Following Alberih's guidance, I stepped into the depths of the workshop.
Riding what served as the workshop's elevator—a magitech disc—we ascended to what amounted to the building's sixth floor. There, a bizarre mountain of clutter revealed itself as a laboratory of sorts.
"Hey! Wolfram. Arjen's here!"
Alberih shouted the moment she stepped off the magitech disc, but no reply came.
"Is he out?"
"That shut-in? No way. He's just too focused on his work to hear us. Follow me."
Alberih navigated the cluttered peaks like a veteran ranger, threading her way through with practiced ease.
I trailed after her, carefully stepping around the objects that threatened to snag my feet, taking pains not to accidentally shatter anything.
It wasn't long before we spotted a dwarf hunched over a table, fiddling anxiously with what might have been a soldering iron—or perhaps a pen; it was impossible to tell.
Alberih didn't care if he was deep in concentration. She bellowed and clapped him hard on the back.
"Hey, Wolfram!"
"Huh?"
"Arjen's here. Looking for that thing you know about."
"Oh? Alberih, you already sent for her?"
"Nah, she just stopped by to check while picking up some Malrusso Russus."
"I see."
Having heard Alberih's explanation, Wolfram turned to glance my way.
In response, I offered a light bow of greeting.
"Long time no see, Wolfram."
"Mm."
Wolfram, the epitome of a grumpy eccentric dwarf, gave a curt nod in reply to my greeting before wordlessly heading toward one corner of the junk mountain.
The sole neatly organized spot amid the chaos.
A collection of items he deemed masterpieces among his creations.
In this display area of various gadgets, Wolfram stopped before a massive cloth-draped object. He turned back to us and spoke.
"I never imagined I'd craft something so brutish... but even so, this one's a masterpiece. I was thoroughly satisfied the whole time I worked on it."
Wolfram grinned as he yanked the cloth away.
"The question is, can you even handle this monster gear?"
The cloth fell aside, and I found myself momentarily speechless at the sight of what lay revealed.
A stand suitable for displaying a halberd or similar polearm held a staff of gleaming silver atop it.
A body of pristine white that tolerated not even the slightest speck of impurity.
A shaft straight and unyielding, without the faintest bend.
A spike-tipped butt cap neatly finishing the end.
Up to this point, it was all standard for a finely crafted staff. The trouble lay in the head.
What should have been a staff head was instead sized for a warhammer.
Four blocks extended in a cross pattern from a central circular core, perfectly symmetrical, their surfaces mirror-polished to flawless smoothness.
Embedded in four grooves were orb-like gems, and upon closer inspection, intricate runes adorned the whole.
Taken as a whole, it resembled a priest's staff forcibly fused with a siege hammer meant for battering castle walls.
Of course, thanks to Wolfram's craftsmanship, it looked elegant and natural despite the absurdity.
"...This is?"
Captivated by the imposing staff, I stared in awe. Wolfram, pride swelling on his face, continued.
"Grand Ritual Weapon of Nonlinear Precedence: Keseff Heyrel."
"A true monster forged from pure complex alloys—nothing like that toy scepter you've been lugging around."
"Length: 182 cm. Weight: 76 kg. Added four chambers as per your request."
"At this point, it's no longer meant for human hands."
Despite his explanation, I approached Keseff Heyrel as if entranced.
"Hold on—huh."
The Keseff Heyrel floated into the air.
I swung it this way and that with one arm, testing its balance.
Ah, this chilling, hefty sensation.
"...Monster of a thing."
Wolfram stared at me in disbelief.
I paid him no mind.
Enthralled by its mana, I inspected every inch.
My entranced reflection gleamed back from its mirror-like silver surface.
"Power source and circuits?"
"Arcanum Pattern Class-5 Runic Resonator pure core."
"Base material?"
"71 kg of pure silver."
"Cartridges? Mana shells? Holy rite shells?"
"Fully compatible, of course. But given your abilities, I'd recommend holy rite shells."
Whoooosh—!
