Chapter 9: The Attack on Dwarf Village
"What do you say? Should we make a move?"
Kurtz felt his heart hammering against his ribs.
This was his first time facing such overwhelming numbers of monsters, and the nervous energy coursing through him was far worse than what he'd experienced during their encounters with the wolf pack and that massive demonic bear.
His palms were slick with sweat as he gripped his staff.
Serie rolled her eyes at him with theatrical exasperation. "Why not make a move? Do you think I came all this way to watch the show?"
The dismissive tone in her voice made Kurtz realise something fundamental about his travelling companion: his elf master thrived on scenes like this.
The prospect of large-scale combat didn't concern her; it excited her. He could practically see the battle-lust gleaming in her golden eyes.
She was probably itching to jump into the fray right now.
'The Wolf Fiends are in for a rough time,' Kurtz thought grimly.
His silent prayers for the beasts were destined to go unanswered. Serie had no interest in fair play or honourable combat.
While the Wolf Fiends and dwarves remained locked in desperate melee below, she circled to high ground behind the pack, positioning herself with the calculated patience of a master tactician.
Then she raised her hand and unleashed hell.
It wasn't just Light Arrow Rain, it was an enhanced, continuous-fire version that transformed the afternoon sky into a deadly constellation.
Golden projectiles poured down like a divine storm, each arrow finding its mark with surgical precision.
More than a dozen Wolf Fiends were pinned to the blood-soaked earth in the span of heartbeats, their howls of rage cut short.
The dwarven defenders stood frozen in shock, their bearded faces turned skyward as they tried to process this sudden, miraculous intervention.
Several of them lowered their weapons entirely, staring at the source of their salvation with awe.
The dwarves were notoriously weak at magic; this was simply a biological fact.
The gods had blessed them with incredible physical strength; an adult dwarf could tear a demonic bear apart with their bare hands if properly motivated.
But this same divine gift had sealed away their magical talents almost entirely.
Therefore, there were naturally no mages in this small frontier village. What they were witnessing was completely outside their experience.
Serie stood silhouetted against the darkening sky, her golden hair whipping in the wind. Her smile carried a hint of wild excitement that would have been deeply concerning on anyone else's face.
'Sure enough,' Kurtz mused, 'only this kind of large-scale combat can make her truly happy.'
He had to admit, though, that the spell improvements he'd suggested were proving remarkably effective.
Serie had completely abandoned her previous single-shot Light Arrow approach, now defaulting to area bombardments at every opportunity.
A large range and high quantity made this approach infinitely more practical than precision strikes when dealing with swarm tactics.
Kurtz wasn't content to remain idle while Serie had all the fun. He quickly cast his improved Grand Detection spell, the magical array unfolding in his palm like a blue flower.
After confirming that no Wolf Fiends remained hidden among the village's narrow alleyways or damaged buildings, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted down to the dwarves.
"Don't just stand there gaping! Four more coming from your left flank!"
Serie's devastating arrow barrage hadn't completely eliminated the pack; a few Wolf Fiends had survived the initial assault, and two others had been engaged in close combat with dwarven warriors when she'd opened fire, forcing her to hold back to avoid friendly casualties.
The dwarves, jolted from their amazement by Kurtz's warning, snapped back into battle mode.
Several of the burliest warriors immediately charged the Wolf Fiends directly ahead, while the rest wheeled to address the flanking threat.
Their movements showed the fluid coordination of brothers in arms who'd fought together for years.
With Kurtz providing occasional Light Arrow support to tip the balance at critical moments, the remaining battle concluded swiftly and decisively.
An elderly dwarf who clearly held authority among the defenders stepped forward from the group. His ceremonial armour was dented and bloodstained, but he carried himself with the dignity of natural leadership.
"Thank you for your assistance, honoured..." His voice trailed off uncertainly as his eyes moved from Serie to Kurtz. "...Elder Elf."
The pause was noticeable. He'd never encountered a short-eared elf before, but since Kurtz travelled in Serie's company, the logical assumption was that he must also be elven.
After all, elves were famously exclusive and reclusive; they didn't typically associate with other races.
"I'm not an elf," Kurtz explained with practised patience. "I'm human."
The admission drew a blank stare. Humans had virtually no reputation in this era, positive or negative. They simply didn't register on most people's awareness.
"Human?" The dwarf leader's brow furrowed in genuine confusion.
His expression suggested that he was trying to place this term within his understanding of the world's various races, but was coming up empty.
Seeing the bewildered look on the dwarf's weathered face, Kurtz abandoned any hope of finding others of his kind in this remote village.
"Never mind the specifics," he said with a slight smile. "I'm Kurtz, she's Serie, and we're currently travelling the continent."
"Travellers?" The dwarf leader nodded slowly, the concept more familiar than the racial classification.
"I am Amuro Ironfoot, Chief of this settlement. We plan to hold a celebration feast tonight in honour of our survival, and I would be deeply honoured if both of you would attend. It's the least we can offer to repay this debt."
