Chapter 434 – Misjudgment (1)
The air grew cold.
The feverish cheers that seemed never-ending had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a chilling silence.
Among Gharun's disciples, some faces had stiffened completely, while others had turned pale as death. A few even had trembling hands.
"Th- the Black Volcano, you say."
From the dwarf came a wave of emotion that was no different from terror, following on the heels of shock.
Something was wrong.
Feeling doubt, Verden asked Linus, who was showing a horrified reaction.
"What is this Black Volcano that you speak of?"
"Ah... ah, yes. The Black Volcano, in short, is a cursed land, one that dwarves must never trespass upon."
Cursed?
"As Your Excellency knows, volcanic regions are warm throughout the entire year no matter where you go, and in extreme cases the heat is so intense it can burn human skin red. It is a land where lava is more easily found than streams. Snow never falls there, of course, and the very concept of cold is rare. But... the Black Volcano is different."
Linus spoke in a subdued tone.
"The Black Volcano is land where the earth veins have run dry. To dwarves, it is called 'the forge where hammering has ceased'. It is the only cold place in the volcanic region."
Dwarves are a race that build their lives upon the geothermal heat of volcanic lands.
To them, heat itself is regarded as a lifelong companion, so land bereft of geothermal energy is no different from a land of death.
"Was it always like that?"
"No. In the past, there was once a clan in the Black Volcano, led by a great dwarf known as the 'Golden Anvil'. But it was wiped out in an instant."
"The reason?"
"I don't know the details. My master never spoke much of it, so I refrained from asking. However, what is certain is that the Black Volcano has been tacitly forbidden for dwarves for centuries... a place truly dreadful to us."
Not ten, not twenty years, but centuries.
If the fear that had carried on from the past still lingered after such an expanse of time, it was not a matter easily resolved.
The dwarves' perception of the Black Volcano had not just hardened but become utterly fixed.
Verden stroked his chin.
'Just what does Gharun intend to do?'
Simply relying on his standing as a master, and the fame of the Hammer of Integrity, to persuade them, would be far too difficult.
After all, the dwarves who had been clamoring madly over Gharun's name and lineage had all shut their mouths tight, their faces dead serious.
While Verden closely observed the situation, Gharun, unaffected by the reversal in atmosphere, looked at his disciples and spoke.
"You have all heard it at least once in your lives. 'Enter the Black Volcano and the clan's forge will run dry'. 'Mine ore in the Black Volcano and the clan's mineshafts will collapse'. 'A cursed dwarf lives in the Black Volcano.... such old rumors as these."
"..."
"Stories passed down through the ages, all of them alike in planting fear within us. When I was young it was even more so, and thus I know better than anyone how much dwarves dread the Black Volcano. But let me ask you this. Among you, has any dwarf actually witnessed the Black Volcano?"
Gharun fixed his eyes on a random disciple.
The dwarf, caught by the gaze, darted his eyes about before shaking his head.
"N- no, I haven't."
"Right, you haven't."
Thud!
Gharun lightly lifted Marquab and struck the ground once.
"Neither in the past nor in the present has there been proof that the rumors of the Black Volcano are real. Even though three hundred years have passed. And yet, must dwarves still fear the Black Volcano?"
"But tradition says..."
"Of course, following tradition is important. From the experiences of our forebears we have built our present. I, too, have no wish to recklessly break a taboo carried on for so long.
However.
"Even so, I say to you, you must go to the Black Volcano. Why? Because we are dwarves."
Gharun raised his voice.
"The Black Volcano was once the forge of the greatest clan. The fortresses and facilities touched by their hands now lie buried in that frigid ground. In other words, the legacy of the clan that led the Golden Age of dwarves is being neglected. Though three hundred years have passed, if we recall the achievements of the 'Golden Anvil', then surely their skill must rival that of the Red Volcano Clan."
The dwarves murmured among themselves.
They were certainly intrigued, but the majority of their voices were filled more with concern over curses than with curiosity.
Gharun paid it no mind.
"A curse? Perhaps, it may truly exist. Yet even if it does, is cowering in fear what it means to be a dwarf? Not at all. Think carefully. That kind of attitude is no different from these modern dwarves who seek to clasp hands with humans."
