Chapter 118

Clang! Clang!

Here, a dwarf is hammering iron in a forge.

The scorching heat causes sweat to pour down in rivulets, tracing deep wrinkles on his brow.

The dwarf’s pride is symbolized by his thick beard, which, due to lack of proper maintenance, clumps together and swings awkwardly.

Thick hands, marked with burn scars and calluses covering every inch, wield the hammer—a tool regarded as both the soul and alter ego of a blacksmith—with all their might.

Clang-!

The dwarf’s name is Thorvar.

One of the seven Meisters representing Doomheim. “Meister” is a prestigious title given only to the most skilled blacksmiths.

For all blacksmiths, the Meister is an object of reverence and aspiration—a dream.

Thorvar is no exception.

The weapons and tools he crafts are not mere implements but pieces of art, masterpieces—

Crack!

That one was supposed to be a masterpiece but got crushed instead.

The blow carried too much emotion, causing Thorvar to lose control of his strength—a basic mistake usually made by apprentices.

Especially Thorvar, known for his cold-blooded nature, someone who never makes these elementary errors.

Yet, all this has happened because his daughter vanished overnight.

Thorvar’s daughter, Perka.

His only blood relative, missing for half a year.

For all her quirks—like when it hurts to see her with your own eyes or her eating but never seeming full—she is still family. Doubts about whether he did something wrong often cross his mind.

“Hmm….”

Wiping his damp eyes with his forearm, Thorvar gazes around.

In this state, further forging seemed impossible. He needed to immerse himself in cold water to calm his emotions and the fiery heat.

Thorvar hung his hammer on the wall, left the forge, and entered his house.

The houses of dwarves are all uniform in construction—perfect squares of identical size with forges set up in the backyard. This design suits dwarves who spend all their non-eating, non-sleeping hours in the forge.

“…”

Glancing at Perka’s room, Thorvar headed toward the bath.

Knock knock knock.

The sound of someone knocking on the door.

A visitor has arrived.

Could it be Logan from the next house? He commissioned a necklace for his wife to celebrate their wedding anniversary.

They’ve been married for more than fifty years, yet their love still burns brightly. Quite admirable indeed.

Thorvar grabbed the necklace and opened the door.

“So, Logan, have you come to collect your necklace? I was actually waiting for you. Here’s the thing you aske—”

Thorvar blinked.

His gaze locked with the young girl standing at the door.

Perka’s lips twitched involuntarily.

“A, Father. I’m here…”

Embarrassed in her dress, her usual tone of speech was nowhere to be found.

Wide-eyed, Thorvar scanned Perka up and down, then—

Click.

Closed the door.

After blinking a couple times and rubbing his eyes,

“Must be losing my mind.”

Could he possibly be pining so much for Perka that he’s hallucinating?

Old age seems to have heightened his sensitivity.

He needed to regain composure with some cold water.

Bang Bang!

“A, Father! It’s me, your daughter Perka! Please open the door!”

“My daughter might look similar, but Perka would never wear anything as foolish as a dress. She’s hardly girly like that. Don’t play such distasteful tricks again.”

“But, it’s true…”

Painful criticism cut deep into her chest.

Perka reflected on her past life.

Even though she carelessly admitted it, it still wasn’t pleasant being mistaken for a swindler by her own father. She found a way to prove she was Thorvar’s daughter.

“A, Father’s upper arm has a burn scar. You claim it’s from the forge, but actually, you hurt it cooking—!”

“My daughter, without a doubt. I’ve never doubted it once. But, could you kindly lower your voice? It would be greatly appreciated.”

Slamming the door open and cutting Perka off mid-sentence, Thorvar confirmed the truth—he couldn’t deny the story told only between him and his daughter.

Thorvar carefully examined Perka again.

‘This is my daughter…?’

Looking closely, the features were unmistakably Perka’s. Still, the disbelief remained.

“So, it seems you’ve been cavorting with humans on the surface. And by the looks of it, you’ve brought some boy home after six months, hmm?”

