The room Ian and Keith had just left fell into an awkward silence.

Nameita, the elderly dwarf scholar, cautiously glanced toward Louise—the child Rick had left behind—who was quietly recovering from his grief in his master’s embrace.

“Are you... alright?” Nameita asked hesitantly.

“What do you mean?” Louise replied.

“Well... Sir Keith Moore—the so-called ‘Agent of God’—left together with Lord Ian. I was worried I might have caused some sort of discord between them...”

“There is no discord under Lord Ian.”

“...?”

The certainty in Louise’s voice caught Nameita off guard.

But when he thought about the hero he had just pledged himself to, somehow the answer felt strangely fitting.

“My name is Louise,” the boy added.

The simple statement swept away the dwarf’s wandering thoughts.

He acknowledged me... as Rick’s friend.

Emotion surged up in Nameita’s chest. Tears welled in his eyes again, disappearing into the thick beard covering his face.

No. I can’t cry.

Not in front of the child his unfortunate friend had left behind.

“Well then, Louise... have you been doing well?”

“Yes.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Nameita realized how foolish the question sounded.

“I mean... Lord Ian has treated you well, hasn’t he?”

The dwarf inwardly cursed himself again.

Rick’s child couldn’t possibly have lived an easy life. Still, Ian seemed like a decent master. Surely the boy had at least been treated properly under his care.

But Louise fell silent, seeming to ponder the question seriously.

Nameita’s expression stiffened.

“...Has your master been tormenting you?”

“What? Everyone wants Lord Ian to torment them.”

“...?!”

Nameita’s mind blanked completely.

At that exact moment, the door burst open and Ian returned with Keith at his side.

Whatever the two had discussed privately, both of them looked oddly refreshed.

Looks like they settled it.

Nameita quietly let out a breath of relief.

Then Ian immediately turned toward Louise.

“Keith. You really are the finest knight alive. No one could possibly be more loyal or devoted than you.”

“Thank you.”

“...?”

Nameita blinked.

Since when had Louise become Keith?

Why was Ian staring at Louise while praising Sir Keith?

And why was Sir Keith answering him?

Apparently, Nameita was the only person present who found this bizarre.

“Nameita,” Ian said casually, turning toward him, “is there another dwarf in the village who can take over as chief after you leave?”

“Anyone could do it,” Nameita answered. “I only became chief because I’m the oldest.”

“I see. Do you have a lot to pack?”

“Pack? Are you intending to leave immediately?”

Ian looked at him as though the answer were obvious.

“If you need time to organize things, take it. Though it’s probably better to handle that later. Don’t you want to hear the results as soon as possible?”

“...Results?”

“The magic placed on the letter.”

Ian tilted his chin slightly.

“The ‘Master of Water,’ Sema?” Nameita immediately understood. There was no one else Ian could mean. Even among the dwarves, the mage serving beneath Ian was already famous.

The old scholar nodded eagerly.

“Understood. I’ll hand over the chief’s duties to the next eldest and leave with you immediately.”

“Good.”

“Before that, though, let’s establish an alliance.”

“An alliance?”

“If your village is attacked, I’ll help you. If my dungeon comes under threat, you help me.”

Nameita looked startled for a moment.

“Of course! We are not beasts. How could we abandon our benefactor in his hour of need?”

To the dwarf, Ian’s proposal seemed so natural that the question itself felt unnecessary.

But Ian had his own reason for bringing it up.

— Ding!

Perfect.

Ian smiled faintly.

“As expected, dwarves value honor.”

“That we do. People may hold prejudices against us forest dwarves because of Gorea, but our kind repays debts and rewards with absolute clarity. We simply have little interest in outside affairs.”

There was newfound resolve in Nameita’s voice now.

His heart pounded with a different sort of tension.

He was about to journey to Ian’s dungeon—a chance to restore the reputation of the forest dwarves that Gorea had tarnished beyond repair.

The elderly scholar suddenly felt the weight settling onto his shoulders.

Then Ian spoke again.

“Of course, when it comes to loyalty, nobody can surpass Keith.”

“Yes... thank you.”

Keith answered awkwardly, and somehow all the heavy tension in the room dissolved at once.