Kwaaaang!
Marquab, empowered by Gharun's monstrous strength, shattered the floor.
"Forget the legends of three hundred years ago and remember the ancestors of ages past. They did not lose their spirit in harsh times. Rather, they gave their lives and souls to hammer the forge!"
The air of the mineshaft, which had grown endlessly cold, began to heat up.
"From fire we craft blessings, through forging we bestow curses. Creation has always been in our hands. We are the orthodox dwarves."
"Orthodox...!"
At that word, all of them flinched.
The dwarves, who had turned deathly pale, now had color returning to their faces, their hearts pounding.
Gharun did not miss the moment.
"Say it aloud. What are we?"
"Orthodox!"
The dwarves, who had been cowed by the legend of the Black Volcano, began to raise their voices one by one.
"Who are we?!"
"Orthodox dwarves!!"
At last, fervor returned.
"For the noble orthodox!!"
"Yes... yes! Master is right, we are not like these modern weaklings! Curse or not, nothing can hinder our creation and our hammers!"
"No threat can stop a dwarf!"
"Indeed, the Hammer of Integrity! You are truly a dwarf!"
"Gharun! Gharun!"
"Or-tho-dox! Or-tho-dox!"
Their voices overlapped and merged into one.
The mineshaft trembled violently because of it, but none paid attention.
That cramped space now burned with will.
Time to drive in the final wedge.
Gharun hefted Marquab with one hand and pointed forward.
"If your resolve is set, then go, make your preparations! In the tradition of the dawn, for the sake of creation! We shall go willingly into the Black Volcano!"
"Uwoooooooooh!"
All the dwarf disciples roared with fervor.
Not a single one remained untouched by Gharun's fiery speech.
With their orders given, the dwarves thundered out of the mineshaft, their footsteps shaking the ground, rushing toward the Waystone to gather tools and supplies.
The mineshaft became empty in an instant.
"Phew, been a long time since I roused the mood, it's damn tiring. Usually this kind of thing is for clan chiefs to do."
Gharun took in hand one of his belongings, taken from the clan's treasure vault, a [Bottomless Flask], which hung at his waist.
This was an item imbued with the same crafting techniques as a spatial bag, into which, long ago, an enormous amount of potent liquor had been poured, making it akin to a flask that would never run dry.
Gharun, having taken a hearty drink, exhaled a pungent breath.
Verden approached.
"Your speech was well done. Indeed, as time passed the dwarves were moved, and in the end their hearts changed.... But will your disciples, who went to the Waystone, truly return?"
Emotions change.
Even if positive for a moment, within minutes they may turn negative, such is the heart.
Not only for humans, but for dwarves as well.
"If those brats are true dwarves, they'll come."
Gharun answered shortly, but held his own certainty.
Perhaps it could be called a master's faith.
Having just poured out a torrent of oratory, Gharun yawned and sprawled lazily in a corner of the mineshaft.
"...Tsk, somehow I doubt they'll come."
Only Linus alone was pessimistic.
And after half a day had passed.
"Those damn dwarf bastards?"
Not a single one of Gharun's disciples had returned.
***
Why had they not returned?
The reason was simple.
For dwarves, not entering the Black Volcano was their tra──dition.
No matter how much Gharun raved about the tradition of the dawn, his disciples chose to follow the existing tradition.
Because it was more advantageous for them. It was simply an expression of their desire not to go to the Black Volcano.
"Tsk."
Verden clicked his tongue.
'I didn't think all of them would come... but not a single dwarf, truly.'
Even despite Gharun's fame and speech.
To selectively choose what was orthodox, then hide behind it to shirk an unpleasant task—such selfishness of the dwarves was almost absurd.
Alpha stared intently at Verden.
[Tsk.]
Alpha had learned well.
"When they begged to be disciples, they said they'd do anything...! They're expelled, all of them, expelled. From now on those bastard dwarves have no right to speak of orthodoxy. If they dare, I'll smash their skulls with my own hand."
Sitting idly, Gharun muttered constant complaints.
