“Ah, I see, I see. Well, we’ve got some usable materials and parts lying around, so should we give it a shot?”
“Yeah, I’d appreciate it.”
The workshop chief said that and left the room.
Left alone, I picked up some of the papers stacked here and there around the room and glanced through them.
Looking at them brought back memories—”Oh, I proposed something like this once,” I thought nostalgically.
Some of the papers had notes and adjustments scribbled in pen, evidence of trial and error.
About ten minutes passed. The workshop chief came back into the room, holding what looked like a prosthetic arm and an assortment of tools.
His muscular physique made his dexterous and delicate craftsmanship all the more surprising.
“That was faster than I expected.”
“Well, I do have a bit of Dwarf blood in me, after all.”
“…Huh?”
“What?”
That’s news to me…
“Wait, you’re part Dwarf?”
“Yes, technically. My father’s ancestors included Dwarves.”
Dwarves are even rarer than beastfolk. I’ve never even seen one in the Duchy.
Still, it makes sense now. His passion for creation and his skill with his hands must be inherited traits.
“Do you happen to know anything about a Dwarven village?”
“Not really. My father passed away, and I’ve never heard anything about it.”
A Dwarven village… If I could find one, I’d jump at the chance, but it doesn’t seem that easy.
The workshop chief wracked his brain, trying to recall any information.
“There’s one thing I remember—apparently, it’s better not to call them ‘Dwarves’ to their faces. I don’t mind, since the blood is diluted in me, but…”
“Huh? Why’s that?”
The workshop chief shrugged.
“I don’t really know. My dad told me, but he didn’t know the reason either.”
“I see… Wait, I forgot the main topic.”
“Ah, yes!”
We turned our attention back to the prosthetic arm on the table.
Its design was simple, but that simplicity inspired a sense of reliability.
The workshop chief fiddled with the tip of the prosthetic, removing one part and attaching a tool, fastening it tightly. The result was a prosthetic arm holding a hammer.
“This… turned out better than I expected.”
Although it was supposed to be just the first prototype, it felt polished enough to be a finished product.
Of course, adjustments would need to be made for individual users, but it was impressive nonetheless.
While I admired the craftsmanship, the creator himself seemed unsatisfied.
“Not quite there yet. I need to make it capable of handling larger tools… but then durability will be an issue… Still, if I use that material…”
The workshop chief muttered to himself, immersed in his world of ideas, completely ignoring me, the original proposer.
Once he’s like this, there’s no stopping him.
My role is to come up with the ideas. Bringing them to life is the workshop chief’s job, so I don’t interfere.
Feeling nostalgic, I half-listened to his muttering as I let him carry on.
