"Gorim!?" Jared's eyes widened in shock.
Gorim was a legendary name among blacksmiths across the continent.
It was said he had forged over a thousand mythical-grade weapons. Whether that was true remained unclear, but few doubted his skill.
After all, most of the mythical weapons circulating throughout the world—those forged by mortal hands rather than born naturally—were believed to have come from him.
So even if the number didn't truly reach a thousand, the sheer amount of mythical weapons attributed to him was proof enough.
Jared stared at the unconscious dwarf, his expression dazed.
"M-Merlin Clay… is what you're saying true? Is he really that Gorim?"
It still felt hard to believe. The Gorim he knew from storybooks was a strong, charismatic, and magnificent figure.
But the dwarf lying before him was the complete opposite.
Merlin chuckled softly. "Relax. I wouldn't lie to you. Besides, it'd be pointless—and I'm not that kind of person."
