After passing over the mushrooms and moss to the dwarves, I brought out the final gifts I had prepared for them.
“What is this?”
“These are things I thought might be of help to you. Take them.”
I handed over a one-handed hammer forged from black metal to the Dwarf Representative.
“This… is it a hammer?”
Hmm, so you recognized it at a glance. Though primitive stone hammers still existed in this world.
“But the material is entirely different! This isn’t bronze, the most advanced material currently known, but steel itself!”
And not just any steel—it’s steel that underwent transformation through my magical power!
“So someday, you’ll discover a new metal. One that barely melts even in flames far hotter than what you now work with. This hammer will come in handy when handling that metal, which is why I’ve made it for you ahead of time.”
The dwarf took the black hammer into their hands.
This hammer, forged through magical transformation, was an experiment born from curiosity—what would happen if steel changed under magic? It turned out far stronger than expected.
Even when I, in my true form, gripped it, it didn’t budge—a truly impressive feat. I wonder how exactly the magic affected the steel to make it this durable.
It also had additional properties: it completely repelled magic and possessed incredible fire resistance, remaining unaffected even at temperatures where steel melts.
Perhaps this could be considered the finest blacksmith’s hammer ever created.
Though as a weapon, it’s a bit short—but not entirely useless either.
Of course, it’s not without flaws: its inability to accept other enchantments due to its complete magic repulsion and its considerable weight were notable drawbacks.
Still, with the strength of dwarves, they should manage it well enough.
“When you find that metal, heat it in fierce flames and strike it with this hammer. Through the hottest fires and strongest blows, the metal will transform into something worthy of your dreams—a sign of the new path you walk.”
At my words, the dwarf hesitated briefly before speaking.
“Will we truly find this new metal?”
“Of course. However, I won’t tell you what it is or its properties. All I can reveal is its existence. You must discover it yourselves.”
“That’s only natural. Even knowing that much is sufficient. The rest is our responsibility.”
The dwarf smiled faintly beneath their beard and held the hammer firmly.
Truly, dwarves and hammers go hand-in-hand.
“And here’s a bellows I made to help you stoke your flames more efficiently.”
Originally, I planned to grant them elemental affinity so they could control fire spirits—but for some reason, the elements weren’t listening to them easily.
Earth spirits honored Sagarmatha, their parent deity, by protecting dwarves from harm while working with rocks, but neither fire nor wind spirits heeded their calls.
Thus, the task of mastering fire fell solely on the dwarves themselves.
Seeing them tirelessly fanning the flames, I decided to craft these bellows to ease their burden.
These are simple accordion-style bellows, devoid of any magic. Providing prototypes like these helps them understand the principles behind them, allowing them to replicate them later.
“Hold both sides, spread them apart, then press together to produce a strong gust of air. Far more efficient than using a fan.”
“Ohh… what a wondrous device! And the airflow is incredibly powerful!”
“Yes. Use this to fuel your flames and achieve greater heat. Make duplicates of this design and share them with your fellow dwarves. The structure isn’t overly complex, so replication should be possible.”
In essence, these were prototypes.
“To bestow such precious items upon us… thank you. We’re deeply grateful!”
“Mm. Work hard. I have high expectations for you.”
With that, I feel I’ve laid the foundation for the dwarves as I remember them. Now, all that remains is to observe how they progress.
—
The rhythmic song of iron and hammers fills the underground city.
Like skilled tamers controlling fiery beasts, the dwarves skillfully nurture their flames, heating chunks of metal.
They grasp glowing-hot ingots with tongs, place them on anvils, and strike them with hammers in practiced motions.
Clang!
The hearty scream of iron. Normally, striking would leave mere dents, but the heated metal softens slightly, changing shape with each blow.
Once, twice, repeatedly hammering until the desired form emerges, then plunging it into oil barrels to cool rapidly, enhancing its durability.
This entire process resembles an artful spectacle.
“The refinement skills of the dwarves are truly artistic.”
The hero marvels at their craftsmanship. Black iron—or adamantium ore—is said to be impossible to melt with ordinary skill, yet they handle it with ease.
“That’s father’s work. He narrowly missed becoming grandmaster by a sheet of paper’s margin.”
“Don’t blame luck for your lack of skill. Defeat is defeat. And next time, I won’t lose.”
A young dwarf girl assisting the blacksmith complains.
“To be honest, it was bad luck. How could Father have known the grandmaster would uncover such pure mithril ore? Without that, Father would’ve won.”
“It was the blessing of Mother Earth herself.”
The blacksmith quietly examines the oil-cooled piece of metal.
A black circular shield, though not yet complete.
Without a word, he places it back into the flames.
“Because of the exceptionally high purity of the black iron ingots, I’ll need to work in stages. Sorry, but it’ll take a bit longer.”
“That’s fine. We plan to stay here for a while anyway. But please ensure the item is reliable—it’s for a cherished companion.”
“A dwarf never breaks their word.”
The blacksmith stokes the flames once more, making them roar around the black shield.
Then, in a quieter voice, he asks the hero:
“So, Hero… can you truly defeat the Demon King?”
The hero doesn’t answer.
They know the task is reckless. Countless monsters swarm and wreak havoc; several lands have already fallen. Half the world lies in the Demon King’s grasp—a desperate situation.
Amidst this despair, the Demon King tempts humanity with sweet promises, offering to fulfill their desires if they comply.
But his demands are unacceptable.
Thus, someone must confront him.
No matter the danger. Someone must rise to the challenge.
And so… even at the cost of their own life, they must try.
“You’re refreshingly silent. More trustworthy than those who talk big.”
The blacksmith seems to approve of the hero, smiling warmly beneath his beard.
“I’ll speak to the Dwarven Guild about this. Your equipment will be prepared here. Nothing surpasses our gear except legendary artifacts.”
“Thank you.”
The hero offers quiet gratitude.
“Let’s see… there are five members in your party, right?”
“Father! Don’t forget me!”
“Ah. Including my diligent daughter, that makes six. And each from a different race. Not to mention the long-lost prodigy of the Church of Life—the Dragon Priestess.”
The blacksmith’s description earns a small nod from the hero.
An elf, a genius spirit mage and master archer, bonded with both light and darkness spirits.
A young but strong dwarf warrior and apprentice blacksmith.
A Lizardman Great Warrior, steadfast against overwhelming odds.
A fox beastman, awkward in social interactions but excelling in their role.
And the Dragon Priestess from the Church of Life, who once resurrected the hero after certain death.
Especially the latter—if not for her reviving the hero from certain doom, none of them would stand united against the Demon King today.
“They’re all precious companions.”
In a low voice, the hero reaffirms their resolve.
– From the records of a certain hero’s party adventure.
