Chapter 23: The Road to Silvaren

The next day.

Graham came looking for Rohan and his party early in the morning.

“Alright, human. Are you ready to spill the location of the mithril now?”

“‘Spill the location’? Why do you have to say it like that? You could just ask me to tell you, really.”

“Ah, alright! Did this wench eat something funny?”

When Bramia, who had come along, gave him a sharp smack on the back, Graham let out a pained groan.

“Ahem, anyway. Where is the mithril you claim to know about?”

“I’ll tell you. But first, let’s head to the Rokteum Temple.”

“Why the Rokteum Temple?”

“Shouldn’t we first pay our respects to Rokteum, who left behind the legacy of mithril?”

At Rohan’s words, Graham’s eyes widened.

“You really are a human who knows a bit of courtesy.”

And so—

When they arrived at the Rokteum Temple, dwarves began to gather little by little.

It seemed word had gotten out from somewhere.

“This right here is the pride of our Roktercia—Rokteum Temple itself!”

Graham said with arms folded, beaming with pride.

“Wow.”

“Uwaaa….”

Martin and Dmico’s jaws dropped open.

And no wonder.

“It’s amazing.”

The overwhelming size, the intricate carvings, the artistry of the architecture!

It was as if a ‘legendary temple’ from the imagination had materialized before their eyes.

“Is… isn’t this brick? My word, to use something so expensive for floor tiles!”

Dmico got down on all fours and started rubbing the gleaming, milky tiles.

Then, as if not content, he sniffed them with his nose and even gave them a lick, making Retina beside him frown in utter disgust.

“They say there’s no cure for a madman….”

Even Martin, usually not one for words, couldn’t help but offer a gasp of admiration at the temple’s splendor.

“…The hands of dwarves truly are blessed.”

In the grand lobby hall, statues of the most revered dwarves throughout history were lined up.

So lifelike they seemed to breathe, there was an air of inexplicable divinity.

“This temple, built five thousand years ago, was created to honor Lord Rokteum. Since then, it has never once fallen. That’s how much Rokteum Temple means to us dwarves—a source of pride, our greatest legacy.”

“You mean the building has survived for five thousand years?”

Dmico prided himself as an ore expert, but this was something he’d never heard of.

“No matter how dense brick is, to hold up for five thousand years in this heat is no simple feat.”

“Pah! Do you think the bricks here are ordinary? This is the very abode of Lord Rokteum. Thanks to His divine grace, the temple remains untouched and as sacred as ever. Shouldn’t you know that?”

“Huh….”

A building kept pristine for five thousand years by divine grace!

“Can a human believe in Lord Rokteum, too?”

Dmico clasped his hands and looked up with sparkling eyes.

“Haha! Of course! Though Lord Rokteum is the god of dwarves, He welcomes all who love ore!”

Graham spread his chest wide and beamed.

“Now that you mention it, the stifling heat seems to have vanished the moment we stepped inside.”

At Martin’s words, Rohan nodded.

“Of course. This place is equipped with special devices.”

“Special devices?”

“Lord Graham. Now, I’ll tell you how to find the mithril.”

“Go on, tell us.”

“We break the temple.”

“I see… Wait, WHAT?!”

Graham’s eyes nearly bulged out.

“The greatest legacy Lord Rokteum left for His descendants was none other than this temple itself.”

Rohan smiled as he looked around the temple.

Yes.

When mithril was revealed to the world long ago, it wasn’t because someone found it, but rather because of a ‘chance incident.’

About four years from now.

After the volcano in Roktercia erupted and everything was reduced to ashes, the only building that remained was this Rokteum Temple.

What everyone thought was just made of brick turned out to be a structure composed entirely of mithril.

“You… You dare suggest we break the temple?”

“If you don’t break it, the mithril will never be found.”

“Hah! Such insolence!”

“Lord Graham! That human isn’t a disciple of Lord Rokteum, but a heretic come to destroy the temple!”

Now it wasn’t just Graham; the listening dwarves erupted into chaos.

“Fine, let’s do it this way.”

Rohan pointed at a spot as he spoke.

“If you break just one brick over there and there’s no mithril inside, you may take my head on the spot.”

“…!”

The spot was beneath the first pillar on the right side of the temple.

“Is he serious?”

“It’s only one brick. We could just patch it up afterwards, right?”

The dwarves who’d fiercely opposed the idea changed their stance as quickly as flipping their palms.

“Silence!”

Graham barked at the noisy dwarves, his face turning serious.

“If there’s no mithril, you’ll forfeit your head… You mean it?”

“Would I wager my life and tell a lie?”

He had a point.

This was Roktercia.

Without Graham’s permission, no human before them could ever hope to leave this place alive.

“Fine, let’s give it a try. Bring me a hammer.”

At Graham’s words, a dwarf scurried off and returned with a massive hammer.

Anyone could tell its size was no joke.

“Ptooey.”

Graham spat into both hands and hefted the huge hammer.

