Chapter 339

Rudra didn't give up right away.

"Stormbreak is hidden," Rudra pressed, leaning across the table. "It sits deep inside a high-level danger zone that outsiders avoid at all costs. Nobody even knows what we've built there. The Valiant Orcs, the Splendid Ogres, and the Majestic Centaurs have already settled in without a single incident."

Durgrin didn't even blink. "Then they gambled with their lives. We will not."

"I would guard both of your tribes myself," Rudra said earnestly. "My knights divisions, my army, all the magicians in my city would stand between you and the Empire"

"Your protection," Durgrin said coldly, "did not exist when they came for us."

And that was the end of the conversation.

. . .

That night, in the small guest house they had been given at the edge of the village, Rudra lay flat on his back on the bed, staring up at the beautifully carved ceiling.

"Iris."

"Yes."

"I think I'd rather go fight the Behemoth again."

Iris didn't disagree with him.

"At least the Behemoth didn't burst into tears every time I looked at it. And it didn't have a stubborn grandpa sitting next to it, shooting down every word out of my mouth." He put an arm over his eyes. 'Ah, damn it. I'm completely stuck.'

Iris, sitting by the window cleaning her guns, tried to cheer him up.

"The Behemoth tried to kill me," she pointed out.

"Exactly. Simple. Honest. Straightforward. I miss that big guy already."

. . .

The next morning, Durgrin allowed them to walk around the village.

The old chief only relented because the Goddess's Muse had sworn up and down to keep the peace, and the beautiful woman beside him clearly didn't look like someone who would hurt others.

Even so, a burly dwarf guard was assigned to trail twenty paces behind them and glare at the backs of their heads.

Rudra headed straight down to the farmlands first.

The Minotaurs were back at work, though they all froze whenever he came close, then went back to their rows once he'd passed, peeking at him over their shoulders. Up close, the crops were incredible. Wheat with heavy golden heads. Vegetables, plump and bright and glossy. Fruit so ripe it practically glowed.

Rudra bent down, picked a fallen red apple out of the grass, and wiped it on his sleeve.

Crunch!

He took a big bite.

Juice burst across his tongue—sweet, crisp, and carrying a clean, refreshing finish.

And yet, it sat a clear step below Piaro's harvest.

He couldn't have said exactly how he knew. But he had used Piaro's products for more than a year, and with his Cooking skills, he could taste the difference in a single bite. By normal standards, these products were top-tier. But Piaro's were just better.

'Huh. Good to know.'

Tossing the apple core into his inventory, Rudra moved on to their second stop.

It was built into the hillside under the village, a long, cool vault of black stone. Hundreds of barrels sat stacked in neat rows, each one branded with a delicate carving of curling grapevines. The chilly air inside smelled rich, sweet, and sharp with fermentation.

"Great Wine," Iris nodded.

"Aye, the Minotaurs tend the vineyard," the glaring dwarf grunted behind them, unable to hold his tongue when alcohol came up. "My boys make the barrels, and the cellar, and the presses. The big fellows brew the batch, and we drink it."

The dwarf's stern face softened with something very close to love as he eyed a row of aged casks. "Mostly us, truth be told."

Rudra looked from the barrels to the dwarf, and back again, and the shape of the whole village quietly fell into place in his head.

The Minotaurs grew everything. The dwarves built everything. The Minotaurs brewed the wine, and the dwarves drank it after a long day at the forge. The dwarves made the Minotaurs' tools, and the Minotaurs fed the dwarves.

The two tribes were locked in a complete partnership. Neither one could live like this without the other.

Their final stop was the main smithy at the centre of the village.

It was easily the biggest smithy in the village, a long hall of black stone with a row of furnaces burning down one side and anvils ringing down the other.

Tang! Tang! Tang!

The dwarves inside didn't stop working when Rudra and Iris walked in. They didn't even spare them a look.

Rudra didn't mind. His eyes were glued to the walls.

Weapons hung along every wall of the hall, row after row, displayed like paintings in a gallery. Swords. Axes. Spears. Hammers. And every single one of them was visual masterpiece.

Blades of dark obsidian-black steel, polished until they reflected the furnace light like still water. Hilts wrapped in gold wire, set with small, perfectly cut stones. Every surface engraved with flowing patterns so fine he had to lean close to see them. A war axe whose blade curved like a crescent moon. A spear whose shaft was carved, from top to bottom, with a single unbroken vine.

