The Runesmith

Chapter 653: Not That Famous.

‘Someone is trying to read my status…’

Roland could feel it, someone attempting to do what he himself had done earlier to a few other people, and doing it without realizing it. However, unlike his own method, which was silent and nearly undetectable, this attempt was anything but subtle. It felt like someone was trying to smash a hole through a wall with a giant metal ram while he stood there watching it happen. The execution was so crude that it made him wonder whether the person was simply foolish or did not care about being discovered.

There were a few options available to him. One was to allow whoever it was to read his status without interference, which he had no intention of doing. Another was to block all access entirely, causing the skill to return nothing to its user. Then there was a third option, and that was the one he chose.

“Magic Warmaster?”

A voice came from somewhere behind the shop counter. Roland could hear it clearly. It belonged to someone he had only just met, or rather, someone he had only seen at the guild just recently. It was Hasim, the owner of the shop, and Roland had already allowed him to read his false status earlier so that he could gain the upper hand now.

“Looking over someone’s status without permission is not something to be taken lightly. Show yourself.”

Roland turned his head toward the spot where Hasim was hiding and raised his voice just enough to draw attention. A few people nearby began to look in his direction. He did not particularly care, but this was a good opportunity to put the dwarf on the defensive and perhaps gain some insight into how he behaved when caught in the act.

“Come out, otherwise…”

He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as if he intended to use it. Runes on both his armor and weapon began to glow, and the entire place started shaking. Instantly, the hidden golems rose into view. One emerged from a wall as it slid open, another from a concealed compartment in the floor, exactly as he had expected.

“Oh shit!”

One of the customers stumbled backward at the sight of a large humanoid golem made of metal stepping forward. The other adventurers began to retreat as well. Steel groaned as the hidden panels sealed shut behind the constructs. All the exits slammed closed, leaving the customers uneasy.

“Easy now, lad. Don't go doin' naught rash. That’s on me. I let me curiosity get the best o' me. Just move yer hand back from that hilt, eh? No sense spillin' blood over a bit o' meddlin'."

Hasim’s voice rang out, authoritative yet tinged with a hint of regret. To some, this was surprising, as they had never heard the master of the forge speak in such apologetic terms. Still, he knew that Roland was exuding a tremendous amount of mana, enough to destroy the entire store instantly if he launched an attack.

“Ah, please, Mister Siegfried, calm yourself. Master Hasim did not mean to offend you.”

To his surprise, even Ermes appeared, and with him was Millie, who also began apologizing on behalf of the old dwarf.

“Yes, Uncle was just joking.”

‘If I continue with this, I will look like the unreasonable one.’

Roland nodded and moved his hand away from the hilt of his sword. The runes that had begun to glow along its surface dimmed, and the surge of mana he had been exuding vanished. Once it did, the golems stopped advancing and returned to their hidden compartments.

"Ach, ye nearly made me heart skip a beat there."

Even though the weapons were lowered, the tension in the air did not simply dissipate. The other adventurers remained frozen for a moment, their eyes darting between the golems and the man holding the large sword. Only when Hasim stepped forward from behind the curtain and raised his voice did they slowly return to what they had been doing.

“What are ye all looking at?”

Hasim moved out from behind one of the shop counters. Ermes was about to say something, but after a single glance from the old dwarf, he shut his mouth. Millie remained silent as well, and several other craftsmen peeked out as the confrontation continued to unfold.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

"Aye... a Magic Warmaster is a fine enough path, I’ll grant ye that. But by the ancestors’ beards, look at yer kit! Who forged that heap o' slag? 'Tis a travesty! How're ye even pullin' a drop o' mana through that metal without it blowin' up in yer face?" ℝ𝘢ＮỌβÊṢ

The Master Runesmith’s true intentions were finally revealed. It was not Roland’s status that had caught his eye, but the black drake armor he was wearing, along with the rune-filled sword at his side. It was not strange for Hasim to find it excessive. Few people in this world would be able to use that armor properly. It required both advanced rune-related skills that only master runesmiths possessed and an immense amount of mana, something usually reserved for pure mages.

Hasim circled Roland for a while, not using his identification skill on him, but instead on the armor. It was clear he was probing the runes etched into it, and he even seemed capable of piercing through Roland’s rune concealment skill to some extent.

“That’s…”

Roland took a step back as the dwarven craftsman moved closer until he could smell the sweat on his body.

“It is?”

Hasim repeated the words, his eyes sparkling as though a great secret was about to be revealed.

