“Then… I trust there are no objections if I begin speaking?”
The Dwarves nodded in silence.
“Firstly, I am the Sorcerer King Ainz Ooal Gown. The domain to the south of this mountain range, beyond the Great Forest of Tob, belongs to me. Being able to meet you esteemed runesmiths delights me from the bottom of my heart. Alright: my words are a very simple proposal, as well as a request. Come to my country. I want to use your runecraft to begin a revolution in magic item enchantment.”
As he heard the Sorcerer King’s words, a spike of pain — born of disappointment and despair — pierced Gondo’s heart.
Gondo shook his head.
He cast away the matter of his father and his grandfather, and looked at the faces of the smiths from the side. They all had bitter expressions on their faces. Their response did not look like it would be positive.
“Forgive me, but I have a question I wish to ask.”
The Dwarf who raised his hand glanced at Gondo.
“Why do you want our craft? Frankly speaking, it’s practically a dying art in this country too.”
The Dwarf who spoke was one of the older smiths present.
“…Simple. I want you to rediscover the lost secrets of your art.”
“Lost?”
Under the runesmiths’ eyes, the Sorcerer King produced a sword from his pocket dimension.
The Dwarves gasped in unison.
It was shock, born of seeing a sword being pulled out of thin air. There was also terror at the sight of the skeletal king, wreathed in unholy light, holding up a blade.
But the reason why Gondo exclaimed despite himself was the same awe which filled every other person here.
It was a black-bladed sword of extraordinary quality. The unbelievably fine edge practically shone with magical radiance.
“Such an… An amazing sword…”
“Incredible… I’ve never seen anything like it in my life…”
“Is this the sword from Dwarven mythology?”
“Ohhh! What, what a beautiful sight this is…”
The Sorcerer King raised the sword, as though to show it to the Dwarves. Gondo’s eyes instinctively followed its glow as well.
“Alright, gentlemen, please pay attention to the body of the sword.”
Gondo followed where the Sorcerer King was pointing, and cried out. So did the other smiths.
There were 20 purple runes carved upon it.
However, only Gondo noticed that one of the runes on the sword was the same as the one which the Sorcerer King had described during their encounter in the tunnel.
I see. So that’s why he knew so much about runes.
He must have gained that knowledge from careful study of that sword.
“Then, I wish to ask you gentlemen. There are 20 runes on this sword; is such a thing possible?”
The answer went without saying — it was impossible. Nobody here could do it, no matter how hard they tried. And then, there was this sword, which seemed to exist only to mock their inability to do so.
The smiths rose from their seats, each with a raging inferno in their eyes. There was a passion in them which had not been there when they were talking about drinks. Then, the crowd surged forward like a horde of zombies pouncing on the living, to the feet of the Sorcerer King.
“Let me see!”
“Please! Let me touch it!”
“I might learn something! I beg you!”
“Insolence!”
The silver-haired girl glared at the encroaching dwarves with a frightening look in her eyes. The Dwarves froze for an instant, as though impaled by a fear which cut like icy blades. And then —
“—You’re being too noisy. Quiet down.”
There was no doubt that they stood in the presence of a true ruler.
His aura was one of a leader that was utterly confident of his position. Then again, it might have been because he was a peerless master of death.
Gondo had known this ever since he had met Ainz in that tunnel, but Ainz had not revealed that side of himself back then. It must have been an act to keep Gondo from shrinking away in fear. This must be the true nature of the Sorcerer King.
I can’t tell his expression, but he seems pleased. It must be because everyone’s moving as he planned.
“A moment, good smiths. Please hear me out to the end. After that, you may touch it directly. I will not continue until you are seated, and neither will you be able to obtain this sword.”
Dejected — cowed by his air of sovereign power — the smiths returned to their places.
“Thank you. Then, I shall pick up from where I left off. My question still stands — is a sword with 20 runes carved upon it within your abilities?”
Everyone looked to the oldest and most experienced of the smiths. He shook his head powerlessly and replied:
“It is not. To the best of my knowledge, I have only ever heard of six.”
A torrent of questions erupted.
“What? Six? I’ve only ever heard of five!”
“…Is that so. It seems few know of this, but 200 years ago, the hammer which the king bore had six runes carved upon it. That was the secret treasure of the runesmith’s art.”
Gondo recalled his grandfather.
He thought of the face of a runesmith from 200 years ago, a man who was a veteran of weapon-forging.
“Ohhhh! Is that the warhammer which could shake the earth? I think I heard of it in a song once…”
“Correct. Even the runesmiths — hailed as geniuses and prodigies — of that time could not produce a weapon with 20 runes on it…”
“I see. So this must be a weapon made with lost techniques, then.”
“Hm? Do you not know either, Your Majesty?”
“I am not sure how this sword was made. In all honesty, it is merely my possession. And… its creators are no longer in this world.”
“By that you mean… More valuable techniques were lost, then?”
Pain filled the faces of the smiths. Gondo felt the same way as well.
“Because of that—”
Everyone looked up at the Sorcerer King’s words.
“Because of that, I want to revive those techniques. Thus, I need your strength. I want you to make something like this sword, no matter the cost.”
Silence descended.
Needless to say, it was because they were all aware of how close to impossible this task was.
Even the most skilled of the runesmiths present had strained themselves to carve four runes at once. The Sorcerer King was asking for five times that amount. However, none of them said “it’s impossible”. They had their pride as craftsmen, and after seeing the masterpieces of a prior artisan, they could not bring themselves to deny it.
That sword is like a challenge from the smiths of old to the smiths of today, Gondo thought.
“I want to make it.”
Someone whispered those words.
Soon, that voice was not alone.
“Me too.”
“I want to try it.”
“Mm, I want to show the world what a real legend looks like.”
“No, I’ll be the one who’ll be hailed as a legend.”
“What nonsense is that. I’m the one who will bear that heavy burden.”
The sound of a applause rang through the air. Its source was the Sorcerer King upon his stage. Although they did not know how he had done it with his bony hands, it was said that all things were possible for a magic caster.
“Marvellous. However, can you do so by yourselves? Can you raise your voices and speak your challenge to a legend? It might be possible. It might not. Thus, I hope you will come to my country and devote your lives to creating new techniques.”
Silence descended once more.
Gondo was very aware of their feelings.
The Sorcerer King was offering these people — who were keenly aware that their art was practically extinct in the Dwarven nation — a shining opportunity within the palm of his outstretched hand.