“You see? These are royal orders! Now get lost if you understand!”

“Hey, can a mere merc grunt even read?”

The soldiers jeered obnoxiously while flapping the parchment, its edge brushing Doyun’s nose.

After a cursory glance, Doyun had fully comprehended the decree’s contents.

Contrary to their claims, it embodied outright tyranny rather than legitimate orders.

However, unlike Earth, this world’s feudal injustices remained rampant. As an eminent figure, Doyun paid no heed to some frontier province’s trivialities.

Since his affairs were obstructed, retaliation would prove necessary.

Yet his doubts lay elsewhere.

Doyun turned towards the old man.

Shielding his granddaughter behind himself while assessing the situation, the old man’s arms appeared frail, bearing traces of atrophied muscle – clearly past his prime working years.

Capable of wielding a hammer perhaps, but hardly at peak craftsmanship caliber.

‘Why stay passive?’

According to Winny’s introduction, this elderly man deserved far better treatment than such oppression.

The sole inheritor of dwarven craftsmanship, a master artisan worthy of state guest hospitality who could greatly benefit the Alliance’s welfare.

Yet the soldiers seemed oblivious to his identity.

‘For now…’

Since he required the commissioned item, Doyun had to resolve this situation first.

He addressed them firmly:

“You lack the authority to oppress these people. Leave at once.”

“What?”

Their previous sneers froze into hardened glares.

“You dare defy the duke’s will in his own lands? The underground prison awaits you!”

“This guy, he’s prolly some merc from out of town with no clue how things work around here.”

They intended to provoke Doyun into violence as justification for arrest, but he remained utterly impassive.

Unnerved by his excessive composure, the soldiers grit their teeth in rising fury.

“This bastard…!”

Eventually, their spears leveled towards Doyun.

Having loudly advocated for her grandfather earlier, the girl froze at those menacing blades.

“Hieek…!”

“Soyun!”

The old man hugged her protectively from behind.

“You’re an obstructing criminal now! Stay still unless you want holes punched through!”

Their delivery exuded unprofessional crudeness befitting common thugs rather than trained soldiers – clearly aimed at intimidation.

Unwilling to escalate matters unnecessarily, Doyun emanated a thin mana wisp – just enough to obstruct their breathing without stopping their hearts.

With his recently improved mana control prowess, such delicate wisp manipulation had become feasible.

A density merely scoffworthy had he learned it from scratch, yet the soldiers gurgled breathlessly the instant it reached them.

“Hnghk!”

“Hieek…!”

Their legs crumpled spider-like beneath the indescribable oppressive pressure.

The soldiers immediately sensed the truth.

‘An, An Apostle!’

Shit… they messed with the wrong person big time.

‘W-, We’re out of our league here. Any violence and we’re utterly fucked!’

Best to flee and report to superiors first.

As Doyun retracted the wisp, they staggered backwards like newborn lambs.

“Y-, You…!”

“You! Stay right there! That’s an order! You hear me?!”

“…”

Thus the soldiers hurriedly retreated.

Reporting to superiors proved inevitable anyhow – pointless denying Doyun’s identity, yet they dared not attack directly either.

No need to dwell on this further.

Dismissing them from mind, Doyun turned back towards the others.

The old man had helped the startled girl steady herself.

“Soyun. Are you alright?”

This ‘Soyun’ gaped wordlessly at Doyun, unaware of his true identity unlike her grandfather.

“Grandfather, that person…”

“Yes. An important guest has arrived.”

Despite merely standing there, the soldiers had crumpled before him, asphyxiated.

While not her first Apostle encounter, such awe-inspiring presence represented a new experience.

‘So he’s an Apostle…’

The old man offered a deep bow of respect.

“Thank you for your assistance. My apologies for that unsightly display.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“You are the Apostle Han Doyun, are you not?”

“…Huh? The Apostle Han Doyun?”

At those words, the girl’s eyes widened comically.

“Ah…! Could it be the commissioner of that scale order…!”

“You must have heard tales of him too, Soyun.”

“The actual Han Doyun Apostle who slew the Dragon Progenitor was the client? Th-, The real deal?! W-, Wooooah…”

She gushed endlessly upon witnessing someone of such lofty stature for the first time.

