Garius let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples.
"No wonder he walks around with that smug look, bragging to Liana and Gloria."
Alf smirked. "More like Liana and Gloria were forced to report it to us, my lord."
The others chuckled, imagining how Javier probably boasted about his genius.
Alf continued, flipping to another page.
"Yes, my lord. Even the Magic Freezer Carriage he designed—used to transport seafood across the kingdom—runs on special enchantnts only he can make."
Garius raised a brow.
Alf's smirk grew. "Not only that—the Mana Bomb Launcher, the Mana Bombs, and most of his other inventions aren't easy to copy either."
He tapped the docunt. "So far, for the Mana Bomb Launcher and other improvents, everything is in Javier's notebook—specifically to ensure Rasdingen can mass-produce them properly."
Everyone turned to the giant dwarf.
Rasdingen scratched his thick beard, letting out a grunt.
"Aye, m'lord. Without the Young Master showin' how it's done, I don't think I could copy it or even make it self."
Hesbeirn chuckled, crossing his arms.
"Oho~ So you an to tell … the best blacksmith of the dwarves—the best among the best—couldn't copy it?"
Rasdingen squinted at him.
Then—he cracked his knuckles.
"Oi! Ya wanna fight, ya overgrown brute?!"
Hesbeirn grinned, clearly enjoying himself.
Rasdingen just smirked, and ignoring him.After that he reached forward—
His thick fingers tapped against Hesbeirn's chest plate.
A loud clang echoed in the room.
Then Rasdingen muttered smugly—
"Lucky for ye, ya got . This armor? The best. Even the Young Master said so."
Hesbeirn paused, looking down at his armor.
Then he clicked his tongue.
Rasdingen grinned wider.
Because for once—he won the argunt.
Rasdingen crossed his thick arms, letting out a gruff sigh.
"Aye, even the Young Master's been askin' how to improve his Puppet Knight armor units—how to lt mithril, adamantite, an' that blasted special white ore."
He scratched his beard.
"Damn stuff's rare! We only pulled several veins of it from our mines—an' yet the Young Master's hoggin' most of it!"
He grumbled, but everyone knew—Javier wouldn't waste rare materials.
Alf, however, just smiled.
"Don't worry, Rasdingen." He adjusted his gloves. "We still have so left. And rember? Erinnette and I need that for our weapon improvents."
Hesbeirn grinned, slapping his broad chest.
"Ah, don't forget my armor and my greatsword too."
Rasdingen narrowed his eyes. "Oi, oi! Now ye too?"
Garius, who had been listening with amusent, finally spoke.
"Rasdingen."
The dwarf turned toward him. "Aye, m'lord?"
Garius smiled. "My battle armor… is it complete?"
Silence.
Rasdingen slowly turned to stare at everyone.
Then—he threw his hands up.
"OI! Are ye all placin' orders like blacksmith shop's so damn restaurant?!"
The room burst into laughter.
Because no matter how much he complained—Rasdingen was still the best of the best.
And they all knew it.
Garius smiled, leaning back in his chair.
His golden eyes glimred with amusent.
"Of course, Javier is a genius when it cos to Magic Crafting and his special skills."
Everyone nodded in agreent.
Javier's ability to create things no one else could was already beyond question.
Garius' smile deepened.
"But when it cos to crafting the best weapons and armor?"
He turned toward Rasdingen.
"None can compare to Rasdingen."
Silence.
Rasdingen froze.
His thick brows twitched.
Then—he let out a loud grunt, crossing his arms.
"Aye, m'lord… ye better rember that!"
But even as he grumbled, everyone could see it—the proud smirk hiding beneath his thick beard.
Rasdingen grinned wide, slamming his fist against his chest plate with a loud clang!
"Yeah! I'm second to none!"
His deep dwarven voice bood through the room.
"Those royal blacksmiths? Bah!"
He let out a hearty laugh.
"My older brother can kiss my ass when it cos to blacksmithin'! Hahahaha!"
The room burst into laughter.
Even Garius couldn't help but chuckle at Rasdingen's over-the-top declaration.
Because despite his loud mouth—everyone in the room knew one thing.
He wasn't wrong.
anwhile, in the Royal Blacksmith
Inside the royal blacksmith workshop, a massive giant dwarf sat with a huge liquor bottle in hand. He raised it high, about to take a long swig—
But suddenly—
SPLASH!
The liquor spilled all over his face.
A mont of silence.
Then—
"Damn! What a waste!" He wiped his beard furiously.
His eyes twitched.
Then, as if realizing sothing—
He slamd his fist on the table.
"This must be Rasdingen's fault!"
He gritted his teeth, growling.
"That bastard must be talkin' about !"
A deep grumble echoed in his chest.
Then suddenly—
He stood up, grabbed his smithing hamr, and stord toward the exit.
"Bah! Maybe I should pay him a visit!"
Without another thought—he marched straight to the royal palace.
Storming into the grand halls, he completely ignored the etiquette expected in front of royalty.
He barged into the throne room.
"MAJESTY! MAJESTY!"
The royal guards flinched, their hands instinctively going to their weapons—but hesitated.
Because they knew who this was.
The Royal Blacksmith. A legendary dwarven craftsman.
And now—he was standing before King Edmund himself.
The massive dwarf raised his hamr over his shoulder, speaking casually—
"I wanna take leave!"
King Edmund blinked. "...What?"
The giant dwarf grinned.
"I wanna see my little brother in Armand!"
The king stared.
The royal guards stared.
And the giant dwarf? He just stood there, grinning like it was the most normal request in the world.
"Aw~ Co on, Majesty! I never take any leave, yeah?"
His deep, booming voice echoed through the grand hall, completely unfazed by the presence of royal guards, nobles, and even the king himself.
King Edmund just sighed, rubbing his temples.
This damn dwarf… No respect. No formality. Nothing.
Yet—he wasn't angry.
Because this was just how he was.
The royal blacksmith was too valuable to be punished for his lack of etiquette.
Edmund simply smiled and asked,
"Why do you need leave now?"
His tone was calm, but curious.
Because knowing this Giant dwarf—it had to be sothing ridiculous.
The king's advisor and General Gilmon both pinched the bridge of their noses, clearly frustrated.
The advisor sighed heavily.
"Murigen… at least show so formality."
Murigen blinked.
Then, with a completely serious expression—
"Huh!? What's that? Can it be munched?"
A deep silence filled the throne room.
The advisor's eye twitched.
General Gilmon sighed louder.
The royal guards held back their laughter.
King Edmund? He just chuckled, shaking his head.
Because this—this was just how Murigen was.
( End of Chapter )
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