His appearance was one of great wrath.
By his furious swings of the great hammer, Marquab, the mineshaft where he had given his speech to his disciples had long since been smashed apart, collapsing entirely and sinking into rubble.
"..."
[…]
Verden and Alpha watched Gharun.
Even this legendary dwarf, knowing shame, deliberately averted his gaze and let out forced coughs again and again.
"Well, dwarves being selfish isn't anything new. To be honest, I expected it."
"Shut it, Linus."
"..."
"Damn."
Gharun gulped down drink after drink.
At any rate.
Just because things hadn't gone as planned, staying idle had no meaning.
"So the problem is that though the Black Volcano holds dwarven facilities, we lack the manpower to find and actively use them. Do you have an alternative?"
Verden did not blame Gharun at all for the current situation.
That was natural.
Who could condemn a dwarf who had not only broken out of prison to forge Verden's weapon, but had also plundered the clan's treasury and abandoned his own fortune to do so?
Even if, in truth, it had all been for himself.
What mattered now was the solution.
"Mm, there's no helping it, it'll have to be me and Linus alone."
"Can it be managed with so few?"
"It can, but it will take dozens of times more effort, and the efficiency will drop greatly. Dwarven facilities are designed to harness the strength of the many, to artificially heighten each individual's skill and shorten production time."
Click, Gharun smacked his lips.
"With me here, the technical side lacks nothing... but how long it'll take, we won't know until we try. After so long the facilities will need thorough restoration, and they'll have to be specially adjusted for so few hands. That's why other dwarves were needed, damn it."
In the end, it was a matter of time.
That it wasn't impossible at all was enough for Verden to be satisfied.
"Then the key is to locate the facilities more quickly. Let's depart. It seems your disciples truly won't come."
Even though enough time had passed for a round trip on foot, there was not the slightest sign of dwarves in the area.
Step, step.
Verden moved forward.
He could have used
'Instantaneous spatial teleportation is an ace up the sleeve.'
For that reason, while waiting for Gharun's disciples, he had created an open clearing and prepared a multi-dimensional teleportation circle.
The difficulty of such a circle scales with distance and number of travelers.
Leaving aside distance, he had planned to move nearly twenty people, so Verden had labored several hours to inscribe it... yet, as it stood, at the center of the wide magic circle stood only four: Alpha included.
Gharun furrowed his brow.
"This is shameful, no doubt about it."
"Pay it no mind."
"Don't bother consoling me, young Transcendent. I've lived longer than you."
Judging from his sighing reply, it seemed his feelings toward his disciples had already been set aside.
"Damn worthless dwarf bastards."
Or perhaps not?
Well, no matter.
Fwoooosh.
Verden activated the teleportation circle.
The magic array flickered.
The waves emitted from the massive magic power swirled even more violently.
The more it raged, the stronger the light grew, and soon their vision was dyed in violet.
Verden, Alpha, Gharun, Linus.
With a flash of purple, they crossed space, moving from near the Waystone to the boundary of the Black Volcano.
***
The Black Volcano was an unfamiliar land even to Gharun, who had lived over two centuries.
He did not know exactly where the clan's fortress was, nor could he guarantee what might occur.
The forge where hammering had ceased.
Truly, the unknown.
Of course, for Verden, it was no cause for concern. Whether cursed land or otherwise, if it blocked his path, he would simply break through.
The Transcendent of Destruction had begun his exploration.
***
Pak! Pak! Pak! Pak! Pak!
The dwarves, seasoned in the use of pickaxes, continued their work without pause.
The blocked passage was being dug open by the moment, and debris rolling across the floor was loaded onto metal carts and carried away.
At every distance gained, they immediately erected supports and reinforced the ceiling to prevent potential collapses or falling debris.
Thus, in just a few days, part of the fortress's core had been restored.
The passage was reopened.
Arkul, who had taken the lead in the excavation, joined the dwarves waiting outside, his body covered in dust.
"Clan Chief! Are you all right..."
"Where is Gharun?"
"Huh?"
"That senile old fool, where is he now?"
Arkul clenched his teeth.
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