0.
Dolores naturally had plenty she wanted to ask me.
After all, I was the guy who had brought back equipment made by a Sun Dwarf. One of the Heirs of Fire, at that.
How had I overcome the trial? Where had I read the books?
Of course she would wonder what the hell I was.
But apparently, she was the type who cared more about the conclusion than the process.
"Watch Ruby for me."
Since the result was good, she was willing to put off asking about the process.
Dolores hurriedly packed her things, then dumped the entire sleeping kid on me.
"Me?"
Why?
No, what about me made her trust me with a child?
"Ruby is still too young to enter the Tower."
So what did that have to do with me...?
"I’ll be back before the day is over, so don’t worry."
Then Dolores stopped with her luggage in hand and looked back at me.
"You’ll take good care of her, right?"
For a moment, Dolores’s eyes settled squarely on me.
I met her gaze for a moment and chose an answer that might let me dodge the responsibility.
"...If she misbehaves, can I discipline her a little? I’m not really fond of kids."
"..."
Dolores did not answer.
Instead, she looked into my eyes a little longer before slowly smiling, apparently satisfied.
"That’s the first time."
Huh?
"The first time you’ve lied to me."
Had she discerned truth from lies again?
That really did seem like a handy ability. I guess I wouldn’t be able to make excuses around her from now on.
In the end, she had seen through me.
"I’ll let this one slide because it’s cute, so I’m counting on you."
Rustle.
Dolores gently brushed back the sleeping Ruby’s bangs.
Kiss.
She lightly kissed her forehead and headed out.
Click.
The door shut.
Only the sleeping kid and I remained in the cabin.
My estimated age: probably thirteen.
Ruby’s age, sleeping right in front of me: probably thirteen.
I had never had a daughter, much less a niece.
My head was already starting to hurt.
1.
My head hurting was one thing.
I still had things to do.
Equipment that could leave Dolores that flustered and shocked.
The elite blacksmiths of the Sun Dwarves, known as the Heirs of Fire.
I should learn more about them and the equipment they made.
It was not like I could leave the cabin anyway.
I had to take care of the kid if she woke up.
"Yuna."
I kept my voice as quiet as possible.
"Do some crawling for me."
I had looked into it once already, but something felt... off.
It seemed like a far more valuable profession than I had known.
[Keywords → Heirs of Fire / elite Sun Dwarf blacksmiths]
That was good, but...
"Can you lift the restrictions and dig deeper, like last time?"
[...]
[...]
The search screen on the hologram flickered incessantly.
She was usually quick, but there must have been a lot of material.
[It seems there are barely any Heirs of Fire left now.]
"...I see."
[And I pulled this from unofficial material, not official records, okay?]
[There was something a Sun Dwarf wrote sixty years ago, right before he died.]
[Only people in the know seem to know about it, but it looks like the Elite Blacksmiths Association recorded it on the community.]
Something he said before dying, posted on the community?
Then again, even the Heirs of Fire textbook was there... The community probably had a different meaning and concept here than it did to me.
Text resembling a scan of yellowed parchment appeared above the hologram.
ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ
‘Forget trials—none of them even swing a hammer themselves. They stand before the Dwarf Company’s mass-production fabricators, enter a blueprint, feed in ore, and press a button.’
‘What comes out are swords and armor bearing mass-production patterns.’
‘People believe those are ours.’
‘They are not.’
‘They belong to machines, not to us.’
‘There are no true blacksmiths left...’
ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ
It seemed like this place needed a Luddite movement too.
The difference was that, from the dwarves’ perspective, things had become more convenient.
So that was why equipment from the Heirs of Fire was in greater demand than mass-produced gear.
Now it made sense.
Though even with all that demand, there did not seem to be anyone left to make it.
And the difference in performance... they said the Heirs of Fire’s standing changed as they grew stronger.
I could grow stronger too, right?
"Open it."
I stretched languidly and opened a book on Sun Dwarf metallurgy.
Then all I could do was grow.
Reading was the only thing that would stay with me...
I calmly began reading through the textbooks.
2.
Traveling between floors in the Tower’s residential area, rather than its climbing zones, was not particularly difficult.
Dolores boarded the inter-floor transport.
Her destination was the eighty-eighth floor, ruled by the Sun Dwarves.
She could have had the equipment appraised at an ordinary dwarf appraisal office found every fifteen floors.
