The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
Chapter 68: The White Anvil Tribe (2)
The craftsmanship of dwarves brings wealth, honor, and power.
Many sought to monopolize their skill, but no faction ever succeeded.
‘Well, if we add the condition ‘temporarily,’ there are exactly three factions that managed it.’
The imperial family, the Celestial Sword Clan of Yan, and the White Tower.
These three factions maintained close ties with the dwarves.
‘In particular, our White Tower had frequent exchanges with the northern White Anvil Tribe.’
This allowed them to earn the tribe’s trust, leading to several exclusive contracts.
To a dwarf, an exclusive contract was a testament of immense trust.
‘It means that during the contract period, they won’t craft anything for anyone else but us.’
Of course, even with the White Tower securing a 50-year exclusive contract, not all dwarves worked solely for them.
After all, the dwarven kingdom consisted of five tribes:
The northern White Anvil Tribe.
The eastern Black Hammer Tribe.
The southern Blue Salt Tribe.
The western Red Sand Tribe.
And finally, the central Golden Pillar Tribe.
‘Each tribe has slightly different architectural styles and artistic tendencies.’
But none could claim superiority; they were all master artisans blessed with unrivaled skill.
Among them, the White Anvil Tribe’s city was relatively close to Sirin.
It was only a six-hour walk, even if one had to pull a cart.
“Phew.”
Sweating profusely as he climbed the mountain, Oscar stood before a massive stone gate.
Though it was just a stone gate, its finish was flawless.
“Ahem.”
As Oscar approached the gate, he sensed an air of hostility.
At the same time, two figures emerged from behind him.
‘Dwarven warriors guarding the city gate.’
Those two were likely the finest warriors of the White Anvil Tribe.
Raising his empty hands, Oscar slowly turned around and spoke.
“I am not an enemy.”
“Hmph, we’ll decide that.”
“State your affiliation and identity, human.”
They held axes and wore the distinctive helmets of dwarven warriors.
‘Many underestimated them due to their childlike appearance, so they deliberately designed intimidating helmets.’
The helmets completely covered their faces, adorned with exaggeratedly twisted beards and hair.
These helmets were the reason the dwarves’ appearance in fairy tales diverged from reality.
The glint of their eyes, visible through the hair, was enough to make one’s knees weak at first sight.
“I am Oscar Crucian, a mage from the White Tower.”
“...The White Tower, you say?”
“Yes. I’ve come to meet with the White Anvil Tribe’s chief on an urgent matter.”
After exchanging glances, the warriors lowered their axes slightly and asked:
“What’s in the cart behind you?”
“Are there other humans hiding in it?”
“Feel free to inspect it.”
At Oscar’s willingness, they warily examined the cart.
Tapping the jars loaded onto it, they carefully unsealed one.
“Sniff, sniff! This scent... could it be?”
“Surely not...”
“It’s liquor I’ve brought as a gift. I thought you might miss human-made alcohol.”
“Go in! No, we’ll escort you ourselves!”
“You stay and guard the entrance. I’ll make sure this human doesn’t cause trouble while leading him to the city.”
“No, you stay here and guard!”
As expected, the dwarf’s love for alcohol was unmatched.
Oscar unloaded one of the jars and said:
“You two can enjoy this after your shift. But don’t touch it while on duty.”
“Ehem, ahem.”
“What’s all this...?”
Lifting the jar—taller than themselves—they carefully hid it in the bushes and opened the gate.
“Enter. We’ll send word ahead.”
“Thank you.”
Thud, thud, thud.
An ancient magical elevator was revealed as the massive stone gate opened with a heavy rumble.
‘It’s just as I remember. I once repaired this when it broke down.’
Would it still function properly?
Loading the cart and operating the lever, the elevator slowly descended.
Soon, a magnificent underground city was revealed, far more stunning than the black market in Baran City.
‘They’ve made quite a few changes since my last visit.’
With their keen aesthetic sense, dwarves periodically tore down and rebuilt their homes.
As Oscar stepped off the elevator, a group was waiting for him.
“Hm.”
The dwarf at the forefront exuded a craftsman’s spirit.
Dressed in traditional work attire, he had bright orange hair.
“Welcome, human. I am Hagor, chief of the White Anvil Tribe.”
“My name is Oscar Crucian, a third-level mage of the White Tower.”
As Oscar greeted him warmly, a flicker of nostalgia crossed his eyes.
Hagor was the most skilled artisan among the White Anvil dwarves and had once looked much cuter.
‘Hagor hasn’t aged a day in 20 years.’
...Or rather, perhaps it’s more accurate to say he hasn’t grown.
Suppressing his fondness, Oscar listened as Hagor asked:
“What brings a human to our city?”
Meeting Hagor’s sharp gaze, Oscar crouched to match his eye level.
“I have come as an envoy from the White Tower to request the White Anvil Tribe fulfill the exclusive contract made with us 32 years ago.”
“Phew. As I’ve explained several times, that is impossible. We cannot defy His Majesty’s orders.”
“So, to clarify, the White Anvil Tribe wishes to honor the contract but cannot due to the Dwarven King’s decree?”
“That’s... correct.”
The moment Hagor reluctantly nodded, Oscar spoke as if he had been waiting for this.
“Very well. In that case, I will formally file a lawsuit against His Majesty, the Dwarven King.”
“...Did you just say lawsuit?”
“Yes. As per protocol, please convene the Underground Court.”
“Phew.”
Realizing he was caught in a headache-inducing situation, Hagor spoke in a conciliatory tone.
“Listen, young mage. I understand your position, but even if you sue His Majesty, nothing will change.”
“Because the one passing judgment is the Dwarven King himself?”
