With the new forge operational, a new kind of energy filled my kingdom. The rhythmic, percussive sound of dwarven hammers became the new heartbeat of my empire.
But I needed one more demonstration. A final proof of concept.
I brought Isabelle to the new Great Forge. The heat was a physical thing, a dry, baking wave that made the air shimmer.
"Akira," I said, my voice echoing in the vast, fiery chamber. "My commander's blade. Dáinsleif. It is a B-Rank weapon of considerable power. Can you improve it?"
The Dwarf Queen looked at the dark, humming sword. She took it in her small, calloused hands, her golden eyes tracing the faint, glowing runes I had etched into it.
"It is a fine piece of work, for an amateur," she said, a statement that was both a compliment and a profound insult. "The core is strong, but the balance is… emotional. It was forged with passion, not precision."
She looked at me, a challenge in her eyes.
