In the Sacred Chamber, separated from Histori and the others by just a single wall, stood two burly Dwarves.
One of them was the hot-tempered old Chief Baron, whom Histori and the others had seen in the hall earlier that day.
The other was a robust Dwarf in his prime, shirtless, swinging his hammer with effort.
“Yorike! What in the world are you doing?!”
Chief Baron’s thunderous roar echoed back and forth in the enclosed space, shaking the dust off the ventilation grate and sending it cascading down.
“Put more strength into it! Feel the power of thunder! You’re a genius our Dwarf race hasn’t seen in decades—don’t swing that hammer like you’re half-starved and limp!”
“…”
Encouraged by the Chief, the Dwarf named Yorike gritted his teeth and let out a heart-wrenching roar.
After that, he swung the heavy hammer, carrying the sound of splitting wind, and smashed it viciously onto a glowing red-hot Mithril ore resting on the anvil.
Clang—!
A dull metallic collision sound rang out from where he struck.
…No heavenly thunder descended, no lightning sparks danced, not even a single ember appeared.
The Mithril ore was only slightly flattened, and the legendary Sacred Artifact, said to channel divine power and enchant forged items, sat there like an ordinary anvil, completely unresponsive.
“It’s no good, Chief! I really can’t do it! I’ve tried my hardest to communicate with the God of Forging from the bottom of my heart, but the Sacred Artifact still won’t obey me at all!”
“…You, try a little harder! Maybe it’s just a compatibility issue. Hammer it a while longer—it’s bound to be moved by your sincerity!”
Baron glared at the lusterless Anvil of Thunder, the bloodshot veins in his eyes looking ready to burst.
“The Great Forging Festival is almost here! If the Sacred Artifact still shows no reaction, our Dwarf race will lose all face! No, it’s not just about losing face—if other races find out our Sacred Artifact has lost its divine power, we might not even be able to hold on to our Vulcania!”
“…I, I know this is important, but I’ve really given it my all, Chief!”
Yorike covered his arm with one hand.
“Maybe… maybe you should find someone else to try, or try it yourself? Perhaps I really don’t have that talent…”
“Tch, you think I haven’t already looked for other trustworthy people? Those elders and master smiths—they were all happy when they first heard they could use the Sacred Artifact, but the moment they swung the hammer, they turned around and ran off…”
Baron clutched his thinning beard in anguish, slumping to the ground like a deflated balloon.
“Ever since that day two months ago, the Sacred Artifact suddenly lost its power. I swallowed my pride as Chief and asked so many people to try, but no one could make it spark even a single bolt of lightning.”
“If this keeps up, when the centennial Great Forging Festival arrives, the whole world will know that our Dwarf race has lost the favor of the God of Forging. The Orcs lurking on the demon border, just waiting to pounce on us, will surely launch a full-scale invasion! Our Dwarf race will be finished!”
Histori, who had been carried by the collar by Amir—melting into the shadows and sneaking along an impossible path to the corner of the Sacred Chamber—silently covered her mouth after hearing this conversation.
The Dwarf race’s Sacred Artifact…
Was broken?
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