Chapter 22: Alberich and Siegfried

It can be said that without the craftsmanship of the dwarves, the gods of Norse mythology would not have been able to stand against the giants.

In Norse mythology, the gods were not only inferior to the giants in strength but were also completely outmatched in wisdom.

Thor was able to turn the “All-Knowing” among the dwarves to stone, yet he could not escape the traps set by the giants.

As Odin said to his children in the Edda: “Before the gods, if I were you, I would not speak of that journey to the East; in the thumb of the glove, you lost your courage, Thor, and forgot that you were a god.”

Thor, the most powerful of gods, and Loki, the wisest, were both toyed with by the giants and left helpless.

They were the spirits of the planet, yet they had been the tools of all species since ancient times.

These little fellows blocked the path to the watchtower completely.

Some held spears that were several times their own height, and some even carried forging hammers.

“G-Get out!”

The small creatures spoke, their voices trembling slightly with fear, sounding comical and ridiculous.

“Huh? A mere bottom-tier fantasy species is telling me to get out?”

The muscular magician mentioned earlier kneaded a fist as large as a dwarf’s face and grabbed the fluffy hair of the nearest dwarf.

“Do you have any idea what risks I took to get in here!”

“Y-You had better stop!”

Suddenly, a massive gravitational force pressed down on the magician’s arm, and a shimmering rune appeared on his bicep.

These small, ugly dwarves could actually use magic.

“Wait! Hank!”

Li Ruoyi stepped between the two forces, and the pressure of a Human King instantly filled the entire space.

In that moment, both the magician’s arm and the dwarf’s magic returned to where they belonged.

“O-Outsider!”

A ball of fur rolled to Li Ruoyi’s feet; it was an elderly dwarf.

He wore round-framed glasses and leaned on a small staff, which emitted a brilliant flash of light the moment it was drawn.

The immense magic power contained within it allowed him to appear composed and calm, even in the face of Li Ruoyi’s kingly might.

“Go back, quickly. The dwarves’ craftsmanship is no longer open to the outside world,” the old dwarf said slowly, pushing against Li Ruoyi’s thigh with his shriveled hand.

“If Fafnir finds us, we will all perish here.”

“Old sir, perhaps there has been a misunderstanding.”

Rhein also stepped forward to Li Ruoyi’s side, crouching down to look directly into the dwarf’s dim, yellowed eyes.

“Ah… ah, beautiful one, just like Brynhildr who came here before. Someone like you should not be lost here,” the old dwarf sighed with regret.

“As you can see, this place has completely turned into a hell. Whatever your purpose, please go back.”

“Old one, we have come to destroy Fafnir.”

Zigris strode forward with his greatsword and placed it gently before all the dwarves.

“I think you might recognize the sword in my hand.”

“The cursed holy sword that achieved the great deed of slaying a dragon, brother sword to the demonic sword of the Dawn of Ruin, which shares the same origin!”

A glimmer of light flashed in the old dwarf’s dim eyes.

“How could I forget? This is the divine sword that I personally repaired and forged.”

“Balmung!”

The surrounding dwarves gasped in surprise; the moment the blade flashed, they all knelt and prostrated themselves.

The old dwarf walked up to the incredibly familiar greatsword and reached out with his withered hand.

When his fingers touched the blade, the magic power surrounding the sword began to rejoice and cheer.

Tears welled up in the old dwarf’s eyes.

“Since you hold this sword, it proves…”

“As you have guessed, old sir, I am a descendant of Siegfried—Zigris.”

His tall, lean figure and slightly tanned skin were the best proof of one who had bathed in dragon’s blood.

Just like his demeanor, though he was a man of few words, his ever-present air could not help but make one think of his good upbringing.

He was the type to speak plainly, communicating only with necessary and minimal words.

All of this felt like only yesterday to the old dwarf.

“In that case, I can’t let you face Fafnir!”

The old dwarf’s eyes grew firm.

“Please go back. I cannot let the descendant of one who has shown kindness to the Mist Clan die tragically in this hell!”

The old dwarf leaped into the air, curling his entire body into the rolling ball of fur he had been before, and vanished into the thick mist along with the surrounding dwarves.

“The mist is getting thicker! It seems he really doesn’t want us to pass.”

Li Ruoyi frowned; he could tell that the old dwarf’s refusal was indeed for their own good.

But to turn away guests who had already reached the entrance of the banquet was hardly a pleasant matter.

The surrounding magicians began to curse.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait! Wait a minute!”

Rhein felt something tugging at the hem of her dress.

The surrounding mist thinned slightly, and a dwarf rolled before everyone.