But considering both the equipment itself and its mark, it would not do unless a superior dwarf from the main branch handled it personally.
Hummm...
The moment the transport’s light faded, heat pressed in on her from all sides.
"...Whew."
No matter how many times she saw it, it was a sight she could not get used to.
First came the overwhelming height of the ceiling—or more accurately, the absence of one.
There was no end in sight even when she looked up. Everywhere her eyes reached were bridges, pulleys, blower pipes, and more bridges.
Golden furnaces hung amid that endless framework.
And below, when she looked down through the gaps in the walkways, a river flowed beneath her.
It was lava.
The artery of the eighty-eighth floor, commonly called the Dwarves’ River by outsiders to the Tower.
Normally, the river should flow, be distributed to furnaces throughout the framework, then merge again and continue onward.
...It should have.
Now, the river flowed in only one direction.
To the immense gray-white building visible in the distance.
The Dwarf Company.
Only there.
In a forge of this scale, she could not hear the sound of anyone hammering metal by hand.
Instead, only machines could be heard everywhere: presses stamping down on ore, fabricators turning gears, conveyor belts rattling.
Listening to those mechanical sounds, she walked across the platform.
In truth, she did not dislike this place. Her body, always so cold, felt as though it thawed at least a little here.
In that sense, the gloves Lionel had given her were, in fact, already...
Click.
That was when it happened.
Someone was walking toward her from the far end of the platform.
"...Lady Dolores."
"Hello."
"What brings you here without even contacting us? You startled me."
His attire did not suit the setting at all—a suit.
His build, however, was unmistakably dwarven.
"I did not come on business with the Dwarf Company today."
"...I see."
The Sun Dwarves were a proud race that valued tradition, so it was unthinkable that they would come out to greet anyone, even Dolores.
But the Dwarf Company was different. It meant they would at least see off someone of the stature of another floor’s ruler.
She did not know the details, but apparently the dwarves had split into two factions.
The traditionalists and the industrialists.
The suited dwarf before her must represent the industrialists.
But really, it was none of her concern.
"Then may I ask what business brings you here?"
"..."
Rather than answer, Dolores gave a faint smile.
"...I hope you achieve what you seek."
Understanding her intent, the dwarf dipped his head lightly and withdrew.
Dolores paid him no further mind and walked across the platform.
Her destination was the appraisal office.
Past the mass-production line, in a dimly lit corner.
That was where the appraisal office stood.
Creeeak...
The door was made of weathered wood, unlike anything she had seen so far.
In truth, this felt closer to the Sun Dwarves.
When she opened the door, the scent of coal dust met her.
Scorched smells.
"..."
Someone slowly raised his head toward her from deep inside the room.
An old dwarf.
His beard was graying, and every joint of his fingers was thick with calluses.
There was no suit anywhere on him. Only a worn apron, bearing a sun insignia.
"Who’re you?"
"I came to request an appraisal."
"...Mass-production quality control is over there..."
The long-bearded dwarf lowered his head and turned his back on her.
But Dolores immediately added,
"It is an appraisal of equipment made by an Heir of Fire."
"..."
The dwarf stopped as he turned away.
He rose from his chair and looked at Dolores.
Eyes that had looked like burnt-out wicks only moments ago now gleamed intensely.
In response, Dolores took out the gloves.
"This is equipment made by that blacksmith..."
"A fake."
The dwarf shook his head the instant he saw the gloves.
"The scorch marks on the surface, how the leather has been broken in. The manufacturing date was at most one or two days ago. There have been no new Heirs of Fire capable of making such gloves for decades, so that must be a fake."
It was a firm answer that allowed no room for rebuttal.
One that did not even seem worth rebutting.
For a moment, that answer irritated Dolores considerably as well.
"A shame, after you came all this way."
The dwarf’s gaze slowly sank.
He had just spoken twice of his dying race’s circumstances with his own mouth. There was no way he could feel good about it.
The woman before him was famous.
Surely she understood by now.
Yet Dolores had no intention of leaving.
"It is not difficult to conduct an appraisal."
Thud.
A pouch full of coins landed on the table.
"The appraisal office’s role is to appraise. I did not ask you to determine its authenticity."
"...Ha."
‘This is exactly what nobles are like...’
What she meant was this.
I came to have it appraised.
