Mephisto spoke excitedly while munching on popcorn.
"Aaaahhhh~ nice excuse, Zoltan! Exactly what I'd expect from you. But if this were real, you wouldn't be this relaxed."
Ciri looked at Mephisto with curiosity.
"What do you mean?"
Mephisto chuckled.
"If this were a real moment, they would never join this battle. Honestly, it would be the rational choice—especially since they know the outcome of this fight. But even if they didn't know the outcome, they still wouldn't join."
Ciri crossed her arms, watching him with interest. She wanted to know why. Mephisto snickered.
"Ah, playing coy, are we? Fine! Let me continue."
He took a sip from his lemonade before going on.
"Listen, little bunny. Your dwarves value their lives more than anything else. As long as they can survive, they accept any condition. When humans in your world first gained power and started attacking everything, the dwarves of the Witcher world chose a peaceful path, retreating without resistance."
Mephisto paused to throw more chips into his mouth. Ciri asked curiously:
"Is that a bad thing?"
Mephisto rolled his eyes and held the bowl of chips toward her as he continued speaking.
"When you think about it, it was a reasonable decision. Humans were numerous and strong—why would the dwarves waste their lives for nothing? They believed they could coexist by offering their craftsmanship. After all, who would reject dwarven-made equipment? But they underestimated humans' greed and arrogance. You know the results, don't you? You've seen firsthand how non-humans live in your world."
Ciri listened attentively as she took the bowl, letting out a faint sigh. Absentmindedly she grabbed a chip and ate it. She had personally witnessed how humans—including herself—treated other races in her world. After taking another chip, she muttered:
"It tastes good."
Mephisto snickered before continuing.
"But the Dwarves of Arda would never accept such treatment. Most of them are downright insane, and they barely acknowledge the concept of logic. They would rather die than abandon their mountains and live as slaves—fighting to the very end. But they're not entirely irrational. They never enter battles they cannot win. Just like with the Balrog or the dragon—killing either of those creatures is nearly impossible. We're talking about a being almost on the level of a Maia, and a dragon. But if humans or Elves attacked them? Then there would be no such thing as retreat."
Mephisto cackled mockingly.
"After all, in your world, even the bravest humans usually run when they see a monster, don't they?"
Still giggling, Mephisto reached toward the chip bowl in Ciri's lap—but his hand met the bottom of the bowl. He blinked and quickly dug around, but nothing touched his fingers. Peering inside, he froze. His jaw dropped wide open, trembling as he pointed at Ciri.
"When did you finish an entire bowl of chips!? That bowl had at least six bags of limited-edition, extra-large, spicy potato chips! Every flavor! FINISHING THEM THIS FAST IS IMPOSSIBLE!"
Ciri looked at the bowl with slight disappointment. She had eaten a little fast, and the chips had run out at the best part. She looked at Mephisto and spoke:
"Since I used my own power while coming here, I burned a lot of energy. Eating helps me regain it, so while you were talking… I guess I ate a bit quickly. They tasted good… Could I maybe have some more?"
Mephisto snapped out of his shock and scolded her furiously:
"MORE!? DID YOU NOT HEAR THE WORD 'LIMITED EDITION'!? THOSE WERE MY LAST PACKS OF RARE CHIPS! AND I ONLY GOT TO EAT ONE!"
Mephisto was both angry and heartbroken. Those were some of his favorite snacks, and he had wanted to eat them during the battle. Ciri, however, ignored his outburst.
"So there are no more? Then could you give me something else? I'm still hungry. I need to recover my energy."
Mephisto choked on his own spit.
"That's what we call shamelessness!"
With a dramatic sigh, Mephisto snapped his fingers. A few dishes appeared in front of Ciri.
"Here. Beef hamburger, french fries, and grilled chicken. You can drink ayran or fruit juice."
Mephisto sat down sulking, crossing his arms like a spoiled child. He muttered under his breath continuously. Ciri, meanwhile, examined the unfamiliar food curiously. She picked up one of the fries and took a bite, eyes widening.
"This is really made of potatoes? Why is it crunchy?"
Mephisto sighed and explained how french fries were made. After a moment of disbelief, Ciri tried the hamburger—and her eyes lit up with a mixture of shock and delight.
"How is this made?"
Mephisto's eyebrow twitched violently.