“Well then… Let’s smash it!”

Hrrraah!

The hammer soared high, then crashed down toward the brick tile.

CRASH!

With a single blow, the brick—famed for its density—shattered with a crisp, clear sound.

“Huek! That shouldn’t break in just one hit….”

Dmico muttered to himself in awe.

As expected of a dwarf. And of a dwarf elder, the most respected of all—their strength was extraordinary.

“Clear it away.”

At Graham’s order, the dwarves quickly removed the broken brick pieces.

And then….

“Sir Elder! There’s something here!”

“Is that so?”

Graham leaned down to peer inside the broken tile, and his eyebrows twitched.

“This is… could it be?”

Inside was a book-shaped piece, inscribed in an unknown language.

“Ha.”

Graham let out a hollow laugh and stood up.

“Fetch Debeco.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

A dwarf shot out of the temple at lightning speed.

“I don’t know if it’s mithril or what, but something definitely came out.”

Graham shot a sly smile at Rohan, and Rohan grinned and shrugged back.

Soon, an old dwarf, leaning on a staff, slowly entered the temple.

“Greetings, Elder.”

“Debeco. Can you read ancient Roktercian?”

“My skills are modest, but I can manage.”

“Then come here and take a look at this.”

“Yes, of course.”

Debeco produced a magnifying monocle from his robes and bent over the inside of the broken tile.

“Let’s see here….”

After a long moment of reading, Debeco sucked in a sharp breath.

“W-what’s the matter?”

Graham, alarmed, gripped Debeco’s shoulder.

“This is… This is a hidden letter Lord Rokteum left for us!”

“What?!”

“Lord Rokteum left a letter?”

“So the monument found ages ago wasn’t the only thing?”

The dwarves murmured in amazement.

Graham swallowed hard and asked,

“W-what does it say?”

Everyone fell silent, straining to listen to the answer.

Clearing his throat, Debeco began to read aloud.

“‘Look here, my descendants. If you are reading this letter, then a great calamity must have struck Roktercia, or you must be so destitute as to break even the temple to survive. Thus, I have left you my final gift within this place.’—that’s the first line.”

“…!”

“I’ll continue. ‘Though this temple appears to be made of brick, in truth, mithril lies within each brick.’—so it says.”

“Heok!”

“That human was telling the truth!”

“He’s truly a messenger sent by Lord Rokteum!”

The way the dwarves looked at Rohan began to change.

“‘Though this place is called a temple, that name was given only to prevent people from carelessly tampering with it. If necessary, tear down this temple and use the mithril within. My real tomb lies elsewhere.’”

As Debeco continued, Graham’s eyes trembled rapidly.

“Ahem! And here’s the last sentence.”

After checking Graham’s reaction, Debeco gave a mighty cough and read aloud,

“‘P.S. If this monument was found even though Roktercia is not in crisis, then ‘he’ foretold by the World Tree must have appeared. Deliver this message to him: Yggdrasil is waiting for you. Your strange fate began there, and not a single thing was coincidence.’…that’s the end.”

“…!”

“…!”

Everyone was stunned.

For they already knew who the ‘he’ mentioned in Rokteum’s letter referred to.

“He really… He really was a disciple of the god!”

“The prophecy! The prophecy is fulfilled!”

“Oooh! Lord Rokteum!”

One by one, the dwarves knelt and began bowing deeply.

“Could this… Could this really be? Is it truly so?”

Graham, too, looked at Rohan with reverence and spoke.

“I have gravely insulted a true disciple of the god without recognizing him. Please forgive me.”

And with that, he suddenly fell to his knees, earnestly begging for forgiveness!

“What the….”

Rohan drew a sharp breath at this bewildering turn.

‘This wasn’t in my plans at all.’

Martin and Dmico, too.

Everyone stared at Rohan, eyes wide with shock.

The only one remaining calm in this situation was Retina, the Blood Elfiran.

The P.S. at the bottom of Rokteum’s letter.

That was something Rohan had never heard of in his previous life.

‘That my strange fate began with Yggdrasil, and nothing was coincidence…’

It felt like he’d just been struck on the head.

“No way….”

Could his return to the past have been part of some greater design?

Goosebumps crawled up Rohan’s neck.

He’d never dreamed that the secret behind his return would be found here.

No, he hadn’t even thought he’d ever learn that secret at all….

“Rohan Schubert.”

At that moment, Retina stepped forward, her expression deadly serious, and whispered to him.

“I, Retina of Silveren, speaking for all Elfiran, officially request your presence.”

“What…?”

“Come with me to Silveren.”

“Me? Why would I—?”

“Lord Nas is waiting for you.”

Nas—the leader of the Prana Federation.

In other words, someone akin to an emperor of the Prana Federation was awaiting him.

“Didn’t you hear just now? Aren’t you curious about your destiny?”

Her eyes sparkled as she spoke.

“Only Yggdrasil knows your fate. Your past and your future.”

“…!”

Rohan’s eyes widened.