“...You already know. The accused presides over the case. Do you really believe you can win?”
It was a perfectly reasonable and logical thought.
However, in this world, there is always an unexpected "variable" lurking.
"I'll handle that part myself, so just convene the court. I'll take full responsibility."
"Hmm."
Hagor crossed his arms with a grumpy expression.
"And why should I risk His Majesty's wrath to help you?"
"Didn't you sign an exclusive contract with us?"
"That contract has been rendered null and void under His Majesty's orders."
"Of course, I'm not asking for help for free."
"Even though our interaction has been limited, we still hear things. The prestige of the White Tower isn’t what it used to be. What exactly can you offer us?"
Oscar pointed to the wagon filled to the brim with liquor.
"I'll provide you with alcohol."
"...Just from the smell, it seems like pretty good stuff."
Of course.
These are bottles worth tens of thousands of bel each.
"But do you think I’d risk His Majesty’s wrath for mere bribes like this?"
"Ah, I thought you might misunderstand, so let me clarify: these are just a courtesy gift. The alcohol I’m offering is far more extraordinary and valuable than these."
"No matter how expensive or fine the liquor, it wouldn't be worth angering His Majesty."
Oscar smiled brightly in response to the scoffing, resolute refusal.
"What if it’s the coldest beer in the world, drunk above the clouds?"
"...Is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?"
"No, I mean it literally. You know what an airship is, don’t you?"
Hagor had once worked on the Sky Project.
In other words, he understood the concept of an airship better than anyone.
As expected, his eyes narrowed.
"Of course I know. Isn't that the project that failed spectacularly?"
"Yes, it was. But this time, it’s different."
"This time...? Don’t tell me you’re attempting it again?"
"Indeed. And it’s almost complete. All that’s left is the airship itself."
Hearing this unexpected revelation, Hagor's pupils trembled.
‘An airship...’
It had been his greatest dream at one point, but he had to let it go after tasting bitter failure.
And now, with just the construction of an airship, he could challenge that dream again?
‘But even if what he says is true...’
Hagor closed his eyes tightly and shook his head.
"No. I can’t take such a high-stakes gamble, especially when it puts my clan at risk."
It was a response befitting a chieftain.
To protect his clan’s safety, he was willing to give up a dream he had clung to so fervently.
However, the other dwarves present began looking at him as if he were the odd one.
"Chieftain, are you out of your mind? Why are you even hesitating? He said he’d take full responsibility!"
"We absolutely must do this. How could we resist drinking beer on an airship?"
"No living creature has ever drunk alcohol in the sky, has it? If we succeed, we’ll be the first."
Dwarves, more than any other race, pride themselves on their honor and accomplishments.
To miss the chance to set a historic precedent—especially one involving alcohol, which they treasured above all else—was unthinkable.
Seeing their unexpected reaction, Hagor clutched his chest in frustration.
"Ha, you fools. Do you have any idea how hard it is to convene the Underground Court?"
"Well, but isn’t the reward sweet enough?"
"For 20 years, I’ve heard about this so-called magical engineering or whatever. Maybe this is our chance to see the outside world, too."
The dwarves' minds were already in the clouds.
Oscar seized the moment for the final blow.
"Everyone, have you heard of Heaven’s Staircase?"
"Heaven’s Staircase!"
"Of course we’ve heard of it! Isn’t that the wine those Blue Salt Tribe folks brag about every time there’s a royal council meeting?"
Heaven’s Staircase was an incredibly rare and expensive wine produced only on the southern coast of the Empire.
Although technically alcoholic, its ingredients made it closer to a magical elixir.
"As you know, this wine evaporates within 72 hours of production, so unless you’re at the southern coast, drinking it is impossible."
Since only three bottles were produced annually, even southern dwarves had rarely tasted more than a few drops.
"I promise you this: if the airship is completed, you’ll be able to taste Heaven’s Staircase right here in the sky. And why stop there? What if I gathered every renowned liquor on the continent and let you drink them all at once?"
"Every renowned liquor on the continent...?"
"In the clouds?"
"Then, would that include things like Royal Smoker from the west and Heavenly Jade Wine enjoyed by nobles of Yan?"
These were world-famous liquors with short shelf lives, typically consumed only in their regions of origin.
But with an airship, it would be possible to bring them to Sirin for consumption.
"Of course, it’s possible. Why wouldn’t it be?"
The dwarves' eyes glazed over, as if intoxicated by the sheer sweetness of his promise.
"This... this has to happen..."
"If you want out, chieftain, you can leave alone."
"The airship... It must be built. It absolutely must."
"Even those boastful Blue Salt or Red Sand tribes won’t dare speak if we tell them we’ve drunk on an airship."
By now, the weapons they had been holding were hanging limply.
Hagor looked at Oscar with a resigned expression.
"I thought you were just a naive little brat, but you’re a silver-tongued devil. How old are you?"
"Twenty-one."
Oscar looked strangely delighted as he answered.
"Twenty-one, huh... Good grief."
Hagor scratched the back of his head as he stared at the hand Oscar extended toward him.
"Damn it, I swore I’d never have anything to do with anyone named Oscar again."
"Why? What’s wrong with my name?"
"The previous Tower Master of the White Tower had the same name. That bastard worked us to the bone like dogs."
He shuddered as he recalled the past.
"And yet other clans envied us for working with the great Archmage. They didn’t know a damn thing."
"That must have been tough... But don’t worry. I’m just someone with the same name."
"Yeah, I suppose you are."
After a brief hesitation, Hagor finally clasped the outstretched hand.
"Fine. You’re just a namesake. It’s not your fault."
"Exactly."
As they shook hands, a meaningful smile crept across Oscar’s lips.

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