Anagin Chronicles

Chapter 076. Proof (1)

First, let’s make one thing clear.

The race known as dwarves was a sturdy one.

Though short in stature, with skin hard as stone, thick bones, and powerful muscles, they were physically formidable.

They were not on the level of the Gigants with the strength of giants, nor the Centaurs, half-man and half-beast, nor the Blessed whose bodies were reinforced by divine favor, but compared to ordinary humans, their physiques were incomparable.

You could tell just by watching them hammer away all day in front of blazing flames!

That said, dwarves were not a race strong in body ‘alone’.

Strength was a word that could be interpreted in many ways, and dwarves were strong in the head as well.

It was simply not obvious, hidden behind their stubborn nature, doggedness, and honesty to the point of seeming foolish, but dwarves were quite sharp-minded too.

It was no coincidence that, in bustling cities, one or two dwarves were often found among the big players in finance and trade.

However, the strongest trait of the dwarves, who wandered without a nation and lived scattered far and wide, was none other than their indomitable spirit.

With abundant innate talent and amassed wealth, dwarves were prime prey for countless powerholders, and in truth, those people tried to tear into them whenever they saw an opening.

To exploit a dwarf’s skills, to seize their wealth.

Some dwarves could not endure such threats and met tragic ends, but the majority endured.

Through an indomitable will that never bent, through patience and perseverance, through a resilient spirit!

That could be called the dwarves’ true strength.

Naturally, Grumbal, who bore the title of blacksmith in the Chiron Tower, also possessed such a resilient spirit.

He had a mind as solid as bedrock, unmoved by most pressure, coercion, or honeyed words.

And yet, someone appeared who shook that resilient spirit.

“Master. Are you all right?”

A human disciple cautiously asked Grumbal, whose eyes were bloodshot with heightened nerves. His condition was bad enough to warrant the question.

“How many days has that damn bastard been doing that?”

By “that damn bastard,” Grumbal meant Anagin, who stood off to one side of the forge entrance, silently staring at him.

Without blinking once, he continued to stare at him in silence.

“It’s been ten days.”

The disciple answered as if he himself could hardly believe it.

From the moment Grumbal had refused Anagin’s request without even hearing it out, Anagin had sent his companions away and then, without resting for even a moment, stood within Grumbal’s field of vision, watching him.

While he worked, of course, and even during the occasional breaks, mealtimes, and except for sleeping hours, he kept watching. Without sleeping or eating.

Ah, of course, he did not enter private spaces like the bedroom, but he stood in front of the corridor, waiting until Grumbal came out.

How did they know? The guards on patrol told them. They said he stood there without sleeping, waiting for Grumbal.

For ten whole days!

“That lunatic.”

Feeling a chill crawl up his spine, Grumbal cursed Anagin, who was staring at him silently from afar.

For the first three days, he ignored him without acknowledging his presence, but after that, the gaze grew more intense, to the point where it was impossible to ignore.

It felt like an invisible hand poking at him again and again.

Grumbal was flustered by this unfamiliar type.

Occasionally, outsiders who visited the Tower would try to commission work by flaunting meaningless titles or wealth, but most of them folded in less than a week.

But that bastard had endured a week and three more days. Without eating or sleeping!

What was even more terrifying was that it felt like he could endure ten more days like that.

There was no basis for it, but that was the feeling.

Grumbal wondered how such a thing was even possible.

Even if Gigants or the Blessed had far greater stamina than ordinary people, there was still a reasonable limit.

Even if it were possible, unless it was an extreme situation, no one would try to do something like that. Why? Because it was exhausting!

No matter how superhuman one’s strength, staying up all night was still miserable. And yet, that bastard was doing it.

‘Just what could drive him that far? Is he asking me to fix some heirloom from his dead parents or something?’

Based on his years of experience, Grumbal made his own guess.

It was entirely possible. Among those who came to this Tower, there were not only high-ranking figures but also plenty of people with stories.

This is my mother’s keepsake. This is something my departed father left behind. This is a gift from my grandfather.

However, Grumbal was not the type to be swayed by such pleas, so he had rejected them all.

He had decided to make things only for the people of the Chiron Tower—more precisely, only for those who had proven themselves.

That was the vocation Grumbal had chosen for himself. And yet, that greenhorn was trying to shake it.

“Master.... If it bothers you, shall we have someone chase him off?”

The disciple, worried about his master, made the suggestion.

Grumbal shook his head.

“No. Whatever the case, he’s a guest of Chiron.”

“But isn’t he a disturbance?”

That was not wrong.

Anagin was not committing violence or directly interfering with work, but his mere presence was already affecting things.

With a human scarecrow standing there for ten days without eating or sleeping, how could it not affect the work? The other workers weren’t blind. According to rumors, some were even taking bets on when Anagin would finally give up.

Even so, there was a reason Grumbal could not drive Anagin away.

It was pride, in its own way. The pride of driving off idle riffraff by his own will, without borrowing Chiron’s hand.

He could have asked Chiron to have him expelled, but then, in a small sense, he would owe him a debt, and in a larger sense, he would become someone under Chiron’s protection.

Grumbal himself.

It would put a crack in the pride he had built up from fending off riffraff on his own all these years.

Grumbal found it hard to make that choice.

“...Enough. It’s not worth bothering Chiron over. Everyone, get back to work!”

At Grumbal’s shout, the people in the forge refocused on their tasks.

When work ended, they invariably drank cold beer, ate a good meal, went to sleep, then woke up and worked again.

