Darkness slowly fades.
Stars?
Wait, it should be mid-afternoon right now.
Horses shrieking in the background.
Horses? Horses in the city?
He tried to reach his hand up.
Toddler arms? How?
Arms of a baby? Wait, what's happening?
He slowly leaned to the left.
A burning carriage a few meters away, illuminating the trees around it.
Then a shadow.
A small man.
Muscular.
With tattoos on his arms.
Fully bearded.
After seeing the silhouette, darkness covered his eyes again.
---
Then the darkness fades.
Tunnels?
He was being carried by the mysterious man through the caves.
Long tunnel?
After a few seconds, darkness covered his eyes again.
---
Darkness fades again.
Ceiling?
It's kinda low. Where am I?
Inaudible arguments can be heard.
He tried to reach up again.
Toddler hands again?
What is happening?
Where are the others?
Then the mysterious man noticed that he was awake.
He moves toward him.
A fully bearded redhead shows up.
He touched his face.
Gently smiled.
Another small figure moves in.
Touched his toddler's hands.
A bit angry.
By the looks of it, a woman.
Then she spoke.
Inaudible words can be heard.
Her facial expression changed a bit.
Milder.
Then she started to actually smile.
She looked at the red-bearded man.
Nodded to him.
Then they both looked at him at the same time.
Then darkness covered his eyes again.
---
The darkness faded.
What is this smell?
A stew?
It really smells good.
He opened his eyes.
A different ceiling.
He leaned left.
A wall.
He leaned right.
A small living room.
Small dining table.
Small chairs.
Hammers mounted on the walls.
The small woman walks closer to him, bringing a bowl.
As she tried to feed him using a small spoon, once the spoon entered his mouth, a small amount of milk spilled in.
She fed him a few times before he started to fall asleep again.
---
He woke up again.
But this time because of the extreme heat.
DING!
DING!
DING!
DING!
DING!
He was being carried by the woman.
A few meters in front, the small muscular man stood in front of an anvil, holding a big hammer.
Mjolnir?
From that movie?
Then he continued smacking a piece of metal.
The man noticed he was awake.
Then he smiled.
He saw that he was staring at the hammer.
His smile turned into excitement.
He pointed to the hammer, then murmured a bunch of words he could not understand.
Is he talking about the hammer?
He tried to copy his words, but it was too rough for him to actually copy.
It's like Mandarin class all over again.
He moved closer and patted his head for a bit, then went back to smacking a reddish piece of metal.
So, he is a blacksmith huh?
While he was in deep focus on hammering, he noticed something.
The tattoo on his arm.
It was slightly glowing.
Just slightly.
Is it just the reflection of the light in the room?
He wasn't sure.
But from what he could see, the man was fully focused on smithing.
Showing the true passion of a craftsman working his tools.
Unlike back in the factory.
Everything there was done with high-tech machines.
Mostly automated.
Focused on efficiency.
Not passion.
DING.
DING.
DING.
The hammer rises again.
Then falls.
The glowing metal slowly begins to take shape.
The rhythm of the forge echoes through the cave.
DING.
DING.
DING.
He watches the hammer rise.
Then fall.
Again.
And again.
The heat of the forge.
The smell of metal.
The steady rhythm of the hammer.
Slowly…
His eyelids grow heavy.
The woman adjusts the blanket around him.
The hammer keeps striking.
DING.
DING.
DING.
And as his eyes slowly close, the sound follows him into sleep.
DING.
DING.
DING.
---
Two year later...
“Ashvir! It’s time for breakfast!”
“Yes, I’m coming!”
Over the past two years, after countless repetitions, I finally managed to learn the stiff, rough language that I couldn’t understand before. Strangely enough, even though it sounded harsher than Mandarin, it was actually easier to speak. Perhaps the muscles of this body were simply more used to it than English or Mandarin.
Another strange thing was that, from what I heard, I could speak more smoothly than most dwarven children my age.
During these two years, I had seen many dwarves growing up in this new world. But strangely enough, I didn’t look like one.
Was this not a dwarves-only planet?
Or was it like those fantasy stories and anime where multiple races lived together? Maybe something like that old trilogy with the ring and different races spread across the world.
Anyway, I was being called for breakfast, so those thoughts could wait.
I am Ashvir Grayhorn.
At least, in this world.
I am now three years old. Compared to dwarven children my age, I am slightly taller, but also a little thinner.
“Ashvir! Eat a lot of meat. You have to build strong muscles if you want to become a good blacksmith!”
“Yes, Mother.”
Sera Grayhorn, my mother, is very warm but also a strict parent. It reminds me of how my co-workers in Taiwan used to describe Asian parents. Back then we joked about it, but now I kind of understand what they meant.
Fortunately, she isn’t nearly as harsh as I imagined.
“Honey! What’s for breakfast?”
“Goat stew!”
“Ahh, my favorite! Ashvir! Eat a lot. This is your father’s staple!”
Ashtir Grayhorn.
My father in this world.
He was the one who saved me from that strange incident when I first woke up here. To this day, I still don’t fully understand what happened.
From what I know, he is a blacksmith. Not just any blacksmith, either—he seems to hold a fairly high position among the dwarves.
I’m not entirely sure what position that is.
But there’s something I noticed.
All adult dwarves have an identical tattoo on their right arm.
Except for him.
His tattoo is slightly different.
Is it a symbol of authority? Rank? Maybe something else?
