Dwarves are a people who love to cast, and you can see all kinds of dwarves all over the world. Some of them unite to form a ruling kingdom or even an empire, some are isolated like nomadic tribes, some are warlike and bloodthirsty and eager to participate in every war, and some are completely indifferent to the rest of the world and only want to mine better ore and greedily dig for the bounty of the earth. But no matter which of these dwarves you meet, you'll find a passion for forging in their bones.

Perhaps it is precisely because of this love that the best of these sons of the mountains have received some kind of "blessing". This blessing is said to come from the dwarven god of forging, their Father, who is His reward for the most outstanding craftsmen. Dwarves who are good enough to become grandmasters are inspired, often at the height of their lives, without warning, but there is a calling, which guides the dwarves to begin a casting at some point in time. And the finished product cast this time will surely become the pinnacle of all their works.

Only those craftsmen who are considered masters among their own clan are eligible to be inspired, and the works they create under their inspiration are often given to others to use. But when the caster's approved owner dies, a dwarf of his own clan comes to retrieve the object and enshrine it in the family's temple as a memorial and a symbol of the family's history. Of course, most of these works are weapons, which makes the lost dwarven temple a treasure trove for countless adventurers.

Being inspired is the most glorious thing for all dwarven craftsmen. But it is also the most feared thing for many craftsmen, who do not want this to come later, even better when they are about to lose their grip on the hammer. Because, as a creator, if you create a work in the middle of your creative career that you are sure that you will not be able to surpass it in this life, then what awaits you is only the rest of your life. Many of the dwarven craftsmen are at their pinnacle and their last, and when they complete this masterpiece, they lose their passion to continue creating.

André didn't care what would happen to him in the future, and it was already something he didn't expect to be inspired. Compared to his compatriots who were preoccupied with the forge, André himself knew that his energy had not been focused on the furnace for a long time, and he was ready to live in obscurity in the forging for the rest of his life. What really displeased the Grand Duke of Hammer was the timing of the inspiration and the timing of its foreshadowing.

Generally, the inspired dwarf will have a year or more to prepare his work. They use all kinds of means to come up with the best materials they can think of, and carefully set up a forging workshop to improve the quality of their work. But the time left for Andre was only a few hours. Such a short period of time would make any dwarf crazy, not to mention that now that the molten iron city has collapsed, the entire territory is in ruins, not to mention materials and workshops, even barely finding the equipment needed for forging is a problem.

Fortunately, molten iron was a city founded by the dwarves, and when it still existed, there were far more blacksmiths in the city than in the rest of the kingdom. At this time, hearing that the Grand Duke was about to start forging, the survivors with relevant knowledge immediately went into action, and they were not afraid of the unusual threat in the ruins, picking up usable items from the rubble. The rest of the people were affected, and the Hammer lords spontaneously donated their best metal to their lord, the one who brought them out of the ruins.

The elves and the army from the royal capital looked at the molten iron men with puzzled eyes, as they were ragged but energetic, and as they used their hands and improvised tools to pry open the rocks and pick up the debris beneath. Even some people did not rush to identify the corpses of their companions in the rubble after digging them out, but simply greeted the deceased with simple etiquette and began to check whether there was anything on the corpse that could be useful.

Atticus' soldiers tried to stop them, which they considered to be irrational. Just because the Hammer Grand Duke wanted to forge something, his remaining people had to fight for their lives in such a hostile environment to search for materials. But the Iron Knight stopped them, for he could see what was in the eyes of the Molten Iron Man, and it was a burning emotion, not a negative one. The chief knight had a hunch that when Andrei finished his work, the pain left in the hearts of the survivors of this tragedy would disappear.

"Do you need my help? A young soldier could not stand it anymore, and he laid down his weapon and climbed up the ruins to ask an old woman for help.

But the old woman did not respond to him, but shook her head slightly, and continued to stubbornly move the large wall in front of her. The same thing is happening not only here, more and more soldiers and even elves are attracted to the persistent spirit of the Molten Iron Man. But no matter how humble their words were, none of the survivors accepted their help. The Hammerlords don't need help, they're just as stubborn and inflexible as their dwarven lords, they don't need sympathy or pity.

As the twilight sun shrouded the ruins of the city, an open-air forge was erected. Heather selected tools that fit the dwarf from among the tools provided by the lords and placed them neatly on the iron felt. Then the chief knight of the Knights of the Hammer took off the family crest from his chest and threw it into a chest beside him, which contained all sorts of carefully selected and polished metal objects, which were poured into the furnace when it was lit, and turned into the raw materials of the duke's casting.

Able-bodied men cut firewood from the forest, while women picked up dry leaves and branches to use as velvet to start a fire. Eventually, when the sun's brilliance faded below the horizon, an orange-red flame erupted in the forge. Along with it, ten bonfires were lit around it. The dwarf took off his bearskin cloak and noble clothing, and put on the blacksmith's apron and tied his hair. He walked slowly to the campfire, around which all the survivors were seated.

"You've helped me enough, so let me do it alone. Andrei said to the blacksmiths who wanted to help him with his work. The work was destined to be entirely done by himself.

"Boom!" As the dwarf poured the first crate of ingredients into the furnace, the heat rushed to the sky, and a large number of sparks surrounded André like a fairy.

"Hum!" the bellows, pulled in the hands of the Hammer Grand Duke, stirred up more air into the forge, further increasing the heat. also played a prologue for a requiem of fire and iron.

Mlos looked at the distant firelight from outside the barracks, and the intensity of the light reflected half of his body red. His hands clutched at his weapon, the Seed of Hatred's Hammer, and he didn't know what he was thinking. "The same weapon made from the bones of the dead. That dwarf will create something completely different from what you have in your hands. "Green Staff, the elven elder walked over with the iconic flask in his hand and a smile in his drunken eyes.

"No matter how different it is, it is a weapon, and the same will make people bleed, and bloodshed will bring hatred. I didn't think it made any difference. The elven general snorted coldly and said.

"Oh, how do you know he must have been a weapon?" asked Atwood with interest.

Mlos turned to face the elder, whispered a deep word, and returned to the barracks.

"Can steel be made into anything else in this world?"