So this is what they meant by ‘peculiar torment.’

Nameita found himself wondering what exactly Sir Keith had done to deserve such constant harassment.

If it were me, my stomach would’ve dissolved already.

He’s certainly a hero... but is he truly a good master?

That lingering doubt disappeared the moment they arrived at the dungeon.

For all his talk of scholarship, Nameita «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» was still a forest dwarf at heart—a craftsman by blood.

The instant the hidden entrance to the dungeon opened before him, the intricacy of the mechanism stole his breath away.

“...Who designed this?”

“Our artisan.”

“I see...!”

So humans truly did possess master craftsmen worthy of admiration.

The more Nameita saw, the wider the world became.

Though no longer young himself, the old dwarf suddenly found himself marveling at the possibility of a world where every race could coexist together.

“Ian! You’re back!”

A cheerful voice echoed from inside.

“Momisia. ‘You’re back’ is too informal. Be more polite.”

“I heard from everyone. You rescued people from a demon cult hideout this time?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

Nameita’s round eyes widened.

The one greeting Ian was an enormous man with long silver-gray hair cascading around him like a lion’s mane. His massive build and fur-covered body made his identity unmistakable.

A werewolf.

And in his arms sat a little girl wearing a red hooded cape, happily waving her hand.

A werewolf... carrying a human child?

“‘You have returned’ would sound more polite,” Ian corrected.

“That’s too stiff. Momisia’s already good at greetings.”

“I’m good at everything.”

The girl puffed herself up proudly, unable to hide her delight. She wriggled excitedly in the werewolf’s arms, her hat slipping off and revealing a young human face beneath it.

“Child! Get away from him—it’s dangerous!”

Nameita nearly shouted in panic.

Werewolves were monsters that preyed on humans. Despite the name, they weren’t human beastfolk—they were creatures born from demonic blood.

And yet this monster was casually carrying around a human child.

Only Nameita seemed alarmed.

“What’s this? A dwarf?”

“Momisia, that’s an elder. Don’t speak rudely.”

“But he’s acting like Uncle’s a bad person. Ian, who’s this dwarf?”

The little girl glared openly at Nameita.

The dwarf stomped his short legs in agitation.

“Lord Ian! There’s a werewolf inside your residence!”

“I know. That’s Contacca. The child he’s holding is Momisia.”

Ian answered calmly.

“She’s the artisan you were admiring earlier.”

“...A werewolf?!”

“Contacca, how would you feel if someone ignored your name and just called you ‘dwarf’?”

Ian folded his arms.

Keith appeared completely uninterested in the conversation, while Louise simply shook his head when their eyes met.

Nameita swallowed nervously before addressing the werewolf with a title he never imagined he would use in his life.

“L-Lord Contacca...?”

Sharp gray eyes turned toward him.

“It’s our first meeting. Just call me Contacca.”

“I am Nameita, scholar of Black Rock Village.”

“Momisia, don’t let them call you ‘Momii.’”

The girl suddenly interrupted, whipping her head around so sharply that her braided hair smacked against Contacca’s shoulder.

A werewolf. A human child. An artisan.

Nameita recalled Ian’s earlier explanation.

This child was truly the artisan?

Just when he thought he’d experienced enough shock for one lifetime, another surprise arrived immediately after.

Almost absentmindedly, he asked:

“Why can’t they call you ‘Momii’?”

“Only Ian and Uncle are allowed to call me that.”

“...I see.”

Momisia smirked proudly, though her curious eyes kept drifting back toward Nameita. It was obvious she found meeting a dwarf fascinating.

Contacca turned toward the cave interior.

“Everyone’s waiting inside. Some ‘escaped slaves’ arrived recently. Did you send them, Lord Ian?”

“Sema didn’t come with them?” Ian frowned.

“He did.”

“Then why ask? He would’ve explained everything already.”

“Uncle Sema was right?”

Momisia tilted her head curiously.

Contacca answered in a patient voice.

“Hm. I suppose he was. Momisia, don’t be overly suspicious of people.”

“I’m not suspicious of Uncle Sema.”

The little girl narrowed her eyes.

“I’m suspicious of his judgment.”

...?

Were they really talking about Sema—the Master of Water?