That night, the dwarves were celebrating loudly in the plaza near the warehouse. Torches were lit in every corner, their flames reflecting off the ancient stone walls, while laughter rose high and the clinking of cups blended with the soft music the dwarves favored during their festivities.
The minister was among them—not seated in a place of honor, nor acting arrogantly. Instead, he laughed with them, answered their questions, and shared stories and jokes as if he had been one of them for many years. He listened eagerly to the guards as they spoke of past battles, their families, and their dreams, responding with sincere smiles and encouraging words, until the barriers between him and them vanished completely.
From a distance, the captain of the guard watched the scene, his eyes filled with amazement. He had not expected the minister to possess such high spirits, nor such a strange ability to blend in with the soldiers so quickly. And although he knew deep down that the minister was doing this to expose any potential traitor, he could not deny that the atmosphere had grown lighter, and that the guards seemed closer to one another than ever before.
As time passed and cups continued to circulate, the captain of the guard began to feel heaviness in his head. The sensation of drunkenness crept in despite his attempts to resist it. The place was close to the warehouse of the newly discovered metal, and he was the one primarily responsible for its protection—it would be unbefitting for him to lose consciousness. He tried to steady himself, taking a deep breath, but the hour had grown late and the night had become still.
At last, the captain rose from his chair and slammed his fist onto the table, speaking in a firm voice despite its heaviness:
"Enough for today, lads."
Sounds of grumbling and laughter rose, and some guards protested jokingly, but in the end they obeyed his orders and began gathering themselves to return to their posts.
Seeing that they were complying, the captain turned toward the minister, who appeared drunk, laughing and leaning against the table. The captain smiled faintly and walked toward him to rouse him and ask him to return to the palace or to a safe place.
But after only a few steps, his vision suddenly shook, and he felt the ground tilt beneath him. He tried to grab onto something, but his body failed him. He collapsed to the ground, unconscious, without uttering a single word.
The guards froze in place for a few seconds. Then some of them rushed forward to check on their captain, but before any of them could take even one step, they began to fall one after another—like leaves blown by the wind—until complete silence fell over the area, and no one remained standing.
At that moment, one of the guards slowly rose from among the bodies sprawled on the ground. There was no sign of confusion or shock on his face. Instead, a strange, cold smile formed—nothing like the smiles of ordinary dwarves.
He looked around to ensure that everyone had lost consciousness, then muttered softly to himself:
"That was far easier than I expected."
He wasted no time, striding quickly toward the warehouse where the new metal was stored. With every step, the ring in his ear glimmered with a faint, unnatural light, as if pulsing with hidden power. Suddenly, the dwarf's appearance vanished entirely, replaced by a handsome elf with shining gray hair and sharp, elegant features.
The elf smiled as he removed the ring from his ear, admiring it briefly before hiding it away, then dashed toward the warehouse. As he moved swiftly, he murmured to himself:
"How easy it was to infiltrate the ranks of the guards responsible for protecting the metal… all I needed was an artifact to change my appearance."
He had expected the dwarves to suspect him or keep a close eye on him, but over the days he had realized their lack of vigilance toward infiltrators. He had lived among them for days without raising the slightest suspicion. No one had doubted that he was a spy.
He laughed inwardly as he hurried on, greed and curiosity stirring within him about the nature of the metal that had made the dwarves willing to antagonize all the kings of the races for its sake.
As he pondered this, the warehouse appeared before him, tightly concealed among rocks and thick walls. He smiled broadly and drew from his possession a slender dagger, gleaming coldly. With a swift, lethal motion, he swung it, severing the heads of the two guards standing at the door and speaking quietly. Neither of them felt anything before their heads hit the ground.
The elf looked at the bodies with disdain, scorning the weakness of the dwarves, then stepped forward and confidently opened the warehouse door.
But the instant he touched it, the magic bound to it detonated. A powerful shock surged straight through his body. The elf convulsed violently, his eyes widening in agony as he nearly lost consciousness from the force of the blast.
