Chapter 7
Gimpo.
It was one of the cities whose role had completely changed after the world transformed.
While many cities had been destroyed and wiped out by monsters from the Abyss, Gimpo had developed in the exact opposite direction.
At the site of the former Gimpo Airport, a massive gate had opened.
Unlike the Abyss, which teemed with otherworldly gods and monsters, the gate was used as a passage for gods to descend.
Among these, the gates where gods had descended were now renamed Pantheons, serving as the bases of major guilds. The gates that connected to other worlds were still referred to as just gates.
There was one such gate in Gimpo—
A passage to Nidavellir, the world of dwarves.
Nidavellir, the land of dwarves.
A race of master craftsmen who dared to challenge Hephaestus, the god of blacksmiths.
Because of a curse from the gods, they would grow weak and lose their powers if they left Nidavellir, forcing them to live confined to their world.
This inability to leave had turned Gimpo, where they resided, into a major hub for equipment trading.
It was said that no hunter in Korea had skipped a trip to Gimpo—it had become a vital must-visit location.
‘Having the Hephaestus Guild here is another story altogether.’
Weapons crafted directly by the god Hephaestus were astronomically expensive, and even the Hephaestus Guild members couldn’t match the dwarves’ skill. Not to say they were bad—but they couldn’t compare to dwarves.
But for me, the Hephaestus Guild belonged to a different world.
I wasn’t even going to look at the items they made.
So I had come to Gimpo.
“Haven’t been here in a while.”
The last time was before my regression—when I came to create Nameless.
That, too, had been several years before the final battle.
The gate leading to Nidavellir stood wide open.
“Are you heading to Nidavellir?”
As I approached the gate, a person who looked like a receptionist asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you here to make a payment? Or to request equipment?”
Government staff managed the entrance on behalf of the dwarves, who could not leave Nidavellir.
Their job was to send you to the craftsman closest to your request.
“I’m here to request a weapon.”
“Do you have a specific craftsman in mind?”
I gave the name I had already decided on.
“Eitri.”
One of the greatest dwarven smiths who had created Mjölnir at Loki’s request.
He was so renowned that he even appeared in myths—and he had also been my teacher who taught me the craft of the dwarves.
Hearing the name, the receptionist smiled awkwardly.
“Ah… he isn’t accepting customers right now…”
“I know.”
Even in my previous life, he had adamantly refused customers.
“If you still want, I can send you to his forge, but I can’t guarantee a deal. The fee is 300,000 won.”
“Here you go.”
I pulled out the emergency cash I had brought from home.
I handed over 300,000 won from the 700,000 I had left after buying gear to fight the Hydra.
“Then, please proceed.”
The scenery changed in an instant as I passed through the gate.
<Eitri & Brokkr>
A sign written in ancient runes marked the forge.
Yet, there were no hammering sounds or any trace of heat. The place was steeped in silence.
“Master Eitri, are you there?”
No response.
“I know you’re there. Please answer.”
Still no reply.
“Master, you have a customer.”
“Get lost! I’m not making weapons for pathetic bastards like you!”
An annoyed voice shouted from inside.
“Let’s talk face to face.”
“I said get lost!”
It was a familiar exchange.
The exact same rejection had happened the first time I came here.
“Is this because of your brother Brokkr?”
Bang!
The door slammed open at the mention of his brother’s name.
Eitri stormed out, holding a battle axe and a hammer.
“Are you that eager to die?”
A murderous aura filled the air.
The unrefined fury of a man who had lost family struck me like a blade.
His fists were clenched so tightly they turned white—he looked ready to kill me on the spot.
Any normal person would have fainted just from this killing intent.
But I knew—
He’s afraid.
I sensed the subtle fear hidden beneath Eitri’s rage.
That fear was the reason he had stopped forging.
Brokkr.
Eitri’s brother, who had co-forged Mjölnir.
He had been murdered shortly after falling into this world.
No one knew the killer’s identity.
Eitri only suspected it was Loki.
“Don’t you want revenge?”
“What?”
“I asked if you want revenge on the one who killed your brother.”
Eitri’s shoulders shook as he stared at me.
I saw the tremor of emotions—confusion, anger, sorrow—and tossed out the bait.
“If you make me a weapon, I’ll get revenge for you.”
“You’d avenge my brother?”
“Yes.”
“Do you even know who did it?”
“You suspect Loki, don’t you?”
“……”
Still gripping his weapons, he remained wary.
“Maybe Loki sent you here to play some trick?”
“With this kind of power?”
Even though my History skill had leveled up to 3 after slaying the Hydra, my stats were still pitiful.
The fact that I had managed to kill the Hydra was unbelievable in itself.
Even if Eitri wasn’t a combat-type dwarf, he could easily kill me if he went all out.
“……”
“And you’re mistaken about one thing.”
“What?”
“Loki didn’t kill your brother.”
Eitri’s eyes widened in shock, unable to respond.
This was the perfect moment to strike while his mind was shaken.
“Loki had no reason to kill your brother. Sure, he might stab someone for no reason… but if someone did have a reason, shouldn’t they be your first suspect?”