"I am not here to give you cooking lessons! I'm trying to watch the battle and prepare to send you to Arda! If you're that curious, ask Igris when you meet him! Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to mourn the chips I didn't get to eat while watching these dwarves."
Ciri stared at Mephisto blankly before sighing and focusing on her meal. Honestly, she wasn't interested in the war between dwarves and orcs. Thanks to her grandmother, she had heard and analyzed so many battle stories that she was sick of them. Zoltan was about to fight in an illusion anyway, and the ending was already known—the dwarves would win an impossible victory, but it wasn't a victory worth celebrating. That's why she wasn't invested in watching this fight. If it were a monster hunt, things would be different.
While eating, Ciri asked Mephisto:
"Are you going to show me the life of this man called Igris?"
Just moments ago, Mephisto had been mourning—brows furrowed, sipping fruit juice while watching the marching dwarves. But at the mention of Igris, he instantly became energetic.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA! Of course I will! I was just waiting for you to ask!"
Mephisto snapped his fingers with dramatic flair and proudly declared:
"Behold—the life of Igris, once known as The Gray Wolf!"
A panel opened before Ciri, showing a shirtless man whose torso was covered in various scars. His muscles were sharply defined yet balanced, and he was performing push-ups suspended in midair—balanced only on the five fingers of his right hand, legs and left arm raised.
"5666, 5667, 5668…"
With every rise and fall, the muscles of his right arm swelled, becoming more prominent. Sweat poured heavily from his body, and the glow of the fireplace cast a soft sheen over his skin. While Mephisto stared in shock, Ciri simply blinked at the panel. Mephisto hurriedly shut it—just as Igris abruptly lifted his head and stared directly at them. He paused and glanced around.
"Hmm… Strange. I felt like I was being watched… or was it just me?"
Mephisto let out a relieved breath the moment the panel closed.
"Good grief~ I accidentally opened the livestream… Since Igris' hybrid blood has started to awaken, watching him is extremely difficult. He senses us immediately."
He looked at Ciri—then froze when he saw her slightly flushed face.
"Heeey! Why are you blushing? It's not like it's the first time you've seen a shirtless man!"
For a moment, Ciri couldn't speak. She cleared her throat and answered:
"…This was different… It happened too suddenly… So that was Igris? Why did his body look like that? I mean, it was covered in scars… Also, how old is he?"
For a moment, Mephisto had nothing to say. He stared at her blankly, then let out a long, dramatic sigh, mumbling to himself:
"Ah~ to be young… So few worries on their minds. Things were so different in my time."
He turned back to her.
"Igris is in his early twenties. As for those 'scars,' let's just say they come from his intense passion for adventure… and his deep love for freedom."
The words "passion for adventure" and "love for freedom" immediately caught Ciri's attention.
"So he's around my age. Will you tell me about him?"
Mephisto shook his head immediately.
"NO! I have something to do here, alright? I need to watch the dwarves."
He snapped his fingers again, opening a new panel in front of Ciri.Patiently, he showed her how to control it, and Ciri listened with attention.
"From here you can watch and form your own opinion. This is how you fast forward… this is how you rewind… and here are the saved files…"
After showing her everything—and explaining that she could ask the help panel for additional info—he said:
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm focusing on the dwarves."
Ciri responded absentmindedly while fiddling with the panel:
"Mmhmm."
Mephisto stared at her in disbelief, grumbling:
"…She became screen-addicted in seconds… Ah~ youth these days, where are they heading…"
Meanwhile, Zoltan, Kargan, and their group had already been assigned to Balin by Thorin. Though Balin was old, he had no belly and still carried an energetic physique. After warmly welcoming the new dwarf riders, he added them to the cavalry units. Zoltan and Kargan, however, remained by Balin's side, chatting with him.
Balin chuckled as he spoke:
"Hahahahahaha… Truly fascinating. In all my life, I've never seen a dwarf who uses a family name—you two are the first. Quite surprising, really."
Zoltan and Kargan glanced at Balin with serious expressions. Zoltan spoke quietly:
"Is this something worth exaggerating? Why does it surprise you so much?"
Balin nodded.
"Oh, very much so. Because if there's one thing we dwarves are unbelievably stubborn about, it's our devotion to our ancestors. When we introduce ourselves, we proudly state who our forefathers were. For example: 'Thror son of Thrain son of Thorin, King Under the Mountain!' When someone hears this, they can't help but respect you—they know where you come from and whose blood you carry. But if you simply told someone your name is Thorin, what would they ask? 'Which Thorin?' Even if you had a surname, it wouldn't hold much meaning."
