Chapter 10: The Dwarfs
Amuro nodded with visible pain etched across his weathered features.
"That's right, our Ironfoot Tribe numbers among the survivors from that catastrophe. But this village was established much later, after several family branches split away from the original survivors."
The dwarves had fragmented considerably in the generations since.
The impact of that nation-destroying blow still echoed through their scattered people, creating divisions that might never fully heal.
"So your Dwarf Kingdom was destroyed by the Demon Race?" Kurtz pressed, studying the patriarch's haunted expression.
"Yes!" The word came out like a hammer strike.
Amuro had been barely more than a child during those dark days, yet the memories remained vivid and terrible.
He could still see it all with perfect clarity, a massive magical circle that covered the entire Dwarf King City, its geometry pulsing with evil energy.
From that circle had poured forth an endless tide of monsters, wave after wave of claws and fangs and burning eyes.
Despite the presence of countless elite dwarven warriors in the capital, despite their legendary axes and unbreakable armour, they simply couldn't withstand such overwhelming numbers.
And behind it all, directing the chaos with cold intelligence, had been the Demon Race itself.
From that day forward, the Dwarf Kingdom had vanished from the world as if it had never existed.
Monsters and the Demon Race had become the common enemies of every living creature on the continent.
The memory of it made Amuro slam his wine cup down hard against the wooden table. The cloudy alcohol splashed across the scarred surface as his knuckles went white with suppressed rage.
"The most damnable irony of it all," he growled, voice thick with bitter self-blame, "is that the power source for those demon magic circles came from an ancient relic we dwarves unearthed ourselves!"
Kurtz felt his eyebrows rise. That was quite the plot twist.
The dwarves' legendary hunger for precious metals and gemstones had driven them to dig ever deeper into their mountain mines, always seeking the next vein of gold or cache of diamonds.
Eventually, their pickaxes had struck something far more significant and far more dangerous than mere treasure.
At the time, the entire kingdom had celebrated the discovery. They'd never imagined they were unearthing the instrument of their own destruction.
'Hmm,' Kurtz mused. 'A somewhat familiar plot structure. I wonder if there's an Arkenstone equivalent involved here.'
"What exactly was this ancient relic?" he asked aloud.
"A red stone tablet," Amuro replied, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.
Serie suddenly leaned forward, her golden eyes sharpening with unmistakable interest. "And where is that tablet now?"
The intensity of her question caught both men off guard. Amuro shook his head slowly, his expression troubled.
"It vanished on the night our kingdom fell. The tablet might still lie somewhere in the ruins of the capital, but at least we know the demons never claimed it for themselves. There is some small comfort in that."
Kurtz glanced sideways at Serie, noting her sudden engagement with the topic, but she had already retreated into her characteristic silence.
Her face revealed nothing of whatever thoughts were churning behind those ancient eyes.
He'd have to ask her about it when they were alone later.
"Master Kurtz," Amuro said, shifting his weight and fixing the human with a serious look. "I have a request to make of you."
Through careful observation during the evening's festivities, the dwarf patriarch had noticed something interesting about the pair's dynamic.
Most decisions and conversations seemed to flow through Kurtz, while Serie remained largely aloof from such mundane interactions.
Now that these powerful travellers had appeared in their remote village, perhaps it represented some form of divine providence.
"Please speak your mind," Kurtz replied, though he held up a cautioning hand. "But let me say up front, we're just ordinary travellers. Don't expect miracles from us."
The dwarven ale was admittedly excellent, smooth and potent without being overwhelming.
Kurtz didn't mind agreeing to reasonable requests, especially given how developed this settlement's civilisation appeared to be.
Various silk fabrics, complete sets of masterwork armour, intricate metalwork, everything demonstrated truly impressive craftsmanship.
Before they departed, he absolutely had to acquire some supplies. At a minimum, a few proper blankets to replace their current practice of sleeping on bare ground every night.
"Actually," Amuro said, seeming to gather his resolve, "I want you to spar with my son."
The request left Kurtz momentarily speechless, and even Serie raised her head with what might have been mild surprise.
"Why would you want that?" he asked carefully.
"Because this rebellious child keeps insisting he wants to go on adventures," Amuro replied, barely controlling his exasperation. "I want you to help me crush those ridiculous notions before they get him killed."
The patriarch's hands clenched into fists as he spoke.
Having experienced the brutal realities of the outside world firsthand, he understood exactly how dangerous travel could be.
