As the second day began, Dante noticed that nearly every dwarf woman in the settlement had gathered around the well.
Buckets were lowered one after another, ropes creaking softly as they scraped against the stone edges.
The air was filled with the sound of splashing water, quiet chatter, and the occasional sigh of exhaustion.
Dante folded his arms and tilted his head, a playful smirk forming on his lips as he stepped closer.
"What are you young, beautiful ladies doing?"
His tone carried a swagger that made a few of them pause. Some turned, exchanging amused glances before soft laughter rippled through the group.
A few even straightened slightly, their expressions brightening as if his words had peeled away years from their shoulders.
One of the women wiped her hands on her apron and replied, her voice warm but tired. "Fetching water, of course. What else would it look like?"
Dante raised a brow, glancing at the long line forming behind them. More women arrived, each carrying empty buckets, each waiting their turn with quiet patience that masked their frustration.
"Huh? Is this… something like your everyday life?" he asked, his tone shifting slightly as curiosity replaced his earlier teasing.
They nodded almost in unison. A few groaned softly, one rolling her shoulders as if already sore from the effort.
"If there was a way for water to come into our homes," another woman added, her lips tightening with annoyance, "we wouldn't be out here every morning."
Dante's gaze followed the line again. The well was efficient, but not nearly enough for the number of people relying on it. Time was being wasted, energy drained, and all for something as basic as water.
He exhaled slowly, then asked, "What is the Járnheimr kingdom's wealth used on?"
The women looked at one another. One of them lifted her chin, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon where towering structures loomed.
"Cloaks, armor, weapons… cannons," she said. "Forging and war. Always forging."
Dante's eyes flickered with thought. He turned his attention back to the well, watching the buckets rise and fall, water sloshing over the edges, some spilling back into the ground. Inefficiency. Everywhere.
Then suddenly, his expression sharpened.
An idea struck.
He straightened, clapping his hands once to gather their attention. The sound echoed lightly, drawing every gaze toward him.
"How would you all feel," he began, his voice now carrying excitement, "if water could come directly into your homes?"
The women blinked. A few frowned in confusion. Others leaned in slightly, curiosity piqued.
Dante crouched and grabbed a small stick, sketching quickly on the dirt. Lines formed beneath his hand as he spoke, his voice steady and animated.
"Imagine this. We place a large reservoir higher than the village. Higher ground means natural pressure. Water flows downward without needing constant effort." He drew a circle above a series of small box-like shapes. "From there, we connect pipes. Metal pipes. You already have the forges, the skill, the materials."
He extended lines from the reservoir to each small shape.
"These pipes run underground or along walls, leading into each home. At the end, we install a simple valve. You turn it, water flows. You turn it back, it stops."
He looked up, meeting their eyes one by one.
"No more waiting. No more carrying buckets every morning."
Murmurs spread instantly.
One of the women stepped closer, squinting at the drawing. "But how would the water keep flowing? Would it not run out?"
Dante shook his head, tapping the reservoir sketch. "We continuously refill this from the well or a nearby source. Better yet, we build channels to redirect water into it. Gravity does the rest. If needed, we can even add pressure chambers or use heated steam systems to push water further."
Another woman crossed her arms, skeptical but intrigued. "And the pipes? They will not break?"
"They can be reinforced," Dante replied without hesitation. "Layered metal, sealed joints. Your forges already produce weapons far more complex than this. Compared to cannons, this is simple."
The group fell silent for a moment. You could almost see the idea settling into their minds, reshaping what they thought was possible.
Then one of them laughed softly, shaking her head in disbelief. "If this works… it would change everything."
Another nodded, her eyes shining. "No more waking before dawn just for water…"
The hesitation melted.
Excitement replaced it.
One by one, they began agreeing, voices overlapping as energy surged through the group.
"We'll help."
"Yes, we'll do it."
"Tell us what to do."
Dante stood, brushing dust from his hands, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. He hadn't just offered convenience. He had offered transformation.
With their support secured, his thoughts shifted to the next step.
"I'll need more time here," he said, his tone firm but respectful. "This isn't something we can finish in a day."