Do not overstep yourself. Just do your job.
Dolores had never been particularly agreeable by nature, to begin with.
The dwarf’s sympathy and concern vanished in an instant.
‘Even when your intentions are good, those noble bastards won’t listen... Still, I made today’s drinking money.’
Climbers were always like this. Nobles even more so.
Without another word, the dwarf snatched up the gloves and placed them on the workbench.
Appraising equipment was simple.
You analyzed it with an appraisal device containing the wisdom of the ancestors.
The intricate mechanisms and special magic embedded within recognized the engraving and distinguished genuine articles from fakes.
Hummm...
The machine activated.
How long had it been since he had last run this thing?
There was no need to use a machine just to identify a fake. These days, everything that came in could be judged with a single touch.
So this was just a formality. A formality to indulge some noble lady.
At least, that was what he thought.
Until then, the old dwarf, Puram, had not spared the gloves even a single glance.
But the moment he absentmindedly looked down at them with that thought in mind,
"...?"
He noticed the gray sun mark engraved on them.
Something felt strange.
‘...The foundation.’
The beginning of every mark. The apprentice’s mark, the very first one engraved.
Puram’s brow furrowed. It was strange.
Every fool who dared claim their work was a fake of an Heir of Fire copied the elaborate marks of famous masters.
A master’s mark was the logo of a luxury brand.
Yet who? What kind of lunatic would engrave the lowliest apprentice’s mark as the logo on a counterfeit?
What use would that have?
The machine began to run.
The magic circuits engraved in the appraisal device glowed blue.
They projected an image of the gloves.
And the appraisal result would soon
be printed onto the paper loaded in the printer beside it.
Whiiirrr...
Thump.
Puram realized that his heart might be racing.
Something was different. A heart that had had no reason to race while he grew old in this cramped room, staring at nothing but fakes.
Whirr.
The printer pushed out a sheet of paper.
Unable to wait any longer, Puram snatched it up.
And the result was:
[Match Rate: 100/100]
[Heir of Fire]
─────────────────
『To the heir who has taken their first step.』
『You are unskilled. Yet you are undeniably hot.』
『Please, do not cool.』
『Should you ever lose your way, come to Voldr’s workshop——』
— Appraisal Device Creator, 7th Head Craftsman Voldr —
─────────────────
A match rate of one hundred. The gloves before him were genuine.
Puram’s vision immediately blurred.
This appraisal device had been made by a great figure who stood at the end of the line of Heirs of Fire: a Head Craftsman of the previous generation.
Centuries ago, he had personally arranged its circuits, engraved its marks, and completed even the final hammer strike with his own hands.
Yet Puram had never known it hid such words, such preparation within it.
Because for decades, it had never once identified a genuine article.
Genuine equipment made by an Heir of Fire.
For the first time in decades, it had been placed atop this machine.
"Urgh..."
It was perfectly genuine.
"...Aaaaaaaaaah!!!"
Puram screamed the moment he saw the appraisal report.
The instant Dolores saw his reaction, she felt as though she knew what the result had been.
Thump.
Her heart was racing too.
She could not be certain, but perhaps that little boy had truly worked a miracle.
And then,
Whirr.
After the verification result,
the item appraisal result printed out as well.
"Aaaaaaaaaah!!"
Leaving Puram still shrieking behind her, Dolores picked up the newly printed appraisal report herself.
Puram groaned behind her, but she could no longer hear it.
Feeling the freshly printed paper gradually cool in her hand, Dolores turned the report over.
And then.
─────────────────
[Apprentice Blacksmith’s Warming Gloves][★☆☆☆☆][Unique Equipment]
─────────────────
『Because I made them with care, thinking of Dolores....』
— Apprentice Blacksmith L —
─────────────────
In one corner of the page.
A single sentence, quietly written.
"...?"
Apprentice Blacksmith L. Lionel.
That Lionel had made them
with me in mind, with care.
"Pfft..."
She elegantly covered her mouth with the back of her hand as she laughed.
‘What have I ever done for him...?’
How long had it been since she had received a gift someone had made ‘with care’ for her?
And without asking for anything in return.
She could barely remember. Even the phrase itself felt unfamiliar on her tongue.
"Pfft, hehehe..."
Her cheeks flushed faintly.
"...Thank you."
It felt, a little,
like she had received a confession.
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