The Elven Cultivator

Romance grinned and brandished her axe, not bothering to argue.

She had indeed gained an advantage from her weapon. Otherwise, she likely wouldn’t have been a match for this Dwarf, who had already reached the upper echelons of the Silver rank.

“Shut up, Grim.”

The Dwarf standing beside the Third Elder suddenly spoke, his brass-bell eyes glaring at the Red-bearded Dwarf.

“If you’re not strong enough, you’re not strong enough! What’s the point of complaining about a weapon? You’re a disgrace to all Dwarves!”

“The next time you face an enemy, are you going to ask them to switch to a different weapon?”

Grim’s face flushed red from the scolding, leaving him speechless.

The Warhammer Dwarf snorted, then turned to the Third Elder, his expression back to normal.

“Elder Casian, the younger generation of your Silver Moon Race is full of talent. I’m truly envious that even an underaged Elf can be this exceptional.”

“You’re too kind, Elder Thorvin,” the Third Elder laughed heartily.

The four Dwarves standing behind their elder had strange expressions on their faces as they glanced at one another.

It wasn’t that they disagreed with their elder; it was just the first time they had ever seen an Elf wield a War Axe with such a ferocious fighting style.

In their experience, the Elven fighting style had always been characterized by nimbleness and speed. They were masters of the bow and Swordsmanship, as graceful as a dance in the forest.

But this Elf Maiden before them fought more savagely and brutally than even they did. She was like a Berserker in an Elf’s skin.

“Elder Casian, if I may ask, where did that young lady, Romance, learn the combat techniques she was just using?”

Elder Thorvin’s eyes gleamed, his voice tinged with curiosity.

He had seen it clearly: the techniques Romance used had elements of both martial skill and Magic, closely resembling the legendary Magical Combat Arts.

But Magical Combat Arts could typically only be performed by those who trained in both Magic and martial arts, and that Elf girl didn’t seem to be one of them.

It left him rather puzzled.

The Third Elder smiled. “Those techniques were created by one of our Clan’s own youngsters. It wouldn’t be wrong to call them Magical Combat Arts, but ordinary Warriors can learn to use them too.”

As soon as he said this, Elder Thorvin and the other Dwarves were stunned.

Even Grim’s eyes went wide with shock, his fiery red beard trembling slightly.

It was practically an ironclad rule on the Dawn Continent that only those who trained in both Magic and martial arts could master Magical Combat Arts.

And now someone was telling them that ordinary Warriors could master them as well?

If these words hadn’t come from a respected elder of the Elf Race, and if Romance’s performance wasn’t still fresh in their minds, they would have never believed it.

“And who might this creator be?” Elder Thorvin asked eagerly.

Just as the Third Elder was about to speak, he caught sight of two figures approaching. A closer look revealed them to be Anton and Eleanor.

“Perfect timing.” The Third Elder smiled and beckoned to Anton. “Anton, over here.”

Anton walked over as requested and bowed slightly to the Third Elder before turning to face the Dwarves, his expression serene.

“He is the one who created those techniques,” the Third Elder explained.

The Dwarven elder looked Anton up and down, his eyes filled with astonishment.

The young Elf before him looked far too young. By Elven standards, he likely hadn’t even reached adulthood.

’Such a young kid, and he’s really the creator of those special Magical Combat Arts?’

Forget Magical Combat Arts, even creating a completely new *ordinary* combat technique was beyond the capabilities of most people.

Among the Dwarves, only the most senior masters of combat arts possessed such a skill.

“As if sensing Elder Thorvin’s doubt, the Third Elder chuckled. ’Don’t be fooled by Anton’s youth. His skill in Alchemy is superior to that of many of the older Casters in our Clan.’”

The Third Elder pointed to the Frost Pattern Axe in Romance’s hand. “That very axe was forged by Anton.”

At these words, the Dwarven elder and his companions were all visibly stirred.

