Chapter 109: The Dwarf Who Brings Misfortune

Golem?

As soon as the question was asked, the already quiet bookstore fell even more silent.

Everyone turned to see the source of the voice, spotting what looked like a cube—no, it was a dwarf who appeared to be about as tall as he was wide.

A dwarf!

A race neither particularly rare nor common on the Chaos Continent.

A century ago, when the Age of Waning Magic began, the lack of mages forced the human world to adopt new methods of combat. The Barbarossa Empire chose the path of physical might, becoming known for its Pegasus Knights. Meanwhile, the Karak Empire partnered with dwarves to incorporate cannon technology into their warfare.

As a result, most dwarves either stayed in their underground fortresses or could only be found in the Karak Empire.

The dwarf in front of them was a classic chubby figure. Raine glanced at him, estimating his height, width, and depth to all be about 1.2 meters.

His round face radiated an innocent charm, framed by messy orange-red hair and a lack of significant facial hair, clearly marking him as a child.

It’s worth noting that in the Chaos world, dwarves have an average lifespan of 250 to 400 years, depending on their subspecies. Some highland dwarf clans can live up to 600 years. So, a dwarf child in human eyes might well be older than a human grandparent.

And the warhammer slung across his back, with a head nearly as large as his own, was nothing short of intimidating.

The young dwarf’s question stumped everyone in the bookstore.

When no one answered, the shop assistant offered a wry smile. “Sorry! From what we know, Grandmaster Tesla specializes in evocation and protective magic. But no one here can accurately answer your question.”

“Ah, then… does anyone know how to contact the Grandmaster? Or his disciples?”

The assistant grimaced. “At least five thousand people in this city want to contact the Grandmaster and earn his favor. Rumor has it, he left a magical pet firebat at the Ramanquet Earl’s residence and another near the mage tower construction site outside the city. If the Grandmaster wishes to see you, he’ll contact you through the firebat. His senior disciple, Lord Jacquard, occasionally returns to Ramanquet City, but he hasn’t been spotted for the past two weeks.”

Someone chimed in, “Young dwarf, you’d better not count on getting lucky now. Study hard and wait for the open recruitment in February.”

The dwarf’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I should be the one apologizing. I was being presumptuous.”

The polite young dwarf didn’t exhibit the infamous fiery temper typically associated with his race.

At that moment, a voice reached his ears.

“I’ve seen [Dread Guardians] within the range of Grandmaster Tesla’s mage tower.”

As Raine’s words reached him, the young dwarf’s eyes lit up.

The shop assistant realized something. “Oh! Are you talking about those animated suits of armor? So they’re called Dread Guardians? Sorry, that’s news to me.”

The dwarf grew excited. “You know about Dread Guardians?”

Raine smiled faintly. “A little.”

The dwarf pressed on. “Then do you know the difference between magical constructs, living constructs, and golems?”

Raine smiled slyly, spinning a silver coin deftly between his fingers. With his other hand, he gestured for silence. “Shh! This isn’t the place for noise. How about we grab a drink at the tavern next door?”

The dwarf’s eyes lit up again. No dwarf could resist a mug of ale, especially when offered by a kindred spirit.

The dwarf happily trotted after this unfamiliar golden-haired human.

Why was Raine interested in this dwarf? Simple—his system had highlighted the young dwarf. While the glow wasn’t particularly bright and seemed to flicker erratically, it was still a highlight.

And a highlight was always better than the dim, unresponsive readings from the rest of the crowd.

This situation is like playing a computer Mahjong game. Even if you dream of going for a big hand like “Pure Suit” or “Thirteen Orphans,” after waiting forever without a winning hand, when that “Win” prompt finally pops up—even for a simple “All Sequences”—your body instinctively clicks it without hesitation.

Don’t ask why. It’s just a reflex!
Who says a small win doesn’t count?
After drawing two SSRs, isn’t it fair to pull an SR?
This disciple was picked up purely by my (luck-based) skill!
As long as it’s a disciple acquired outside of public admissions, it’s essentially a freebie.

However, until you fully scratch off this disciple-shaped lottery ticket, you’ll never know what kind of card you’re holding.

Walking along the road, the young dwarf suddenly seemed to realize something. With a dejected look, he said, “My name is Barend Heavyhammer, but we’d better just chat. You really shouldn’t become my friend.”

“Why not?” Raine was curious.

“I… I have a strange condition. Whenever I start working on golems or constructs, I bring misfortune.”

“Hmm? Is that a thing?”
Could this be why the system’s highlight flickered on and off?

“Sigh! My father wants me to inherit the family business, but I’d rather tinker with golems and constructs.”

“Why is that?”

“There were too many losses among my kin at the Demon’s Maw. I want to revive magimechanical construct technology to reduce casualties among my people and our human allies.”

Raine was uncharacteristically silent for a moment. “No problem. I used to attract demons, devils, and undead all the time. But lately, I’ve been lucky. They don’t dare come near anymore.”

“You’re really good at talking,” the young dwarf grinned.

“I’m Raine.”

Barend hesitated briefly but eventually shook Raine’s hand.

Almost instantly, Raine received a system notification:
[Due to Barend Heavyhammer’s cursed constitution, the host must undergo a compulsory unknown necromantic spell check… You have successfully resisted the check.]

Raine: ???

The two of them arrived at a newly opened bar in the city.

To Raine, the place resembled the quiet bars from his pre-transmigration world. Many nobles or wealthy young heirs, unwilling to mingle with commoners in small taverns, frequented this quieter, more conversational (and more expensive) type of establishment. This one had sprung up thanks to the exam-driven economy initiated by a certain Archmage.

“Will it be expensive?” Barend’s already short neck seemed to shrink further as he eyed the refined décor.

“Don’t worry.” Raine casually flipped a gold coin to the approaching waiter.

The waiter, sharp-eyed, immediately recognized the latest men’s fashion from the Cervantes capital that Raine had conjured.

He led them to a table on the second-floor terrace. Just as they sat down and Barend pulled out a hand-sized model of a construct, someone suddenly came flying in their direction.

Bang!

Before either of them could react, the person crashed into their table, smashing it over and unintentionally shattering Barend’s model into pieces.

Pain and despair instantly froze on the young dwarf’s face.