Chapter 14
A High Elf possesses a body untouched by age, so judging their age from appearance is difficult—or rather, impossible.
Yet bearded male dwarves, whether young or old, are no easier to judge by appearance.
So when I heard that, I opened my mouth so wide my jaw nearly came unhinged, baring a vacant, stunned expression.
It was the tenth year since I became the Shitty Dwarf master's apprentice.
A letter had arrived from the Dwarf homeland, telling the Shitty Dwarf master to marry his fiancée and take over his family household.
It said that, having earned a reputation as one of the finest smiths not only in Vistcoat but in the Kingdom of Rudelia as well, his training among humans should be sufficient by now.
In short, it was a summons from the Dwarf homeland to return.
Apparently, dwarves lived approximately three to five times as long as humans, or about two hundred to three hundred years.
And the Shitty Dwarf master was only a few years away from turning ninety.
In other words, by human standards, he was a young man in his late twenties or thirties.
His confident, dignified manner and outstanding smithing skills had made me assume he was approaching old age, so this came as an incredible shock.
And as for having a fiancée, it suited him so absurdly poorly that, despite knowing it was rude, I burst out laughing.
Of course, the moment I laughed, he punched me full force.
Anyway, putting that aside, it was certainly a good time for him to return.
Over these ten years, several people besides me had apprenticed themselves to the Shitty Dwarf master.
Not everyone had failed to amount to anything and left; many had become skilled enough to set out on their own.
Actually, every human who became a dwarf's apprentice had already learned smithing somewhere else and been recognized as a full-fledged smith.
Apparently, it was common knowledge in the smithing world that trying to learn from a dwarf with no experience whatsoever was presumptuous beyond belief.
Well, nobody had told me that.
The apprentices who joined after me were appalled, but the Shitty Dwarf master had accepted me anyway, so our relationship was fine as it was.
In any case, even if the Shitty Dwarf master left this town, Vistcoat, it would no longer suffer from a shortage of smiths.
The seeds he had sown had sprouted and grown into fine trees in this town.
Though I felt a little lonely, it was time for me, too.
The changes over those ten years were not limited to the increase in smithies.
For example, White Lake, the town's best team, had reached seven-star rank—the highest rank for adventurers—and disbanded three years ago.
That was because Clayas, the warrior, and Maltena, the priest, had married and had a child.
Above all, humans had only a short period in which their physical abilities were at their peak.
They retired and raised the next generation before their decline led to an irreversible mistake.
It had probably been the right decision.
Airena, being an elf and thus still untouched by decline, could not quite give up the thrilling days of adventuring even after the team's breakup, so she set out in search of new companions.
Perhaps she had wanted me to come with her.
But she knew that I would not abandon smithing halfway through, so she bid me farewell with a smile, gave me reminders about daily life as if she were my mother, and set out on her journey.
Rodner, who had been a gatekeeper when I first came to town, had risen through the ranks over those ten years and become the captain of the town guard.
Although he no longer stood watch at the gate himself, the trust the townspeople placed in him had not diminished in the slightest.
Even now, I occasionally shared drinks and a meal with Rodner at that same dining hall.
Astre, who had once been a boy, was now a fully fledged warrior, and I heard he had only recently been promoted to five-star rank.
He was still far from being a first-rate adventurer like White Lake, but it was fair to call him a successful adventurer.
Ten years was not a particularly long time for a High Elf.
But these ten years had been so overwhelmingly intense that they surpassed even all the remaining one hundred and fifty years of my life put together.
And much of that was thanks to the Shitty Dwarf master who had made me his apprentice despite cursing me as a shitty elf.
"...So, I'm returning to the Dwarf homeland. What are you going to do?"
That benefactor of mine asked me.
Yes, what was I going to do?
There were all sorts of things that interested me.
"Swordsmanship... and magic, I think. I'm thinking of attending a dojo or a magic academy in the royal capital. ...Fortunately, I've saved quite a lot of money."
I had the money I had saved by working at this shop for the past ten years, and after I left the inn and bought a house, Airena had moved into it for some reason, saying that she was still worried about me, and left a large amount of money behind as rent.
So I had more than enough wealth to study swordsmanship and magic without having to work.
"Hah, magic, despite being able to call upon the power of spirits? You're as incomprehensible as ever. Well, never mind. Whatever you do, that doesn't change the fact that you, Shitty El... no, Aiser, are my finest apprentice and my friend."
To my surprise, he called me by my name for the first time.
He turned his face away, looking embarrassed.
It suited him so poorly it was laughable.
But I couldn't laugh.
I had never known this before, but apparently, when you're too happy, what comes out isn't a smile but tears.
Only when he called me that did I realize, deep in my heart, that Aiser was my name.
"Ah, hahaha... What is this? It doesn't suit you at all. I, an elf... a High Elf, can't go to the Dwarf homeland, but I'll never forget that you, Azvald, are my master and my friend."
I said that in a trembling voice and held out my right hand, and my friend Azvald clasped it firmly.
Then he flashed a broad grin.
"What do you mean, it doesn't suit me? Your best quality is that you're crazy enough to charge into any place you want to go without hesitation. ...But Aiser, you were a High Elf?"
Laughing, Azvald released my hand and jabbed me in the chest with his fist.
Ouch.
Yet, for some reason, the pain was gentle and comforting.
We probably wouldn't be able to share exchanges like this many more times.
But he kept smiling,
"Then, fifty years it is. Come to the Dwarf homeland in fifty years. I'll become the finest smith in the Dwarf kingdom, take the throne, and make it so that elves can come visit. So when that time comes, come proudly and call yourself my apprentice."
He said it with absolute certainty.
To dwarves, the most important thing is smithing skill.
If one's smithing skills were good enough, one could gain the respect of those around them, as well as social status.
Amazingly, that even included the throne.
In other words, I was the future Dwarf king's friend and finest apprentice.
Ah, what an honor that was.
"...Then I'll make sure my skills don't grow rusty—or rather, I'll advance even one step further."
He nodded at my words, and one month later, he returned to the Dwarf homeland.
The smithy my master, Azvald, left behind was taken over by one of his apprentices.
And in my hands was a license issued by the Smiths' Guild certifying me as an advanced smith.
It was valid not only in the Kingdom of Rudelia but throughout the countries around here, and was effectively proof that I was a first-rate smith.
Since dwarves wielded considerable influence in the Smiths' Guild, there must have been fierce opposition to issuing this license to an elf like me.
But my master silenced that opposition with his skill, his words, and his fists, and wrested the advanced smith's license for me.
In short—yes, this was my pride.
For several weeks afterward, I borrowed the forge from the apprentice who had taken over the shop and carved a knife from a Granwolf's fang.
Carefully, carefully, little by little, little by little.
Once the knife was finished, I hung it from my waist and left the town of Vistcoat.
I took from my luggage an Apuah fruit that had remained unspoiled for ten years after I picked it and bit into it.
A carriage ride to the royal capital took about ten days.
Walking would take even longer.
But since I had the chance, I intended to walk to the royal capital while savoring the afterglow of having completed my finest work of the past ten years.