He caressed the Melting Furnace obsessively. He was so engrossed that his movements looked a bit uncoordinated.
"You didn't send an Elf with clumsy hands and feet to compete, did you? A win like this would feel cheap for us Dwarves. Of course, even the best Elf artisan can't compare to a Dwarf."
Bane continued his barrage.
"Why are you targeting an Elven youth like that?" Antinoya said. "Are you scared? Worried he's the one you should be most afraid of, that you'll end up watching the Dwarves lose to an Elf child?"
Bane retorted stubbornly, "How is that possible? Am I that kind of Dwarf? I just can't bear to see the Elves lose too badly."
Despite his words, he was actually a little flustered. He saw his younger self in Simon.
The same obsession, the same focus.
'I just hope he doesn't have the same skill.'
It wasn't that old Bane was arrogant, but if it were him, several decades younger, the two Dwarf contestants on the stage wouldn't stand a chance.