The women nodded eagerly.
"Then we'll speak to her Majesty."
Dante exhaled quietly, his gaze lifting toward the grand halls beyond the village.
Ashley Orochi.
The current Queen of the Dwarven Kingdom, Járnheimr.
If he wanted to change this place, he would need her approval.
And now, he had something worth presenting.
Later, many dwarves gathered at the entrance, seeking an audience with the Queen.
The usually orderly courtyard was now filled with restless movement as boots scraped against stone and low murmurs spread through the crowd.
Some crossed their arms, others tightened their grips on their tools, all of them waiting with a shared purpose.
The heavy doors groaned open, echoing across the hall. A guard stepped aside as a voice rang out from within, sharp and laced with authority.
"What in Hellsong's name is going on this early in the morning, and why are you all gathered here?"
The crowd stiffened. Conversations died instantly, replaced by a tense silence. A few dwarves exchanged glances before one of them finally stepped forward, clearing his throat.
"We have a request, Your Majesty."
His voice wavered at first, but steadied as others behind him nodded in support.
"We ask that Maladeva be allowed to extend his stay."
A pause followed.
A long, heavy pause.
Then the Queen's presence shifted from within the hall, her authority pressing outward like an unseen weight. When she spoke again, disbelief laced with irritation filled her tone.
"You are kidding me…?"
Several dwarves flinched.
"He built you some half baked forgery called a bicycle, or whatever it is called," she continued, her voice sharpening with each word. "And you place all your trust on some lowly human, Maladeva, and his idea of water pipes?"
Murmurs stirred again, but this time they carried resolve instead of doubt. One of the women from the well stepped forward, her hands clenched at her sides. Though her shoulders were tense, her gaze did not waver.
"It is not just an idea, Your Majesty," she said firmly. "He explained everything. The flow, the pressure, the pipes. It can work."
Another dwarf stepped beside her, nodding with conviction.
"He has already shown results. That bicycle… it moves without beasts, without strain. If he can do that, then this can be done as well."
More voices rose, overlapping, stronger now.
"We are willing to help."
"We will forge the pipes ourselves."
"We only ask for time."
The energy in the courtyard shifted. What had started as uncertainty had now become a united front.
Even those at the back straightened, their earlier hesitation replaced by quiet determination.
Silence fell once more.
A heavy, deliberate silence.
The Queen did not answer immediately. The weight of her judgment lingered, pressing down on every dwarf present.
A few shifted uneasily under the tension, while others stood their ground, refusing to back away.
At the edge of the gathering, Maladeva stood still, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He watched everything unfold without a word, his expression calm, almost unreadable.
This was not his moment to speak.
This was theirs.
And they had chosen to stand for him.
Seeing how stubborn her people were, Ashley finally exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly.
The silence stretched for a moment longer before she spoke, her tone firm yet edged with reluctant acceptance.
"Very well… Maladeva may extend his stay. One week. No more."
A wave of relief rippled through the gathered dwarves. Some let out quiet sighs, others nodded to one another, their earlier tension melting into satisfaction.
From a distance, hidden behind the shadow of a nearby building, Dante watched the scene unfold.
The faint light of the morning barely reached him, leaving half of his figure cloaked in darkness.
He leaned back against the cold stone wall, arms crossed over his chest, his expression calm but knowing.
Beside him, Kaen's ears twitched slightly, her tail swaying with barely contained excitement.
"Nya, Master… I didn't know it would actually work," she said, her voice soft but filled with admiration.
Dante did not move. His gaze remained fixed on the crowd as they slowly began to disperse, their chatter growing livelier with hope.
"Don't worry," he replied quietly. "Let them believe."
His voice was steady, almost indifferent, yet there was a subtle edge beneath it. This was only the beginning.
A faint shift in the air followed.
Without a sound, a figure appeared before him.
Lustia.
She stepped forward and immediately lowered herself onto one knee, her head bowed deeply, one hand pressed over her chest in absolute loyalty.
"My liege."
Dante's eyes shifted downward, acknowledging her presence without surprise.
"Status report, Lustia."