“Shall we move inside? I will show you the item.”

“Very well.”

Doyun followed the old man into the workshop.

+++

‘He worked on the scales in this shoddy environment?’

His workshop appeared dilapidated – not outright squalid, yet merely ordinary smithy level at best. Hardly the expected venue for handling the Dragon Progenitor’s scales, among the most challenging materials.

“I had just completed the final touches today. You can try it on immediately.”

Ushering Doyun over, he gestured towards the table.

There lay the object Doyun sought.

“This is…”

Doyun picked up the pair of segmented items.

“Gauntlets.”

Not just hand coverings, but elongated black gauntlets enveloping the entire forearms up to below the elbows.

Unlike Berden’s bulkier version Doyun had shattered, these appeared paper-thin yet exceptionally lightweight.

“I was provided the full body scales, but so heavily damaged that little remained usable without melting them down. Since you requested non-bulky armor styling, I fashioned gauntlets.”

“Quite thin, aren’t they?”

“Based on the hand scales, I layered and compressed every usable scrap from other areas endlessly.”

“…Layered and compressed? You mean these paper-thin gauntlets comprise multiple stacks of those formidable scales?”

“Precisely.”

Even to Doyun’s experienced eyes accustomed to top-tier defenses, the craftsmanship proved astonishingly superb.

Activating his trait, Doyun appraised the item’s effects:

[Draconic Gauntlets]

(Gauntlets forged from the scales of Berthe the Dragon Progenitor, known as the Dragon King. Through dwarven smelting techniques, a total of 7 scale layers were compressed into paper-thin thickness.

Though a dragon famed as the paragon of magic, Berthe forsook sorcery to be born with the Supernal Prowess of Orichalcum Physique. Furthermore, having received tutelage from the Fist Saint, Berthe dreamed of becoming the continent’s foremost martial artist.

This armor harbors Berthe’s martial prowess and willpower.

This equipment cannot be destroyed.

The wearer’s [Martial Arts] skill increases by 2 levels while equipped.)

“…!”

Doyun’s eyes widened as he read the description.

‘This is…’

A veritable treasure.

Bearing two of the most coveted equipment options – ‘Indestructible’ and ‘Level Adjustment’ – simultaneously on these gauntlets.

‘Indestructible’ did not merely negate repair needs.

Despite their limited surface area, these represented nigh-invulnerable defenses.

In close quarters, he could seize blades barehanded with impunity, deflecting even potent focused attacks.

“Please try them on.”

Entranced, Doyun slid his hands into the gauntlets at the old man’s urging.

Chink.

‘A perfect fit.’

Not a single flaw – the individual fingers snugly encased, the forearms comfortably cinched to accentuate a sleek silhouette.

Flexing his fingers produced a pleasing metallic rustle audible even to Doyun’s ears – the handling exquisite.

Witnessing this, the girl gasped in awe.

“Woaaah…”

The grey-cloaked Apostle cutting such a dashing figure with those black gauntlets – his distinctive countenance and aura only amplified the alluring presence.

“How do you find them? Satisfactory, I hope.”

“More than satisfactory, truly.”

Indeed, Doyun never expected such a gratifying final product.

No exaggerated flattery – the craftsmanship rivaled even dwarven mastery itself.

“This represents my life’s crowning masterwork, you know. Kkekkekkek…”

Chuckling merrily, the old man abruptly sobered with a deep, solemn bow.

“Never did I imagine handling dragon scales before my demise. For granting this old man such a once-in-a-lifetime honor, you have my utmost gratitude…”

“…If I may ask one thing.”

“Anything.”

Doyun posed the lingering question that had bothered him.

“I was informed you inherited dwarven craftsmanship. Yet why do you conceal this fact?”

No artisan’s reputation, no wealth – even the wares displayed outside appeared utterly mundane.

Clearly, the old man deliberately obscured his skills for reasons unknown.

‘But why?’

Dwarven craftsmanship – with the dwarves themselves gone into hiding, this heir could be considered the continent’s foremost smith.