Rudra had seen a lot of weapons in the game. He had even seen and used multiple Legendary weapons.

Yet he had never seen any weapons this beautiful.

'If these weapons hit half as hard as they look,' he thought, stepping closer to the nearest rack, 'this smithy alone could destroy the empire.'

He stopped in front of a longsword near the door and focused on it.

[The skill 'Legendary Sage's Eyes' has been activated!]

Paaaat—!

The item window opened in front of him.

[Beautiful Obsidian Longsword] [Rating: Epic] [Attack Power: 140~165 | Durability: 180/180 * Charm +150 when worn at the waist. * Looks magnificent in the sunlight. A longsword forged by an Obsidian Dwarf Blacksmith, who spent three months perfecting the curve of its fuller and is said to have wept on the day he finished the hilt. It is a work of art. Whether it is also a weapon is another question.] [Conditions of Use: Level 300 or higher, 2,000 Charm or higher.]

Rudra read the numbers once.

He blinked and read them a second time.

'...One hundred and forty?'

He looked at the glowing text. He looked at the gleaming black blade. Then he looked back at the text.

It was an Epic-rated weapon with a level 300 requirement, and its base Attack Power capped out at 165.

Back in Stormbreak, the Rare-rated longswords Alex hammered out as warm-ups hit harder than that. Any Advanced human blacksmith could forge an Epic blade with triple that damage output.

And this was dwarven work. Obsidian Dwarf to be specific. Dwarves were supposed to be the greatest smiths in the world, the race whose weapons every warrior on the continent dreamed of owning.

'And what the hell is "Looks magnificent in the sunlight"?! Since when is catching a glare an item option?!'

Thinking it had to be a fluke, Rudra turned his head and scanned the next weapon on the wall. Then the third. Then the fourth.

The crescent-moon battleaxe. The rose-vine spear. A heavy warhammer engraved with a rearing stag.

Every single window told the exact same story. Gorgeous to look at. Massive boosts to the wearer's Charm stat, poetic item descriptions—and combat numbers so pathetic a level 150 item seemed like a better option.

"This makes zero sense," Rudra muttered under his breath.

Iris stepped up beside him. Her eyes were fixed directly on the black steel of the longsword.

Tilting her head slightly, she reached out and lightly traced one gloved finger down the honed edge.

"It makes sense," Iris said.

Rudra glanced over at her. "How?"

"Look at the edge," Iris said. "It is thinner than it should be, because a thicker edge would spoil the line of the blade. The fuller is too deep. It makes the sword lighter and more elegant, but it weakens the spine. And the balance is wrong."

Tuk.

She tapped the hilt. "All of this gold, and these stones. They make the hilt beautiful. They also make it too heavy. The point of balance is in the wrong place for a real fight."

She stepped back and looked along the whole wall of weapons.

"Every one of these is the same. Whoever made them knew exactly what they were doing. They are not bad smiths. They are excellent smiths." She paused. "They simply chose beauty over function. Every single time."

Rudra slowly turned his head to stare at her.

First she was reading soil tracks like a bloodhound in the forest, and now she was able to analyze how a sword was made just by giving it a single glance.

"Okay, seriously," Rudra said. "What the hell was your job before Satisfy?"

Iris didn't even blink. She kept her eyes fixed on the weapon rack.

"Customer service," she said.

"...In what, the mafia?"

"Beauty over function," Iris repeated calmly, pointing a gloved finger back at the longsword. "Focus on the sword, Rudra."

Rudra opened his mouth, closed it, and decided to let it go. "Right. Beauty over function."

Rudra looked back at the gorgeous, completely useless Epic longsword hanging on the wall.

Then he turned his head and looked out through the wide doors of the smithy, gazing down the hill toward the golden fields stretching across the valley floor.

Top-tier crops that the Minotaurs took immense pride in.

Sitting one clear step below Piaro's farming.

He looked back at the beautiful weapons. Masterful items that the dwarves poured their souls into.

Sitting miles behind the lethality of a certain hyper beautiful blacksmith back in Stormbreak.

Click.

The last piece of the puzzle snapped cleanly into place inside Rudra's head.

A slow grin spread across his face.

Beside him, Iris caught the expression and narrowed her eyes.

"You have that look again," she said flatly. "You have an idea."

"Oh, yeah," Rudra grinned, turning on his heel. "I have a great idea."

He turned and walked out of the forge, straight up the hill, toward the chieftains' house.