His son was still essentially a forty-year-old child by dwarven standards. How could any father feel comfortable letting such inexperience wander into harm's way?
Only by demonstrating the vast power gap between his son and these obviously capable travellers could he hope to make the boy see reason.
But Kurtz suspected there were deeper currents at work here. Unlike most dwarves, Amuro's son sounded like a genuine anomaly among his people, something that would inevitably create social friction in a culture as traditional as this one.
"He gets splitting headaches from alcohol," Amuro continued, clearly warming to his complaints.
"Every village celebration becomes an ordeal for him. He's terrible at forging, which is our most sacred craft. Instead, he's obsessed with weaving and other... less masculine pursuits."
Kurtz noted that in this particular dwarven community, there seemed to be little distinction between male and female roles. The women wore armour and fought alongside the men as equals.
"But most importantly," Amuro's voice dropped to an almost mortified whisper, "my son doesn't grow a beard!"
Ah. Now they were getting to the real heart of the matter.
A dwarf without a beard would indeed be like a hairless cat wandering into a colony of fluffy Persians. The other cats would definitely hiss.
"He gets headaches from alcohol? That sounds like a genuine allergy," Kurtz observed. "But the beard situation definitely makes him stand out in unfortunate ways."
In a village where even the women sported impressive facial hair, being clean-shaven would mark someone as fundamentally different, and not in ways this traditional culture would celebrate.
"What do you think, Serie?" Kurtz asked, turning to his companion.
If they were actually going to engage in combat, Serie would definitely need to handle it personally.
He maintained a realistic awareness of his current abilities, and they didn't include defeating dwarven warriors in single combat.
"Acceptable," Serie replied with the casual tone of someone agreeing to a light snack.
She certainly wouldn't refuse an opportunity to fight someone new. The prospect probably excited her more than the feast had.
"In that case, let's go meet your son."
…
Amuro led them through the village's winding stone paths to a modest dwelling that looked much like all the others. After a few sharp knocks, the door opened to reveal a figure that made Kurtz blink in surprise.
He'd never imagined that one day he would apply the word "delicate" to describe a dwarf, yet the person standing before them absolutely deserved that adjective.
Could the absence of facial hair really have such a dramatic impact on dwarven appearance?
The young dwarf, Somo, had presumably been present during the afternoon's monster attack, but his full armour and helmet had concealed his distinctive features.
Now, seeing him clearly for the first time, Kurtz understood why he might feel like an outsider in his own community.
"Father," Somo said, eyeing the visitors with obvious curiosity, "why aren't you escorting our guests to the celebration instead of bringing them here?"
Amuro's expression hardened into something resembling paternal determination mixed with tactical calculation.
"Somo, you've always claimed you want to go adventuring. Very well, defeat these two travellers in combat, and I'll give you my blessing."
The young dwarf's eyes instantly blazed with excitement. "Really?" He looked eagerly between Kurtz and Serie, practically vibrating with anticipation. "Just watch me!"
His confidence was so absolute that Kurtz had to suppress a smile. The kid had no idea what he was getting himself into.
Serie simply regarded Somo with cool indifference. "Amusing," she murmured.
Somo spun around and dashed back into his house, emerging moments later with an ornate long-handled battle axe cradled in his arms like a precious child.
The weapon was a masterwork of dwarven craftsmanship, its blade covered in intricate geometric patterns that seemed to shift and flow in the firelight.
Rather than a mere tool of war, it resembled a piece of living art.
"He couldn't forge something like that himself," Kurtz noted, studying the axe's elaborate design. "That level of work represents decades of experience."
"It's my father's masterpiece," Somo said with obvious pride, running his fingers along the weapon's handle. "It accompanied him through countless battles before he passed it down to me."
Serie examined the patterns more closely, her expression shifting to something approaching professional interest.
"Dwarves cannot wield magic in the traditional sense," she explained, clearly directing her words toward Kurtz's education, "but they possess the most sophisticated forging techniques on the continent. They engrave magical formulas directly onto weapons in the form of runic patterns, thereby giving their creations supernatural properties."
"Magical enchantment, essentially?" Kurtz found himself genuinely intrigued by the concept. "I wonder if outsiders could learn such techniques."
"It's Unlikely, Master Kurtz," Amuro interjected, having overheard their conversation.
"Dwarven forging secrets cannot be mastered by other races. The knowledge of these runic patterns is especially protected; it's been passed down through bloodlines for countless generations."
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