He looked directly at Zoltan.
"So tell me, Zoltan—do you know your ancestors?"
Zoltan answered:
"My father was a blacksmith, and so was my grandfather, and his father before him."
Balin asked:
"And before that?"
Zoltan opened his mouth—but no answer came out.
Balin asked again.
"Do you know who you are, Zoltan? Do you know where you come from? Are you living in a way that would honor your ancestors?"
Zoltan spoke with firm determination.
"I'm sure my ancestors were blacksmiths. Blacksmithing is the family trade."
Balin chuckled.
"Are you certain? Or are you simply guessing?"
"Does it matter?"
Balin laughed softly and gestured with his chin toward a dwarf.
"Do you see that dwarf over there, Zoltan? The blond one with the blue cloth tied around his ram's horns?"
Zoltan looked and nodded.
"His name is Roltor. His father was a blacksmith, his grandfather as well, and his grandfather too. Five full generations of blacksmithing. But his great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather was once a legendary dwarven general—one whose name made orcs, men, and even elves tremble. He never lost a single battle. Even the greatest of orc champions died by his hand. There are records claiming he once slew a fully grown griffin all on his own. Roltor speaks of this ancestor with pride, and he strives to follow in his footsteps. He wants to become a general himself—wants to make his forefather proud."
Balin then pointed toward another dwarf.
"That one is Swen. His family has been soldiers for four generations, but his great-grandfather was a master jeweler. The works he crafted were admired all across the world. Once, he made a ring for a nobleman of Gondor to give to his betrothed—a ring so enchanting that anyone who looked at it felt captivated. That ring became a treasured heirloom of that noble house, passed from mother to son or daughter. His creations are still precious today—perhaps even more so, since no artisan of equal skill has emerged since. Yes, there are master craftsmen in this age, but each has their own style. Swen's reason for joining this expedition is his dream of having his own home and workshop. He dislikes working under others—though, truthfully, in Middle-earth it's not easy to find a patron unless you're already an exceptional craftsman. Still, if you're good—and a dwarf—there will always be work for you somewhere."
Balin stroked his beard thoughtfully and looked at Zoltan.
"Now, I'm not saying that having a surname is always a bad thing. It's a matter of choice. For example, perhaps your family is corrupt—traitors, murderers, or worse. You may want to sever ties with them. That's understandable. But even then, you don't need a surname to do that. You could transform your family name into an ancestral title—some nobles do that. But even that can be dangerous, because the deeds of a single person can stain an entire line. We dwarves honor our ancestors by carrying their names with pride. It doesn't mean we'll become exactly like them—some hope to surpass them, others simply take pride in their ancestors' achievements—but we never forget our roots."
Balin smiled warmly as he continued.
"Perhaps you simply wanted to walk your own path. To be your own man. That's admirable—there's nothing wrong with that. What matters most is being a good and honorable person. That is the greatest thing anyone can be. But carving your own path doesn't require abandoning your ancestors. After all, the person you are is shaped by everyone who came before you. Your ancestors are the very reason you exist. Without them, would you be here, Zoltan? If your ancestors were wicked, then don't repeat their mistakes. But if they were good, just, honorable dwarves, then following in their footsteps—or forging your own path inspired by their example—is another way to honor them."
Balin lifted his gaze to the sky and breathed deeply.
"Ahhh… Think about it, my friend. In this vast world, there are countless lives—each with a story, each with experiences of their own. Some good, some bad, some exciting, some tediously dull. But each life is still their story. And what about yours? I'd love to hear it someday—over a fine mug of ale."
Zoltan and Kargan fell silent, both lost in thought. They realized Balin was unlike any dwarf they had ever met. They understood now why Thorin respected him so deeply. They also realized something else—there was far more to learn in this world than they had ever imagined, and their journey had only just begun…
— A few minutes later —
Zoltan and Kargan parted ways with Balin and walked alongside the rest of the company. Kargan exhaled softly and glanced at Zoltan.
"What are you thinking about? That stuff Balin said?"
Zoltan sighed and looked at his friend.
"… It confused me a little, but he was right about one thing… In our world, dwarves truly did forget who they were and focused solely on surviving. But for many of us—can we even call the life we lived living? You've experienced that more than most."