I grinned in satisfaction at the tremor rippling through my forearms from controlling the swing's recoil, then turned to Wolfram.
"Perfect, Walter."
"...What the hell are you babbling, you idiot? My name's Wolfram."
Whatever his reaction, I was thrilled.
The wait of over a year for custom order and completion felt trivial now.
"It's magnificent, Wolfram. Truly."
"...Hmph. Who made it?"
"Can I take it like this?"
"Yeah. Tuning's done as of yesterday. Pay the balance and it's yours."
At Wolfram's words, Alberih pulled a paper from her pocket and handed it to me.
I smiled as I took it and scanned the contents—only for my expression to freeze mid-grin.
Gold.
One digit, two, three... four?
Didn't I already pay 200 gold upfront?
So why this amount...?
"...Wolfram?"
"What?"
"Any discount for regulars?"
"Haggling over my work right in front of a dwarf? Hell, are you even a regular? This is your first proper commission."
"How many Malrusso Russus have I bought from Clonter Workshop?"
"Don't make me laugh. Leave it here if you're gonna spout nonsense."
"Can't do that!"
I clutched my darling (not yet, but soon) new baby close, dodging their wicked hands intent on prying it away.
Then, with the face that never failed to please in mirrors, I mustered my most pitiful, pleading expression toward the dwarves.
But Wolfram and Alberih's gazes remained icily unmoved.
Ugh... these heartless, tearless dwarves.
Biting back tears, I pulled a pouch from my bosom and handed it over.
My entire dungeon earnings to date.
Alberih snatched it deftly and upended it, counting the coins and checks inside.
"632 gold. Short 518."
"...Tab?"
"No chance."
"...I'll take a loan from the Crawler Guild for the rest."
Wolfram tsked pityingly, as if foreseeing my grim road ahead.
And rightly so. Interest rates in this world were no joke.
Goblin usury started at 50% minimum—not worth mentioning. Gnomes were at least 35%.
The Crawler Guild's loans were generous for registered crawlers supporting their growth, but still 25%.
Conscience rates here, sure—but compared to my past life's Korean legal max of 20%, it was prime life-ruiner territory.
Especially for 500 gold, no small sum.
Interest alone would balloon past 60 gold in a year, just from breathing.
—...If you can't pay it back, they might sell off your daughter.
'Don't say such awful things.'
I snapped back at the Goddess's rare worried remark, recalling the fates of those who'd defaulted to the Crawler Guild.
"I'll throw in eight custom holy rite cartridges for this one. You can bless them yourself, right?"
"...Yes."
While Wolfram prepped the cartridges, I swung Keseff Heyrel about, my heart a tangle of dejection and excitement.
'Yeah, from now on, your name's Heyrel.'
Keseff Heyrel was too grandiose and long.
Heyrel hit just right—cute and perfect.
"Weight okay?"
"A bit heavy for one-handed swings, but manageable with two. The recoil's tricky, though—it's heavier than me, so keeping balance is tough."
Mastering it properly would demand not just strength, but technique.
"...Monster of a girl."
Wolfram shook his head in dismay and handed over the packaged cartridges.
"I made it, but its potential makes 'rookie weapon' sound insulting. On the flip side, if the wielder's lacking, it'll devour its master—like any demonic armament."
He jerked his chin toward the magitech disc at the entrance.
"It's tuned, but real combat needs finesse. Wanna test it? Pricey item, so testing ground's on the house."
"Please."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The dungeon city had eight gates into the dungeon.
Parties gathered at the northwest gate buzzed with tension—a mix of anticipation and dread for the dive ahead.
Kaiden Party was no exception.
Kaiden: 14 years in dungeons, human warrior tank and party leader.
Miella: 7 years, catkin scout rogue.
Laira: Unknown years, half-elf ranged archer scout.
Rask: 8 years, lizardman dealer warrior and main attacker.
Even veterans like Kaiden Party felt the strain—dungeons could turn on you anytime.
"Why hasn't that woman shown yet? She didn't eat our gold and bolt, did she?"
