The moment the traitorous minister revealed his true face, the Emperor of Humanity burst into laughter—a deep laugh carrying a blend of satisfaction and pride. Then he said confidently,
"Excellent work… my upbringing of you and the support I gave you were never wasted."
The dwarf minister smiled faintly, but his eyes gleamed with distant memories. His mind drifted back to his childhood, to that fateful day when slave traders abducted him while he was still a small child—frail, lost, and confused. He had been sold in a merciless, shadowed market, and his fate seemed sealed, no different from countless forgotten children… had fate not intervened.
In that market, the Emperor of Humanity saw him. The Emperor was not looking for a slave, but for a mind. He noticed the child's intelligence, his quick wit, and his unusual habit of observing in silence. He bought him—not to make him a servant, but to forge him into a tool. He raised him, taught him to read and to understand politics, trained him in persuasive deception, and instilled in him the arts of patience and long-term planning. Then, years later, he sent him to the dwarven kingdom in disguise with a merchant, presenting him as a child found wandering lost in the forest.
No one suspected him.
No one asked about his family.
He had none—his family had died long ago, before this long game had even begun.
The minister returned from his reverie when he noticed the Emperor's piercing gaze. The Emperor understood that he was lost in the past and cut through his thoughts in a practical tone:
"Have you completed your mission, Minister? Did you obtain every piece of the new metal?"
The minister came back to himself, inclined his head slightly, and replied with confidence,
"Yes, Your Majesty. I took every piece of the metal and left them with nothing of significance."
A genuine smile of satisfaction appeared on the Emperor's face. In silence, he watched as the minister produced the ancient artifact he had previously entrusted to him. It was a rare device, capable of storing only inanimate objects—not living beings—and had been designed specifically for such missions.
Before the minister could say a word, the Emperor suddenly extended his hand, and the artifact was drawn into his grasp with strange force. When the minister saw the golden sigil on the artifact respond to the Emperor, he fell silent at once, realizing he should not speak unless permitted. He knew that symbol well… it was the mark of absolute obedience.
The Emperor held the artifact and closed his eyes slightly, sensing what lay within. The moment he realized that the stored metal was the very same metal from which the necklace and the sacred golden spear had been forged, his smile widened. The magical resonance was unmistakable—powerful, almost alive.
A subtle thrill coursed through the Emperor. The quantity of metal was not only sufficient to repair the sacred spear, but there was a large surplus—tempting… and dangerous. After a few moments of thought, he made his decision: he would not forge any new artifact from this metal for now. If he did, the dwarves might begin to connect the threads and draw closer to the truth than he desired.
Instead, he decided to store the metal in the safest place he possessed—in the deep, secret chamber where the sacred spear itself was hidden. That very spear his ancestors had stolen from the dwarves ages ago, without the dwarves ever realizing the truth, even to this day.
As the Emperor reflected on this, he felt a sharp irony.
His ancestors had stolen a sacred weapon from the dwarves… and now he was stealing a new metal from them in the very same way—just as quietly, and without raising their suspicion.
The Emperor smiled coldly and thought to himself that history does not repeat itself without reason—it repeats because some peoples never learn.
He emerged from his thoughts when he sensed his mind drifting away from the present moment. Slowly raising his gaze to the dwarf standing silently in the center of the hall, he said in a calm voice laced with faint sharpness,
"Well done. But tell me… does the King of the Dwarves truly care so little about this metal? I have heard of no movement from him for some time."
When the dwarf realized the Emperor had addressed him directly, he answered without hesitation, confidently,
"No, Your Imperial Majesty. It is not that he does not care—quite the opposite. The King of the Dwarves is waiting. He is watching for the moment when the thief uses the metal to forge weapons or ancient artifacts. When those weapons are used, he will learn the thief's identity and force them to return the metal and everything made from it."
The Emperor smiled faintly, a smile filled with meaning. He had suspected this possibility from the beginning, and the dwarf's words confirmed his thoughts. The King of the Dwarves was waiting for the trap to close… unaware that his prey would never fall into it.
Neither the King of the Dwarves, nor the dwarf spy standing before him, nor even his own daughter knew the full truth: the stolen sacred spear. A spear broken long ago, for which the new metal had not been stolen to create weapons, but solely to repair it. The Emperor had no need to reveal his power now—the true weapon was not yet ready.
As he considered this, he spoke to the dwarf in a commanding tone that brooked no argument:
"Return now to the dwarven kingdom. Make their king place his complete trust in you. When you reach that stage… I will tell you what to do next."
The dwarf knelt at once, placing his hand over his chest, and said with apparent loyalty,
"Your command, my lord. I will make the King of the Dwarves trust me completely and never suspect a thing."
The Emperor waved his hand, signaling dismissal. The dwarf understood immediately, bowed one last time, then turned and left the imperial hall quietly.
As he walked through one of the wide corridors leading out of the imperial wing, he encountered a woman with shining silver hair and sharp golden eyes—Princess Forn. The dwarf paused briefly, gave her a quick respectful bow, then continued on without revealing his face.
Princess Forn, for her part, had been walking toward the imperial hall when she stopped upon seeing the short, hooded figure. She could not see his features, but his presence did not seem suspicious. This was the imperial palace, the most heavily fortified place in the empire, filled with master swordsmen and expert mages from across the world. It never crossed her mind that he could be a spy or an assassin.
When she noticed that he bowed quickly and moved on without kneeling or revealing his identity, she immediately realized that he was someone who received orders directly from her father. Anyone who encountered the princess was required to kneel and identify themselves—except those carrying special orders from the Emperor himself.
Forn looked toward the corridor leading to the imperial hall, then at the massive doors. Seeing the guards standing in a rigid formation, she understood at once: her father did not wish to be seen now. She knew these signals well—she understood when entry was forbidden and when the Emperor was in seclusion that must not be disturbed.
She turned back the way she had come, but her mind was anything but calm. The image of the hooded man, her earlier suspicions, and the connections she drew between the theft of the dwarves' metal, the accusations against the elves, and her father's unsettling silence—all of it began to intertwine in her thoughts.
Princess Forn asked herself:
Why does my father want the dwarves' metal specifically?
What would make him risk igniting a conflict between the races?
She thought long and hard, turning over every possibility, but reached no clear answer. Still, deep down, she felt that what was happening was far greater than it appeared on the surface… and that when the truth finally emerged, it might shake the entire continent.