I’m not sure.
“Ash, what are you going to do today?”
“Me? Uhhmmm… read books! Learn metals!”
“Really?”
Ashtir’s eyes suddenly lit up.
“As expected of my heir! Once you grow up, you and I will forge the greatest swords and tools in this village! No— in the entire world! HA HA HA!”
“But first you need to focus on growing strong so you can smash the metal out of those ores!”
“HA HA HA!”
He lightly patted my head.
“You know what? I’m free this afternoon. Why don’t we spend some time at the smithy?”
“Ashtir! You just said he needs to focus on growing! Why are you sending him to the smithy already?”
Sera smacked Ashtir on the head.
“Growing isn’t just for the body—it’s for the brain too! Visual learning can help a lot, especially at his age!”
“Fine! Fine… but he will not wield a hammer, got it!”
“But how is he going to build muscles?”
“He is THREE!”
“…Fine, fine.”
Ashtir sighed.
“You hear that, Ash? Just watching. No smithing.”
“Yes!”
---
After eating, I went straight to the books.
There were only a few things children could do for entertainment in this village. One of them was reading. Even though this was supposedly a secluded settlement, the people here were strangely competent and literate.
Books were surprisingly common.
From what I noticed, the common metals used here include black iron, iron, copper, tin, bronze, lead, nickel, and zinc. However, the metals most commonly used are iron and black iron.
Black iron is known to be quite brittle. Maybe it’s used for certain tools… or perhaps cookware.
Iron, on the other hand, seems to be used for most weapons and tools.
Copper appears often in discussions about heat transfer. Maybe it serves the same purpose as copper in my old world.
Though honestly, I’m still stuck in a small town, so I can’t be completely sure.
Calling this place a “town” actually feels strange.
It’s more accurate to describe it as four mountains connected by a network of tunnels.
Each mountain contains homes, workshops, and storage areas.
Except for the one on the northern side.
For some reason, adults tend to avoid that mountain.
There are minecart highways running through each mountain, connecting them to the central valley. The middle valley is where most of the markets, commercial businesses, stores, and important buildings are located.
I’ve only ridden the carts a few times, but they’re surprisingly convenient.
The mountains themselves act like walls as well as residential areas. Each mountain has several large smithies where mass production takes place—ingots, weapons, and tools.
Apparently, the town’s specialties are cannons and ballistae. At the same time, the level of blacksmithing here is considered top-tier.
At least, that’s what the books say.
But there are still things that I don’t understand.
Some of the older books—copies that have been recopied for hundreds of years—contain illustrations of weapons, cannons, armor, and tools with strange markings on them.
These markings are never explained.
Even stranger, modern tools don’t seem to have them anymore.
I have never seen one in real life.
Were they some kind of obsolete technology?
Maybe.
Or perhaps the knowledge was simply lost over time.
If this village has really been isolated for hundreds of years, it’s possible that certain technologies have disappeared.
This might actually be a secret dwarven settlement that nobody in the outside world knows about.
Another interesting thing I found recently was a very familiar type of book.
A dictionary.
It was a dwarven language dictionary translating words into another language. I wasn’t even sure what language it was, but it might still be useful to learn.
After all, I wasn’t exactly busy.
Just as I was about to open the dictionary—
“Ash! I’m back! Let’s go to the smithy!”
“Yes! I’m on my way!”
I stood up, closed the books scattered across the table, and walked toward my father’s personal smithy at home.
The personal smithy had its own ventilation system to prevent suffocation. In fact, all the smithy vents were connected to each other. The smoke from the forges was released through multiple holes across the mountains.
Apparently, this system prevented extreme heat buildup, avoided bottlenecks, and stopped one large column of smoke from revealing the village’s location.
Interestingly enough, the vent system also worked as a heating network during the winter.
Even though its main purpose was to expel excess heat from the forges, the warmth it carried through the tunnels helped keep the mountains warm during colder seasons.
Once I entered the smithy, nobody was there.
The tools weren’t even prepared yet.
“Ash! We’re going on a field trip today! We’re going to the Magma Ox Forge! This is where Papa usually works. We’re going to learn about basic metals today!”
“Magna Ox Fowge?”
Ashtir chuckled.
“Magma Ox Forge!”
“Papa is a big man in that forge, you know!”
“Really?”
“Yeah! You’ll inherit this forge later on. Not just this forge, but the other forges on the other mountains too!”
“Really?! Yeah!!!”
After grabbing a hammer mounted on the living room wall, he picked me up.
Then we headed toward the forge using one of the mining cart highways.
---
When we arrived at the smithy district, the first thing I noticed was the rails.
Ten lanes of minecart tracks stretched across the entrance like metal veins feeding into the heart of the mountain.
Above the entrance hung a massive banner.
A very large one.
It depicted a giant ox standing over a pool of molten metal, its horns shaped like flowing magma as it melted ores beneath its hooves.
And beneath the ox…
was a symbol that felt strangely familiar.
A tattoo.
The same one carved into my father’s arm.
The banner itself looked incredibly old, but it was carefully maintained. Even from a distance, it carried the feeling of something ancient.
Something that had existed for a very long time.
Maybe centuries.
Maybe even a thousand years.
This mountain—
No.
This entire village…
had a long history.
But if that was true…
Why did nobody ever visit it?
The more I thought about it, the stranger it felt.
And it only made me wonder even more.