Holy Emperor's Grandson is a Necromancer

Chapter 330: 173. The Preparations for the Future -3 (Part Two)

Translated by A Passing Wanderer

Edited by RED

Belrog became so flustered that his head shot up.

The glowing eyes of the Holy King under the skull-helm were firmly locked on the dwarf even then. “Surely someone like you can do it?”

“It, it’s impossi...”

“No, it is possible.”

The Holy King was sure of it. In Seran’s [Foresight], he had been wielding a spear. Not only that, the Holy Emperor version of future Allen was using Kelt’s [Lightning], which was the power the old man activated through his warhammer.

On top of that, Allen wasn’t using either Amon’s staff or the grimoire in the vision. There must’ve been a reason why he wasn’t, or couldn’t, use them.

All those things would happen for sure in the future. As such, the crafting of the spear would definitely be a success.

“I ask you again. Can you succeed?”

Belrog’s mouth clamped shut when the Holy King asked again. The dwarf stared at the weapons wordlessly, and a strand of cold sweat trickled down his face.

Countless thoughts flitted in and out of his head just then. “Y... yes, Your Majesty. It should be possible.”

“How long will you need?”

“I estimate around four years, sire.”

“That’s longer than I thought.”

“It won’t take long to complete the spear, but...” Belrog bowed his head as he replied. “...It will take quite some time to convince an acquaintance of mine first, sire. You can leave it to me, however.”

“Very well. The moment the spear has been completed, have it sent to the Duchy of Ariana in the Kingdom of Frants.”

“As you command, sire. That acquaintance I told you about stays near Frants as well, so... I’m certain it shouldn’t be that difficult, Your Majesty.”

The Holy King was in no rush.

The Foresight came from the gods themselves, and as such, there must’ve been a reason for Seran to witness it. Besides, there was definitely an advantage to knowing what would happen for real in the future.

The Holy King then looked at Harman. “Paladin Harman.”

“I await your command, sire,” Harman replied, but a bucket of cold sweat still flooded down his face.

“Up in the northwest, more specifically in the Duchy of Ariana in the Kingdom of Frants. That’s where the quarry you’ve been searching for can be found.”

Harman flinched in surprise and looked up at the Holy King.

“I must apologise to you in advance, but for the next five years, I want you to stay there. You will be dispatched there as an undercover trainee Paladin. Your role is to report back to me every little thing that happens there in detail.”

“...As you command, sire.”

The Holy King, Allen Olfolse, wordlessly tapped on the throne’s armrest with his fingers.

With this, the ‘conditions’ had been met to a certain extent. Now only one thing remained on the to-do list: wait.

Indeed, the remaining task was to strengthen their forces and patiently bide their time.

Allen glanced to his sides and noticed the twins still shuddering away in fright. He placed his hands on their heads and patted them. “...Thank you for your hard work, brothers,” he addressed them in a hushed whisper. That stopped the twins’ trembling.

In the meantime, the ambassadors from different nations hurriedly left the imperial audience chamber through the now-open doorway.

They had been suffering from intense pressure and nervousness for some time. It was only obvious that they would be greatly parched. Just as they started thirsting after some water, they discovered Charlotte standing before the audience chamber’s door. There was a plate held in her hands, which carried several bottles of water.

“Ah, isn’t this Marquis Charlotte? How do you do, ma’am?”

Charlotte bowed her head slightly, her face expressionless, returning the greetings to the ambassadors. “Please, drink these to quench your thirst, sirs.”

“Thank you very much.”

The ambassadors picked up one bottle each, which actually didn’t contain normal water, but holy water created by Allen. Oblivious to this fact, these men soaked in sweat from top to bottom went on their way while chugging down the holy water to rehydrate themselves.

Charlotte silently watched their departing backs, then turned around towards the Holy King visible through the open doorway of the audience chamber. She bowed her head again.

‘...What a meticulous kid she is.’

Allen smacked his lips under the mountain goat’s skull-helm.

Even if these ambassadors were treated to the scenes of the end of the world, and ‘fear’ had been deeply engraved into their hearts through Amon’s relics, five years was still quite a long time period. There was a chance of the ambassadors changing their minds.

However, making them drink holy water ensured that they would remain favourable towards the Theocratic Empire to some degree, even if they did change their minds later on.

Even though no one had told her to do it, Charlotte smartly took care of things on her own nevertheless.

—

Eventually, the ambassadors left the Theocratic Empire to head back to their homes. Belrog headed to the Kingdom of Frants, or to be more specific, to a mountain range well past its borders. Meanwhile, Harman went to the Duchy of Ariana.