Today's tension went beyond that, though.
By leader Kaiden's call, to push past their record 20th floor to 22, they'd shelled out an unheard-of 13-gold "support fee" to temp in a new member.
13 gold meant 13 coins—a fortune.
A city laborer's daily wage was 30-40 coppers.
13 gold equaled 65,000 coppers—five years' pay for an average worker.
Given local crawler ethics, running off with it wouldn't shock anyone.
"No way."
Kaiden dismissed Miella's worry, though a flicker of doubt crossed his mind before he shook it off.
Rusted Silver's gold obsession was legendary, but she'd never been tagged a scammer.
A named crawler with the city's highest honorific, no less.
Derogatory or not, that title carried weight.
13 gold was big, but not enough for her to scam and flee.
"Sorry I'm late. Prep took longer than expected."
Thankfully, Miella's fears proved groundless.
The belated Rusted Silver Arjen approached with a bowed apology.
Unlike our first meeting, she wore silver plate over her priestly robes—part of why she was called Rusted Silver.
Breastplate over the chest, pauldrons on shoulders, vambraces at elbows and wrists, faulds and tassets, greaves and sabatons.
Not full plate, no helm, modular pieces—but warrior-worthy gear.
Even rear-liners didn't dungeon in thin robes alone.
Dungeons struck without warning.
Barring holy cloth resistant to blades and mana, basics meant gambeson or leather over cloth for survival.
Priests layering armor over robes weren't rare.
"...What's that on your back?"
Yet Kaiden Party's shock stemmed from one thing.
A staff?
The shaft protruding over her head was spear- or pole-thick, sure.
But the presumed head was bizarre.
Staff heads concentrated mana-amplifying materials, often bulkier than shafts.
But...
...Isn't this overkill?
Circular core, standard.
Four symmetrical cross-blocks extending outward.
But the scale was insane.
Inverted and slung downward, the head dwarfed Arjen's wide hips and sturdy thighs—big enough for birthing twins unscathed.
More warhammer than staff—or rather, a warhammer pretending to be one.
Hefty-looking too. How was it even strapped on?
"Keh. Never heard Rusted Silver wielded such a standout piece."
"Just finished; picked it up recently."
"Keh. Think you can handle an unfamiliar weapon in combat?"
"I'll make sure there are no issues."
'Unfamiliar? Is that even the problem here?'
Kaiden pondered as he overheard Arjen and Rask.
It screamed warhammer, not staff. Could a slender woman like her wield it?
No backup visible, so that was her only weapon...?
Better raise it now than risk dungeon trouble.
"Keh. Come on, Kaiden, beast girl."
Kaiden agonized as leader, but Arjen, Rask—even taciturn Laira—waited silently at the dungeon entrance.
Kaiden clutched his forehead, then squeezed his eyes shut at Rask's unusually chipper urging and stepped forward.
'It'll work out somehow.'
Too many shocks in too short a time; Kaiden gave up deep thought and followed to the entrance.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Gaaah! My circuits!"
"This concentration's totally fucked."
"...Damp... everything's gone all damp. Keh heh heh..."
Clonter Workshop had been hell since two days ago.
Enormous humidity from the gear-testing room had wrecked water-weak equipment, research, papers—storage media all devastated.
"...Should've charged 100 more gold. Or if you hadn't gotten so hyped over your own creation's performance..."
Alberih sighed, glaring at Wolfram amid the chaos.
"Ahem."
The culprit, Wolfram, coughed awkwardly under her stare.
It all stemmed from Arjen's Keseff Heyrel exceeding expectations, exciting Wolfram into extra demands.
'Didn't expect this much mess.'
Wolfram dodged her glare, recalling a past comrade's—now Crawler Guild leader's—assessment of Arjen.
—A once-in-a-century talent who could challenge the depths in five years.
Sky-high praise from a dungeon veteran who'd danced with death for ages.
—But she underestimates crawlers.
The caveat was sharp, as expected.