Asudar cast a challenging look at Alex, then turned on his heel.
"Follow me."
The young dwarf walked with determined steps, his arms crossed like a miniature adult. Alex, with the dragon egg securely strapped to his back, followed without hesitation.
The slimes hopped joyfully behind them, stirring up dust in their wake.
"It's strange, these slimes seem to adore you," Asudar remarked without turning around.
"Yeah, I've noticed that too," Alex replied with a half-smile.
They delved into the heart of the old village. There, nestled between two collapsed-roof houses, stood a forge—or at least, what remained of it.
The inside had the rough charm of a forgotten past. The stone walls were blackened with soot, and a cracked anvil sat in the center, like a wounded throne of metal. Rusted tools hung on the walls, frozen in silence. The hearth, though cold, still held the aura of an ancient fire.
Alex stood still for a moment, eyes shining like a child stepping into a candy shop for the first time.
"Even in ruins… It's perfect."
Asudar cast a discreet glance at Alex, almost unsettled by the intense expression on his face. He then called out to the other children hiding in the shadows. One by one, they stepped out of their hiding places: two red-haired twin girls—one with short hair, the other with long hair—Coralisse and Exalisse, and a bald, shy boy named Borox.
"Is your monster nice?" asked one of the children in a trembling voice.
Alex smiled… too widely. The children screamed and backed away.
"Sorry, it's a nervous thing," he said, softening his expression.
Asudar raised his voice:
"We're going to have a forging contest. The best one wins."
"But… our parents don't want us to touch the tools," Borox said worriedly.
"They won't find out. And if Alex makes a better sword than me, I'll answer his question."
"You have parents?" Alex asked in surprise.
"Forge first, talk later," Asudar replied with a small smile.
The challenge was set. And Alex… loved it.
Asudar took the lead. He walked toward the workbench, where several bars of raw metal were neatly arranged. He picked one up, rolled it in his palms, weighing its density and balance.
"This is the only metal we've got," he explained.
"We'll make do," Alex agreed.
Asudar placed the ingot into the furnace. Little by little, the gray mass turned red, then orange, melting under the heat. Like miniature lava, ready to be bent to his will. He grabbed the glowing mass with tongs and set it onto the anvil with a furious hiss.
The blows rang out in the muffled air of the old forge. Sparks flew with each strike, lighting up the young blacksmith's focused face. He hammered with surprising precision for his age, shaping the blade with sure strokes.
Between each set of strikes, he plunged the glowing blade into water. A cloud of steam rose, hissing like a wounded snake. The metal hardened, took shape. A simple, straight, functional sword.
He finished with a handle carved from a piece of raw wood, fastening it with a strip of salvaged leather. Then he set the weapon on the table before him, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"There. Your turn now."