The Freed Slaves Are Obsessed

Clang! Clang!

A dwarf hammered away in a forge, the heat so intense that sweat poured down his deeply furrowed brow like rain.

His thick beard, a symbol of dwarven pride, swayed in chunks, likely due to lack of care.

His hands, marked with burn scars and calluses, wielded his hammer, which was regarded as an extension of his soul by any true blacksmith, and brought it down with force.

Clang!

The dwarf’s name was Thorbar.

He was one of the seven Meisters of Doomheim. Meister was an honorable title granted only to the finest blacksmiths, revered and envied by all others. To a blacksmith, achieving the status of Meister was a dream.

Thorbar was no exception. The weapons forged by his hands weren’t just tools; they were works of art, masterpieces—

Crunch!

—that is, until the piece in front of him suddenly crumpled. He had lost control of his strength due to his emotions slipping into his hammering.

It was a basic mistake, something an apprentice blacksmith might make. Especially for someone like Thorbar, who was known for his unyielding coldness, such an error was uncharacteristic.

All of this was because his daughter had disappeared overnight.

Thorbar’s daughter, Ferka, his only child, had gone missing half a year ago.

Although she was a handful, the apple of his eye, and watching her eat didn’t fill him up in the slightest, she was still family. Worry gnawed at him occasionally.

Sigh...

Thorbar wiped his damp eyes with his forearm.

In his current state, it seemed impossible to continue forging. Only a full-body plunge into cold water would calm the heat and emotions stirring inside him.

Thorbar hung his hammer on the wall and left the forge, heading back to his home.

Dwarf houses were all identical in structure, each a square of the same dimensions, with a forge set up in the backyard.

Optimized for dwarves who spent every waking moment at the forge, except for eating and sleeping.

Knock, knock.

A knock on the door.

Must be a visitor.

Perhaps it was Logan from across the way? He had commissioned a necklace as an anniversary gift for his wife.

They’d been married over fifty years, and their love still burned brightly. Truly a man to be respected.

Thorbar picked up the necklace and opened the door.

"Ah, Logan. Here for your necklace? I was just wondering when you’d stop by. Here’s the piece you requested..."

Thorbar blinked.

Standing in the doorway was a girl, and their eyes met.

Ferka’s lips twitched in a faint smile.

"D-Dad... I’m back...."

Too embarrassed by the dress she wore, Ferka couldn’t even manage her usual tone.

Thorbar’s eyes widened as he looked her up and down, inspecting her appearance.

Click.

He closed the door.

Then he blinked a couple of times and rubbed his eyes.

"I must be losing it."

Was he really missing Ferka so much that he was seeing things?

Age must have made him more sentimental. He needed to clear his head with cold water.

Bang, bang!

"D-Dad! It’s really me, Ferka! Please open the door!"

"She may look like my daughter, but Ferka would never wear a dress. And she’s not that cute. Don’t play such a cruel prank again."

"Th-that may be true, but...."

The harsh truth hit her hard.

What kind of life had she been living?

Even if she’d admitted it unintentionally, being mistaken for a fraud didn’t sit well with Ferka. She decided to prove she was Thorbar’s daughter.

"D-Dad, you have a burn scar on your forearm! You say it’s an honorable mark from forging, but really, you got it while fussing over a meal—!"

"It’s undoubtedly you, my daughter. In truth, I never doubted it for a moment. Now, I’d really appreciate it if you could keep your voice down."

Thorbar opened the door abruptly, cutting off her words. Given that she knew stories only he and his daughter would know, there was no room for doubt.

Thorbar calmly took another look at Ferka’s appearance.

‘This is my daughter...?’

On closer inspection, her physical features matched Ferka’s exactly. Despite this, it was still hard to believe.

"So, you vanished without a word and ended up mingling with humans on the surface? And now you’ve returned after half a year, bringing a man along?"

"W-well, you see...."

"It seems there’s some misunderstanding, but we’re not in that kind of relationship. I am Karami, a slave trader, and Ferka here is my property."

"What?"

"Meister Thorbar. I’ve come to negotiate."

Thorbar narrowed his eyes, looking back and forth between Karami and Ferka. Ferka hung her head as if guilty of something.

