VOLUME 15: EPILOGUE

VOLUME 15: EPILOGUE

[Dwarven Kingdom – Gorovir’s Workshop]

Recently, Gorovir often found himself wondering if all of this was just a dream.

Some mornings, when he woke to the sound of hammers ringing across the mountains and the scent of molten metal hanging in the air, he’d pause—just for a moment—and ask himself if this life was truly his.

Everything was too good to be true.

The forge burned hotter than ever, his hands no longer bound by the limits of coin or politics, and before him stood the grandest project ever attempted by dwarvenkind—a floating city carved from elven oak and tempered by fire.

For a craftsman who had spent decades laboring under the crown, chasing commissions that were never quite his own, this felt unreal.

He would sometimes chuckle under his breath, muttering, “Bah, I must’ve died in my sleep and woken up in the Allfather’s forge.”

Every swing of his hammer, every spark that flew, reminded him how far he’d come.

He was working with materials that only legends whispered of—adamantine, mithril, and millennium-old elven oaks that had absorbed mana from the dragon vein below.

To be entrusted with such wonders… it was like being handed the keys to creation itself.

And the best part?

He wasn’t doing it for fame, or gold, or anyone’s approval.

He was building something that would outlive him. A fortress that would touch the heavens, born from his own hands.

So whenever doubt crept in, whenever he questioned whether he was dreaming, Gorovir would slam his hammer against the anvil, feel the vibration run through his bones, and grin wide beneath his beard.

He’d murmur to himself, “If this be a dream, then by the forge, I hope I never wake.”

Who would have known that a human would be the key to fulfilling his dreams?

Had it not been for that human, he would still be trying to find ways to delve deep into the Poison Insect Paradise to gather elven oaks. And had it not been for that human, he would still be searching for records related to adamantite veins hidden beneath the land.

Although he didn’t consider the Dragons gods, he would sometimes pray to them and thank them for introducing Lark to the Dwarven Kingdom.

Meeting King Lark Marcus was definitely his greatest stroke of luck.

“Master,” said one of his disciples.

Although Gorovir had taken several new disciples recently, excluding the thousands of craftsmen involved in creating the floating castle, the dwarves he truly considered his heirs could be counted on one hand.

And the dwarf who spoke just now was one of them.

“What is it?” Gorovir asked without turning, his hammer still rhythmically striking the glowing metal before him.

“I know you told us not to disturb you, Master,” said the young dwarf, hesitating, “but an important visitor has just arrived.”

The hammer froze mid-swing.

Everyone in the workshop knew his temperament well. Even the dwarven royal family would wait hours—days, if needed—before Gorovir ever set aside his work. But the disciple’s tone carried a rare gravity, and that alone was enough to make his heart quicken.

He turned slowly, wiping the sweat and soot from his brow. “Is it… him?” he asked, his voice laced with anticipation.

The young dwarf nodded. “Yes, Master. King Lark has just arrived. He’s outside, watching the workers.”

For a heartbeat, Gorovir stood still, the words sinking in. Then his entire face lit up like a furnace flaring to life.

“King Lark!”

With a booming laugh, Gorovir practically tossed aside his tools and stomped toward the exit, his heavy boots echoing across the forge floor. He nearly tripped on a pile of ingots in his haste, earning startled looks from the surrounding dwarves.

Like a puppy welcoming the arrival of its owner, he bellowed, “I would have prepared a grand welcome had you told me beforehand!”

Outside, the large clearing brimmed with movement—dwarves shouting instructions, pulleys creaking under the weight of massive elven oaks, and furnaces roaring as molten metal poured into molds. The air shimmered with heat and the scent of burning coal. And in the midst of that ordered chaos stood the human king, calm and watchful, his eyes tracing every hammer strike and timber placement as though he could already see the finished fortress taking shape in his mind.

Beside Lark was an old woman with ashen hair. She looked oddly familiar, but Gorovir couldn’t pinpoint exactly when or where he’d met her.

The moment Gorovir saw Lark, a grin split his beard. His chest swelled with pride and warmth.

To the surrounding workers, the sight was bewildering.

The Legendary Blacksmith Gorovir—whose temper could melt steel—was regarded as a figure untouchable, unbending, and almost divine in stature among the dwarves.

Yet here he was now, beaming like an eager apprentice, his voice booming with joy as he rushed toward the young human king.

“I’ve seen everything while flying here,” said Lark. “You’ve made significant progress, Gorovir.”

