Below the platform was first dead silence, then buzzing discussion spread like a tide.
“What happened?”
“Young master Badri… how did he suddenly…”
The vast majority of dwarves simply hadn’t seen the process clearly. In their eyes, the lord announced the start, young Badri stepped forward, then immediately armor disintegrated, axe blade fell, and that valiant young master froze on the platform nearly naked.
But among the crowd, a minority of warriors and old adventurers with keen eyesight or who’d stood at the right angle had faces full of incredulous shock.
“It was that Puchi!” A gray-bearded old dwarf’s voice was hoarse as he explained to bewildered companions beside him. “The instant fighting began, it flipped over young Badri’s head. Tentacles gripping the dagger… couldn’t see the specific movements, but the young master’s armor—all connection points were cut simultaneously!”
“Bullshit!” A blacksmith beside him immediately retorted. He pointed at that pile of scattered armor plates on the platform. “That’s enchanted tempered heavy armor! An ordinary dagger striking it would be impressive to leave a mark, let alone cut through? And simultaneously cut all buckles? You think it’s made of paper?”
But young Badri’s axe had also definitely been cut in half…
Common sense clashed with witnessed reality. Below the platform immediately fell into chaotic debate and confusion. The clamor grew louder.
However, not everyone was fixated on combat details.
Some young dwarves and children’s attention had long been attracted by the starkly different scene on the platform.
They watched the normally imposing young Badri now standing on the platform nearly naked like a fool. That comical yet disheveled appearance was truly too amusing.
“Pfft!”
Don’t know who first couldn’t hold back, leaking a short burst of air.
Immediately after, irrepressible muffled laughter rang out from several spots.
These laughs weren’t particularly loud amid the noisy arguments, yet were exceptionally grating, deeply wounding young Badri’s self-esteem.
Shame, fury, and incredible frustration instantly crushed rationality. He violently threw away that ridiculous axe handle, let out an injured beast’s roar, eyes bloodshot, turned and swung a fist filled with battle aura, about to smash toward that Puchi behind him!
“Stop!”
Old Badri blocked his son’s full-force punch with one hand. The force of wind blew his grizzled beard backward.
“Father?!” Young Badri was stunned.
“The duel is over,” old Badri solemnly announced the result. “You lost.”
Lost?
Young Badri hadn’t fully comprehended these two words when he suddenly felt his chin go cool.
His meticulously braided beard silently severed a section from the center.
And at the front of his neck originally covered by the beard, a point of cold metallic edge was slowly withdrawing—the dagger tip gripped by the Sword Saint Puchi’s mycelial tentacle.
Just now, had it advanced half an inch more, it could have easily pierced his throat.
Only at this moment did young Badri belatedly feel that death so close at hand. Cold sweat emerged from his back.
Actually, the Sword Saint wouldn’t truly kill.
Just a thirty-something youngster—if he, this half-year-old Puchi, really got serious with the opponent, that would be losing face.
However, if old Badri didn’t intervene, the Sword Saint wouldn’t mind shaving young Badri bald and incidentally removing his last pair of shorts too.
Below the platform, this time there were no more questioning voices.
They discovered it was indeed they themselves who couldn’t see this Puchi’s movements clearly.
But immediately after, new doubts occupied everyone’s minds.
They were clear on young Badri’s strength. Combined with that enchanted heavy armor, he could wrestle even with hall-level opponents.
Yet able to so easily instant-kill such a young Badri, this Puchi… what level of strength?
A servant holding clothes hurriedly climbed the stone platform, about to hand them to the half-naked young master, but was blocked by old Badri raising his hand.
Old Badri looked at his half-naked son and said: “You lost. According to the agreement, go apologize. Just like this.”
“Father… I…” Badri’s face flashed with struggle and humiliation.
But under his father’s compelling gaze, he ultimately just took a deep breath, turned, and walked down the platform step by step. Before Inanna, he lowered his head: “I was presumptuous… All agreements, I will honor… Please forgive me…”
Even when No. 4 used tentacles to sweep his remaining beard, he didn’t resist.
Old Badri subsequently came over, nodding slightly to Inanna and Ronan in acknowledgment: “The delegation may depart at any time. Forge Ridge City will provide necessary supply provisions and dispatch guides familiar with mountain roads.”
