ushernet Chapter 308
Chapter 308
Chapter 308
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. Updated chapters on
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.
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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