"What do you think?" Kurtz glanced toward Serie.
She had been the primary damage dealer in their brief engagement, personally responsible for eliminating the majority of the Wolf Fiends.
His own contribution had been purely supportive, useful, but hardly decisive.
Serie considered for a moment, then shrugged with apparent indifference. "Acceptable."
…
As night settled over the village, the dwarves kindled a massive bonfire in the central square.
The flames cast dancing shadows across the stone buildings and reflected warmly off the defenders' battle-worn faces.
During the preparations, Kurtz volunteered for fire-lighting duties throughout the settlement.
His casual finger-snap fire magic drew fascinated stares from every dwarf who witnessed it. The simple utility spell represented a level of convenience they could only dream of.
If they could master such magic, they'd never again need to go through the laborious process of drilling wood for tinder, then carefully nursing the resulting spark into a sustainable flame.
Unfortunately, such techniques remained forever beyond their reach.
Dwarves were famously magical idiots, completely unable to learn even the most basic spellwork.
"Thank you again, Master Kurtz."
Amuro approached with two pewter cups filled with what smelled like potent alcohol.
During the earlier cleanup of Wolf Fiend corpses, Kurtz had provided invaluable magical assistance, for which the patriarch remained genuinely grateful.
Monster blood was notoriously toxic to soil and groundwater. Even the corpses required complete incineration, otherwise they risked becoming undead or mutating into something far worse.
Having a mage available to ensure thorough disposal was an enormous relief.
"Think nothing of it, Chief Amuro." Kurtz accepted the offered cup and clinked it against the dwarf's in a traditional toast.
Amuro's beard was impressively long and had turned completely white, giving him the appearance of considerable age.
Kurtz recalled that dwarves in this world enjoyed much longer lifespans than humans, typically two to three hundred years.
After all, it had been decades since the new calendar's establishment, and legendary figures like Azel had only recently entered what they considered old age.
On the surface, Azel claimed he could no longer properly wield an axe, but in reality, he could still kill demons with single, devastating strikes.
Then there was Folu, the dwarven warrior responsible for village defence, who appeared even older than Amuro but remained incredibly strong in combat.
It seemed that judging dwarven strength by apparent age was a fool's errand.
"Honoured Serie, are you certain you require nothing else?"
Amuro approached the elf, who sat somewhat apart from the main celebration, holding only a simple cup of clear water.
Her golden eyes reflected the firelight as she watched the proceedings with detached interest.
"No, I don't drink alcohol," she replied with characteristic bluntness. "And your cooking methodology is too chaotic for my palate."
Kurtz felt a spike of surprise at this comment.
When he prepared meals for Serie during their travels, she never complained about ingredients or criticised his techniques. She consumed whatever he provided without comment or apparent dissatisfaction.
He took an experimental bite of the roasted meat skewer he'd been offered. The surface was crusted with coarse salt, and the flavour was undeniably robust, hearty, filling, but definitely crude compared to his own carefully balanced cooking.
The dwarves clearly prioritised substance over subtlety.
Amuro didn't seem offended by Serie's rejection. If anything, her participation in the celebration at all struck him as more generous than expected from her kind.
Compared to Serie's aloof behaviour, Kurtz seemed refreshingly approachable and normal.
"It seems Master Kurtz truly isn't an elf," Amuro observed, settling down beside the fire with his own drink.
"I have to confess, this old dwarf has never encountered humans before. What manner of people are they, I wonder?"
He stroked his magnificent beard thoughtfully, a distant look entering his weathered eyes.
"In my younger days, I travelled extensively across this continent and encountered many different races. Some were capable of meaningful communication; others were little better than beasts. It's unfortunate that I eventually ran against a group of demons during those journeys and nearly lost my life to them. Since that encounter, I've never left our village boundaries."
Amuro pushed up his sleeve, revealing a jagged scar that ran from his forearm clear across his chest. The old wound was pale and twisted, speaking of terrible trauma barely survived.
"Are demons really that dangerous?" Kurtz asked, studying the impressive battle scar.
"Extremely dangerous, Master Kurtz," Amuro's tone carried the weight of hard-earned experience.
"Every demon is evolved from the most powerful examples of their original monster species. Neither their combat capabilities nor their mastery of magic should ever be underestimated."
"You must never take demons lightly," Serie interjected suddenly, her voice cutting through the fireside conversation like a blade. "You should understand that the destruction of the original Dwarf Kingdom was directly caused by demonic interference."
Kurtz noticed that as Serie spoke, a flash of deep pain crossed Amuro's eyes, old grief that time had dulled but never fully healed.
"This continent once hosted five great kingdoms," Serie continued with the measured tone of someone recounting historical fact.
"The Dwarf Kingdom was among the mightiest of them all. But that entire civilisation was destroyed in a single night, its people scattered into wandering clans across the wilderness."
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