caused the Dwarf to freeze in place as well. The subsequent roars he had been brewing in his throat suddenly lacked a target to vent on. But he was no fool; his sharp eyes caught the subtle change in Old Kent’s expression.
The Dwarf’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He seemed to want to soften his stance, but his ingrained pride prevented him from easily bowing his head.
"Listen here, Earth Person." He finally spoke in a gruff voice, breaking the silence that made him uneasy. "I don’t need your pity! And I certainly don’t need your charity!"
The Old Blacksmith didn’t turn around. His attention seemed entirely focused on the red-hot iron billet, but his voice carried over clearly. "This isn’t charity, Dwarf. This is a transaction. You offered to use your techniques to offset the labor cost, and I accepted." He paused, his voice dropping so low it was almost as if he were talking to himself. "I’ve never heard of a Dwarf going back on his word. Your oaths are supposed to be heavier than mountain copper."
The Dwarf opened his mouth, but all his retorts got caught in his throat once more. A Dwarf valued their oath more than their own life, even if he was an exile despised by his own people.
The Dwarf silently placed the War Axe on the workbench and began to explain in his gruff yet methodical way how to modify the bellows to more efficiently guide the airflow and control the Flame.
Kent simply listened in silence, casually taking the War Axe and beginning to carefully repair it. The Old Blacksmith’s weapon repair skills were incredibly proficient. In no time, the War Axe was restored to its original condition, and the Dwarf had finished explaining his techniques. To fulfill his promise, he even used charcoal ash to draw a crooked structural diagram of the bellows on the ground.
Taking back his weapon, the Dwarf carefully inspected every detail. As his rough fingers brushed over the smooth, solid blade of the axe, a trace of imperceptible satisfaction flashed through his eyes.
Yet he didn’t leave immediately.
After standing in place for a moment, he suddenly jerked his head up as if having made a decision. Reaching a hand into his exquisitely braided red beard, he forcefully yanked off a quaint brass ring strung on one of the braids. The surface of the brass ring was engraved with geometric patterns brimming with dwarven style, its edges worn completely smooth from constant rubbing.
SMACK!
He slammed the brass ring heavily onto the workbench, which still carried the residual heat of the Flame, producing a crisp sound.
"I, Sodden the Exile, never owe anyone anything, especially not favors!" The Dwarf’s voice was loud, attempting to recover his previous momentum, but his eyes avoided Kent’s gaze. "My grandfather left this to me! It’s not worth much money, but it carries my final connection to my homeland! I’m leaving it with you for now! When I have the money, I’ll come back and redeem it with five... no, ten Silver Lions!"
With that, the Dwarf didn’t give Kent any chance to speak. Hugging his Great Shield and War Axe, he quickly rushed out of the Blacksmith’s Shop and soon vanished into the crowd outside.