After a month-long journey, we finally returned to the underground city of Doomheim.

To me, who had been shivering in the cold, it almost felt like coming home.

The warmth of the city’s smelting furnaces and the rhythmic clang of hammers echoed through the air, creating a comforting atmosphere.

Harglan, resting his hammer on his shoulder, turned toward the heart of Magmar along with his dwarf subordinates.

“This is where we part ways. Get some rest, Princess. Ferca, you’d better explain yourself properly to Harglan.”

“Ugh, I really don’t want to go back…”

“If you do what you want, you also have to take responsibility. Stop whining like a child.”@@novelbin@@

For once, Harglan sided with Torvar, scolding Ferca with a stern tone.

Pouting like a child, Ferca hung her head.

Even as Harglan walked away, he didn’t forget to shoot me a glare.

We headed straight home without any detours.

Torvar wasn’t there.

“Father spends most of the day at the forge. He won’t be back until nightfall.”

It was a sacred duty passed down to the Meister, the Flamekeeper, to ensure the furnace’s flame never died out—no matter what.

Even when I lived in Doomheim, Torvar never missed a single day of work.

“Well, we need to unpack and recover from the trip anyway. Let’s rest until he gets back.”

We sorted out our belongings and had a simple meal.

Without bothering each other, we each relaxed in our own ways.

The sound of hammering echoed from the forge.

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