Chapter 418: A Heart In The Depths

Ophelia the Snow Dancer’s mini-arc. 2/4.******

These tunnels were important.

Ophelia had invited herself to enough places where she shouldn’t be to know. 

Unlike the dig site upstairs, these glossy walls weren’t just for show. They were made to house something. And given the number of heavily armed patrols, it still remained exactly where it was.

Mining picks had been replaced with axes and the drunken smiles for dour expressions. 

As a pair of dwarves approached, it wasn’t with the shuffling of guards already dreaming about home and hearth. Their eyes glinted with suspicion beneath the shafts of light, each pouring through the solar crevices only they and goblins knew how to make.

The dwarves were on alert. But not quite enough.

Ophelia waited as the pair passed her by, so close that she could undo the braids in their beard. 

Even then, they likely wouldn’t notice.

It mattered little that dwarves could see in the darkness. [Elven Concealment] was a powerful ability, and Ophelia’s was unmatched. She was a shadow in the darkness and a whisper in the light. 

And so was Duck A.

Ophelia was highly impressed. 

She’d stuck Duck A directly in the middle of the dwarves’ path. And also a shaft of sunlight. Neither of the patrolling guards saw it. 

In fact, she was pretty sure one of them had even gone around it. 

One of these days, she’d bother finding out why and how Duck A possessed both invisibility and invulnerability. Especially since the first was highly sporadic. 

Sometimes, Duck A would be kidnapped the moment the yellow paint wore off and the crystal beak glittered for every robber to drool at. But sometimes, Duck A would also appear behind her like an assassin in the night, staring into her soul while a faint giggling could be heard echoing in the background.

That was something she probably needed to look into. 

But since she also didn’t want Duck B to feel like it was somehow worse, she figured there was no rush. 

In the end, both ducks were cute. And that’s all that mattered.

Ophelia smiled reassuringly to both–then waited for the footsteps of the dwarves to fade away. 

The moment they ceased to echo, she swept away with a fluttering of her silver hair, passing through the shafts of light with only the silhouettes of her ducks visible as they followed close behind. 

The patrols were becoming more frequent. But she expected nothing else. 

If one barkeeper was telling rumours about a lost dwarven treasure, then every barkeeper was. 

The dwarves were beginning to slack. They usually kept to their secrets, hoarding them just like their tunnels. 

Even Ophelia had only visited the Underhalls a number of times. Not because it was especially difficult. But rather because it was boring. 

The Kingdom Under The Mountain stretched across the entire length of the continent. And while that sounded impressive, what it actually meant was enormous amounts of walls.

Just walls. Lots and lots of walls.

It was the most mercilessly efficient defence they could have made against her. 

Since dwarves didn’t do signs, maps or coherent directions, she had no idea how to reach any of the great dwarven vaults said to be visited by only kings and dragons. And as much as she enjoyed long walks, it was a problem when it became so arduous that tedium was a serious hazard.

That wasn’t the case here.

These walls might have been hewn by dwarves. But it wasn’t by those banging theatrically on bits of rock outside. Alongside the pretty shapes and embellishments were depictions of candles, stars and scales of justice. 

Features more likely to be seen in a chapel than anywhere below the ground. Which made sense.

These tunnels weren’t part of the Underhalls. 

No … they belonged to whoever owned their very own hidden shrine.

Reaching the end of the passage, Ophelia peeked her head through a large gap where a wooden gate had been battered down. It was still there, crudely shoved aside to make way for all the intruders who were conspicuously missing.

There were neither guards nor sisters present. And for a secret place of worship, Ophelia really expected to find one or the other–likely fighting to the death.

The very air hummed like consecrated land.

Quack, quack.

Even Duck A agreed.

The way it quacked was hushed and respectful. Because while this wasn’t a chapel, a respectful attempt had been made. The stonework wasn’t any simpler, but rows of wooden pews, cabinets and effigies of the heavens were aplenty … even if they were lying on their sides.

The stained windows, however, were unbroken and impressive.

How the light poured through, few who barged through here would know. Whoever the architect was, they’d long ceased to be. The musk of history was in the air. And also danger.

There was a reason no dwarves were present. And it probably had something to do with the sword lying upon the wooden altar.

The largest window rose above it, dousing it in an almost prismatic light.

