Free Web NovelTime rewound to five days earlier.
Mudu, Lizardfolk residential district.
This neighborhood lay on Mudu’s southern side. At a glance the houses were built from gray-white stone, their roofs thatched with dried reeds, and Putu totems woven from ropes hung over the doorways.
Anvil sat obediently on a wooden bench in front of a stone house,
and beside him crouched a dragon.
Little Ka folded his wings at his sides, his tail coiled in front of his claws. Right now he kept his head bowed, burying his whole face in a wooden bowl larger than Anvil’s head, slurping something down.
An elderly Lizardfolk woman lifted the reed curtain of the stone house and came out carrying another wooden bowl, which she offered to Anvil with warm hospitality.
The bowl held a thick, gray-green soup; floating on its surface were a few strip-like pieces that looked like jerky, emitting an odd scent that was neither wholly pleasant nor wholly unpleasant.
“Master Anvil, have some soup, warm your body,” the old woman said with a smile. When she spoke she revealed two rows of fine pointed teeth, and her expression was sincere.
Anvil accepted the bowl and glanced down at it.
He recognized the meat: it came from some amphibious, winged beast of the swamp. The Lizardfolk tradition was to slice it thin and stew meat and broth together, said to be nourishing.
But a dwarf’s stomach was used to ale and roasted meat. Faced with this mysterious swamp delicacy, his survival instincts prevented him from taking it at once.
“Thank you, thank you.” He thanked her repeatedly, cradling the bowl in his hands.
Behind a stone wall, several little Lizardfolk poked their heads out with curiosity, their slit pupils wide as they stared at Little Ka without blinking.
Little Ka lifted his head from the wooden bowl, a ring of gray-green broth clinging to his mouth. He licked his lips, snorted, clearly still savoring it.
The little Lizardfolk giggled.
Anvil looked at the bowl in his hands, then sneakily glanced at the wooden bowl in front of Little Ka that was nearly empty, pouring the soup from his own wrist into Little Ka’s bowl without making a fuss.
Then he told them the reason for his visit. “It’s like this: I plan to prepare a gift for His Majesty. A gift that requires the whole populace to contribute. So I wanted to ask if you had anything you would like to give to His Majesty.”
“I heard that when His Majesty first came out of the swamp, his first contact was with your Lizardfolk tribe.”
The old Lizardfolk woman sat down on the stone across from him, wiped her hands on her apron, then pressed her fingertips to her forehead and thumb to her chin in a Lizardfolk gesture of gratitude.
“Putu bless Sekashi that child, for letting her meet His Majesty in the swamp. We thank them for defeating the Corrupted Lizardfolk and restoring peace to the tribe.”
“We also thank His Majesty for letting us live here, on this land without hunger.”
“But if we’re simply to give His Majesty a gift, what should we prepare?”
“Just ordinary things.” Anvil scratched his head. “If you have anything you want to give His Majesty, you can give it.”
“Is that so...”
The old woman rose slowly, turned and walked back into the stone house, and rummaged through clay jars.
After a moment she lifted the reed curtain and came back out, holding a small bundle carefully wrapped in hay leaves.
She sat back down across from Anvil and carefully unfolded the hay leaves. Inside were several palm-sized pieces of jerky, dark brown in color, their surfaces without fine texture, gleaming slightly with oil in the sun.
A unique smoky fragrance drifted from the hay bundle. Compared to the earlier bowl of soup, this scent was less abrasive and carried a clear, wood-like aroma as if cut from burning branches.
“I heard His Majesty loves moss monster,” the old woman pushed the hay bundle toward Anvil, “this is moss monster jerky newly smoked by the tribe, smoked with brushwood from the southern edge of the swamp.”
“The smoke from that kind of branch is especially clean. The jerky won’t turn bitter and has a faint sweetness; the children scramble for it.”
She drew her hands back and placed them on her knees. Her voice softened and she sighed a little.
“I heard His Majesty is always busy. Sekashi says every time she returns to the tribe, His Majesty is either handling northern affairs or preparing southern construction, and he rarely has the time to sit and eat a proper meal.”
“Our tribe has no valuables to give His Majesty. We only hope he eats well and doesn’t go hungry.”
“Please, Master Anvil, help deliver this to His Majesty.”
Anvil reached out and took the hay-wrapped bundle with solemn care.
“I will definitely deliver it. I will tell His Majesty this moss monster jerky was smoked by the Lizardfolk tribe—truly fragrant.”
The old woman smiled, the wrinkles between her scales forming two crescent lines.
Anvil chatted a bit more, asking about the tribe’s recent conditions, how the young Lizardfolk were performing in the legion, and whether the two sisters Sekashi and Semiaya had returned lately.
The old woman answered each question plainly, but every response carried a hint of pride.