“Someone had a reason to kill Brokkr…? Who?”
“Hephaestus.”
I said it briefly. Silence followed.
After a long pause, Eitri finally spoke.
“Proof?”
“You’ll find Brokkr’s bellows in Hephaestus’s vault. He killed him for it.”
“How do you know that?”
Simple.
Because your future self told me.
I could still see Eitri’s tearful face, clutching his brother’s bellows as he faded into nothing outside Nidavellir.
Even then, he burned with rage and mourned that he couldn’t avenge his brother with his own hands.
But of course, I couldn’t tell him I’d witnessed his end in a past life.
“I heard it from Hephaestus’s son.”
“His son?”
“Yes.”
Periphetes, the son of Hephaestus.
“Right before he died, he begged for his life and spilled everything.”
“…You killed Hephaestus’s son?”
“Yes.”
At that, Eitri’s brow furrowed.
A heavy, murderous pressure bore down on me again.
If I were lying, he looked ready to kill me right then and there.
It was enough to send chills down my spine—but I wasn’t afraid.
Because I wasn’t lying.
Well, not exactly—Periphetes didn’t say it—but…
‘He’s already dead anyway, so what does it matter?’
“So it’s true? That cripple killed my brother?”
“Yes. I swear on the forge itself.”
“A human swearing on the forge? Meaningless.”
Eitri leaned against the wall, still staring at me.
“But now that I think about it, that cripple did have a motive. The problem is I can’t confirm it because the evidence is outside Nidavellir.”
He continued after a pause.
“And even if you’re right—even if that cripple is the killer—nothing changes.”
“You won’t take revenge even knowing that?”
“You’re arrogant. If I could, I would’ve killed Loki already. But as a dwarf, I’m cursed—I can’t leave this land. I can’t even search for my brother’s killer.”
His voice was laced with deep bitterness.
And resignation, too—because he had no outlet for that bitterness.
“So I’ll pretend I didn’t hear any of this. Even if that cripple really killed Brokkr, I can’t do anything.”
“…Then appoint a proxy.”
“What?”
“You can take revenge through a proxy.”
Eitri clicked his tongue.
“Sounds nice. But who’d face off against a god for a dwarf?”
“You’re looking at him.”
To oppose a god as a human—it required someone with deep vengeance.
I was that person.
“You? Don’t make me laugh. You look like you can barely handle goblins.”
“Strength doesn’t matter. What matters is the will.”
“……”
Eitri fell silent, his face turning serious.
— It’s not about your race. It’s about your will.
That’s what he always said when he taught me blacksmithing.
When I said I couldn’t do it, he pushed me to the end.
And in the end, together we forged Nameless.
“So? Will you take me as your proxy?”
“What do you get out of this?”
He narrowed his eyes.
“I don’t believe in pretty lies like helping for free. What do you want?”
“…My goal is the same as yours.”
The eyes of the aging dwarf, once hollow with loss, began to regain their light.
“You want a weapon to kill that cripple?”
“Yes. Maybe not right away—but soon.”
As soon as I was ready.
Eitri met my gaze briefly, then let out a dry laugh.
“You’re a bold one. Declaring war on a god. Someone like you came around before the Great Descent too.”
The Great Descent—when gods from other realms descended, ravaging the world, and divine beings from human myth appeared to stop them.
Someone tried to kill a god even before that?
“Who?”
“I can’t say. He wasn’t even recorded in history.”
“……”
“No more talk. I understand your intent. But I can’t make your weapon.”
“Because you have no fire?”
“That’s right.”
The forge was cold and silent—no flames, no heat, only a chill in the air.
“Brokkr handled the fire while I forged. We were one. Without him, I can’t work like before. I can’t make the kind of weapon you’re hoping for.”
The old dwarf shook his head.
But he didn’t know—
“I’ll help you.”
That I had learned from Eitri himself how to ignite dwarven fire.
“You’ll help?”
“Yes. I can handle fire.”
Eitri scoffed.
“Dwarven fire isn’t like human fire—it holds divine essence. Without the secret dwarven techniques, you’ll only hurt yourself. What can a human do?”
“I can control blue fire.”
Bang!
Eitri slammed his battle axe to the floor, enraged.
“Don’t mock me. Such lies are an insult to dwarves.”
“It’s not a lie.”
The title of “blue fire” wasn’t one just anyone could use.
There were four stages of dwarven flame:
Red, yellow, white, and finally, blue.
Dwarven fire held divinity—it wasn’t something brute force could produce.
Those who could produce and control blue fire were called Meisters.
Among them, Brokkr was known for the brightest blue flame.
Because of that flame, Eitri had always made the finest weapons.
“If you doubt me, let me show you.”
“…If you can do it, I’ll forge your weapon with your fire. But if not…”
Eitri raised his axe to my neck.
“For insulting our pride, I’ll behead you.”
“Do as you please. But keep your promise.”
“Fine.”
“Then, I’ll borrow the forge.”
I walked past Eitri and stepped into their smithy.
