Chapter 737: Something's Off
Many precious materials and documents, in order to withstand the erosion of time, are inscribed directly onto the ancient buildings within the ruins. During excavation, the greatest danger is the destruction of these structures—and once these invaluable records, often bound within alchemical arrays, are damaged, they are lost forever, beyond the reach of restoration magic.
Yet the Forgefire Dwarves possess an uncanny ability: they can extract anything of value from these ruins without leaving a single mark on the ancient inscriptions or the delicate alchemical arrays.
This is why, even after thousands of years, hiring a Forgefire Dwarf to excavate ruins comes at a cost so steep it makes even the most powerful factions flinch—their mastery over magical resonance and artifact recovery is unmatched.
But even the Forgefire Dwarves have their flaws. Their devotion to the crafts of smithing and artifact-making borders on fanaticism, an obsession that shapes their entire existence.
The slightest novelty—a new alloy, an unfamiliar magical resonance—can send a Forgefire Dwarf into a frenzy. And sometimes, in the depths of their excitement, the abnormal blue flame flickers in their eyes, a sign of something unnatural stirring beneath the surface.
Leon still remembers the most notorious incident of Forgefire Dwarves being duped in the annals of history. It began when a particularly inventive alchemist fused several metals together through alchemical means, producing a Composite Magic Alloy that appeared indistinguishable from ordinary magical metal.
It looked for all the world like a mundane magical metal, nothing out of the ordinary.
The alchemist brought this metal to a Forgefire Dwarf for appraisal. To his delight, the dwarf insisted it was a newly discovered magical metal—unprecedented, unique—and clung to it as if it were his very soul, eyes burning with a feverish blue glow.
And that alchemist—barely a Grandmaster—pulled off one of the most audacious schemes in history: with that single piece of magical metal, he tricked an entire tribe of Forgefire Dwarves into serving him, their devotion so absolute it bordered on madness. Anderson would later call it the greatest swindle of the age, and even now, Leon can't help but smirk at the memory.
He handed the Forgefire Dwarves a counterfeit piece of magical metal, and in return, the whole tribe pledged themselves to his service—for two centuries.
For the first hundred years or so, he exploited the Forgefire Dwarves, driving them to excavate ruins like madmen. His wealth and resources ballooned overnight, and by burning through them with reckless abandon, he clawed his way to the peak of Worldshaper. Thanks to rare relic records unearthed from those ruins, he even ascended to Ninth-Rank Title Archmage.
But after more than a century, the Dwarves finally caught on—the magical metal he’d gifted them was a fake...
In the end, he was hunted across three planes by a mob of furious Forgefire Dwarves. They hammered him into a pulp, and for years, his skull hung above the tribe’s gate—a grim warning to all would-be swindlers.
“Leon, what now? The Forgefire Dwarves are the toughest of the three great races, and they’re impossible to reason with—hot-tempered, stubborn, and foul-mouthed as trolls...”
Elsa wore a worried expression. Just as they were about to reach their goal, the Forgefire Dwarves blocked the path, their eyes flickering with unnatural blue flames—each one looking more deranged than the last. Nothing could be more maddening.
Leon waved his hand, utterly unconcerned. If anything, he seemed amused, the corners of his mouth curling into a sardonic smile as if recalling a private joke.
“Relax. Forgefire Dwarves can be surprisingly reasonable... if you know how to talk to them.”
As he spoke, Leon produced several pieces of high-grade magical metal from his satchel.
Anderson glanced at the metals and curled his lip. “Sure, those are high-grade, but the Forgefire Dwarves aren’t exactly short on magical metals. You think you can buy them off with a handful of shinies? Dream on...”