“…a trade secret.”

Roland shut him down immediately and pretended to activate one of the runes on his armor.

"W-wait... what in the beard did ye just do? The runes, they’ve gone sideways! I can’t read a lick of 'em now!"

Even though the Master Runesmith was far higher level than Roland and likely knew many runic secrets he was unaware of, when it came to seeing through hidden runes and concealed statuses, he was not particularly well-versed.

Hasim staggered back a step, as if physically struck by the sudden severing of his perception. His thick brows knit together, and his hand twitched instinctively, fingers curling as though he wanted to grab the air itself and force the runes to reveal themselves.

“By the Forge Father’s anvil… They were there. Clear as day. Then…gone. How did ye do it? Tell me!”

Roland didn’t respond as he just stepped away. Within the context of the scene, he was the victim here and didn’t really need to explain himself.

“M-master, maybe we should… go somewhere else.”

Ermes swallowed hard and whispered from behind the store counter. Hasim finally glanced around and noticed that the adventurers had gone back to staring at him.

“... Yer right. An ye, come with me.”

Hasim pointed at Roland and beckoned him over. This was exactly what Roland had been hoping for, as he wanted to see the dwarven smithy in action. The armor he was wearing was highly unorthodox, and for a dwarven craftsman who was usually taught to do things by the book, it was something that could not be ignored.

‘If I play my cards right, I could get a good crafting partner for the future.’

Even though he was acting offended, this was still the Master Craftsman of the stronghold, surrounded by lesser dragons. The old dwarf might have been stubborn and uncultured, but he could afford to be. That was how much prestige his skill had earned him. After catching Millie’s and Ermes’ apologetic expressions, Roland decided to follow without saying a word.

Hasim led him past the counters and through a reinforced door that looked thick enough to stop a charging ogre. The moment it closed behind them, the noise of the shop floor dulled and was replaced by something far heavier and more constant. The workshop opened up like the belly of a colossal beast, and there he saw quite the undertaking.

The space inside was huge and far larger than the building’s exterior suggested. The ceiling arched high above, supported by thick iron ribs etched with structural runes that pulsed faintly with blue light. Chains thicker than tree trunks hung from overhead rails, carrying slabs of raw metal from one station to another with slow movements. Every few seconds, steam hissed from pressure vents along the walls, carrying with it the scent of oil, scorched mana, and molten alloy.

Forges dominated the central area, not the simple ones Roland had used when he was a tier two class holder, but massive multi-chamber furnaces layered with enchantments. Some burned with white-hot flames, others glowed a dull crimson, and a few emitted no visible fire at all, yet the metals still melted within.

“These are some high-quality furnaces and smelters, nothing like the designs I have seen before. This is the real deal.”

Roland had interacted with the dwarven union before, but it had only been a branch of the true organization. The real union was a secretive group of craftsmen, and only those from the innermost circles were granted access to the best technology current dwarven craftsmanship could offer. If he managed to get his hands on the designs used here, he could likely develop a far more efficient workshop of his own.

Even though his current forge could handle the materials he worked with, he was steadily moving toward his next class. Once he reached it, even more advanced materials would become feasible, and for that, the secrets of this workshop would be incredibly valuable. Unfortunately, he had no clear idea how to obtain them. For the time being, the armor he wore seemed to be his only bargaining chip, but he was not ready to reveal his true identity just yet.

He remained silent as they continued forward. Golems were everywhere. Some were humanoid, while others were little more than articulated arms mounted on tracks or multi-legged carriers rolling along the floor. Their designs varied wildly. There were stone shells reinforced with metal bands, sleek alloy frames covered in shifting enchantments, and even a few that appeared almost unfinished, their cores exposed and spinning slowly as they worked. Unlike the battle golems outside, these constructs were of lower quality and clearly not meant for combat.

One golem lifted a glowing ingot from a crucible and passed it to another, which held it with a tong-like arm before a dwarven craftsman. The man hammered it with precise, rhythmic strikes, shaping it into something that resembled an axe head.

“So they even help the craftsmen, but they do not seem to have any crafting capabilities of their own.”

He had hoped to see something that might help solve his current automation problem. The golems here functioned more like portable smelters, moving ingots around or pouring molten metal into molds. All actual craftsmanship was still performed by the dwarven workers, and it was clear that even these golems were incapable of producing enchantments on their own.

‘I suppose I will have to figure that one out by myself.’

