Bonus Short Story

Belmezzo, the Head of the Workshop

“Quality’s not what it used to be, is it?”

“Well... about that...”

“I’ll give you two ginsatsu.”

“Y-You must be making an insane profit! Give me a break, or my master’ll give me hell for this.”

“Well why don’t you go bring your damned master here with you. I’ll tell him myself that if he thinks he can pull one over on me, he’s got another thing coming.”

Belmezzo, the head of the Oni’s Anvil workshop, was known to everyone in the metalworking district called chimney road, itself a famous feature of the orgish capital of Mesa. He had long traded with royalty and the heads of powerful clans, and these connections meant that many of the axes swung by orgs had been forged by the workers of the Oni’s Anvil. Belmezzo was the face of the Oni’s Anvil, and some said that if he ever sneezed, every furnace in the metalworking district would be blown out at once.

The largest buyer of the ingots and other products that smelters exported to the capital en masse was the Oni’s Anvil. As the leader of the workshop, Belmezzo could maintain a stranglehold on the smelter’s guild without even trying. Even stubborn old smelters who fancied themselves artisans of fire were reduced to smiling meekly like talentless miao merchants.

“I’m not trying to be difficult here. But look at this thing. You can see the impurities. It was never melted down properly.”

Belmezzo casually tapped his hammer against the iron ingot he was holding. The ingot cracked down the middle with a dull thud, as if it were a piece of rotten wood.

The apprentice smelter struggled to come up with an excuse as Belmezzo glared at him. Firewood had become ridiculously expensive, heating to the usual temperature would put them over budget, they’d had to use cheap, ill-burning peat as an alternative, they’d already tried every trick they knew, and other such excuses...

“Oh, shut up,” Belmezzo said with a slam of his rock-like fist. “You used peat? If you’ve forgotten how to make iron then why don’t you just change the sign out front and call yourself a pickle seller.”

“Now you’re going too far. It’s the heartless metalworking guild that’s forcing the prices way up...”

“Are you saying that my metalworking association is trying to rip people off?” Belmezzo asked sourly.

Over the course of many years, the orgish country had been cleanly stripped of all trees. They had quite literally all been cut down to be fuel for producing iron, leaving the country filled with bare mountains. As a result, the winds would carry away the sandy soil, and the rains would trigger mudslides and flooding. More than once, the king had ordered that attempts be made to plant trees on these bare mountains. Those saplings were intended to be harvested after 10 years, but instead they were pulled up by clueless peasants for use as firewood, making it hard to believe the situation would improve.

The purses of the clans that bought the iron arms the workshop produced had been emptied by continued fighting. Far from driving up prices, the Oni’s Anvil were finding it increasingly difficult to collect payments, and the workshop was on a straight path to bankruptcy.

“Instead of making excuses, go cut down trees from the great forests and all will be well. There are more good-burning trees there than anyone could use.” Belmezzo threw down the shoddy ingot while massaging his shoulders by striking them with the hammer. The apprentice smelter picked up the ingot unhappily.

“Orgs are stronger than anything. There isn’t a species that can stand against us when we go all-out. Something’s not quite right about this world.”

“If you ask me, Master Belmezzo’s cruelty isn’t quite right either.”

“And what about your smelters? What was it you sell there?”

“I-I was just joking, master.”

It was no exaggeration to say that the war-potential of the orgs was superior to that of every species that surrounded them, but in practice, the level of cooperation between members of the species was lacking. Their tendency to follow their feelings and start fights with each other meant that all of the major clans were embroiled in long-standing feuds and were unwilling to help one another.

The Foss clan to the east was attacking the macaques in the eastern forest region, and the strength of the Brach clan in the south was enough to suppress and enslave all the various small clans in the great forest. And there were rumors that some had gone so far as to attack the humans who ruled the plains to the south, just to show them the power of the orgs.

“Forget all that. Just do a better job at getting rid of these impurities. Otherwise it’s useless junk that’ll break the second something strikes it.”

“I’ll pass the message on to my master.”

Belmezzo watched the apprentice smelter leave and then returned to the workshop filled with the noise of busy hammers. The workshop was slammed due to an order of weapons bigger than any they’d received before. The workshop leader had no energy to spare for anything else. He was in the middle of making an axe known as a gandr, from a secret compound of hard steel no less, to fulfill a special order made by Dohd Adohra-kahn, the leader of the eastern Foss clan.

Dohd Adohra wore weapons and armor made by Belmezzo over his entire body. His steel armor offered protection against any attack and it was one of Belmezzo’s finest works.

In the constant din that drowned out all else, Belmezzo could hear his apprentices improving day by day. These young artisans kept their large backs stooped over anvils and efficiently turned iron ingots into iron products using their superior orgish strength. The workshop’s stockpiles were always depleted quickly, so keeping his workers supplied was a big part of Belmezzo’s job.

It was sad to learn that the new shipment of iron was of such poor quality, but a severe shortage of firewood was a problem that had an impact on every metalworker in the district.

Whether it be the Foss clan or the Brach clan, he wanted someone to secure a forest quickly. For that reason, the workshop’s main priority was to supply weapons to both of these clans.

Dohd Adohra was always rough with his weapons and would render even the highest quality steel unusable after two or three fights. That very minute, Dohd Adohra was carrying Belmezzo’s work into the battlefield. Though it was hard to imagine Dohd Adohra ever being wounded or defeated, even if he’d leaped into the midst of the enemy empty-handed.

The large axe being forged now would be a masterpiece.

Belmezzo snorted happily to himself as he imagined how pleased Dohd Adohra was going to be.