It wasn’t needed.

The sword was stupidly bright. 

Distractingly so. Like starlight on a stick. 

Ophelia’s own sword that she’d tossed into the [Big Ball Of Doom] for fun was also bright. But this was different. It was utterly resplendent. A weapon gift wrapped by the very heavens, embellished with a dazzling gemstone embedded in the hilt.

Like the heart of the sword, it burned as brightly as the blade. 

Ophelia couldn’t even see what it was. 

However, she could glean the warmth, resonating like a song to a sword saint’s ears. She could hear it gently calling out to her.

Destiny beckoned. And only Ophelia could accept it.

Thus … she nodded as she turned to her ducks.

“Yep, 10000% cursed,” she said confidently. “No touching, okay?”

Neither felt the need to respond.

It was as blatant as they came. And they came remarkably often.

Cursed swords were all the rage with elves. The stabbing efficiency per hour was incredible. Tourists admiring trees while making the cardinal sin of looking at them didn’t stand a chance.

Her cousins wouldn’t waste a blink before picking it up. But while Ophelia was in the market for a new sword, something secretly dark and evil really wouldn’t suit her sensible aesthetics.

After all, most cursed swords came with terrible side effects.

Or worse … unseen guests..

“My lady shows wisdom. An ever rare trait in this hallowed hall.”

Ophelia turned back to the altar.

Behind it now was an armoured dwarf who’d either been hiding while crouched or just existing as a ball of holy energy in the air. Since the guy was definitely dead. But not necessarily in a bad way. 

He was in the prime of his unlife.

At most a century old when he died, his beard was still flush with a ginger hue … even while being slightly transparent. There were braids as well, each and every lock a symbol of a past triumph worthy of eternally enshrining into his hair. 

There were so many that it hid most of his white armour. But not the golden runes written into them. 

They were indicative that he was a knight of a holy order. One powerful enough that even as an undead apparition, he was still sanctioned by the heavens.

Ophelia immediately pointed at the fallen door. And also everything else.

“I just got here. This wasn’t me.”

The dwarf chuckled.

“You’ve no need to fear any accusations, my lady,” he said with a merry candour. “Otherwise my greeting would involve fewer words and much less smiling. Rest assured, the only crime you’ve committed is to wander from the beauty of your forests.”

Ophelia blinked.

“Yes. That is my only crime.”

“Well, I suppose there is another. I notice you also didn’t smack any of my kin waddling outside. That surely counts as abandonment of duty. Were I able to leave these grounds, I’d ensure the back of my gauntlets would haunt their dreams long into the night.”  

Ophelia nodded. 

She understood the sentiment. They were probably related to him. 

“I’m a peaceful elf,” she said, knowing how much of a hassle it’d be to stuff unconscious dwarves into a cabinet somewhere. “I like trees.”  

“So I see. It’s rare to see a visitor to Lady Lumielle’s shrine with the will to turn from the treasure upon her altar. It’s rarer to see one so unarmed. Your respect matches your prudence. Had you come while bearing a weapon, then I would have needed to dispense with the joy of introductions.”

He offered a deep bow.

“Sir Rorik the Redeemer,” he declared with pride. “Son of The Last Hold. Shieldmaster of the Ironstone Clan. Paladin-Captain of the Stone Rose Order. I serve Lady Lumielle as her light where the night is thickest. And here beneath the surface, the claws of her dark sister reach further than even the greed of dwarves. To whom do I have the honour?” 

“Ophelia. People call me the Snow Dancer. And sometimes other things.”

“Ophelia the Snow Dancer. A splendid title. And one befitting the grace you have shown. Sadly, I’m afraid that I’ve little in the way of hospitality to offer.”

“Oh, that’s fine. The only tea cups I expect are the ones thrown at me while I’m running away.”

“Is … Is that so? That’s, well, that’s extremely rude. I know that elves are considered aloof, but to throw objects at you is highly undignified. Are relations still strained between elves and other races?”

“Hmm … I guess that depends? When did you die?”

“276 years ago.”

“Ah. In that case, nothing’s changed. We still do whatever we want, whenever we want and without ever telling anyone.”

“I see.” Sir Rorik paused. “If I may be so bold as to ask, what number … ?” 