Dwarves were, of course, the majority of the workers, but they were not alone. Roland spotted humans hunched over work tables, a woman with elongated ears carefully adjusting a mana crystal using tweezers made of pure mithril, and even a beastkin man operating a press with his tail wrapped around a control lever.

It was a strange sight in a traditional dwarven workshop. Dwarves were notoriously secretive about their craft and usually refused to let members of other races work under them out of fear that their knowledge would be stolen. Women were there as well, though the predominant workers were of dwarven descent. Perhaps these were the practices that had pushed Hasim into a dangerous dungeon.

All of these people stood shoulder to shoulder with the dwarven men. Some wielded hammers while others engraved runes or calibrated enchantments. No one spared them a second glance. There were no whispers and no raised brows. They were judged solely by the quality of their work.

‘Going against traditions, huh…’

It reminded Roland of his own approach, one heavily influenced by modern views. He did not care who worked for him as long as they had the ability, and it seemed the old dwarf shared that mindset. However, this world imposed other limitations. Classes could not be changed, even for those who wished for it.

Hasim finally stopped near a raised platform overlooking the deepest part of the forge. Below them, a massive construct was taking shape, easily twice the size of the gate golems. Its plating was incomplete, exposing layered internal structures that made Roland’s fingers itch with curiosity.

“Welcome to me forge, a beaut isn’t it?”

“It is something…”

"Right then, out with it! Where'd ye find that armor? Who forged it, and how’d ye make them runes shift like that?"

“Why do you wish to know?”

Roland tried prodding for some answers, but the dwarven craftsman only grew more annoyed.

"Why’s it matter to ye, adventurer? Tell ye what… I’ll toss a coin or a trinket yer way for the trouble, if ye just tell me where this odd scrap o' plate came from."

The dwarven craftsman seemed genuinely interested, and Roland did not really have a good reason to refuse him. Perhaps this would be enough to create a connection.

“Albrook.”

After a moment, he finally revealed the name of his home. The dwarf repeated it back in a puzzled tone.

“Albrook?”

He glanced over at Millie and Ermes, as well as a few other assistants and disciples standing nearby. None of them seemed to recognize the name.

“Never heard of it…”

“It’s a city that was recently developed under a new noble. A rising star of sorts. I’m sure you’ve heard of him, at least. Right?”

Once again, Hasim looked to the group of craftsmen, who shook their heads in unison.

"Must’ve not been much of a noble if nobody’s heard a whisper of 'im."

“But he is part of the Valerian house. His name is Arthur Valerian.”

Roland felt a sting of wounded pride. His city, which should have been making waves across the world, was completely unknown here. After thinking it over, however, it began to make sense. These dwarves spent their days crafting and their nights drinking. They were not the sort to gossip about nobles or their followers. To them, what happened within the stronghold was what mattered most.

“Arthur? Was there a Valerian with that name?”

Hasim turned to the peanut gallery again, and his disciples started thinking hard, but they simply could not remember. To Roland, who believed the progress in his city was staggering, the moment felt oddly deflating. It had taken him years to reach this point, and he had thought that he and the people of Albrook had gained a certain degree of fame, but it clearly had not reached the ears of these craftsmen.

“Never mind. It isn’t important…”

Roland exhaled slowly through his nose, then shook his head. Hasim snorted and folded his thick arms across his chest.

“Important or not, ye didn’t answer the question that matters.”

He jabbed a thick finger at Roland’s breastplate.

“That armor weren’t made by some backwater runesmith. I don’t care what name ye throw at me. Whoever forged it knew exactly what they were doin’. And don’t tell me it’s all one man’s work either.”

Roland raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? It was actually made by just one man and his assistant.”

"Aye, just as I thought. No way a single soul forged this on his lonesome... wait, what was that ye said?"

Roland met the dwarf’s incredulous stare without flinching.

“One man and their assistant.”

He repeated it calmly as the others stared at him. Even though Hasim was the main Master Runesmith here, several other tier three craftsmen stood with him. It seemed he had wanted to examine Roland’s armor alongside them. For what purpose, Roland did not know, though perhaps Hasim meant to scrutinize it and point out its supposed flaws.

“No single smith lays runes like these!”

A dwarven woman shouted from the side as she stepped forward, and soon the rest followed. They began inspecting his helmet and gauntlets. Some even dropped to their knees to examine his greaves, while his robe still covered most of the armor.

‘I did not expect this reaction. Is it really such a big deal to make a suit of armor like this alone?’

He wondered as he noticed a strange glint in Hasim’s eyes. It seemed the leader of the group actually believed him, and his interest was clear.