Little Ka had licked the wooden bowl clean, even licking the bottom dry, and was now sprawled in the open space before the stone house basking in the sun.
A few little Lizardfolk slipped out from behind Anvil when he wasn’t looking and reached to touch the tip of Little Ka’s tail.
Little Ka flicked his tail with gentle force, like a cat toying with yarn. The little Lizardfolk scattered with giggles and then came back again.
Anvil carefully tucked the hay-wrapped bundle into the special leather pouch on his chest, stood and prepared to take his leave from the old woman.
“Nana, I won’t drink the soup; I still have several stops to make along the way, but I will personally deliver this jerky to His Majesty, don’t worry.”
He hoisted himself onto Little Ka’s back and waved to the old woman.
“Sir Little Ka, let’s go.”
The black dragon hatchling gave a crisp chirp, spread his wings, ran a few steps along the street, and leapt into the sky.
“A gift for the King?”
Facing this unexpected visitor Anvil, the Slime Scholar who lived on Mudu Dew Street made a puzzled gurgle.
It thought for a moment, bounced back into its wooden house, and carefully emerged from a pile of books holding a dull gray Gravel Crystal in its gelatinous arms.
“Mmm...” The green Slime placed the Gray Gravel Crystal on the step and stared at it for a long time.
“This is something from when I studied at Oak Academy.”
“Back then there weren’t so many streets or houses in the swamp. The nights there were darker than now. Once it got dark, we piled into the academy treehouse and fell asleep early.”
It raised a gel hand and touched the Gray Gravel Crystal.
“Even in daytime the swamp sky wasn’t very bright. When the academy was first built, even classroom light was insufficient; people had to crowd together to read a single book.”
“At that time the Gray Gravel Crystal was precious, but the King still hung it on the academy roof to illuminate the classrooms.”
“The King said that if he did that, the swamp would no longer be so dark.”
“Later, after I retired from the council, my companions gave me this Gray Gravel Crystal. I kept it in a wooden box as a treasure and have kept it until now.”
It pushed the crystal lamp toward Anvil.
“I want to give it back to the King.”
Anvil extended his hand and took it.
“I will deliver it to His Majesty.”
Anvil carefully placed the Gray Gravel Crystal into the leather pouch, alongside the Lizardfolk woman’s hay-wrapped bundle.
.....
“A gift, huh......”
At the bonfire camp outside the outpost town, the adventurer sitting opposite Anvil carefully removed the oak amulet from his neck and solemnly placed it into Anvil’s palm.
Then he clinked his wooden tankard against Anvil’s cup.
“We survived. We all got out alive from those damned goblins, out of that hellish mining area. This cup is to you and Old Kane, and to our great His Majesty.”
Anvil grinned, took a large swig from his wooden tankard, and flexed his biceps.
“I’m not afraid of goblins. If they hadn’t had the numbers, I’d have taken them down long ago. Those green little bastards—one hammer at a time.”
The man laughed, then exhaled a long breath, leaning back on a wooden crate behind him and staring into the bonfire as sparks rose from the flames and vanished into the unseen night.
“At one point I thought I couldn’t survive. Locked in the mine, every day you could hear people being dragged off by goblins...” He shook his head and didn’t finish the sentence.
“But fortunately there was His Majesty, and you, and Old Kane. When His Majesty reached into the pit, I thought it was an illusion—how could there be a slime in the mine?”
He took another gulp of ale and turned his gaze from the campfire to the oak amulet in Anvil’s hand.
“This amulet was carved by my mother when I was a child. We were poor and couldn’t afford an amulet blessed by the priests in the temple, couldn’t even pay for the cheapest copper holy emblem in town.”
“She was clumsy and couldn’t do metalworking. She didn’t know an amulet needed magic to be effective.”
“She just thought that if she carved an amulet, the gods would protect her child. That simple country woman only wished her child to come home safely.”
“Later, I was taken into the mining area and imprisoned under overseers. Thankfully the goblins had no interest in wood, so this wooden amulet hung right under their noses until we were rescued.”
“Maybe part of why I survived is thanks to it. Though it has no magic, whenever I felt it I had the sense someone was waiting for me to come back.”
He said solemnly: “This is the most important thing to me. Anvil, I hope it can protect that merciful His Majesty like it protected me.”
“Even though it might not be of any actual use...”
Anvil folded the amulet into his palm and reverently placed it in the leather pouch.
“No, this gift is precious.”
A smile flickered across the man’s face as he raised his tankard and drank again.
“By the way, what about Old Kane now?”
Anvil shook his head. “I heard he’s been setting up a fleet with the Merchant Alliance, got several big ships and plans to roam the seas. After years in the mines that fellow can’t sit still—he wants to go everywhere.”
