Reputation and Money

Since his youth, Davi had been told by his pops—the chieftain of their dwarven enclave—that a man must have one or the other to survive in this world.

In a world infested by greed and blindness, to always work garner reputation and money. That those were the only paths to survival.

"But Pops, what about my craft? My principles? The things you taught me to cherish and keep close to heart?"

The young Davi could still recall the sting he'd felt at his following words.

"Keep them close to heart, until you can keep them close to hand. Unless you have enough of those two resources, keep only survival in hand."

The old man had looked up and around his workshop—a cavernous space filled with furnaces that burned like captive suns, and people working tirelessly, producing the same bearing for wheeled vehicles for the thousandth time, like machines themselves.

With his calloused hand, he swept beads of sweat from his forehead and gave him a fatherly smile. A smile that held genuine happiness. He wasn't his father, his father and mother had in his childhood. Being raised by a chieftain, he didn't know how a father felt, maybe like him or not, he still couldn't tell.

The man was generally happy from heart, he had a shop that produced all sorts of equipment, cheap, expensive, simple and complicated. But there was also his personal, specialized workshop that produced things only he liked and knew about. Even he didn't ever get to see those. He always kept a happy smile on his face, a thing few of his kind ever showed even in the blue moon.

Except that man's happiness and joviality rarely extended to his words of wisdom.

"After all, only those who have either of those two in excess can keep what's in their heart, in their hand. Without any fears of losing both the heart, the hand, and that precious thing called life and respect."

He crouched down, attempting a gentle head pat—but his rough, heavy hands made even his gentlest motions feel drastic.

"Only money and reputation can protect you from the monster called reality."

---

Ten decades had passed since Sigrid retired from the position of chieftain, and two decades since his workshop—the largest in their enclave—had disappeared alongside him.

A workshop so vast that it covered ten percent of their enclave vanished in a single day, as if it had never existed. He had been the richest dwarf in the entire kingdom of Thanervos, and his workshop had made their enclave one of the most prosperous in the world. Though he used to spread his wisdom freely back then, before his disappearance, he hadn't left behind a single word—not even to his son, his only family, much less him.

His words, devoid of sweetness as they were, still rang in Davi's ears from time to time.

Especially now, after he'd gone and refused to forge war equipment for Duke Sarian Noctis's campaign against the Republic of Artesh.

He hadn't been against it at first, his light wallet even demanded he worked. When the kingdom of Artesh invaded their homeland, the Domain of Sarian Noctis and its general military needed all the help they could get to defend themselves. In fact, he'd abandoned his production of specialized home and construction equipment and delved into the production of the more lucrative swords and spears instead. Despite his need for money, he'd joined in on her war effort mostly out of his loyalty and duty to his homeland.

But then Duke Sarian Noctis had gone ahead and rewarded them by kidnapping many of the dwarven and elven women—and able-bodied men—living in this enclave.

They'd justified it under the "state of emergency" clause in their constitution. But even if he hadn't read that clause and all the constitutional gibberish the vampires tended to come with in their whims, he was damned sure it was unjust to forcefully take people from their homes and families the way they had.

It wasn't as if they'd done it by beating and dragging them, either. Her special force, the Red Priests, had come and used unknown esoteric spells to take over their minds. The victims simply walked away like mindless golems. Many of their craftsmen had been taken that way too.

Why had he been spared?

Mainly because of his skills. He was too skilled to be handled that way—a master of RuneCraft, with an assortment of protective wards decorating his person. He and the son of former Chieftain Sigrid were unaffected by their magic. But that didn't mean they were spared. The Red Priests had left them with the ultimatum to promptly join the legions war effort or they'd be trialed for treason.

Treason. A word, a label used far too often to remove individuals who went against their desires.

And yet, he'd found himself with little choice. Despite his skills in runecraft and at the forge, he was not doing well in the financial department. Mainly because he'd strayed from the path his pops had so cleanly laid before him and had decided to walk with his passion in his hands instead of his immediate survival.

In doing so, he'd produced overly high-quality home and construction equipment—ornamental hinges, railings, rivets, and the metal reinforcements for building frameworks, all layered with the necessary runes to make them function several steps above the average. He'd spent hours and days developing the perfect runes for every component.

And yet, all had been declared moot in the face of affordability.

Back then, he'd been filled with passion and the hot blood of youth, ignoring the words of the former chieftain. Now he'd gained such a bad reputation over the years that no one came to him for equipment anymore. When he tried to lower his rates and work with his survival in his hands instead of his passion, his rivals spread rumors of untrustworthiness.

He could still hear the blind accusations from the mouths of bribed "customers" who had bought a doorknob from his workshop, only to accuse him of using cheap materials for higher profit margins.

Now he sat in his rented room—a flat with just enough space for his daughter and himself. He was on the run. He was poor. He had no flicker of good reputation to replace his lack of funds. And the Red Priests of the duke were on his tail, intending to make him do things that would strip away the last remaining vestiges of the principles he still held dear.

"Dad, food is ready! Come out!" A pouty voice came.

