The Runesmith

“Um… c-can I…?”

“Don’t ye move even a single hair, lad, or I’ll tan yer hide and make fine leather boots outta it!”

Bernir froze mid-sentence, his arm still awkwardly extended, the dagger clutched in his hand. Hasim snatched it with surprising speed for someone his age and turned it over again and again under the dim light of his office.

“Ach, the runework’s quite fine, aye… but what in the blazin’ deeps is this extra energy? This ain’t no ordinary rune magic, no…”

Roland watched the old dwarf analyze the dagger he had brought. The old man was using some kind of identification skill, so he could probably see the soul enchantment that Bernir had placed on it. Even in this world, that sort of thing was rare and not something most runesmiths could hope to work with.

Runic craftsmanship was broad and, in a sense, could be shaped to imitate most spells in one way or another. Even so, it had its limits. It could not affect skills directly. It could not grant skills that did not exist, nor could it enhance their potency outright. Bernir’s new class, however, could do exactly that. It might even allow something Roland had not yet found an answer to, though that was something he would need to examine later.

The dagger itself was made from a small amount of mithril mixed with cheaper alloys. By material alone, it would rank on the lower end of tier three, but the enchantment increased the wielder’s dagger proficiency. It was clear Hasim was glancing at his status screen, watching the skill rise. Even as a craftsman, the runesmith class was still a hybrid battle class that required a mage foundation. Even those who rarely fought usually picked up some proficiency with knives or daggers over the course of their lives.

“…By the great forge o’ the ancestors, could it really be true? The long-lost art o’ Soulsmithing?”

‘Lost?’

This was new information Roland had not expected. The books and records he had read were mostly rumors and speculation, and he had assumed the dwarves simply guarded their secrets closely. However, if Hasim, a master runesmith, called it a lost art, then Roland had to consider the possibility that even the dwarves no longer possessed it.

‘If that’s true, then Soulsmithing could be more valuable to dwarves than even runic prosthetics…’

He glanced toward Bernir, who was clearly uncomfortable under the old man’s intense gaze. It was as if Hasim were looking at a legendary creature he longed to study. Perhaps they had never truly discovered how to achieve this class, unlike others, and did not know the requirements. However, Roland did.

It wasn’t really strange that this craft had faded away, as it seemed to require a deep connection to a soul. This could be achieved by losing a limb and replacing it with a prosthetic guided by a mana phantom. 

Dwarven arms were highly valued among craftsmen, so deliberately losing one to gain a new class was not something they would consider without certainty. Even then, self-mutilation was not something a normal person would willingly endure, no matter the promise of prestige.

‘How should I handle this…’

The dwarf was clearly ecstatic. He kept picking up the knife and glancing at his status screen, as if checking whether his skill would drop again. Hasim’s thick fingers trembled slightly as he passed the dagger from one hand to the other, his eyes darting between the blade and whatever only he could see.

“…It rises… then it falls… rises again when I grip it proper-like, by me hammer!”

Roland finally stepped forward and used his mana hand spell to pull the dagger away from Hasim. The old dwarf’s brows quivered with disappointment, but after a moment, he seemed to realize how erratic he had been acting.

“Master Hasim, it seems you understand this dagger’s true worth. And do not be surprised, but Master Bernir here is the one who enchanted it.”

Bernir swallowed as the conversation shifted to him. Hasim turned sharply in his direction and, just as he had tried with Roland before, attempted to inspect his status. This time, Roland did not interfere and allowed him to confirm the rare class.

“A true Soulsmith? Could ye really be from our true homeland, lad?”

“True homeland? Nothing that grand…”

Bernir waved his hands nervously, as if the very idea was absurd.

“Master Hasim, I think you have it all wrong. I am just a simple…”

Before he could finish, Hasim raised his voice.

“Simple?! There’s nothin’ simple about this dagger, ye whelp! Who in the nine deeps are ye, lad? Are ye a descendant o’ the soulsmiths o’ old? There were rumors, aye, whispers in the stone, that some o’ ye survived the Great Sundering. Do not tell me ye’ve never heard o’ it?”

Hasim leaned forward, his beard bristling and his eyes wide like a miner who had just struck a vein of pure gold. Bernir had no idea what the man was talking about, and neither did Roland. He knew a little about dwarven history, but not enough to place this event.

Like other races, they had their share of wars and legends. The sundering Hasim mentioned could have been any of them. As far as Roland knew, while many dwarven craftsmen lived in this country, it was not their original homeland. Dwarves were usually found deep underground, hidden from the eyes of others, working close to the earth and near volcanic activity that fueled their forges. Various clans were scattered across this kingdom and neighboring lands, and from what he understood, something in the distant past had forced them into this way of life.

