“I didn’t expect ‘Slayer Maker’ to come here.” Rastard, the old dwarf guarding the Eternal Smithy, said smiling as he stroked his long beard.0

“How is Solardo of the Golden Anvil tribe doing?”2

“He is striking on iron as usual.”0

“Did Solardo allow you to come here?” Rastard asked.1

“…” Jakiro smiled.1

“I see. You came here on our own will.”1

“That’s right.”0

“Any young blacksmith will end up coming here at least once. And the Slayer Maker is more than qualified to enter.”0

“That’s overpraising.”0

“I’ve seen the Wizard Slayer you made before.”1

Clank! Clank!0

Rastard looked in the direction where the sound came from. A dwarf was hammering on iron in the corner. The red-hot iron was struck by his hammer and slowly changed shape little by little. The dwarf’s hammering speeded up.0

“It was a fast and sharp sword.”0

“You don’t need a big weapon to kill a wizard.”0

“Yes. It was excellent. Do you know who is using that sword now?”0

“I don’t know.”0

“As expected, you’re just like Solardo.” Rastard smiled bitterly.0

“Wizard Slayer is now in the hands of a madman who loathes wizards. Countless innocent wizards have died in his hands.”0

“Is that so?” Jakiro shrugged.0

“It has nothing to do with me.”0

“As expected of Solardo’s kinsfolk.” Rastard laughed out loud.0

“Fine, Slayer Maker. What kind of monster are you going to make here in the Eternal Smithy? Are you going to make a weapon that can kill something...0