In The Workshop

“Alright, here’s the trick—you strike here the moment the stone goes kinnn. Just like this! Then, cool it down once it starts changing here. If you mess that part up, it becomes useless, so be careful.”

Gale demonstrated with precision as he explained to Bedie and Ees. Well, whether it actually counted as an explanation was debatable—but Gale was convinced it was.

In truth, this wasn’t the first time humans had come seeking Dwarven skills.

Due to their low birthrate, Dwarves had long struggled with succession, fearing the loss of their techniques. Initially, they welcomed human craftsmen in hopes of preserving their knowledge—but things hadn’t gone well.

‘No way humans can pull off Dwarven work…’

Gale thought to himself, eyeing the two kids listening intently.

It was a matter of racial difference. Dwarves, with their deep affinity for the earth, could understand the condition of ores just by looking. They were also far more robust than humans.

Because of that, the humans who came asking to learn thought the Dwarves’ teachings were nonsense and their labor demands were outrageous—without exception, they all ran away.

Eventually, rumors spread that Dwarves imposed unreasonable expectations on humans, and no one came seeking their guidance anymore.

So when Gale first saw the kids, he assumed that the frivolous noble—Richard—had dragged them here against their will.

“Well, did you get it? Try it out.”

““……””

They were still just children, so Gale didn’t plan to push them with harsh physical labor. He showed them the basics as usual, but their reactions weren’t promising.

After he demonstrated, the kids tried a few movements before stopping. Gale sighed and gently tried to dissuade them.

“As I thought, humans can’t learn Dwarven techniques. Just give up.”

“That’s not true.”

But Gale was about to be proven wrong.

“That man gave us a chance. In Britannia, where class discrimination is so extreme, even orphans like us were given an opportunity to learn a skill that can keep us fed. If we gain Dwarven techniques, we won’t have to worry about jobs anymore.”

“Yeah! He’s a bit clueless sometimes, but he even got us tutors. He’s trying to change Britannia.”

In the eyes of the two children was unmistakable trust in that noble.

What kind of charisma did that idiotic-looking noble even have…?

In this case, Gale’s initial judgment was right—Arthur had only recently learned kindness and was mostly just following the Good Deed Notebook.

But to Bedievere—whose illness and injured arm Arthur had healed—his faith in Arthur was almost like religious devotion.

That’s why Bedie didn’t see the idea of learning Dwarven crafts as some whim. He truly believed Arthur brought them here because he knew they could do it.

And because he had spent his sickly childhood reading nonstop, Bedie had gathered a vast amount of knowledge.

“I think I’ve got it. Ees, it’s your turn!”

“Alright! Leave the muscle work to me!”

Following Bedie’s instructions, Ees began to work. Gale, expecting them to fail, was stunned by what happened next.

“Mithril can be processed once it reaches a certain temperature, but if you overheat it, it’s ruined. Cool it down now!”

“Got it!”

“What…!?”

This shouldn’t have been possible. They couldn’t hear the voice of the minerals—so how were they handling them so correctly?

Gale must’ve shown it on his face, because Bedievere answered.

“I’m good at studying. When I heard we’d be visiting the Dwarves, I looked into different ores and your people’s techniques. Then I watched you work and fully understood…”

“And since he’s physically weak, I’m doing the work for him! Like this!”

It was a bit rough, but their mithril processing succeeded—proving they were unlike any humans who came before.

With practice, they could really grasp Dwarven craftsmanship… even Gale had to admit that much.

“I think Lord Richard believed we could do it. That’s why he brought us here. We want to live up to that belief. If he thinks we can, then we can!”

Hearing Bedie’s confident words, even Gale began to think maybe he could trust this Richard. He’d always disliked the way human nobles looked down on them—like they were dirty craftsmen.

But there had been exceptions. Flugel, who fought alongside Dwarves to reclaim the mine from monsters. His son, Edward. And Prim, who brought them refreshments and entered the mine without a care for getting dirty.

Especially Prim—she’d been dear to Gale since she was a child, and their relationship was close enough that she brought him lunch daily.

So what about this Richard, whom those two trusted…?

Now that he thought of it, hadn’t the man shown no signs of looking down on the Dwarves from the start?

Just then, the door burst open with a loud clatter. The Dwarves who had been working in the mines returned.

“Hey, what’re you all doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be pulling an all-nighter in the mines again?”

“Well, see, thanks to this noble here, the work went so well we got a break.”

Proudly, the Dwarves pointed to none other than Richard.

What was with these guys…?

Arthur looked baffled as the Dwarves kept thanking him and pouring him drinks. For the children’s sake, Gawain had taken them to another room, and the banquet had begun.

“Wow, you’re amazing!! Being able to drink with us like an equal is impressive!!”

The Dwarves cheerfully raised their glasses, offering Arthur strong, throat-burning liquor.

For Dwarves, drinking was the ultimate act of bonding. The stronger the drinker, the more they were trusted. Their alcohol was so potent that most non-Dwarves would pass out instantly.

But Arthur’s body seemed to treat alcohol like poison—detoxifying it instantly. While Gawain passed out after just three glasses, Arthur had drunk more than double and was still lively.

Yes, Arthur—who could drink endlessly—had earned the Dwarves’ favor.

“You really are something…”

Even Gale, who had been so rude before, now looked at him with eyes full of admiration. Arthur didn’t particularly enjoy getting affection from a grumpy old man—but praise was praise.

And Arthur was very susceptible to praise.

“Fuhahaha! This level of booze is nothing! Bring more!!”

“Oho! Talkin’ big, eh!? Alright then, I’ll be your next opponent!!”

The Dwarves cheered joyfully as Arthur tipped a bottle straight into his mouth. If Morgan saw this, he’d definitely get a lecture.

Then it happened. The door burst open violently.

“What the hell is this ruckus? You did find the Orichalcum, didn’t you?”

“You…!”

The man who entered wore noble attire made from high-quality fabric, and rings encrusted with gems adorned every one of his fingers.

It was none other than Lord Glutton.