Chapter 144: The Rude Grandmaster

Deep underground, in a place that seemed entirely unsuited for living, the heat was suffocating and the air was thick with the smell of heated iron and smoke.

The sound of hammering echoed across the space, blow after blow, while massive furnaces blazed on every side, casting a fierce red glow across the surrounding walls.

Between the furnaces, channels of tamed lava flowed slowly, adding to the heat of the place.

Sparks flew with every hammer strike, while carts loaded with metal passed between the furnaces without pause.

Blacksmiths shouted at one another through the noise, calling out to clear a path or add more coal, while the heavy thuds of hammers and the roar of the furnaces echoed in every direction. There was no peace here.

This was the forge belonging to the Vesperion Duchy.

At its heart stood Malrik in silence, feeling a slight awkwardness he was not used to.

Directly before him stood someone barely four feet and eight inches tall, glaring at him with fierce displeasure.

Despite his short stature, his body was a dense mass of muscle. He had a thick red beard, red hair tied back in a braid, ruddy copper skin, and calloused hands gripping a massive blacksmith’s hammer.

He was a dwarf.

Behind him stood two other dwarves who were a few inches shorter, glaring at Malrik with the same hostile expressions.

Beside Malrik stood Cedric with his usual calm, while Ronan, Kael, and the rest of the team stood behind them. Despite the tension in the air, excitement was visible on their faces. This was the first time they had ever seen real dwarves.

"So... you dare to come down here and ask for equipment for yourself and your team after just wrecking the Duchy’s training ground?!"

The red-bearded dwarf shouted in a rough voice.

Malrik looked at the dwarf, but he did not know what to say. Dwarves were known for their immense pride and devotion to their craft, whether in smithing, construction, or architecture. It seemed they had taken the destruction of the marble training ground as a personal insult to themselves and their work.

Malrik turned toward Cedric for help.

To his utter shock, however, Cedric—the imposing head butler—simply turned his head away, completely avoiding eye contact as if refusing to get involved in this mess.

Malrik was stunned by the butler’s reaction.

Cedric was practically the most powerful and influential person in the Duchy after the Duke and the High Elders.

His status rivaled that of the Elders, and he possessed the authority to issue any order and have it carried out immediately. Yet he chose to avoid this dwarf’s wrath.

Realizing he was on his own, Malrik had no choice but to admit his mistake.

"I’m sorry, Bromur. I didn’t mean to wreck your training ground... we were just—"

The dwarf raised his massive hammer right in Malrik’s face and shouted furiously:

"My name is Grandmaster Bromur! I didn’t spend 250 years smelting mithril and studying every branch of engineering just for you to call me by my bare name, you fool! Didn’t Vaelzareth teach you any manners?!"

When Malrik heard himself called a "fool," he was genuinely surprised.

This was the first time anyone had called him that to his face since arriving in this world. After all, he was the son of Duke Vaelzareth Vesperion.

However, dwarves held a unique and complex position within the human empires.

The title of "Grandmaster" was the highest title a dwarf could attain.

It was awarded only to those who reached an extraordinary level of mastery across various fields, from forging magical weapons to engineering and architecture.

Bromur held this title, granting him enough status to reprimand Malrik and even address the Duke by his bare name without fearing that the Duke would cut off his head.

Furthermore, dwarves within the Empire were divided into free dwarves and slaves. The enslaved dwarves were the spoils of ancient and bloody wars between human and dwarven empires. Just as humans owned dwarven slaves, dwarves also owned human slaves.

Slavery in this world was neither outlawed nor criminalized as it had been in Malrik’s former world. Instead, it was a legitimate system governed by clear laws and supported by a massive economy.

Bromur, naturally, was a free dwarf who commanded exceptional respect and status.

Cedric sighed slowly, breaking his silence as he stepped forward.

"I advise you to choose your words carefully, Grandmaster Bromur."

His tone was as steady as ever, but something in it had changed. His usual calm was gone, replaced by a cold warning that made the tense atmosphere even heavier and the shadows seem to tremble.

"You may reprimand the Banner Bearer as you wish, but do not address the Duke by his bare name again. You certainly do not want to anger him to that extent."

Bromur let out a harsh laugh, slammed his hammer against the ground, and shouted arrogantly.