His daughter, still too green to understand the gravity of their situation. But perhaps that was for the best.

"Coming. You go and prepare the plates."

"Hmph! You better not take ten more minutes on your meditation!"

She stomped off. He couldn't help but smile.

He stood up. His room was empty, with only a single cloth for a bed. He still missed his old house—the home he'd spent much of his youth in with his beloved wife.

It wouldn't take long before the Red Priests caught up to them. The only reason he'd been able to escape at all was his runework—specifically, the device that replicated the effects of the Exalted "Perception Resistance." The priests weren't masters of mana, and with his pendant amplified by the effects of his bracelet—the gold and silver-trimmed cuff that shone with the extremities of purple—they'd gained just enough of a window to flee.

Though skilled as he was in runecraft, he was nothing compared to the crafter of the bracelet: Chieftain Sigrid. It was one of the only things the former chief had ever given him, beyond his words and wisdom. The bracelet amplified the effects of spells and magical items by several degrees, and in its components, the chieftain had integrated the prized elements called "Extreme Earthly Minerals"—materials much of the world couldn't even produce, much less integrate into magical equipment.

And though the Red Priests weren't masters of mana, they were masters of otherworldly demonic energy—a corrupted force they pulled from the demon realm. Thick and bubbly in its visage, mysterious and chaotic in its effects. From what he'd heard in rumors, the Red Priests had tracked down even the most masterful thieves with their demonic spells.

Even though he didn't know the specialties of the Order of the Red Priest, he was certain that, given enough time, they would track him. It didn't matter where he hid.

He opened the door to his room. His daughter, with chestnut-colored hair and the short stature of his cute wife, jumped around and put the plates on the table. Her bubbly personality was what had kept him from sinking into the bowels of depression and hopelessness.

The decision he'd made—to cross the borders into Duke Zavian's territory, then enter the domain of Duke Cyrus—wasn't a safe one. They could very well get caught on the way, or get killed by the various beasts that blocked their path. But once they reached Cyrus's domain, the Red Priests wouldn't dare pursue them there.

He sat down on the chair and eyed the assortment of food that had been cooked. It didn't feel like they were on the run at all.

"Is today a party or something?" he asked Selena—a name that still didn't sound familiar to him, so far out of dwarven race and reference it was. And yet, it was what his wife had chosen for their daughter, inspired by the names of the succubi race, the race belonging to her friend.

Her brown eyes eyed him with a hint of frustration before she gave a shrug.

"Not really. I just felt like cooking something good, that's all." She spoke through a mouth stuffed with food.

Have I angered her unknowingly again? he wondered.

---

After finishing lunch, Davi returned to his room to prepare his items.

First, his perception-resistance necklace would need to be recharged. For that, he produced a small runic formation using the five fundamental elemental stones and two chaotic symbols of Yin and Yang. Finally, he inscribed the symbol of chaos with strokes of blank ink winding into circles.

It was essential to include the core of all elements—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water—and the fundamental duality and the source.

The undifferentiated source, chaos, was the whole, from which spread the branches of reality, branches of specificity. The resistance of perception resisted all perception through the agreement of all elements. Naturally, he needed to form that agreement again to be able to use it. If he had the resistance granted to him by the System, he wouldn't have needed all this.

"It should take a few hours to recharge."

In the meantime, he contemplated their routes forward.

Due to the invasion of Artesh, the border guards of Duke Sarian's domain had been moved to the frontlines, which made it easy for them to slip through into Lord Zavian's territory. But their current location made it more difficult than necessary. They were near the border villages of Thanevros, and from here, if they moved into Lord Zavian's domain, they'd directly enter the border areas, which contained numerous forests—the most infamous being the Forest of Nazaria.

On their way to Duke Cyrus's domain, they would need to rest in places that weren't too easy to access. Otherwise, who's to say they wouldn't be caught in their sleep by the Red Priests? They could take refuge in the village of Elaneth, which existed within the encirclement of high-leveled monsters. With his perception resistance device, he felt confident he could make it in.

Currently, they were residing within Serephia, the city of the succubi—an autonomous state hidden deeply within Duke Sarian’s Domain. Normally, dwarves or any other races, including the Red Priests, wouldn't be allowed entry within this state. But due to his wife's friend's referral, they'd been granted sanctuary. But this place wasn't indefinitely safe either. The Red Priests could very easily obtain a permit to come and search for him even here.

In war, a master of runecraft was invaluable. He knew his worth. But he also knew the acts of Duke Sarian Noctis and her so-called "justiciers." They had kidnapped elven and dwarven women—and many others—mainly to satisfy the men of her legion during this war campaign. The Duke herself was the most warmongering of the three. He'd heard rumors of her struggling to recruit lesser vampires and other men for her constant war; she couldn't forcefully recruit men either due to the Royal decree of his Majesty Sirius Thanevros. This state of emergency brought by Artesh was certainly an amped excuse to refill her supply of warriors, mages, and compensation for both.

He wasn't going to supply a legion with his skills which treated the lives of man and like some consumables. If that results in its fall, then shall fall.