“I… I haven’t, no…”

“By the molten core… what in the blazin’ deeps are they teachin’ ye younglings these days.”

Hasim grumbled, pacing in a tight circle.

“A craft like this, lost to the ages o’ stone an’ fire, an’ here ye stand tellin’ me ye just picked it up somewhere, like in some dusty tavern?! Do ye take me fer a fool, lad?!”

“I didn’t say that!”

Bernir protested, his voice cracking slightly. He glanced at Roland for guidance, but Roland, for the moment, let them continue. He was curious whether Hasim might reveal something useful or let something slip. That only made Bernir more tense and confused.

“It’s just… I don’t really… know…”

“Lad… don’t ye play games wi’ me!”

“I’m really not!”

Bernir’s panic continued to rise, and when it became clear Hasim would not offer any useful insight, Roland finally stepped in to save his assistant, moving in front of him.

“Master Hasim, give my associate some space. If you wish to trade knowledge with us, then offer something in return. If this class or field is as rare as you claim, then perhaps it is worth investing in.”

If this class was rare enough to make an old dwarf nearly tear out his beard, then it was better to act accordingly. Roland had been willing to offer a fair exchange, but now he realized he held the stronger position. If Hasim was telling the truth, then it was wiser to remain guarded and not reveal everything at once.

“This dagger is only a small sample. If you wish to see more, then you know what I… no, what we want.”

Hasim did not answer immediately. The old dwarf stood still, his chest rising and falling slowly. His gaze moved between Roland and Bernir as if weighing something far more significant than a simple trade. The earlier excitement had not disappeared, but it had changed. It was no longer the wild hunger of a craftsman discovering something new, but something more focused.

“…Ye’ve got some iron in yer nards, I’ll give ye that, ye bold bastard!”

He scratched his beard, fingers dragging through it as he turned away and limped toward a cluttered workbench. Bits of half-finished runes, cracked cores, and old schematics were scattered across its surface.

“Ye want me golems an’ ye offer me a new leg, a new eye, an’ even the long-lost Soulsmithin’. How can I refuse such an offer, eh?!”

Hasim burst out laughing as he made up his mind to trade. However, this was only the beginning. As always, a contract had to be drawn up. Boundaries between the two sides needed to be established, and he had to make sure that neither of them gave up too much for too little.

“Hah! Ye got yerself a deal, ye human, but don’t ye think fer one bleedin’ second I’ll be taken fer a fool, lad!”

A glint appeared in the old man’s only working eye as he grabbed some paper from the table. It was covered in runes, a magical contract ready to be filled out and sealed.

“Don’t worry, Master Hasim, I will give you a fair deal.”

He spoke while gauging just how much he could get away with. The old dwarf grinned, fully aware of what was about to unfold. Bernir stood to the side, sweat forming on his forehead as he watched Hasim and Roland grin at each other like two men trying to outwit one another.

“Aye… I’ll just stay over here…”

The two were no longer listening as they began writing everything down. They did not even speak, letting their quills do the talking. Each time one finished, they handed over the paper to review what the other master craftsman had written. Then they crossed out what they disliked and added their own corrections.

“Ye… ye aren’t like the other craftsmen at all! Yer a swindler, lad! A bleedin’ swindler!”

“I’m a swindler? You thought I wouldn’t notice what you meant with this clause here? Do you think I was born yesterday?”

Roland did not give the man even a millimeter when it came to drafting the contract. It was clear this was not Hasim’s first time. He was as sly as someone who had cheated thousands before, but Roland would not allow it. He intended to secure the best possible deal for those golems.

“Ye caught that, did ye? Hah! Thought I’d slip it past ye like a greased goblin! Just a wee clause, nothin’ more, lad!”

Roland did not even blink.

“A clause that would give you full rights to any derivative designs I produce from your schematics, including future iterations.”

“Aye, well… a smith’s gotta try, hasn’t he?! Not like ye didn’t try to pull a fast one on me either, ye crafty human!”

The old dwarf grinned wide, completely unashamed. Roland had also tried to slip in hidden clauses that would grant him similar advantages. Soon, the scribbling resumed, and Bernir found himself wandering around for quite some time.

The scratching of quills continued until the forge outside fell silent. The dungeon’s night cycle had taken hold, and most of the craftsmen had either gone home or headed to the taverns to drink.

“You drive a hard bargain, Master Hasim, but I think this should be fine. What do you think?”

“Aye… ye drive a hard bargain, lad.”

Hasim leaned back in his chair with a long groan, his joints popping loudly. He stared at the latest version of the contract, one thick finger tracing the runes embedded in the parchment.

“…but I’d be lyin’ through me beard if I said I didn’t enjoy the bout, lad!”

Roland remained standing and simply nodded.

“Then we are in agreement?”

“Aye.”