Thorbar quickly grasped the situation.

It wasn’t that his troublesome daughter had been wandering about, but rather that something had happened to her.

"Is that... Ferka?"

"I think so. But who’s that guy?"

People began to gather, attracted by the unusual sight. This wasn’t the best place for a conversation.

"Let’s talk inside."

Dwarven furniture was typically built to a different scale.

With their relatively short legs, dwarves needed furniture with a lower height. In any other place, there wouldn’t have been a single chair suited to Karami’s size, but in Thorbar’s home, there was a chair designed specifically for Ferka, a half-dwarf.

Karami, being Ferka’s master, sat in her chair, which naturally left her standing.

...

A vein pulsed on Thorbar’s forehead. Seeing a stranger in his daughter’s seat greatly unsettled him.

He sat in the closest chair to his hammer, fully prepared to smash Karami’s head if necessary.

"...Tell me what happened from the beginning."

Ferka recounted the events from six months prior.

Bored, she’d ventured far and had been captured by slave hunters, ending up as a mine slave. She was then purchased by Karami, who’d brought her back.

Thorbar’s eyes widened ever so slightly, having assumed Ferka had simply gone off without telling him. He hadn’t been aware of these circumstances.

"So, when you say you want to make a deal, you’re saying you’ll return Ferka in exchange for something?"

"Precisely."

Thorbar quickly regained his composure.

He didn’t know what confidence had brought this man to the heart of dwarf territory, but he saw no reason to comply with any deal. He could take Ferka back by force if needed.

Just as his hand was moving toward his hammer—

"I’d advise against any rash actions. Ferka and I have a master-slave contract in place. As a precaution, I’ve set up insurance. Should anything happen to me, I cannot guarantee Ferka’s safety."

"..."

Whether it was true or not, Thorbar had no way to tell. He couldn’t risk his daughter’s life on a gamble.

Reluctantly, he decided to hear what Karami had to offer.

"Alright, let’s hear it."

Karami smiled.

"It’s nothing extravagant. I just want to take some of Magmar’s flame."

Thorbar’s gaze hardened.

The Heart of Magmar, a symbol with similar significance to the Elves’ World Tree, was a sacred flame. The idea of a human taking it was unthinkable.

It was akin to asking for a branch of the World Tree.

"Magmar’s flame is the very essence and spirit of the dwarves. It cannot be given to a stranger, and certainly not to a blackmailer."

"A blackmailer? I not only freed your daughter from a life of slavery in the mines but personally brought her home. If that doesn’t make me a benefactor, then what does?"

"Seems slave traders have sold their conscience along with everything else. Get out. I don’t negotiate with slavers."

"So, your pride as a blacksmith takes precedence over your daughter? What a cold-hearted father you are, isn’t that right?"

Karami, expecting this outcome, shook his head and looked at Ferka.

Ferka’s eyes wavered in shock. She knew her father was strict, but she’d never imagined he’d place his pride above her.

"I respect your decision, but I have my own reasons why I cannot give up on this."

"What do you intend to use the flame for?"

"It’s nothing grand. Just to awaken a princess sleeping in the ice."

An enigmatic statement.

Who was this princess sleeping in the ice?

Thorbar didn’t take Karami’s words at face value, suspecting hidden motives.

Of course, Karami was entirely sincere. To melt the ice frozen by the ancient dragon’s curse, the flame of Magmar was essential. According to Karami’s data, this was the only way. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

To gain the flame, he needed the Meister’s approval.

There were seven Meisters in Doomheim, so it didn’t necessarily have to be Thorbar, but the path through him was more straightforward than with the others.

Thorbar was also the ideal choice due to certain accessories that would need to be crafted later. But Thorbar’s resolve was proving stronger than Karami had anticipated.

‘Should I try approaching another Meister?’

Just as Karami was about to adjust his plans, Thorbar spoke up.

"If it’s truly necessary, I can propose an alternative."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

An offer from Thorbar himself?

This was a promising turn.

"Marry Ferka and become my son-in-law."

Otherwise known as: Thorbar’s way of dealing with his troublesome daughter.