Anagin watched Grumbal without eating or sleeping for ten days, and after five more days passed, Grumbal finally opened his mouth.

“You crazy bastard.... Fine, tell me your business.”

* * *

“Yoo-hoo—!”

Anagin, who had followed Grumbal for a full fifteen days without eating or sleeping, silently staring at him the entire time, thrust both arms straight up into the sky and let out a cheer.

At the sight of so unlike his usual self, Sphinx—who happened to be watching Anagin at the time—briefly worried that he had finally lost his mind.

Though, come to think of it, he had always had a screw loose to begin with....

In any case, Anagin celebrated with his arms raised high.

“I thought I’d have to do this for another month, so this is a relief. Did you, by any chance, take pity on me?”

Whether he was genuinely grateful or being sarcastic, Grumbal frowned, but for now, held back.

He had finally decided to hear him out, and backing out over something like this would only hurt his pride. Besides, the sheer grit of enduring fifteen days without eating or sleeping was worthy of respect.

“Speak, or I'm leaving.”

“Ah, I’ll talk. I’ll talk.”

Saying so, Anagin set down the Interspatial Bag hanging at his waist onto the floor.

Thud—!

As the bag hit the ground, a heavy sound rang out, and a faint vibration spread.

Using the keen senses unique to dwarves, Grumbal gauged the bag’s weight—and was simultaneously horrified. Don’t tell me this lunatic endured fifteen days with something this heavy strapped to his waist?

“I’d like you to fix these.”

From the bag Anagin set down, he pulled out a shattered Beast Cleaver and a Giant’s Bed with its chains snapped apart.

Both were magical tools. The Beast Cleaver had been damaged while fighting Periphetes, and the Giant’s Bed had been broken during the fight with Erysichthon.

Grumbal examined the items’ condition.

The Giant’s Bed was quite a rare item. Something capable of restraining even a decent Gigant—it was properly made.

In contrast, the Beast Cleaver was not particularly impressive. It wasn’t trash, but it also wasn’t something impossible to obtain.

Like a sickle that cuts wheat better, it was an item that even an ordinary person might acquire with some luck.

But strangely enough, the depth, the weight of history clinging to the item, was greater in the Beast Cleaver.

“...You want me to fix these two?”

“Yes.”

“Whose keepsakes are they?”

“They’re not keepsakes.”

As far as Anagin knew, the butcher who had gifted him the Beast Cleaver was not dead. He might be, but that wasn’t Anagin’s concern.

Likewise, the bandit who had owned the Giant’s Bed had been killed after giving it to him, so calling it a keepsake would be wrong—it should be called a gift.

“I just like them, so I want them fixed.”

“You went through all this madness for fifteen days... for that reason?”

“I enjoy a bit of madness. Besides, I’ve grown accustomed to how they feel in my hands.”

It was a mind-numbing answer, but Grumbal wasn’t surprised.

He already knew Anagin was a madman who had followed him around for fifteen days, so he could accept it to some degree.

“Can you fix them?”

“No.”

“Then why did you tell me to state my business?”

“I told you to say it. I didn’t say I’d grant it.”

Grumbal barked as he scolded Anagin’s foolishness.

Watching from the side, Sphinx grew anxious that Anagin might throw a punch, but Anagin merely thought for a moment and nodded.

“...That’s logical.”

Sphinx worried about Anagin’s head once again, and in the meantime, Grumbal spoke again.

“I have no intention of fixing them, but even if I did, I couldn’t. To repair magical tools, materials are needed, and naturally, the client must bring them.”

“If I bring them, will you fix them?”

“Do you have the materials?”

At that moment, Sphinx, who had been quietly observing beside Anagin, interjected.

Stepping between Anagin and Grumbal, Sphinx pulled out a bronze club snapped cleanly in two from within their robe and held it out.

“Longbald’s bronze club?”

Sphinx nodded.

The bronze club Sphinx offered was the first club Periphetes had used—and the very one Anagin had snapped in half.

After cracking it with his Interspatial Bag, he had cut through the crack with the Beast Cleaver.

Sphinx spoke to Grumbal.

“Wouldn’t this be sufficient as material? I understand that even destroyed magic weapons are suitable as materials. All the more so if it’s the weapon that destroyed that magic weapon.”

“...You cut this bronze club?”

“Yes, with the Beast Cleaver.”

Anagin pointed at the broken Beast Cleaver.

Grumbal fell into thought. The snapped bronze club was a fairly decent item. And yet, it had been cut in half by a lower-grade butcher’s knife (the Beast Cleaver).......

“Still no. Even if you brought materials, you’re not affiliated with this Tower.”

“Ah, is that your rule? Accepting commissions only from Chiron Tower’s fifth-floor disciples and up?”

“Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

Anagin thought for a moment, then shook his head.

To be honest, he didn’t like it much, but he knew that it wasn’t his place, as the one making the request, to argue like that.

Perhaps that generosity of spirit got through, because Grumbal made a new proposal.

“But there are exceptions! If you prove yourself, I might fix them....”

Grumbal trailed off, deliberately, to make his intent clear.

Just as the atmosphere was heating up and he was about to get to the point—

“Master.”

The disciple approached, holding a newspaper in one hand.

“What is it?”

Irritated at being interrupted at such an important moment, Grumbal asked sharply, and the disciple quietly held out a page of the newspaper.

There was an article printed there.

「The Practitioner Killer Who Protected Practitioners from Erysichthon! Turns Out He’s a Practitioner Protector?!」

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—Trainee Reporter Klephthys—