He recovered quickly, gasping as he leaned against the cold ground, then lifted his head and looked toward the now-open door. In that moment, he understood the full truth. The magic that struck him was not a simple protective spell—it was a complex detection enchantment, designed specifically to reveal the true identity of anyone who tried to force their way inside.
His eyes widened with suppressed fury, and his blood ran cold.
"I've been exposed…"
he muttered through clenched teeth, knowing with absolute certainty that at this very moment, the dwarves would realize that the elves were the ones who had infiltrated their ranks.
Rage ignited in his chest—not fear, but fury. He no longer had time to flee or think carefully. If his fate was sealed, then at the very least he would complete his mission. He would learn the secret of the new metal and send that information to the elves before falling into the dwarves' hands.
He lunged forward toward the inside of the warehouse—
But before he could take another step, he felt something strange behind him.
A lethal, icy sensation—like death itself drawing near.
He had no time to fully turn around. A dull sound echoed, and something pierced his chest with overwhelming force. His body halted abruptly, his eyes widened, and he collapsed to the ground, staring into nothingness, a large, bleeding hole in the center of his chest.
As he lay dying, he tried to turn to see who had struck him. Absolute shock and disbelief formed on his face at what he saw—something he had never expected. He opened his mouth to speak… but no words came. His head fell to the ground, and he died in heavy silence.
The one who carried out the attack stepped calmly toward the warehouse, as if what had just happened meant nothing. In his hand was a strange device, resembling a fusion of an ancient weapon and an artifact, emitting a faint glow barely visible. He paused briefly beside the elf's corpse, then continued on without looking back.
Minutes later, movement slowly returned to the area.
The dwarves arrived to investigate the cause of the alarm spell's activation. They found the guards and the minister lying on the ground and rushed to them immediately. Some bent down to check their breathing, others quickly checked their pulses. When they confirmed that they were alive, they breathed sighs of relief—though the worry did not leave their faces.
"The warehouse!"
one of them shouted.
They rushed toward the warehouse gate, and upon arriving, they saw the two beheaded guards. Fury ignited in their hearts, and their breaths quickened as they entered cautiously, expecting to confront the intruder at any moment.
But when they fully opened the warehouse door, they froze in place.
Silence fell.
The warehouse… was empty.
No trace of any person.
No trace of the new metal.
Faces stiffened, eyes widened, and it felt as if a crushing blow had struck them all at once. After a few moments of shock, the officer in charge of the emergency regained his composure and began shouting orders:
"Search the area immediately—inside and outside the warehouse!"
"Send a messenger to the royal citadel at once!"
"Activate isolation magic immediately! No one is allowed to escape using teleportation!"
Orders poured out rapidly, and everyone moved at once.
In the royal palace, the news reached the Dwarven King.
The moment he heard the details, he slowly sat down on his throne, as if the words had not yet reached his ears. The report replayed in his mind—once… twice… a third time. The metal gone. The guards killed. The conspiracy exposed.
He could not believe it.
The ministers looked at their king with concern as his face darkened and his eyes filled with silent rage. One of them tried to step forward to speak, but before he could utter a word, the king's voice exploded through the hall:
"Seal the capital immediately!"
"Summon the royal army!"
"Everyone who was involved in protecting the metal—I want them before me at once!"
The hall trembled with the force of his voice. No one dared to object or ask questions. The ministers bowed quickly and left to carry out the orders, knowing that this time, the king's fury was no ordinary anger.
The Dwarven King remained alone in the throne hall.
He did not calm down. His rage only burned hotter. He remembered the last time something sacred had been stolen from the dwarves, and the humiliation that had haunted their race for years.
History was repeating itself.
He clenched the arm of his throne with such force that the stone cracked beneath his grip. He lifted his head toward the ceiling, his eyes blazing with fury, and spoke in a low but terrifying voice—like an unbreakable oath:
"When I find you… thief…
You will witness the wrath of the dwarves.
You… and your entire race."