The blacksmith grinned proudly. “Of course. How could I dare slack off after being handed such materials? My ancestors would probably rise from their graves and choke me to death if I wasted this opportunity, King Lark.”

Noticing that Lark’s only companion was the old lady, Gorovir asked, “Your Majesty, you didn’t bring that guy with you?”

Lark knew right away whom he was referring to.

“Kel’ Vual? He left the capital to visit the festival in Tranta,” said Lark. “And besides, with how busy you are, I doubt you’d already be done with my next artificial arm. I’ll bring him once the materials are ready.”

“Uhm… they are done, though.”

Lark fell silent for several seconds.

“They’re done?”

“Yes.”

Hearing that his right artificial arm had already been forged and was ready to be installed, Lark regretted that he didn’t bring Kel’ Vual along. Well, on second thought, allowing that old demon some time to enjoy the festival was probably the correct decision.

Lark didn’t expect Gorovir to finish his commissions so quickly.

Looking at the massive base of the floating castle that was nearing completion with the help of thousands of workers, it was apparent that Gorovir had sacrificed sleep to complete the artificial arm for Lark despite his busy schedule.

Lark fell silent, contemplating whether or not he should undergo the operation today to install his next artificial arm. But in the end, he decided against it. Although his body had this strange ability to accept the artificial without rejection, he didn’t want to risk it. It would still be better to have Kel’ Vual by his side before proceeding.

Lady Alice might be able to help him with the assimilation process to some extent, but Lark didn’t want to strain her already weak body.

The reason he’d brought her along, leaving even Arcturus and Blackie behind in the capital, was for the sole reason of letting her accompany him in her remaining time.

He’d promised her that, after all.

Gorovir looked at the crates filled to the brim with iron ingots behind Lark.

Noticing the blacksmith’s gaze, Lark said, “If you make a request, how many blacksmiths can you gather within a day, Gorovir?”

It was an odd question, but Gorovir answered regardless.

Stroking his beard, he said, “Hmm… excluding the workers occupied with creating the floating castle, it should be possible to gather a hundred or two. Why do you ask, Your Majesty?”

“A hundred, that’s a lot,” said Lark. “I want to commission several dwarven blacksmiths to create full plate armor sets for me.”

Although Gorovir was a blacksmith, he used to be part of the dwarven royal family, and he’d received mandatory education from a young age. Despite his rough appearance, he was quite intelligent.

Aware of the rumors regarding the living suits of armor, he immediately connected the pieces of the puzzle together.

“You plan on creating your Blackstone Knights here in the Dwarven Kingdom,” said Gorovir, a bit excited at the idea.

Lark nodded. “Yes. That’s why I need your help. Although I can also mold those iron ingots into suits of armor, the quality will be far better if the dwarves do it. Of course, I’m not asking you to do it for free. I’ll pay the dwarves who’ll be working on the project handsomely.”

“Leave it to me!” said Gorovir.

If the dwarven royal family heard of this project, they would probably offer to shoulder all of the cost as a favor for King Lark Marcus.

But as a believer of the principle of equivalent exchange, Lark preferred to pay for their service directly instead of receiving it for free.

The reason he came here to the Dwarven Kingdom this time was not only to see the progress of the floating castle and retrieve the adamantite steles once they were completed, but also to hunt monsters in the Bottomless Gorge and other Forbidden Regions in the Dwarven Mountains.

The fresher the corpses, the higher the chances of the Essence Animation Spell’s success.

He planned on creating a five-hundred-strong Blackstone Knight army at least and returning to the Kingdom of Lukas with them in tow.

“Maybe I should have brought Arcturus and Blackie with me,” he muttered.

That way, the hunt would be faster and easier.

But he was honestly a bit tired of their usual banter. Although he still loved being with them, this was one of those moments when he preferred to work in silence.

Hunting monsters and turning their essences into living suits of armor was, in a sense, a form of recreation for Lark.

He planned on enjoying this process before returning to the Kingdom of Lukas.

As selfish as it may sound, Lark planned on casting Heaven’s Dominion on all the major cities of the Kingdom of Lukas first before proceeding to install the barrier in the imperial capital.

After that, he would go to the other nations under the banner of the Coalition one by one. With the permission of their rulers, he would cast Heaven’s Dominion using the steles as the medium, protecting at least their capital from harm.

This way, in the event that the portals opened in those nations, their people could at least retreat to the capital protected by the barrier, ensuring their safety until reinforcements arrived.