In their efforts to persuade Gray Rock Castle to cooperate, the Silver Moon Race had been frank about their goal of developing the Frost Pattern Silver mine. As a result, the Dwarves were already aware of the Frost Pattern Axe’s existence.

The Dwarves had expressed unprecedented curiosity and admiration for this high-quality magical item, whose cost was far below the usual standard.

The strange yet uniquely systematic Runes on the Frost Pattern Axe, in particular, had piqued their professional interest.

If the Frost Pattern Axe hadn’t belonged to someone else, they would have been dying to take it apart and study it.

Consequently, they were also intensely curious about the one who had crafted the Frost Pattern Axe.

In the Dwarves’ minds, anyone capable of forging a magical item of such quality had to be a seasoned, world-weary master Alchemist.

Who would have thought it would turn out to be an underaged Elf!

This was even more shocking than being told a human child had slain a Giant Dragon.

After a long, stunned silence, Elder Thorvin finally remarked with a complicated expression, “I’ve lived for over three hundred years, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen an Alchemist as young as you.”

The Dwarves behind him also gazed at Anton with looks of curiosity and admiration.

As everyone knew, Dwarves admired and liked two kinds of people above all others.

Those who could hold their liquor.

And those with exceptional skill in smithing.

Eleanor stood to one side, taking in the Dwarves’ changing expressions with a slightly strange look on her own face.

’If these Dwarves knew that Anton not only possessed astonishing talent in Alchemy but was also exceptional at potioneering—having already improved several new, potent potions—their eyes would probably pop out of their heads.’

Even so, the Dwarves’ attitude toward Anton had already become incredibly warm.

Grim even unhooked the wineskin from his belt and enthusiastically invited Anton to taste Gray Rock Castle’s specialty, Blazing Fire Wine.

After a bout of boisterous conversation, the Third Elder had someone arrange lodging for the Dwarves.

Only after the Dwarven delegation had departed did he let his smile fall, turning to Anton.

“The negotiations went smoothly. Gray Rock Castle is very interested in the Frost Pattern Silver mine. They’re willing to provide the manpower and resources to develop it with us.”

“They sent this delegation to survey the conditions at the Thousand Rock Hills and to finalize the details of our partnership.”

Anton nodded but said nothing.

His goal was simply the Frost Pattern Silver. As for the finer details of profit-sharing and personnel allocation, he would naturally leave that to the experienced elders.

He wouldn’t interfere, as he had neither the energy nor the time.

“However, those Dwarves are more interested in the Frost Pattern weapons.” The Third Elder’s tone shifted, a profound look in his eyes. “They weren’t just circling you earlier because they admire your talent. They want to buy a batch of Frost Pattern weapons from you.”

Anton smiled faintly, unsurprised.

The power of the Frost Pattern weapons was plain to see. Given the Dwarves’ fanaticism for weaponry, it would have been strange if they *weren’t* interested.

“We can sell them the Frost Pattern weapons,” Anton said. “But not yet. First, we string them along.”

The Third Elder paused, slightly taken aback. “You mean…”

“They won’t be willing to pay a high price for something they can get too easily,” Anton said, his eyes glinting. “First, we’ll whet their appetites. Once the mine’s development is on track and the supply of Frost Pattern Silver has stabilized, we can use the Frost Pattern weapons as a bargaining chip to persuade them to join us against the Molten Spike Tribe.”

The Third Elder’s eyes lit up, and he burst into a hearty laugh.

“Clever boy, you think fast!”

He clapped Anton on the shoulder. “We’ll do it your way, then. With those hard-fighting Dwarves from Gray Rock Castle on our side, we might actually be able to eliminate the great threat of the Molten Spike Tribe for good.”

Anton smiled and nodded.

Although the Frost Pattern weapons had been adapted to local methods, their essence was still rooted in the principles of Talismans.

The two systems were completely different. No matter how skilled the Dwarves were at smithing, they would never be able to replicate them.

As long as they wanted Frost Pattern weapons, they would have to agree to the Silver Moon Race’s terms.

That was the confidence that came with being in a seller’s market.