Chapter 70 Chapter 69 Firearms
George asked, “Are you sure?”
“They should be from deep within the Northska Mountains,” Eve Frostleaf said in Elvish. “It’s an expedition team that has come out; I heard them talking.”
George said, “Jima, go check it out.”
Jima stood up a bit reluctantly but then thought that if the dwarves could act as guides, it wouldn’t be a waste of time. She had just been overthinking, so she smiled and walked over to the dwarves.
The butcher was the first to notice Jima’s arrival. He turned his head, the firelight glinting off his mohawk, and looked at Jima, clenching his teeth, making a cracking sound, the noise clearly indicating a dental issue.
Jima squatted down to their height. “Does anyone speak the common tongue?”
“I do,” the butcher said. “I can speak the language of humans. If the demon has something to say, hurry up; we’ve eaten your bread and salt, and we remember your kindness.”
Jima blinked, trying to divine: “In this dark age, are you all doing well?”
“We lost nine companions,” the butcher said. “I came with the group knowing we were doomed; do you think we’re doing well? Hurry up, don’t be like a bean sprout, beating around the bush.”
Jima faced difficulties in her divination; the dwarves’ innate magical resistance seemed like a membrane, isolating her powers. But she succeeded nonetheless, understanding generally that they were from deep within the mountains.
“You took the risk to come out; what for?”
Just as Jima finished speaking, one of the dwarves swung an axe forcefully, smashing a nearby rock to pieces.
Jima felt a surge of anxiety; dwarves were known for their stubbornness and grudges. Who knows if she had stumbled upon some of their obscure taboos?
The butcher said, “He’s angry at humans for being untrustworthy.”
As he spoke, the stout dwarf butcher took a stone with his strong right hand, scraped it firmly against the axe blade, causing a flurry of sparks to fly. He said heavily:
“Lady Kisleph, who talks but doesn’t keep her word, clearly had an agreement with us before the oath stone: if one side is in trouble, the other would send troops to assist. We fulfilled our promise, yet when we met our calamity, we saw not a single shadow of them.”
“You went to seek aid?”
“The second batch,” the dwarf butcher said. “Humans are not reliable; we must rely on ourselves.”
“Just so happens we passed by Lady Kisleph’s capital, crossing the troll kingdom,” Jima said. “As far as I know, Lady Kisleph is currently battling a whole bunch of trolls from the troll kingdom under the lead of the female Tsar.”
“That’s no excuse.” The dwarf butcher snorted, a strong smell of alcohol wafting out, making Jima wrinkle her nose; she hated alcohol and smoke. “Even if Kisleph might perish, they must send an army to fulfill their promise; if not, then don’t sign it at all.”
“How many years ago was that?”
“Only a hundred years,” the dwarf butcher said. “This grudge will be recorded in blood, in the Book of Hatred, and all dwarves will ultimately remember this blood feud.”
“Oh.” Jima didn’t care; after all, it wasn’t her name marked in the Book of Hatred. Speaking of the Book of Hatred, Jima couldn’t help but recall her heroic deeds in her past life.
They had rushed into the stronghold of the supreme dwarven king, snatching away a halfling cook right in front of him. The old dwarf became so angry that his beard bristled, and that night, he wrote it into the Book of Hatred.
But alas, she didn’t have that kind of courage anymore.
“Can I tell you where the fortress is located?”
The dwarf butcher raised an eyebrow, eyeing her warily. “Demon, what do you want?”
“I know being a demon will not earn your trust,” Jima said. “But I believe you will trust a holy paladin who never lies. In short, we have crossed the entire continent to save the world, arriving in this perilous remote area.”
“Shut up, demon.” The dwarf butcher said. “I’ve sworn before; not a word of the sweet-talk from a demon do I believe.”
Jima stood up and told George, “It’s your turn.”
George nodded, stood up, and walked towards Jima, who was stretching and yawning. He lowered his voice and asked, “Jima, are there any taboos when talking to dwarves?”
Jima glanced back at the dwarves tending to their long beards and said, “As long as you’re not foolish enough to shave off the dwarf ambassador’s beard like the elven king did, there shouldn’t be a problem. Also, any promises made, no matter how small, must be kept.”
“Alright.” George nodded, stepping among the dwarves. Facing their wary gazes, he felt a bit nervous.
But Jima wasn’t worried; people like George were the dwarves’ favorites.
She walked back to the dining table, where the food was almost finished. Only Jenna was slowly and steadily spearing a piece of boiled beef from her plate with a fork and putting it into her mouth.
Jima sat down and said, “Jenna, there’s no need to do that.”
“It’s delicious; I should finish it.”
“For you, it’s almost like spoiled food,” Jima said. “We all know this is the price you pay for saving everyone.”
Jenna smiled gently at Jima and said, “But if I don’t eat it, how can I repay your cooking skills?”
Without a word, Jima pulled Jenna’s bowl toward her and stuffed all the meat into her own mouth, cheeks bulging, and asked, “Where’s Frostleaf?”
Jenna’s gaze towards Jima became even softer as she replied, “I don’t know; she left while you were negotiating with the dwarves.”
I didn’t notice at all; I must have been too lax—No, it’s likely Frostleaf didn’t want me to notice, so she walked silently and deliberately avoided my peripheral vision.
She wouldn’t have cheated on me, would she? Never mind, no need to overthink; I should go find her.
With her mind racing, Jima gulped down the last piece of slightly cold meat, stood up, chewing noisily without caring about her image, and instinctively scanned her surroundings.
The dwarves were sitting cross-legged near the bonfire, formally communicating with George, and a dwarf engineer, wearing glasses with a zoom function, took out a metal tube from his bag, carefully wiping the tube with a cloth. The tube had a string attached at the back, resembling a matchlock gun from Earth.
At that moment, Jima completely forgot about everything—the silver-haired long legs, the food in her mouth, and even the shattered pieces of the Demon King’s crown. She rushed over, startling the dwarves.
Especially the dwarf engineer; he turned sideways, instinctively shielding his firearm, watching the succubus warily.
Jima, somewhat incoherent, pointed at the matchlock gun and asked, “What is this? Where did it come from? What powers it?”
His Kisleph language was very broken as he replied, “You… you… what are you asking?”
“Hey, demon!” The dwarf butcher stood up and asked, “What do you want?”
George grabbed Jima’s shoulders and said, “Jima, calm down; you scared them. What is it?”
Jima pointed at the firearm and asked, “That’s a firearm. How did it come to be?”
George said, “My companion is very curious about your weapon; please forgive her.”
The dwarf butcher translated George’s words.
The dwarf engineer’s face fell, looking quite embarrassed as he said, “It’s a new type of useless weapon, unstable, inaccurate; except for its power, it’s worthless.”
“How did it come to be?”
“We found an interesting alchemical powder in the Salis trading team that can explode. I thought, could we use it to make weapons? It took fifty years to develop this thing.”
Jima had tried to invent gunpowder once but failed. She hurriedly asked, “The ingredients are potassium nitrate, sulfur, and coal dust, right?”