She lifted her head slightly, though her posture remained respectful.
"The kingdom is in a deteriorating state," she began, her voice calm and precise. "Infrastructure is neglected, and most systems meant for civilian welfare have either decayed or been abandoned entirely."
She paused briefly before continuing.
"The majority of the kingdom's wealth has been diverted to local dukes and viscounts. Political influence appears fragmented, with each noble faction prioritizing its own interests over the stability of Járnheimr as a whole."
Dante's gaze sharpened slightly.
Lustia continued, her tone unwavering.
"As for Queen Ashley, there is no indication of personal misuse of wealth. However, under her rule, resources have been overwhelmingly allocated toward weaponry, forging, and military expansion. Civilian needs, including water distribution and living conditions, have been largely ignored."
Silence settled between them.
Dante closed his eyes briefly, absorbing the information. The distant sounds of the dwarves echoed faintly, filled with newfound hope that stood in stark contrast to the reality Lustia had just described.
When he opened his eyes again, there was a quiet certainty within them.
"Just as I thought…" he murmured.
The kingdom was strong on the surface.
But beneath it, it was already rusting away.
The complete renovation began without delay.
Dante stood at the center of the open grounds, the air around him growing heavy as mana gathered.
To the dwarves, he was still Maladeva, the strange human with impossible ideas. But what they were about to witness went far beyond ideas.
He slowly raised his hand.
The ground beneath him darkened.
Shadows stretched unnaturally, rippling like liquid before rising upward. One after another, figures emerged, forming into an entire army of silent soldiers.
Their bodies were shaped from darkness itself, their hollow eyes faintly glowing as they stood in perfect formation.
A wave of unease spread through the dwarves.
Even the most seasoned blacksmiths paused mid-motion, their hammers lowering as they stared.
Dante's hand dropped.
"Begin."
The shadow soldiers moved instantly.
They spread across the land with mechanical precision, plunging their hands into the earth.
Soil broke apart as trenches were carved rapidly, long and straight, following the layout Dante had already mapped in his mind.
Dirt was thrown aside in steady rhythm, layers of stone cracked open as deeper channels were formed.
The ground trembled faintly under the sheer scale of the excavation.
At the same time, the dwarves ignited their forges.
Flames roared to life, illuminating the area in orange and gold. Massive furnaces burned at full intensity as metal was heated until it glowed. Sparks scattered with every strike as hammers came down in powerful, practiced blows.
"Keep the thickness even!"
"Reinforce the joints properly!"
"Do not leave gaps!"
Voices echoed across the forge lines.
Molten metal was poured into cylindrical molds, forming pipe segments. Each piece was then hammered, refined, and cooled before being inspected.
The dwarves did not cut corners. Every pipe was layered for durability, its inner surface smoothed to reduce resistance and maintain steady water flow.
Edges were designed with locking ridges so each segment could connect seamlessly.
Back in the trenches, the coordination began.
Shadow soldiers lowered the finished pipes into the ground with unnatural steadiness. Dwarves followed closely behind, aligning each section and sealing the joints.
Heated metal was applied along the seams, fusing them together, while binding compounds ensured no leakage could occur.
Dante walked among them, overseeing every detail.
He adjusted slopes where necessary, ensuring the pipes angled correctly from the elevated reservoir point.
Main lines were laid first, thick and durable, before smaller branches extended outward toward individual homes.
At the highest point of the settlement, construction of the reservoir took shape.
Stone blocks were carved and stacked into a massive basin. Its foundation was reinforced repeatedly to handle the weight of stored water.
The inner walls were sealed with layered materials to prevent seepage, while inlet channels were constructed to continuously feed water into it.
To stabilize the system, Dante implemented additional mechanisms.
Air vents were installed along key points to release trapped pressure. Control valves were forged for each household, simple but effective, allowing water flow to be turned on and off. In certain areas, pressure chambers were integrated to regulate distribution and prevent surges.
The work did not stop.
Day and night blurred together.
The shadow soldiers never slowed, never tired.
The dwarves pushed themselves beyond their limits, sweat and soot covering their bodies as determination drove them forward.
