Chapter 206 How Is Mithril Made?
Not allowed in?
Grete automatically and consciously shrank his steps.
In the early years, they had linked up with nearby large steel companies and visited steel plants. They really followed the guides and did not dare to make mistakes in their steps. After all, when you hear from time to time "The molten steel down here is 1650 degrees", "This tank weighs about 140 tons and contains 260 tons of molten iron", "This pipe was improperly operated once, and the sprayed out killed people"... …
What do you mean by not daring to say one more word or take one more step, brothers?
Although this is just a forging area for dwarves, not some top factory, the principle is the same. Although there were three or five dwarves walking back and forth inside, Grete understood that just because professionals could walk, it didn't mean that non-professionals could also walk.
What if something explodes, and magma with a temperature of more than a thousand degrees and thousands of degrees splashes out with sparks, how can you rely on the mage armor to carry it with you?
Grete said that life is his own...
He immediately stood still outside the forge. Seeing that Master Dumfries wanted to argue with the dwarf blocking the door, he reached out and tugged at the back of his robe. Wizard Dumfries stepped back angrily, and the braided dwarf raised his head higher and louder:
"Wait outside!—It'll be over soon!"
He picked up a hammer - smaller than the one Grete saw outside, with the hammer head only as big as a fist - and knocked hard twice at the door somewhere. At the same time, distant knocking sounds sounded in various forging rooms at the same time.
"Dang!...Dang! Dang~~~Dang~~~Dang!!!"
When the first blow was struck, the sound of hammering and shouting in the forging room was still deafening;
When the second knock sounded, the forging rooms from the gate to the Mithril area fell silent one after another;
After the third knock, apart from the rapid footsteps, the only sounds left in the cave were the whistling of the wind and the occasional crackling of the magma bursting.
The dwarves walked out of the forge room in groups. They adjusted their robes with black ash-stained palms, dusted off the soot from their leather skirts, and lined up neatly in the central aisle. From the front of the passage near the mithril area to near the gate at the entrance of the mountain wall, they knelt down in rows.
Wizard Dumfries quickly pulled Gretel out of the way. The two magicians, oh, and Bernard who followed closely behind, huddled in an inconspicuous recess, watching the dwarves kneeling neatly, praying in unison:
"Our great Father God..."
Hey, what are they doing?
Is it time to pray?
Gretel poked his head out from behind Master Dumfries, then retracted his head, then revealed half of his eyes, and looked around cautiously. The prayers of the dwarves became louder and louder, and finally, someone took a hammer, bang bang bang, bang bang bang, and knocked the ground neatly...
Grete: No wonder there are so many potholes along the way... I hit the ground with a hammer three to five times a day, and it's impossible to fix it no matter how hard I go...
Amidst the sounds of prayers and percussion, the fire pool in the Mithril District suddenly burst into flames. The old dwarf who was taking care of the fire pool alone quickly bent down, picked up something from the center of the fire pool, held it with long iron tongs, and ran towards the back with sparks flying. After a moment, the exact same prayer sounded from behind the fire pool:
"Our great Father God..."
The voice was slow, hoarse, and smelled of weakness, but it was sonorous and powerful, like gold and stone. Just listening to it gives me an unspeakable shock that silently grows deep in my heart.
Gretel stood quietly, listening to the prayers behind the fire pool, which resonated back and forth with the voices of the dwarves in the passage, getting louder and louder. The prayers reached its peak, and a ball of bright light suddenly exploded from behind the fire pool. Even if the magma rolled and the flames flew, it could not suppress the brightness of the silver light——
Gretel couldn't say what he saw. The field of vision was blazing white, and bright lights were flying around like dragons and snakes. In an instant, a series of messages popped into Gretel's mind:
Strong light, welding flowers, sunglasses, electro-optical ophthalmia...
He closed his eyes subconsciously. The strong light came on and off, repeated several times. After a long time, the prayers finally stopped, and heavy footsteps returned to the forging room one after another. The dwarf with the braided beard at the beginning held up a wooden plate. In the center of the plate, there were five small shiny metal strips:
"Today's mithril. Take it!"
The wooden plate was passed forward and almost poked Master Dumfries' thigh.
The fifth-level mage hurriedly caught the wooden plate, even a little awkwardly, and walked into a small room next to him side by side with the braided dwarf. After weighing, registering, and confirming that everything was signed and stamped by both parties, Master Dumfries put away the metal blocks and carefully sealed them into a copper box.
"Look, this is Mithril." Looking at the dwarf's leaving figure, Master Dumfries shrugged helplessly:
"Every day I toss and toss, just a small amount, just enough to wear a bracelet-this arm can't be thick. Last year, Master Mendreau came back from the battlefield and wanted to repair his radiant staff. It took 30 days. Take away all the mithril at once, good fellow, it’s not enough!”
Just as he said this, there were chaotic footsteps outside the room again. Master Dumfries immediately pushed open the copper box, stood up, lowered his head, and stood solemnly:
"Master Tarbot, thank you for your hard work."
No one responded to him. Gretel followed his example and stood solemnly with his head lowered, and quietly looked out - luckily he lowered his head, otherwise he wouldn't have seen a group of dwarves gathered together - or rather, holding up a particularly old dwarf, slowly walking toward him. Go outside.
The old dwarf has white beard and hair, his arms are weakly placed on the shoulders of the braided dwarf, and his head is lowered. The flickering firelight in the passage shone on the back of his hand, and Gretel saw that the skin on his hand was loose and shriveled, dry and wrapped around the back of his hand, and it looked like there was no muscle underneath. Sweat dripped from the temples and the ends of the beard, and every step along the way was wet.
Hey... that one who made mithril just now... magic, or magic? It's probably the magic, is it so tiring? The teacher and the bald bishop never seemed so tired when they released their magic?
Just as he was thinking this, the old dwarf suddenly raised his head and coughed violently. The coughing sound was thick and heavy, with obvious phlegm sound, and I had difficulty breathing after each cough. Gretel subconsciously walked forward, wanting to ask a few questions or check, when he saw a group of dwarves behind him raising their hammers, staring closely at the old man, and muttering...
Grete: "!!!" If you have something to say, don't be violent!
A white light soon flashed on the hammer. One after another, they brushed against the old man's body. With this support, the old man's breath soon recovered and he was able to shake off the support and walk on his own. Gretel stood at the door of the room and watched him go away. After a long time, he heard Master Dumfries softly say:
"This master craftsman is 352 years old... He is the leader of this group of dwarves and a 13th-level high-level priest. He is the only one here who can lead the dwarves to use magical magic to smelt mithril... You want to try to increase the production of mithril , you can go to the pub to meet him later..."
Want to drink? !
Gretel's face suddenly wrinkled into a bitter melon.
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