“Do you have a particular model for the armor set in mind?” said Gorovir.

“Here.” Lark handed him a folded parchment. “It’s the same model we use back in our kingdom.”

“Hmmm… this… I see. Understood,” nodded Gorovir.

The model was honestly quite simple, devoid of any ornaments and unnecessary accessories on the armor. It was probably created with efficiency, not beauty, in mind.

Of course, since it was a full plate armor, no matter how simple the design, it would still look intimidating at a glance.

“I’ll disseminate this task to my men. I’ll ask them to use my name to recruit more people.”

“Thank you, Gorovir. I’m indebted to you.”

“Please don’t jest, Your Majesty,” said Gorovir. “You’re literally making my dreams come true. This is the least I could do for you.”

He meant it.

Had he not met Lark, Gorovir would probably still be toiling away in his forge, trying to think of ways to gather the materials needed for his dream project.

After that, with Gorovir at the lead, they went to the large clearing where the base of the floating castle was being built.

This part was already near completion.

A vast circular platform, spanning a kilometer and a half in diameter stretched before them, its frame constructed from millennium-old elven oaks whose trunks had been cut, refined, and reinforced with runes.

The scent of treated wood mingled with the metallic tang of mithril and adamantine, the two metals forming the internal veins of the structure.

Beneath the scaffolding, hundreds of dwarves toiled—barking orders, hauling ingots, driving rivets, and adjusting the ley-line conduits that would one day allow the entire fortress to lift from the earth.

Gorovir stopped at a particular spot on the platform and proudly gestured at the massive groundwork. “The heart engine will be installed here,” he said, pointing toward the central pit where a lattice of steel pipes converged.

Aside from the core, there were also auxiliary engines that would allow the floating castle to function in the event of a malfunction.

Gorovir added in a thrilled voice, “Once the Core is set, the entire foundation will gain buoyancy and self-stabilization. Even a storm won’t shake her!”

Around that central hub, the shape of a future city was already taking form.

Wide stone roads divided the base into several sectors. The barracks to the north, the residential blocks and workshops to the west, and the small park and granaries to the east. To the south lay the weapons depot and the storage area for the maintenance golems.

Near the central section rose the beginnings of a small castle: a command citadel from which the ruler could oversee both the fortress and the skies beyond. Several defensive towers ringed the outer perimeter. Once finished, their spires, crowned with focusing arrays, would allow the fortress to fire offensive spells and cast defensive barriers once it took flight.

Aside from the towers near the castle, they also planned on installing offensive weapons on the structure’s outskirts.

Although scaffolds still clung to the outer walls and cranes dangled half-assembled beams, it was clear that the dwarves were building not just a fortress but a moving kingdom—a bastion that would carry its own people, weapons, and supplies across the heavens.

“It looks even more amazing up close,” said Lark.

Even in its incomplete state, the sheer ambition of the structure left even Lark in awe.

Even during the Era of Magic, such a massive project would have required an astronomical budget and numerous skilled workers.

The mere fact that a floating castle was being built in this era impressed Lark. They were even building it way faster than anticipated, too.

Judging by how fast these dwarves worked, it wouldn’t surprise him if they managed to complete the entire thing in less than a year.

As expected of the dwarves led by the Legendary Blacksmith Gorovir.

The wind that swept across the clearing carried the rhythmic clang of hammers and the resonant hum of forges, echoing like a heartbeat.

For Gorovir and Lark, it was the sound of a dream slowly turning into reality.

“Hold it steady, ye drunkards! That’s not a damn fence, it’s the spine o’ the castle!”

“Careful with that core conduit! If it cracks, I’ll have your beard for rope!”

“Bring me more rivets! No, not those flimsy ones! The ones made by the First Weapons Factory, you stupid lot!”

“Hahaha! It’s taking shape! It’s taking shape! When this beauty takes to the skies, they’ll remember our hands carved her bones!”

The dwarven workers were clearly enjoying themselves.

Amid the clang of hammers and the hiss of molten metal, laughter and curses mingled like sparks from a forge.

Watching them bark orders and trade insults with unbreakable spirits, a faint smile formed on Lark’s lips.

The war spoken of in the prophecies of the gods drew ever nearer.

But as he looked upon the fortress that would soon rise from the earth, he knew one truth with certainty.

‘We can do it. We can survive this.’

Humanity, and every race that stood beside it, would not face the coming storm unprepared.

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END OF VOLUME 15

Next books –

Volume 16

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