“Don’t go, guests from the outside!”

A dwarf dressed in sackcloth strode over swaggeringly.

A cross-shaped mark was carved on his head, and the large beard on his chin looked as if it hadn’t been trimmed in years, extending down to his abdomen.

His smile—how to put it?—always gave one a lewd and uncomfortable feeling.

“And you are?”

Li Ruoyi’s gaze shifted; that sharp, glaze-like stare frightened the little fellow so much that he tripped and fell, looking particularly comical.

“Guest, guest! I mean no harm!”

The dwarf stood up, dusted himself off, and spread his hands.

“I can lead the way for you and provide spacious lodging!”

“Oh? Why are your companions the complete opposite of you?”

Li Ruoyi’s gaze grew even sharper, as if he wanted to see into the little fellow’s heart.

That look seemed to say he wished he could peel him open alive and examine him.

“I can’t wait for that dragon to die! Who wants to do that kind of dirty and tiring work every day!”

The dwarf kept scratching his ears and cheeks, partly to express his dissatisfaction with his current life, and partly to avoid Li Ruoyi’s gaze.

“That does make sense,” Li Ruoyi said, withdrawing his gaze.

“After all, borrowing a knife to kill someone—oh, no, borrowing a knife to kill a dragon—is a clever move.”

“It should be fine; let’s take it one step at a time,” Li Ruoyi then whispered to Rhein, leaning in close.

“This place has become a living hell, ladies and gentlemen!”

The dwarf walking at the front muttered to himself, not knowing that no one cared about what he was saying.

“Dwarves may be weak, but we are not base!”

The entire convoy followed a narrow thread, led by the little fellow.

Because the dwarf’s legs were short, he walked very slowly.

It took nearly an hour to cross a one-kilometer stretch of mist, accompanied by his incessant complaints.

Just like in “The Peach Blossom Spring,” which he had read in his childhood, a scene completely different from the previous dilapidation unfolded before Li Ruoyi.

This was the domain of the Mist Clan, the underground kingdom.

Though it could not be called prosperous and was even a bit chaotic, it was undeniably a mystical realm of the world.

Lining the narrow streets were massive furnace clusters that stood like trees, their fires burning endlessly, seemingly without the need for fuel.

The dwarves lived in their workshops, constantly forging out of instinct.

They were perhaps the most diligent race on the planet, yet heaven had granted them the harshest living conditions.

Passing through the main street of the city, the group arrived at their designated lodging—the workshop of the little fellow.

Although it was unknown whether there were social classes among the dwarves, it was clear that this little fellow’s workshop—or rather, factory—was hundreds of times larger than the others.

A massive forging platform was built on a high platform with excellent lighting.

Tons of molten iron flowed through the workshop, and countless dwarves worked diligently under his command.

“I didn’t realize you were so capable!”

The magician with the flintlock asked in a half-joking tone, surprised.

“Then could you please help me modify my weapon?”

“Of course! As long as you can help me defeat the evil dragon, it’s a small favor!”

The dwarf took the magician’s gun and tossed it to a waiting dwarf.

“Now, allow me to introduce myself.”

The dwarf stroked his excessively long beard.

“My name is Alberich, and the man over there helping the dwarves forge is an outsider, just like you.”

“He is the great hero of your Norse civilization—Sigurd!”

Both the dwarf’s name and the name of the man who turned around upon being called deeply shook Rhein and the others.

They were experiencing a living myth!

The great hero praised as the “King of Warriors” in the Völsunga saga.

He slew the dragon Fafnir, and after crossing the Hindarfjall peak in the Alps, entered the castle where Odin had imprisoned Brynhildr.

He cut her chains, and the two fell in love.

Sigurd proposed to her before leaving, promising to return and marry her.

He then went to the palace of the Burgundian king.

Sigurd and Siegfried are figures of the same origin, sharing the commonality of having killed the evil dragon Fafnir.

The moment Zigris met his eyes, his body trembled instinctively; it was a strange connection from deep within his bloodline.

“I am Sigurd. It is a great pleasure to meet fellow humans.”

Behind the glasses on the man’s prominent nose were a pair of incredibly beautiful blue eyes.

His short, dark blue-black hair was combed forward.

His noble aura was as fierce and cold as the Nordic snowfields, and his attitude toward everyone was somewhat aloof.

At least on the surface, Li Ruoyi could see almost no trace of affection in his face or his heart.

The man merely stood there, bare-chested, yet he forcibly suppressed all the thoughts and power on Rhein’s side.

‘What an unbelievably strong hero!’ Li Ruoyi drew a sharp breath.