Chapter 308
- This Too Shall Pass (1)
#1 Their Circumstances: The Circumstances of a Certain Race
In the beginning when the world was created, there were gods in the divine realm, and there were various races in the mortal realm.
The gods looked down upon the earth while taking care of the races that the Creator had left them. And the various races prospered, receiving the gods’ blessings.
Naturally, while looking at the gods who were protecting them, the various races cultivated their own characteristics.
The elves, loved by the gods of nature, peace and compassion, lived alongside nature and pursued peace.
The beastmen, loved by the gods of fighting, struggle and war, pursued strength.
And this race, loved by the gods of earth, fire and creation, endlessly made things.
Those who spend most of their lives underground mining ore, living alongside fire.
Those who would even abandon their hometowns where they had lived for hundreds of years in pursuit of better materials.
Those who hated stopping work more than death itself.
The gods called that race dwarves, and the world called them craftsmen.
And the village of such craftsmen.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
A sound of something being hit at regular intervals could be heard.
The sound of striking iron.
Although it’s a sound you’d normally hear from a smithy, for the world of dwarves it was different.
The sound of striking iron was both a sacred sound and also something you could hear anywhere at any time – an everyday sound.
“Hit it harder!”
“Yes, sir!”
A dwarf was shouting, overseeing the dwarves around him.
The world’s perception is that all dwarves are craftsmen.
And that’s not a wrong perception.
Indeed, as a race, the dwarves grow up striking iron from a young age, and every single one of them makes things with a craftsman’s spirit.
But in a collective, naturally people compare with those around them.
In the world of dwarves where everyone was a craftsman, craftsmanship at a master level was the minimum requirement.
A craftsman who in the human world would be matchless, would in this place just be an ordinary blacksmith receiving insults while training to refine his skills.
“For a blacksmith, iron is first love. Gold? Nice, that’s for sure. Shiny, cool, and expensive too. Create it well enough and even that greedy dragon will drool. It can just become simple decoration, but infuse the right magic and you can make wonderful gold using pure gold alone, too.”
While looking at the dozens of dwarf blacksmiths striking iron, an old dwarf raised his voice.
“Mithril? Even better. Good as a metal itself, and even better for fusing with magic. For such a rare metal, it flows pretty widely too. Truly for a blacksmith, mithril is the best material!”
The sound of striking iron echoed loudly here and there.
Even then, the old man’s voice didn’t get buried. Rather, it pierced the sound of the iron, engraving itself into the blacksmiths’ ears and hearts.
“But iron is our first love. It’s the first thing we grab when we first learn blacksmithing, what we touch the most, and probably what we touch until the very end, too.”
Thump! Thump! Thump!
They struck the iron without saying a word.
There was no need to reply with words from their mouths.
This is our answer!
It was as if saying that, they just strongly struck the iron.
“For blacksmiths, iron is the beginning and the end. Mithril? A true craftsman should be able to defeat a mithril sword with an iron sword.”
It was nonsensical talk.
There was an incomparable difference between iron and mithril.
No matter how excellent a master they might be, there’s no way to defeat a mithril sword with an iron sword.
That’s just common sense.
And the ones building their skills in order to smash that common sense.
They were the craftsmen of craftsmen, the dwarven race that even sword-makers respect.
“Don’t just hit iron meaninglessly, feel the soul. The iron is talking to you. To make itself stronger and firmer!”
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Despite there being dozens of people striking their own iron, the sound echoed uniformly.
It’s often said that there’s a lot of noise in a blacksmith shop.
That was natural.
Melt the iron, hammer it, melt it again, hammer it again.
The place where the sound of iron clashing with iron continues to echo and spread.
That’s because this place is a blacksmith’s shop.
But this place was different.
The crying sound of iron created by several craftsmen working in harmony was like a piece of music.
It was the song of iron that would not lose at all even when compared with the performance of excellent musicians.
“Iron is fundamental for a blacksmith. Iron benefits the world. What we want is not to make weapons that harm others. We hone our skills to benefit the world.”
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Now the dwarf blacksmiths were focused solely on hammering iron, ignoring the old dwarf.
Seeing their state, the old dwarf had a faint smile.
The state of no-self.
Seeing his junior blacksmiths forgetting even themselves and putting their souls solely into hammering iron, the old dwarf felt joy.
“Silver or gold? Good. Mithril? Good! Adamantium? Orichalcum? Ertel? Yes, they are all good metals. They are metals that ordinary blacksmiths rarely see even after honing their skills for a lifetime, and metals that even we who handle all kinds of metals rarely see casually. But!”
Was it because he raised his voice too much?
The old dwarf felt his throat hurt a bit and took a sip of the water next to him that was originally cold.
“You cannot say that they benefit the world. Have you ever seen farming tools made of silver or gold? Have you ever seen a shovel made of mithril, a hoe made of adamantium, or a rake made of Orichalcum or ertel!”
Feeling like squeezing out everything inside him, the old dwarf who drank the water warmed by the ambient temperature shouted.
“No. Everything made with such good metals are all weapons.”
Dwarven technology will benefit the world.
It had been something dwarves as a race had prided themselves on for a very long time.
But reality was different.
Seeing the technologies they had honed to benefit the world, the world said this.
‘Make better weapons for me. Make more powerful weapons. Make weapons that can kill people even a little bit more!’
The world wanted tools from them that would be stained with blood.
They made weapons not to benefit the world but to destroy it.
“Weapons themselves are not bad. Taking up arms to protect something is the right thing to do. Who would blame the warriors who raise their swords to stand against the evil god?”
The old dwarf did not make weapons to kill others.