The two sat by the bonfire a long while, drinking several rounds of ale, until the night wore the fire down and they finally went their separate ways.
....
“A gift! Father, it’s to give His Majesty a gift!”
In the square before the Sanctuary in Darkness City people came and went—merchants pushing carts, Slime scholars in apprentice robes, immigrants with packs from the south, and worshipers chanting on the Sanctuary steps...
A little girl stood among the crowd, about eight or nine years old, her brown hair braided into two pigtails that hung over her shoulders. She held one hand on her father’s sleeve and waved the other high in the air, happily waving at Anvil.
Her voice drew the attention of many passersby.
Merchants quickly removed their hats and bowed apologetically as Anvil passed.
“Pardon me, Mr. Anvil. We have to run trade routes often and haven’t managed to send Little Aileen to the academy yet. She hasn’t learned to sit still—she’s used to running rough with the caravan...”
“But she’s being polite in greeting Mr. Anvil!” Little Aileen stamped her chin in defiance. “And it’s a gift for His Majesty! Father, you don’t understand. If my friends find out I gave His Majesty a gift, they’ll be so jealous.”
Anvil laughed heartily.
“I think we should let Little Aileen deliver the gift to His Majesty. He will surely like what she gives.”
The merchant hesitated. “Would that be too hasty... Master Anvil, I mean, since this is a gift for His Majesty it should of course be some precious gems, mithril, or enchanted jewelry.”
“We aren’t wealthy, but if we prepared in advance we could still scrape together some—”
Anvil shook his head. “No glittering gem can match the translucence of His Majesty’s gel. What use are those things?”
“But I have a feeling he will like the gift Little Aileen gives.”
“Right?” Little Aileen looked up at Anvil, then tucked her hand into her skirt pocket to search.
She produced a candy wrapped in sugar paper.
She stared at the candy for a few seconds, her small face showing reluctance.
Then she inhaled deeply, as if making a huge decision, and with mock generosity placed the candy in Anvil’s hand.
“This is the best candy in the world. I was going to save it for my birthday, but His Majesty is so busy every day—he must need candy more than I do. If His Majesty eats it he will be happy.”
The merchant opened his mouth and hesitated. “Though this candy came from the confectioner in Winterhold and is really good, as a gift might it be too...”
“This is a perfect gift.” Anvil looked pleased.
.......
After that Anvil rode Little Ka across the Dark Realm, Winterhold, and the Storm Territory...
Gifts came from dwarf artisans, Slime apprentices, elves, Merchant Alliance sailors, miners of the Dark Realm, wounded soldiers of the Restoration Army... even from magical creatures who didn’t speak the Common Tongue, who wove a crooked grasshopper from reed stems—Anvil accepted it too.
A few days later Anvil returned to the Obsidian Mining Area, bringing Little Aileen with him as an assistant. They went into the forge deep within the mine.
At the hall’s center stood a forging platform, beside which ran a magma channel led up from underground. Orange-red lava flowed slowly through the channel, supplying the furnace with endless heat.
On the wooden racks all his tools were neatly arranged, next to oil and water troughs for quenching, and in the corners lay stacks of metal ingots of varying colors.
He approached the forge, then began taking the gifts from the leather pouch one by one.
The Lizardfolk woman’s moss monster jerky, the Gray Gravel Crystal lamp, the oak amulet, Little Aileen’s candy, the old dwarf’s iron ring, a shell bracelet, the grass-woven grasshopper... he set them in a circle around the edge of the forging table, adjusting each one’s angle as he placed it so they sat as steadily as possible.
Then he took out the most important item.
The Remnant of the Sun.
Gold shards rose from his palm, and under the heat of the magma channel they emitted a warm, golden glow.
Anvil set the Sun Remnant on the anvil, then reached for a small wooden bucket and splashed water on his face.
Cold water trickled down his beard, washing away the dust and fatigue of the journey.
He gripped the copper hammer’s handle and felt the rune’s heat course through his palm into his veins, like a hot iron wire plunged into ice water, sizzling from his arm all the way to the back of his skull.
He inhaled and raised the hammer.
There were no grand speeches, no furnace rituals.
He wanted to forge a crown truly belonging to their King. This idea had been buried in his heart since the day they rescued him from the goblins; now was the time to fulfill it.
The floating fortress rising filled him with joy—it was the pride of the kingdom’s craftsmen—but what he most wanted to do was still to forge this crown.
The dwarf king had a crown of mountain bronze, the elf lord had a crown of star-leaves, the human king had a golden crown.
The Slime Kingdom needed a crown that any who saw it would know belonged uniquely to Slimes.
Extraordinary Craftsmen possess the power to turn the mundane into the miraculous—a secret never spread outside the dwarven clans.