With that, his preparations were more or less coming to an end.

**

Three months later...

Belrog and several other highly-skilled dwarves travelled past the Kingdom of Frants and reached an unnamed mountain range frozen in permanent ice. They wandered around in the tall peaks for a while.

On this land located somewhere far northwest, large snowflakes continued to fall ceaselessly. The dwarves, clad in thick wool coats, ploughed onward under the barrage of bitter snowstorm, whitish breaths leaking out of their lips.

They were carrying luggage far larger than their own bodies while treading on the rough mountain paths.

“Seriously, boss! Are you sure that a skilled blacksmith is living in a remote mountain range like this one?”

Belrog replied to that question. “Yes, there is. A human who is far more skilled than me, no less.”

“What?! A human?! A human is more skilled than you, boss?!”

“Holy cow! But, that won’t do, boss! Where is your honour and pride as a dwarf?”

Belrog’s fellow dwarves grew quite noisy.

“Hey you lot! Take a better care of the weapons instead! You lose them and there will be hell to pay! Every single one of them are legendary items that His Majesty the Holy King has entrusted us with. When we get there, you better keep your eyes peeled, because that man is a truly, scarily skilled artisan. You will learn a lot from him.”

While roaring that out, Belrog couldn’t help but shed some cold sweat himself. Even he had to admit that he was nowhere as good as that human when it came to blacksmithing.

“Learning from a human?”

“But we have our pride too, boss.”

“The person we’re going to meet is actually the Master Blacksmith.”

That one sentence from Belrog greatly stunned the rest of the dwarves.

“The Master Blacksmith?!”

“Oh my gods! You can’t seriously believe in such superstition, boss!”

“He’s right. There’s no way that the Master Blacksmith really exists, boss.”

The dwarves tutted away, unimpressed.

The ‘Master Blacksmith’. An existence treated as legendary folklore by all the blacksmiths out there.

The weapons he created were exalted as the works of the gods themselves. Some even said that a normal, unremarkable person could rise up to become a king simply by wielding this blacksmith’s weapon.

Some rumours doing the rounds even said that this legendary blacksmith was responsible for crafting the weapons of the former Necromancer King, Amon... the very staff and the grimoire they were now carrying.

“No, he definitely exists. Way back when I was trying to run away from the life of a slave, I received the Master Blacksmith’s help, you see.”

The dwarves all froze up nervously at that. They could see that Belrog wasn’t joking around here.

They continued to walk forward, and Belrog, continually looking up, eventually discovered the silhouette of a small hut within the fierce snowstorm.

“...Found it.”

Belrog’s walking pace sped up greatly. But when he got to the front of the hut, he grew deeply tense. He swallowed nervously, then knocked on the door.

There was no answer.

Belrog cautiously grasped the door’s handle.

‘Wait, he couldn’t have died, right?’

Their meeting happened such a long time ago. It must’ve been well over twenty-five years by now, so there was a good chance that that old man had perished from his advanced age.

Belrog grew even more nervous and opened the door. He was greeted by the sight of an empty hut’s interior.

“What’s this? There’s no one here.”

“There isn’t even any furniture in here, either.”

Just as the dwarves began expressing their dissatisfaction, Belrog started guffawing in happiness, instead. “Ahahaha! I knew it! That guy, he’s still alive! As I thought, he’s one tenacious man. That’s how a blacksmith should be!”

Although the hut was empty inside, he still could sense some warmth coming from within. That meant that the Master Blacksmith was definitely still alive!

“And who are you fools supposed to be?”

It was right at that moment that a voice Belrog wanted to hear came from behind the group of dwarves.

Belrog smiled brightly and turned around. That’s when he discovered the legendary existence among the blacksmiths standing there.

A figure in the latter half of his seventies, with a face filled with lots of wrinkles. But even as an old man, he boasted an imposing physique, filled to the brim with rippling muscles. There was a game slung over his back that he must have hunted just now.

“Master Blacksmith!”

“...Huh, is that you, Belrog?”

The ‘Master Blacksmith’...

The vampire under the facade of being human, Grand Duke Ivaldi, was deeply furrowing his brow. [1]

< 173. The Preparations for the Future -3 (Part One and Two) > Fin.

(TL: In [1], there has been what I assume to be an intended pun at work. The Korean word for “Grand Duke” is the same as “Great Artisan/Master Craftsman”, or in this novel’s case, the Master Blacksmith.)