"I am Grandmaster Bromur! Master of the Three Hammers and the North’s foremost Contractor! If my furnaces go cold, your army’s armory will collapse! What is Vaelzareth going to do? Chop off my head? I dare him to try!"

Cedric’s tone remained unchanged, but a cold smile appeared on his face.

"Very well... the Duke might not actually cut off your head. After all, you are a vital and irreplaceable asset to the Duchy. But trust me, there are hundreds of other ways to punish you."

Bromur’s mocking laughter died in his throat.

His arrogant confidence wavered as he stared into Cedric’s expressionless eyes. His grip on the blacksmith’s hammer loosened slightly, and the elderly dwarf swallowed his words, muttering something unintelligible into his thick beard.

"Fine... what do you want? I don’t have time to waste on you."

Bromur said impatiently, crossing his massive arms over his chest.

Malrik stepped forward. "I want a custom spear for myself and proper equipment for these eight people standing behind me. I want everything to be of the ’Fallen’ rank and custom-made to suit each of them."

The dwarf clicked his tongue in annoyance. "That’s going to cost you dearly. Anyway... do you have any skill scrolls you want to infuse into the weapons?"

At the mention of skill scrolls, Malrik recalled some information from his original body’s memories.

There was a clear difference between "skill scrolls" and "skill books."

Skill books were activated the moment they were touched, transferring the skill directly to the person and merging it with their body and consciousness. For this reason, skill books were much rarer and far more valuable than scrolls.

Scrolls, on the other hand, contained encapsulated skills that were fused into magical weapons during their creation, allowing the wielder to use those skills simply by channeling mana into the weapon, much like the Reaper’s Blessing skill embedded within the black scythe.

However, there was one crucial difference between the two.

A skill from a scroll remained tied to the weapon it was fused into. If the weapon shattered or was damaged beyond repair, the skill was lost with it. The weapon could also simply be replaced with another one as the user advanced in rank.

In contrast, a skill acquired from a skill book remained permanently with the individual and was completely independent of any weapon or tool.

"I have two!" Ronan shouted excitedly as he stepped forward.

"Wait! Me too!" Serene called out. Kael followed with a similar declaration.

The rest of the team stepped forward one by one, each pulling a skill scroll from their storage ring.

Malrik watched them in silence while screaming internally

Damn it... why am I the only one who doesn’t even have a single one? Am I really this broke?!

Bromur glanced at Malrik and, seeing him produce nothing, merely shrugged.

"No matter. I have an excellent design suited for a spear. Do you prefer anything specific?"

Malrik shook his head and said honestly, "To be honest, I don’t know much about this. You choose something good."

Bromur nodded, then turned toward the forge and shouted in his rough voice to summon several dwarven smiths.

The smiths moved immediately and spread out among the team members. Each smith approached one of them to carefully assess their needs, take their measurements, and ask about their combat style and preferences.

Meanwhile, Bromur walked over to Malrik and began examining his body carefully. The dwarf circled him, his eyes moving over every detail of his build, from the length of his arms to the position of his shoulders.

Malrik felt extremely uncomfortable being examined by another man like this.

"So..." Bromur said as he finally stopped in front of him. "Do you possess a specific Legacy Art? I need to know your basic movements so I can make the spear’s weight and balance perfectly suited to you."

Malrik was silent for a moment.

The truth was, he did not have one.

In this world, Legacy Arts were not mere exercises or a set of movements that a fighter memorized. They were true legacies created by legendary founders and warriors and passed down through generations as priceless treasures. The great families possessed many of these arts, which were strictly classified into four tiers: Low, Intermediate, High, and Transcendental.

Naturally, the Vesperion family possessed a vast collection of these Legacy Arts within their vaults. However, most of them were specifically designed for swordsmen. Since Malrik was not a swordsman and his former status within the family had never allowed him to obtain much, he had never acquired a Legacy Art suited to him.

"Sorry, but I don’t have a Legacy Art," Malrik replied calmly.

Bromur’s hands stopped moving, and he raised his head to stare at Malrik in shock.

"Not even a Low-tier Legacy Art?" the dwarf asked in disbelief.

"No," Malrik answered simply, shrugging his shoulders.

"So... no scrolls? No Legacy Art?! What the hell... are you really the Duke’s son, or some bastard he picked up off the street?!"