A blacksmith can hammer iron for a lifetime, perfecting his craft to replicate the veins of a leaf in steel, but he cannot forge an object with a soul.
Only an Extraordinary Craftsman can forge a person’s wishes and will into burning metal and give cold steel genuine warmth.
That was why he had been collecting the people’s gifts.
Anvil’s gaze swept over the gifts arrayed around the forge.
None of them were valuable in the conventional sense; none were flashy. But each contained a simple wish and a piece of will.
To an Extraordinary Craftsman those simple wishes were more precious than any mithril or magic crystal—they were the best materials for forging in the world.
“Little Aileen, are you ready?” Anvil did not turn around.
“Yes.” Little Aileen sat on a stone slab and nodded seriously. “I want to give His Majesty a gift too.”
Anvil grinned broadly.
“Then I won’t lose to you.”
The hammer fell.
Clang!!
The first strike landed on the Sun Remnant, unleashing a dazzling brilliance.
Like newly rekindled embers, golden light surged from within the fragments, bathing the entire forge in the color of midday.
Anvil’s arm buzzed with numbness as the Sun Remnant resisted his blows.
But he did not stop.
Second strike, third, fourth—
Hammer after hammer came down as if taming a living flame.
Each blow’s vibration traveled through Anvil into the surrounding gifts.
In Anvil’s perception the gifts began to glow.
Those wishes streamed like fine threads, slowly flowing into the Sun Remnant.
With each infusion of light the Sun Remnant’s resistance diminished a little.
It no longer rebounded with scorching force; instead it began to pulse slightly to the rhythm of Anvil’s hammer blows, like a heart gradually adapting to a new body.
It was being soothed.
Soothed by the simple concern embodied in the moss monster jerky, by the Gray Gravel Crystal’s nostalgia for days gone by, by the miners’ awkward blessings in the amulet, by Little Aileen’s pure wish in her candy...
The Sun Remnant ceased resisting and began to accept.
Anvil’s hammering pace slowed, his breaths becoming ragged.
The crown’s outline formed on the anvil.
Under high heat and nourished by wishes, the golden fragments fused with expensive adamantine and mithril, gradually forming a ring.
Anvil’s breathing grew heavier; sweat streamed down his forehead.
Little Aileen held a clean piece of linen and helped wipe his brow.
Gradually Anvil’s vision blurred.
He could feel his arms weakening; each time he raised the hammer it felt heavier than before.
But he could not fall yet. He was so close—just a bit more and it would succeed.
Anvil gritted his teeth and hoisted the hammer over his head, but his arms trembled and he could not bring it down.
He felt every ounce of strength drained by the weight of that swing; his knees weakened and his body began to tilt back, all the effort on the verge of failing.
At that moment he felt as if countless hands reached from behind and held him up.
Faces filled his vision—faces full of expectation—those wishes were helping him, supporting him to stand again.
A deep roar rose in Anvil’s throat. He poured all his strength, will, pride, and every wish he had carried back into this final blow.
The hammer fell.
Boom!!!
The copper hammer struck the crown’s shaping with a sound unlike any previous strike.
The noise was like the first heartbeat of something being born. The shockwave burst from Anvil’s center, blowing dust from the forging table and making the magma in the channel leap.
Golden light surged from the anvil.
Like the first spring sunlight through new leaves falling on the soil—fresh and warm.
Anvil stepped back on that force, braced the hammer handle against the ground, and panted deeply.
Blackness still crept at the edges of his vision, but he opened his mouth and laughed with heroic abandon.
It worked. A true crown.
He had forged a real crown.
Little Aileen reached out to the crown.
Enchanting runes instantly spread across its surface, then faded.
The crown gave a soft chiming, and all its light collected inward. It rose slowly from the anvil and hovered midair.
It was so beautiful Anvil held his breath. Small enough to rest on a Slime’s head, yet every arc radiated regal dignity.
Anvil was delirious with joy and tried to reach for the crown, when he saw it fly outward.
His laugh choked in his throat.
“The crown! The crown I just forged!”
Anvil panicked and dashed out after it, his barrel-like dwarf body making his run look a bit ridiculous.
The crown skimmed through the mine’s thoroughfares as if recognizing the route, choosing directions without hesitation at every fork.
It flew past the dwarf artisans’ breakroom, the ore sorting area, the Gray Gravel Crystal warehouse, and out to the mining area entrance.
Then it settled at the gate, its golden light drawing inward, resting quietly on the ash-covered ground like a traveler who had come a long way to find family.
Anvil huffed and puffed as he reached the gate, bent over with hands on his knees, gasping for air.
He looked up, not yet able to relax.
A green figure bounded out at the mine entrance.
Chen Yu glanced at the golden crown on the ground, a string of question marks popping over his head.
A crown?
It came to look for me?