But neither did he make any weapons at all. Rather, he was the dwarf who made the most swords among this clan of dwarves.
Make a blade, melt it again.
Make a blade, melt it again.
Make a blade, melt it again!
Through the work of making and melting several swords a day, he made a sword that cuts without an edge and a sword that cannot cut anything even with an edge.
The dwarves called those two swords the life-and-death swords and praised them.
“So strike iron. Most farmers use iron farming tools. Everything that benefits the world also uses iron. Iron has no special characteristics. Instead, it exists everywhere and is a tough, straight metal.”
The metal that could be found even in a small countryside blacksmith’s shop was iron.
Because iron was so widely distributed in this world, the world progressed.
“A blacksmith must know iron. Must learn iron. Because iron is fundamental.”
Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!
Hearing the sound of striking iron, the old dwarf thought.
After making the two swords called the life-and-death swords, this clan changed their criteria for making weapons.
They would only make weapons for those who could wield the life-and-death swords.
“If you learn the basics and comprehend it, you will be able to realize the spirit of iron. And if you can realize the spirit of iron, you will be able to recognize the existence the iron chooses.”
The one who makes swords is the blacksmith, but the true master of that sword is the swordsman.
The maker and the user.
You cannot say who is more important.
If the maker makes weapons with evil intent, they can create weapons that can corrupt the user.
If the user has evil intentions, even a sword made with the most upright will can become corrupted.
That’s why the old man’s life and death sword could become the standard for this clan.
“A true swordsman can cut anything with a sword without an edge. And such a swordsman can not cut even a single leaf with an edged sword.”
Thinking of the human who told him this saying, the old man smiled bitterly.
The ordeal of this clan is simple.
Using the swords called life and death swords like original swords. In other words, not being able to cut things with dull edges, and being able to cut things with sharp edges.
Just listening to it, it’s a very easy task.
It’s natural that dull edges can’t cut, and sharp edges can cut.
But all the swordsmen who used the swords could only be shocked.
No matter how hard they swung the sharp sword, they couldn’t cut anything. And when they carefully swung the dull sword, even steel was cut.
Witnessing the moment when the common sense of the world was destroyed, the swordsmen lost their calm.
Ordinary humans rarely meet dwarves in their lifetime.
There are rare occasions when they meet dwarves, but that only happens very rarely, like at the Empire Festival of the Karan Empire.
Dwarves were that kind of existence.
A race that prefers to make something in a workshop or forge rather than wandering the world.
A race that pursues endless learning in their own sanctuary.
A race that everyone wants but they don’t want others, so they hide very deep and don’t reveal themselves to the world!
Finding the sanctuary of such a race was very difficult.
Because there are only 12 dwarven villages, no, dwarven clans existing on the vast continent.
With so much ardour, in order to achieve something they want to achieve, they ask the dwarves for weapons.
Knowing this, the dwarves also give opportunities to those who come to their village.
But not everyone could pass those opportunities. No, it was the dwarves’ ordeal that only a very few could pass.
The ordeal of this clan was the same.
An ordeal that those who can’t hear the soul of iron can’t pass.
That was the role of the life and death swords made by the dwarf elder, and it was an ordeal that only a few people had passed in a history of over 100 years.
Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!
Unlike the old man’s bitter smile, the song of iron was reaching its climax.
“Iron does not lie. So understand iron. If you understand iron, you can know the mind of the one who handles it and the one to be handled.”
After saying that, the old man snorted.
It wasn’t a lie.
Those who understood the extremes of iron could see the personality of the one who made the sword and the owner just by looking at the sword.
He was so sure of it. Until there was one exception.
Whenever he thought of that exception, the old man sighed.
“A sword that can’t cut even with an edge, and a sword that can cut even without an edge…”
When he first saw him, the old man couldn’t help but be surprised.
It was common for all swordsmen who saw the life and death swords to be surprised.
But that man didn’t show surprise, but admiration. And he passed the trial way too easily.
“Well, it’s a sword.”
Cutting with the sharp one, and not cutting with the dull one.
Seeing the man who broke through the trial as if it was natural, the old man and the other dwarf craftsmen shuddered.
‘Is it possible to make something like this…?’
And after listening to the weapon he explained, the old man and other craftsmen realized that the weapon they wanted was right here.
“As a craftsman, speak to the iron. About what you pursue, about how you will change the iron.”
Thump! Thump! Thump! …Thump!
As soon as the old man’s words ended, the song of iron ended.
And at the same time, the dwarves who were in the world of nothingness returned to the original world, and the iron became a sharp-edged sword blade.
“If the craftsman desires it, even without an edge, the sword can have a sharp edge. You all followed well.”
“Thank you, Elder!”
In the place of the dwarves who left with satisfied expressions holding the results they produced, only soot burnt by the sword remained.
Always striking iron, and so only burnt soot remains.
Seeing the same result as the name of the tribe, called the Black Anvil tribe, the old man sighed.
“I wonder why I’m reminded of that time…”
The intention of the user and creator was great.
A weapon, but a weapon that does not kill.
A weapon that clearly made people regret their sins and wrongdoings, that made the world a better place.
But the end was… Horrifying enough to be called the evil god’s army.
“Elder!”
Just as he was immersed in old memories, the words of a young dwarf who rushed in suddenly made the old man realize why he had recalled those old memories.
“He, he came! The honorary elder Hectare has come to our village!”
That human he remembered.
He taught many things to the Black Anvil tribe, but was the cause of them still struggling with ‘that thing’ which the whole tribe didn’t know yet.
Hearing that he had come, the old man looked up at the ceiling burnt by heat and said.
“Damn it! It’s really an unlucky day.”
That’s right.
He was already… Tainted by someone.
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