The old dwarf nodded, and Roland finally glanced to the side at his assistant, who had dozed off in a nearby chair while the two had been locked in a battle of wits.

“Master Bernir, it’s done.”

“Huh?”

A drop of drool slipped from Bernir’s mouth as Roland touched his shoulder. Bernir jolted upright so suddenly that the chair beneath him screeched against the stone floor.

“Huh!? W-what… done? Already!?”

“Aye, ‘already’, he says. Hah!”

Hasim snorted, though there was a tired satisfaction in his voice.

“Boy, ye slept through the whole bleedin’ battle. And someone like ye is a Soulsmith…”

The old dwarf shook his head in disappointment while Bernir wiped the drool from his mouth. Roland wanted to laugh, but not everything was finished yet. While he had obtained the schematics for the golems and could now begin his research, there was still something within the stronghold left for him to do, and Hasim would help him with that.

“I think the hour is not too late. Would you fulfill that part of the contract now, Master Hasim?”

“Ye really think ye can help that child soar, lad?”

“Her talents are wasted here, and after we assemble everything, she and you and her parents will be able to travel freely to the surface.”

“Aye…”

Roland still intended to have a talk with Millie. For that reason, he had promised to assemble a teleportation gate here, with the cost covered by Hasim. It would be linked directly to Albrook, through which he planned to establish a trade route for precious items valuable enough to justify the gate’s activation costs.

The old dwarf’s one good eye narrowed, his thick brows pressing low as he studied Roland in silence. It was clear that he had his doubts about the whole situation, but he could not go back on the deal, not now, after everything had been signed.

“…Ye take care o’ that lass, lad. Mind ye do it proper.”

“I will, but I won’t be forcing her into anything.”

“Ye a strange one…”

Hasim narrowed his good eye again, and Roland was not surprised. While Millie had an interesting class, it seemed like an investment not worth the risk. Anyone else would take a regular runesmith under their wing instead, since there was no guarantee her class change would lead to anything worthwhile. However, to Roland this was a calculated risk he was willing to take. Millie had the character traits he desired in a disciple, and she would not betray his secrets.

“I get that a lot. Shall we?”

Hasim let out a long breath through his nose, then gave a small nod.

“Aye… a deal’s a deal. But don’t think this’ll be simple, lad.”

“I’m aware.”

“…are ye now?”

The dwarf turned, grabbing a thick cloak from the back of his chair and throwing it over his shoulders.

“Then come. If ye’re serious about this, I’ll lend ye a hand.”

The forge halls had grown quiet. Where earlier there had been the constant ringing of hammer on anvil, now only steady flames remained. The orange glow of molten metal had dimmed, leaving long shadows stretching across the stone corridors. Yet a few craftsmen still worked, even at this hour. Bernir stumbled along behind the two, still half asleep, rubbing his eyes.

“W-where are we even going…”

“Quit yer yappin’ an’ walk, lad! Ye still have much to learn, but don’t ye worry, I’ll teach ye with these fists o’ love, ye whelp!”

Bernir caught a strange glint in Hasim’s eyes and quickly turned to Roland.

“Huh? What does he mean by that?”

“…uh, don’t worry about it…”

Roland turned his head away in a way that only made Bernir more confused about what the two had discussed and why Hasim was speaking to him like that. Nevertheless, the group moved through the adventurer stronghold toward the Red Dragon Inn, where Millie was waiting. The dungeon had dimmed, but the inns and pubs were bustling with activity, their doors spilling warm light and loud voices into the stone corridors.

“Aye… sounds like the whole damned hall is drownin’ itself in ale tonight. Damn those adventurers, the noisy lot!”

Hasim muttered as they arrived at the inn. It seemed the adventurers who had gone to the old ruins were celebrating with a victory feast and plenty of drink. Some had spilled out into the streets, dancing wildly, while others leaned against walls, vomiting after having too much.

Soon, however, they stepped inside the Red Dragon Inn, where the noise softened. This part of the building was meant for rest rather than celebration, and once inside, the sounds from outside were dulled by a silencing spell that helped guests sleep.

“Oh, can we finally eat something?”

“Sure. Go ahead and order for yourself, and for the men as well.”

The knights who had come with him had been waiting outside while he wrote up the contracts, and they had not eaten either.

“Oh, Sir Wayland, you have come… but Uncle, you are with him?”

“Listen here, lass. There’s somethin’ we need to talk about, so how about ye fetch yer father an’ join us at the table when ye got a moment.”

“Oh? Sure.”

Millie welcomed their group and called out to her mother to prepare some meat for everyone. Hasim and Roland, meanwhile, made their way to a table. They waited for Ermes to arrive, and as the minutes passed, Roland felt the weight of the question that still needed to be asked, unsure of how it would all turn out.