The Crafter's Dominion: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 5) by Jonathan Brooks (best english books to read TXT) 📗

over the people in the Hall was exaggerating how much time had passed, but he was reasonably certain that something was wrong.  It was only when another few hours went by that he finally heard some signs of life as someone headed in his direction through multiple locked doors.

“What happened?  Is everyone safe?” he asked the familiar face of the Dwarf that normally brought his food.  Instead of answering, however, all the food deliverer did was lay his tray of nutrient-rich but unappetizing edibles down so that Gerold could obtain it near the bottom of his cell door.  “Hey!  At least tell me that the monsters were beaten back!”

Still no response, though he did see a momentary hesitation in the other Dwarf’s gait as he left.  That’s not a good sign.

It wasn’t until the next day – perhaps 24 hours later based on meal deliveries – that he got another visit by Jespin, though he looked a bit worse for wear.

“Yes, we were able to beat them back, but I’m not sure for how long,” the old Dwarf said in response to Gerold’s question as he sat down on the bench, his bloodshot eyes almost screaming lack of sleep for the retired Master Blacksmith.

“What do you mean?”

“This is the 4th call to arms in the last few months, and the frequency is only increasing,” Jespin explained wearily.  “Luckily, nothing has broken through the stone entrance gates yet, nor have they tunneled beneath; but I fear it is only a matter of time before there is a serious breakthrough.  We’ve lost a half-dozen Shieldmen already in the defense, so our numbers are thinning; we no longer even have the option of going out and destroying this dungeon that is threatening us, because we don’t have the numbers to survive another attack if it were to come while a team was away.”

As callous as it sounded, it sounded like an easy solution.  “There are thousands of people in this Hall alone that would fight for the honor of being a Shieldman; just have the Master Blacksmiths start churning out more armor and weapon sets.  You could even come out of retirement to train some more—”

“It won’t work,” Jespin said sadly, shaking his head.

“What?  Why?”  Gerold knew that it would probably take a little while to really ramp up production, but they had to do something.

“It doesn’t matter if we have 1 Master Blacksmith or 5,000; we can’t produce enough to make a difference.”

That didn’t seem right to Gerold.  While he didn’t know what went into the armor creation process, it seemed more than possible that with 5,000 Master Blacksmiths producing enough sets for new Shieldmen, they could be equipped enough within a few weeks or months to fight back and close down this nearest dungeon.  It was even far enough away from the others that had been destroyed near the wasteland that it shouldn’t matter.

It shouldn’t even be a matter of materials, either, because Gerold had seen the stockpiles of high-grade dungeon loot steel they had in the Kingdom’s stockpiles when he had been invested as a Shieldman, and there was enough there to create thousands of suits of armor and the weapons that went with it – if not tens of thousands.  Unless it wasn’t the steel that they were lacking, but something else….

“Does this have anything to do with that strange orb of metal you showed me before?”

Master Blacksmith Jespin was too tired to hide his surprise.  “How did you know that?  No one but us Masters should have that knowledge.”

Gerold shrugged.  “It was only an assumption based on what you said about not being able to create enough equipment for new Shieldmen, as well as your questions about Sandra and how she can create what she needs.  What is it?” he asked, gesturing to the older Dwarf’s hidden vest pocket.

Jespin exhaled a big sigh, before looking out the door leading to Gerold’s freedom.  Dropping his voice down lower, the Master began to reveal something the former Shieldman never thought he would ever learn.  “I guess the times are getting desperate enough that it really doesn’t matter anymore.”  He pulled out the strange metal ball again and showed it to Gerold, even letting him hold it.  Surprisingly, when he picked up the orb, he could sense that it was extremely dense but soft – and yet was remarkably light for its size.

“You’re right, Gerry.  This is mithril, a very rare metal that is required to make the special armor and battleaxes we provide to the Shieldmen.  I’m not going to detail the process right now, but this little bit you’re holding – along with large quantities of dungeon loot-quality steel – is all we need to fully equip a new Shieldmen recruit.”

Huh.  “That doesn’t seem so bad, then.  So, what’s the problem?” Gerold asked as he handed the strange mithril metal back to the Blacksmith.

“Well, the problem is that mithril is very rare, like I said; remarkably, we used to have large deposits of it throughout our mountain ranges here, which was how we came to use it in the construction of armor and weapons. Over time, however, the deposits ran out and our reserves dwindled to near-empty.  Fortunately, about 250 years ago, a dungeon was soon discovered that dropped these small mithril orbs when their powerful monsters were killed; we’re not sure how that happened, but we weren’t going to complain about it.

“Needless to say, we took advantage of this fact and sent constant teams of Shieldmen to collect these mithril orbs by invading the dungeon, diving deeper and deeper inside to destroy more and more monsters.  Unfortunately, about 50 years ago, a large team went inside and suffered horrendous casualties in the process of killing the strong monsters and falling victim to numerous traps.  Understandably frustrated and out for revenge, the remaining members of the Shieldmen team managed