By the fifth day, the entire network was complete.
Beneath the surface, a vast system of pipes stretched across the settlement, connecting the reservoir to every home.
On the sixth day, the testing began.
A crowd gathered once more, but this time their expressions were different. Hope replaced doubt. Excitement replaced skepticism.
Dante stood beside one of the newly installed outlets, his posture relaxed.
To them, he was still Maladeva.
He glanced around before calling out, "You."
A small dwarf girl peeked from behind her mother. After a brief hesitation, she stepped forward, her tiny hands clutching her sleeve.
"Come here," he said, his tone softer.
She approached slowly.
Dante gestured toward the valve.
"Turn it."
The girl reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around the handle. The metal felt cold against her skin.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then she turned it.
A deep rumble traveled through the pipes beneath the ground.
The crowd held its breath.
Then suddenly, water burst forth.
Clear.
Fresh.
Flowing with steady pressure.
The girl gasped, stumbling back in surprise as the stream continued pouring out. For a heartbeat, the entire crowd froze.
Then everything erupted.
Cheers rang out. Laughter followed. Some rushed forward, touching the water as if it were something sacred. Others stood frozen, eyes wide, unable to fully process what they were seeing.
Dante remained where he was, watching quietly.
To them, it was a miracle.
To him, it was only the first step.
Deep beneath the kingdom, far below the warmth of the forges and the laughter of the surface, the air was thick with iron and decay.
Screams echoed through the underground chamber.
They did not last long.
One after another, they were cut short, leaving behind only the wet sound of blood dripping onto stone.
Bodies lay scattered across the floor, twisted and broken, their lifeless eyes staring into nothingness. The ground was soaked, darkened by layers of dried and fresh blood.
At the center of the chamber stood a massive statue.
A so called holy god.
Its surface was stained, offerings piled at its base like discarded remnants rather than sacred tribute. One of the victims was dragged forward, barely alive, their weak struggles amounting to nothing.
A blade rose.
Then fell.
Silence followed.
"Who's next on my final ascend?"
A woman stood before the statue, wiping blood from her cheek with the back of her hand. Her expression was calm, almost bored, as if this ritual had long lost any sense of meaning beyond necessity.
Behind her, another woman stepped forward. Driven, composed, she opened a worn book and scanned its contents carefully.
"Says here, there is a person named Dante Ruthwilfer who will be the final sacrifice, Ma'am."
The woman paused.
Then she chuckled softly.
"Then find him," she said, her voice laced with quiet amusement. "It does not matter if he is some prodigy. He will meet the same fate as all Aldermans."
The assistant hesitated for a moment, her eyes drifting toward the bodies scattered across the room.
"Madam… then these corpses are…?"
"Ah, yes," the woman replied casually, already turning away. "They are not pure. More like distant relatives."
Her footsteps echoed as she walked toward the exit, leaving behind the stench of death and a chamber filled with broken offerings that had failed to meet her standards.
The door closed.
Darkness swallowed the room once more.
That night, outside the guarded gates of Járnheimr, the wind howled faintly across the stone walls.
Two guards stood watch, their posture rigid, unaware of what was about to happen.
A shadow moved.
In an instant, both guards were silenced.
No struggle.
No warning.
Their bodies collapsed where they stood.
From the darkness, a figure emerged.
Tall.
Imposing.
A massive demon woman stepped forward, her red skin faintly illuminated under the moonlight. Her physique was both muscular and voluptuous, each movement carrying raw, overwhelming power. She wore a loosely draped, vulgar interpretation of a traditional kimono, the fabric barely containing her presence.
Strapped behind her were four blades, each one gleaming faintly as they shifted with her steps.
She rolled her shoulders, exhaling as if relieved.
"Finally… the Dwarven Kingdom."
Her lips curled into a grin.
"I told Lady Ingrid Von Balmung I'd find it."
She stepped over the fallen guards without a second glance.
Akka.
A red orc demon.
One of the Ten Commandments of the Demon Clan.
And now, she had arrived at Járnheimr.
---
Chapter 52 — End.