“T, that’s not exactly—”

“Something must’ve been misunderstood. I am not related to her in that way. I am Carami, the owner of Perka. We have a slaver’s contract.”

“What?”

Carami, narrowing his eyes, alternated his gaze between Perka and the man. Perka hung her head guiltily like a sinner.

Thorvar quickly deduced the situation.

It wasn’t that Perka was just wandering around; something must’ve happened.

“Wait, is that Perka?”

“Looks like it… But who’s the man?”

People started gathering, curious about the spectacle. This wasn’t a good place to have a conversation.

“Let’s talk inside.”

***

Dwarf furniture was generally different in size than usual.

Because dwarf legs are relatively short, the furniture was quite low to the ground. Anywhere else, there wouldn’t have been a single chair suitable for Carami, but Thorvar’s house had Perka—who is half-dwarf—so there was a chair for her. Consequently, Carami, her owner, sat there, and Perka found herself naturally standing.

Thorvar’s vein in his forehead twitched. It irked him to no end that someone whose identity he didn’t even know sat in his daughter’s chair.

Ready to smash Carami’s head at the drop of a hat, Thorvar sat near the hammer.

“Let’s start by hearing the full story, shall we?”

Perka recounted the events from six months ago.

Being caught by slave hunters while exploring a distant place out of boredom, she became a mine slave until Carami found her and purchased her.

Naturally, Thorvar, who had fully believed that she had just gone off to have fun, expanded his pupils in shock, realizing that he didn’t know the full story.

“So, you suggest this is a trade: something in return for Perka’s return?”

“Exactly.”

Thorvar quickly regained his composure.

Why would he agree to a deal? If push comes to shove, he can just take her back with force.

The moment Thorvar’s hand moved silently toward the hammer,

“I recommend not doing something rash. Perka and I have a master-slave contract. As a precaution, we have safeguards in place. Should anything happen to me, her safety cannot be assured either.”

Thorvar had no way to verify the truth of this statement. He couldn’t gamble with his daughter’s life.

He had no choice but to listen to what was proposed.

“Speak, then.”

Carami smiled faintly.

“It’s nothing grand. I’d like to acquire a portion of Magma’s flame.”

Thorvar’s eyes tightened.

Magma’s flame, akin in significance to the World Tree for the elves—letting a human take that was unthinkable.

It was akin to suggesting cutting off a branch of the World Tree.

“Magma’s flame is the essence and spirit of the dwarves. Not only are you not a dwarf, you’re not even someone worthy. And certainly not a blackmailer.”

“Blackmailer? I saved your daughter from a lifetime of mine labor and brought her to you at personal risk. If that’s not worthy of gratitude, what is?”

“You must have sold your conscience too, as a slave trader. Go away. I do not negotiate with slave traders.”

“Prioritizing your pride as a blacksmith over your daughter, huh? Quite a heartless father, aren’t you?”

As if already expecting this, Carami sighed and looked at Perka.

Perka’s pupils flickered, shaken. She knew her father was stubborn, but she didn’t imagine he’d prioritize his duty over her.

“Though I respect your decision, I cannot give up either. There’s a reason I need the flame.”

“Why do you need that flame?”

“Not much. Just to awaken a princess frozen in ice.”

It was a cryptic statement.

What ice-bound thing was he talking about, and who is the princess?

Thorvar didn’t believe Carami’s words outright, sensing hidden motives.

Of course, from Carami’s perspective, his intentions were sincere—he needed Magma’s flame to melt the ice frozen by a curse, as per his data.

To obtain the flame, the approval of a Meister was required.

There were seven Meisters in Doomheim, but Thorvar’s path seemed smoother than the others’—partly because of future plans involving crafting jewelry.

Yet Thorvar’s stubbornness exceeded Carami’s expectations.

‘Maybe I should try another Meister?’

Just as Carami was about to reconsider, Thorvar opened his heavy mouth.

“If it’s necessary, I can offer another method.”

“Oh, what might that be?”

A proposal from Thorvar sounded promising.

“Marriage to Perka. Become my son-in-law.”

It was the perfect opportunity to solve the nuisance problem known as his daughter.

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