The dwarves practically stampeded me the moment they saw the ore.
“Lord Van! Leave it to us!”
“With this, we can forge a full suit of orichalcum plate armor!”
“Uooooh!”
I hadn’t even said I’d hand it over yet, and they were already throwing a festival.
“W-wait, I’m not planning to process it right away…” I tried to fend them off, but Havel and his crew were already in a trance, deaf to reason.
“Alright, let’s haul it back and stoke the furnace!”
“This isn’t mithril, we’ll need way higher heat!”
“Then we’re living at the forge for a week straight—someone stock up on food!”
Their shouting drew half the street. Curious villagers pressed in, murmuring as the smiths argued.
“Hold it! I was going to store it in the manor first—”
“Store it!? We don’t want gold! I’ll stake my name on forging the finest armor you’ve ever seen!”
“Orichalcum arms by dwarves—no great kingdom owns the like!”
“Please! Give it to us—we’ll pay you if we have to!”
They looked ready to riot. And because Havel’s voice carried like a warhorn, the whole crowd heard every word. Soon they’d all be gossiping that the dwarves themselves begged to forge my orichalcum. If the rumor was going to spread anyway, best to turn it to my advantage.
I sighed loudly, pretending to give in. “Fine. If you can craft a blade sharper than my mithril sword, then I’ll admit your skill and let you strike orichalcum.”
Havel and his men winced as if I’d slapped them. Some of the newer villagers frowned.
“Wait, is Lord Van’s sword really stronger than a dwarven blade?”
“Can’t be… right?”
One of the old settlers crossed his arms and smirked. “You’re new. Van’s weapons outclass dwarf work. For sheer sharpness, nothing compares.”
“Yeah. Even Sir Dee and the adventurers say so,” another added.
I hid my grin. Perfect backing. I shrugged, acting reluctant. “Alright, how about this: if you forge mithril armor solid enough to satisfy Dee, I’ll approve an orichalcum suit. But it’ll be his to wear on the frontlines.”
“Ha! That, we can manage!”
“Armor belongs in battle, not on a shelf!”
“Only when it’s used can our craft be proven!”
They roared with laughter, pride restored. Clearly, they had no illusions about outdoing my blades—but when it came to armor, they brimmed with confidence. And honestly, they might be right. I could shape metal, but when it came to alloys and balance, the dwarves’ hands were surer than mine.
“Then I look forward to your mithril armor. I’ll be back in about three months.”
“Leave it to us!” Havel flexed an arm and barked orders. “Alright, lads, back to the forge!”
“Good timing! I just invented the world’s greatest armor!”
“Bah, liar! My mind’s sharper than yours, fool!”
Laughing and bickering, they stormed off toward their smithy, ignoring the gawking crowd.
Typical dwarves: pushy, obsessed, unashamed. Still, I’d told them I was leaving, and they’d agreed to work. Mission accomplished.
A few days later, the rumor had already spread—“the dwarves promised Lord Van a suit of orichalcum armor.” Seat’s reputation climbed yet again.
Not bad, all things considered.
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