His tone was steady, revealing little emotion.
No intention to renege.
The honor duel was an ancient and sacred rule. Results witnessed by all eyes—even if he was lord, he must comply. Betraying it would not only draw contempt but stain clan reputation.
Moreover…
Old Badri glanced back at the Sword Saint reattaching four swords to itself.
That Puchi’s demonstrated strength—even he wasn’t confident he could win.
Mushroom Tribe… Previous intelligence only emphasized they could summon Puchi tidal waves, possessing extremely high strategic value.
Who could have imagined their individual combat power could also reach such degree?
This matter needed reporting to clan leadership. Assessment and strategy regarding the Mushroom Tribe must be readjusted.
After finishing instructions, old Badri said no more. Leading his son who’d just donned outer garments and still seemed somewhat lost, he turned to leave. Their backs quickly disappeared into the parting and closing crowd.
Once they left, Inanna immediately put down No. 4 from her arms, instead happily hugging the Sword Saint Puchi. Her fingers gently kneaded on its smooth, round mushroom body, not concealing her admiration at all.
Knowing it temporarily couldn’t get Pink Puchi’s attention, No. 4 silently climbed onto the stone platform, using mycelial tentacles to roll up that section of neatly severed beard.
Though this was No. 14’s trophy, it also counted as witness to Mushroom Tribe glory—must bring it back for display.
This gave it an inspiration. Human heads weren’t allowed, but after defeating strong enemies in the future, perhaps cutting a small part as proof?
This way wouldn’t make Pink Puchi disgusted while still leaving evidence of achievements.
However, cut what?
Not everyone was like dwarves with such distinctive big beards…
…
When all attention was on the honor duel, aside from Inanna, no one noticed the delegation’s third Puchi didn’t appear at the scene.
Forge Ash City’s edge, inside a secluded stone house far from the noisy plaza, light was dim. Over a dozen young dwarves knelt awkwardly on the ground, rough hands clasped together uneasily.
Standing before them was the knight Puchi that hadn’t been at the scene.
“Is… is this real?” A young dwarf whose cheeks still bore forge fire scorch marks stared at the text on the ground, voice trembling, mixing disbelief and longing.
These young dwarves shared similar circumstances. They were all junior blacksmiths who, relying on some talent and sweat, barely entered the trade. Behind them was neither clan support nor wealthy family backing.
Though the mountains were rich in mineral deposits, the vast majority of high-quality veins had long been firmly controlled by major clans. Every ore block produced had its predetermined destination.
For junior craftsmen like them, if they wanted to advance to intermediate, advanced, or even legendary blacksmiths of their dreams, what they lacked most wasn’t effort and sweat, but abundant—even extravagant—practice opportunities.
Following normal procedures, they could only assist in clan or wealthy merchant smithies, day after day handling rough blanks, pulling bellows, occasionally gaining qualification to wield the hammer forging a few simple small items.
Needing to spend five or six years, even longer, bit by bit accumulating meager experience and savings before possibly touching the next tier’s threshold.
And now, a Puchi that could communicate through text depicted for them an almost dreamlike picture.
Just by going to a certain place, there would be inexhaustible minerals, unlimited forging opportunities.
They could freely swing hammers, wantonly experiment, until their own skills reached true bottlenecks, unable to advance an inch more.
That was simply the “heaven” blacksmiths dreamed of.
Yearning like blazing forge fire burned in their eyes, but close behind came doubts.
After all, the location this thing mentioned was a bit close to demon borders…
However, the knight Puchi didn’t write anything more to explain, just extracted something from its body and tossed it on the ground.
Thud.
A muffled light sound.
It was actually an A-grade magic crystal the size of an adult’s fist!
An A-grade magic crystal of such size—its value was sufficient to equal these people’s hard labor for over ten years!
It quietly lay on the ground, emitting purple radiance. The dwarves’ pupils contracted, breathing also became heavy.
After the Puchi left, several clear swallowing sounds came from the room.
Some dwarves’ gazes stuck dead on the magic crystal, eyes full of greed, already beginning to urgently discuss in low voices with companions how to divide this astonishing windfall.
But other dwarves stared blankly at the doorway where the Puchi departed, then looked down at that radiance-flowing magic crystal, minds repeatedly echoing that promise of “blacksmith heaven”…
(End of Chapter)