Yet oppressed by common corrupt guards? Doyun found it perplexing.

“…”

After a contemplative pause, the old man spoke hesitantly.

“…I was raised in the dwarven village itself.”

That opening line alone piqued Doyun’s interest – an exceedingly rare occurrence given dwarves’ notorious xenophobia.

A century ago, Enoch had been virtually the sole outsider permitted relations with them.

“Orphaned in infancy, the dwarves took me in – I owed them my very life and upbringing. Yet ungratefully… upon coming of age, I chose to live among the secular world, betraying them.”

“I see…”

A betrayal.

“The great Paladin who befriended kings is gone from this world now. A new Dark Lord has arisen, and the dwarves too have disappeared from sight. Since they abandoned this realm themselves, how could I, their traitorous betrayer, shamelessly flaunt their techniques for pride and profit… My mere existence constitutes an ongoing sin.”

“Did they denounce you as a betrayer?”

“No. I secretly fled the village at night to avoid their rebukes. Doubtless… they must have cursed me as a betrayer time and again.”

“Grandfather…”

His granddaughter looked at him with pitying eyes.

“Well… even as I say this, I could not resist the allure of dragon scales as material. Brazenly so… Kekke… Naturally, I shall not accept any commission fee.”

Gazing wistfully upwards, he continued:

“If only my adoptive dwarven father could have worked these dragon scales himself… He was such an innocent soul who delighted in proudly showcasing his life’s masterworks from town to town…”

“…”

Hearing that tale, Doyun sensed echoes of old friends.

‘He brands himself a betrayer, yet already embodies a human dwarf in spirit.’

Stubborn sentimentality. But was that not the essence of loyalty?

Moreover, a master artisan’s magnum opus inevitably stemmed from such obstinacy – obsessing over materials, he exemplified a superb dwarven-like craftsmaster in spirit.

‘…He reminds me of someone.’

The dwarven smith ‘Zaccuroth’ who had participated in forging Enoch’s signature blade – their dispositions closely resembled each other as one of Enoch’s closest dwarven friends.

‘That guy used to brag about forging my sword as his life’s masterpiece at every drinking session too.’

Just like this old man’s adoptive dwarven father.

Overcome by nostalgia himself, Doyun surveyed the workshop until his gaze settled on an ornate hammer in the corner.

‘Huh?’

An unusually lavish, embellished hammer seeming out of place amidst the workshop’s overall modest decor – likely the one used today judging by its haphazard placement.

‘That couldn’t be…?’

Why was it here?

Noticing Doyun’s pensive gaze, the old man queried:

“Is something amiss?”

“…”

Doyun indicated the hammer with his finger.

“…Is that Zaccuroth’s hammer?”

“Eh?!”

The old man’s eyes bulged comically at that unexpected name.

“But… how does the Apostle know that name…?”

Doyun nodded in affirmation.

‘So that’s how it was.’

To think he would encounter such an old connection here.

The dwarven Zaccuroth who had been Doyun’s friend must have been the very dwarf who took in this old man – explaining the hammer’s presence.

If cherished enough to bestow even that hammer… he had undoubtedly been a beloved family member.

‘But didn’t he say he betrayed them?’

That hammer could not have been stolen, surely?

‘Hmm…’

After a momentary contemplation, Doyun deduced what must have transpired.

He approached the hammer as the girl and old man watched quizzically.

“Ah, wait, what are you…”

Doyun ignored their bewildered queries.

‘Perhaps an unwanted intrusion, but…’

Witnessing an old friend’s child tormented by guilt pangs, he could not simply let it go.

“This hammer was a gift from Sir Enoch to his dwarven friend Zaccuroth.”

“Wh-, What did you say?”

Stunned by this unfamiliar tale, the old man leaned forward in puzzlement.

Doyun picked up the hammer.

‘As I thought.’

The hammer’s power had been sealed, just as he expected.

“A treasured heirloom bestowing great smithing prowess upon its designated master.”

And the initial owner Enoch remained registered alongside Zaccuroth as co-masters.

Likely, this old man had parted from the dwarves before reaching maturity to inherit full mastery.

Doyun channeled his mana into the hammer.