Kargan looked up at the sky, falling silent for a moment. Even remembering his past made his stomach tighten. He took a long breath.
"Forget it. At least now I have the chance to reunite with my family. Let's pass this test first. Then we'll see… Honestly, I'm really curious about this world. If that clown Mephisto told us the truth about its history, then we might get a whole new story for ourselves. And to be honest… the idea of living in a dwarven kingdom—experiencing the true culture of my own kind—gods, that's something I couldn't even dream of. Something impossible in the world we came from."
Kargan's thoughts echoed the longing of countless non-human souls from their world—longing for fairness, for equality, for a place they could truly call home. Zoltan chuckled and nudged him lightly.
"To be honest, if we aren't being tricked… I'm curious too. To see what it's like—living in a proper dwarven kingdom. And who knows? Maybe I'll even find myself a bride someday!"
Kargan burst into laughter.
"Hahahahaha! With that face, women will flock around you. You'll probably find yourself a very lovely wife."
Zoltan chuckled as well. The two continued marching with the dwarven army.
Mephisto was watching and listening to the dwarves intently. Beside him, Ciri kept her eyes glued to the panel floating in front of her. Mephisto snickered.
"Igris was right—sending these dwarves to Arda without letting them experience what kind of people they're dealing with would've been a serious problem."
Mephisto leaned curiously toward Ciri, who was digging through Igris's memories with deep focus.
"Which memory are you watching?"
He glanced toward the panel with interest.
"Ah~ the time when Igris and his friends raided an organ trafficking ring. Heh! Those idiots messed with the wrong neighborhood. The moment the mother realized her child had been kidnapped, she alerted Igris. What can I say? Igris knew every corner of the place he lived in. People trusted him for his sense of justice—whenever a conflict broke out, they went straight to him to settle the matter. Because of this, a lot of young people began standing behind him, and before he even realized it, he had formed his own gang."
Mephisto laughed lightly.
"The fact that he called himself 'just an ordinary guy' back then is hilarious, considering he single-handedly crushed two mafia groups without any support."
Ciri didn't hear a word Mephisto said—she was completely absorbed in the panel. In the scene, Igris and four companions slipped into an abandoned warehouse, silently knocking out guards, securing the room where the victims were held, and then killing everyone involved in the operation. Only the doctors performing the illegal surgeries were spared the blade—merely beaten within an inch of their lives. Ciri murmured softly,
"He really is… an interesting one."
Curiously, Ciri pointed at an athletic man beside Igris—black-haired, brown-eyed.
"Who is this? They look very close."
Mephisto glanced.
"Ah! His name is Yavuz—and like the man he's named after, he's tough as steel. Those two were practically inseparable—childhood friends and blood brothers. They had the kind of brotherhood many biological siblings don't even come close to. When Igris protected him and died in the process, Yavuz changed. He became consumed by vengeance. He started hunting down the one who killed Igris—and everyone connected to him. Well… to be fair, it won't be easy. The mafias in their country usually operate with the support of foreign states. Still, Yavuz is giving them hell… Last I checked, he had brutally wiped out every underground organization in the city. No one will dare commit a crime there for a long time."
Ciri looked at Mephisto, genuinely surprised.
"That city… isn't it really big?"
Mephisto shrugged.
"Believe me, to the people Yavuz and Igris come from, this is nothing more than child's play. Yavuz gathered a lot of support behind him—hell, even the state intelligence agency backed him."
Ciri asked, puzzled,
"How would an intelligence agency help him? By giving him information?"
Mephisto sighed.
"No, little bunny. Intelligence agencies are far more complicated than you think. It works like this…"
Mephisto calmly explained how modern intelligence organizations functioned. Ciri listened attentively.
"Got it?" he asked.
"More or less," she replied.
"Hahaha! Don't worry, it's not that important. Just focus on whatever you want to watch."
Ciri continued watching the panel, and if what she saw was truly real, she was beginning to think that the man they were about to meet wasn't as bad as she initially feared. In fact… he was rather intriguing.
Meanwhile, Mephisto quietly turned his gaze forward and calmly waited for the dwarves' battle to begin.
---
patreon.com/Shadow-Walking
A character biography has been uploaded; those interested can check my page. It's completely free.
Note: The biographies will be updated as the story progresses; currently, there will be short posts.