The hall remained tense as Emma continued speaking.
"Gandolf the Cursed One... his existence is a tragedy."
She stepped closer to the cage, though never too close.
"In the Origin World, just like here in Elden, people are sometimes born with talents—unique gifts they awaken at birth.
But unlike our world, talents over there are far more common... and far more dangerous."
The audience leaned in.
"And Gandolf... was born with one of the rarest talents ever recorded."
Emma lifted her staff, and glowing text hovered in the air:
Talent: Life Amplification
A few gasps echoed through the hall.
Mike thought " Yeah sound beautiful but its not otherwise he won’t be called cursed one."
"...Life Amplification?"
Emma nodded.
"It sounds beautiful, doesn’t it?
A talent that strengthens life... that multiplies it."
Her voice softened.
"But in reality... it is a curse."
All eyes returned to the dwarf in the cage.
Calm, unmoving, silent.
Emma continued.
"Every item crafted by Gandolf—every weapon, every armor, even small trinkets—absorbs the life force of the user.
The more they use it... the faster their life drains."
Her tone darkened.
"His creations are powerful beyond imagination. Some can turn a normal warrior into a monster of strength."
She paused.
"But the cost... is slow, inevitable death."
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"So that’s his curse..."
"He can’t control it?"
"No wonder every owner dies!"
Emma nodded at the murmurs.
"This ’curse’ is simply his talent.
It activates whether he wishes it or not.
Every piece he creates carries this dreadful enchantment."
Inside the cage, Gandolf finally moved—just a little.
He lifted his head.
And for the first time, everyone clearly saw him.
A man who had already given up on life.
Ancient Dwarves treat their craft as sacred.
Their creations are meant to outlive them—meant to protect their owners, not harm them.
To a dwarf, the idea that their weapon would kill its wielder is worse than death.
Yet Gandolf...
was born with a curse that kills everyone who uses his creations.
He is an Ancient Dwarf, one of the last of a race that considers craftsmanship holy.
Their traditions, their pride, their honor—everything revolves around forging weapons that bring glory, strength, and long life.
But Gandolf’s talent destroyed all of that.
He was born with a gift that twisted into a curse.
A talent that forces every weapon he makes to drain the life of its owner.
Because of that—
He carries the shame of a thousand dead warriors.
The guilt of a smith whose creations only bring death.
And his eyes...
They were the eyes of someone who had lost everything that made a dwarf proud.
A crafter who can never create without killing.
A dwarf who cannot call his own work "sacred."
A being who had already accepted his fate.
Emma noticed it too.She sighed softly.
"And as you can see... this dwarf also has no desire to live," she said with a polite smile.
But inside, she was cursing.
They acquired this dwarf thinking they could somehow remove his curse. They wasted close to a billion credits on him, but to get nothing in return and now they want to recover whatever they can. But look at him—who would purchase a man who already looks dead?
Emma kept her smile fixed."This dwarf can still be useful," she continued. "He can forge weapons for death-soldiers or slave-warriors—fighters who are meant to die bravely for you."
Now the hall grew interested.
After all, she wasn’t wrong.
They didn’t need to use the cursed weapons themselves.
They could equip disposable fighters, death-guards, or last-resort warriors—sacrifices meant to hold the line when everything else failed.
But then—
"I will never forge anything again."
Everyone froze.
The Ancient Dwarf had spoken.
Gandolf’s voice was rough and old, like stone grinding against stone.
"And you all know," he continued, eyes glowing faintly, "Ancient Dwarves cannot be forced. We forge with our soul, not our hands. You may control my body... but you will never control my craft."
A ripple of unease went through the hall.
Emma’s expression stiffened.She quickly tapped the control device hidden behind her bracelet.
A sharp zap of lightning flashed through the cage.
Gandolf grunted quietly but did not scream.
Emma forced her smile back into place as she pressed another button, activating a mute field around the cage. The glowing runes lit up, silencing him instantly.
She cleared her throat.
"As I was saying," she continued smoothly, "this Ancient Dwarf still holds great potential for certain... specialized purposes."
But the damage was already done.
No one wanted him now.
Not after hearing that he refused to forge anything ever again.
Emma’s smile twitched for a second.
Still, she had to follow procedure.
She raised her hand and spoke clearly:
"Starting price is one hundred million credits."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
No one spoke.
No one bid.
People either looked away, pretended to study their catalogs, or simply shook their heads.
Emma held the smile painfully.
Please... someone... anyone... just take him so we can close the auction...
Then—
A voice rang out.
"One hundred million."
Emma blinked.
The hall stirred.
Everyone turned to see which idiot—no, which brave soul—had actually made the bid.
"100 million from VIP Booth 1," Emma announced with a bright smile. "Is there any higher offer?"
Silence.
No one else even raised a finger.
After a short pause, Emma nodded.
"Sold! To VIP Booth 1."
Many inside the other VIP booths exchanged looks.
Who is in Booth 1?Why would anyone buy that dwarf?Is he insane?
But the truth was simple:
The Glorious Merchant House was selling the dwarf because they couldn’t fix his curse.If they couldn’t solve it—with their massive networks, money, and manpower—then no one else could.
To them, this sale was basically a trap for whoever was in VIP Booth 1.
Inside Mike’s booth...
He was just sipping his drink when the attendant beside him leaned forward.
"Sir... do you know how to solve his problem?" she asked carefully.
Mike shrugged.
"No. But I can ask him to teach me his craft."
The attendant blinked.
"...Teach you?"
"Sir, how much do you know about the Dwarves?" She asked.
Mike shrugged casually.
"All I know is that dwarves—ancient dwarves especially—are the best blacksmiths."
The attendant quietly shook her head.
Sigh... I thought maybe he knew something.If he had a method to fix the curse, that would make sense... but now it seems he’s just another rich idiot who buys trouble.