“We’re onto Elven Conspiracy #1528152. I think.”

“Oof. That’s gone up fast.”

“Yeah. I keep having to ignore suspicious figures beckoning me towards them. It’s a pain.” 

The dwarf nodded in understanding.

“Well … I dare say it’s almost preferable to what I need to deal with. Centuries I’ve waited to guide lost pilgrims back into the warmth of the light. And now the only dwarves who visit me are intent on stealing my sword.”

Ophelia looked at the sword in question. Her amazing eyes regretted it at once.

“You should just let them have it,” she said with a shrug. “If they pick up a cursed sword, that’s their soul’s problem.” 

“Actually, it’s not cursed.”

“Really? What about you haunting them, then?”

“Such a thing would be a greater curse on me. Believe me, I’ve no wish to spy on whatever my kin now decides is entertainment. No, the sword is not cursed. Far from it, it is blessed by Lady Lumielle herself. It is what keeps the darkness at bay–and myself as well.”

“Oh, so that’s what it is. You don’t want to be released?”

“That would imply I’m imprisoned. I can assure you this isn’t the case. I wish to perform my duty. For although this vigil is long, neither solitude nor discontent visits me. The warmth of the heavens is ever present. And so I defend this shrine with pride, welcoming all who wander … and those who have sought it out. Have you come to visit as part of a pilgrimage, my lady?”

Ophelia shook her head. 

She didn’t do pilgrimages. Especially since she was banned from most cathedrals.

“Nope, I came here for a diamond.” 

“A diamond?” 

“Or something that looks like one. A barkeeper told me the Heart of the Forge might be around.”

A change came in the air at once.

Suddenly, the warmth became muted. And while the smile didn’t vanish from Sir Rorik’s face, it did harden.

“... Ah, I see. You must be an adventurer, then. An explorer.” A thief, he didn’t say. “Yet I’m afraid that the Heart of the Forge is more than any diamond. It is a sacred thing, as those who have attempted to seize it have learned to their own detriment. Only one who is truly worthy may attain it, for to carry it would mean to be the beacon which lights the darkest of places.”

Ophelia nodded at once.

It’d probably end up in a vault somewhere. That counted.

“Great! That’s me. What does being worthy involve?”

“Honesty.” Sir Rorik stood up tall. “So tell me, Ophelia the Snow Dancer–for what purpose would you wield such a light?”

Suddenly, the amicable demeanour had gone.

The dwarf who had greeted her with a bow and idle conversation was no more. 

An aura of pale flames surrounded his figure as he became what greeted those who dared to threaten his shrine instead. His features faded as he became more like a haunting phantom and less a dutiful spirit.

Only his eyes became more pronounced, burning with the fury of the heavens themselves.

Ophelia hummed in thought. 

“Well, I was planning to bribe a princess.”

“A princess?”

“It’s a long story. But she hit me on the head really hard. And now we’re either going to get married or brutally murder each other. I’m pretty sure I know which. Either way, I need her attention since she’ll definitely try to ignore me and having a really expensive diamond always helps.”

The dwarf gazed hard, his eyes swirling like a maelstrom of divine judgement.

“You wish to use Lady Lumielle’s sacred gift … to earn a princess’s attention?”

“Yup!”

Only silence filled the void which followed.

For a moment, Sir Rorik’s figure seemed to grow as a shadow born of pure light rose around him. 

And then–

“Bwahahahahahahahaha!”

The shimmering flames were doused as swiftly as his palm slapping against his thigh.

“I have been prepared for every falsehood,” he said, his mirth almost bellowing between each word. “And also to decline each one. But never in all my years spent guarding the Heart of the Forge did I imagine an answer which involved a princess. That is something both breathtakingly selfish and also admirably earnest!”

Ophelia didn’t think that was the case at all. 

It was the other way around. She was breathtakingly earnest and admirably selfish.

“Go on, then,” said the dwarf, so casually that he could have been referring to a drink at a bar. “I acknowledge your honesty. I shall permit you to approach the sword. That much I can allow. But whether or not Lady Lumilelle deems you worthy to lift the blade which holds the Heart of the Forge is up to her.”

A groan answered at once.

Ophelia was hoping if she didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t be true.

Of course it’d be stuck in the sword. The thing blinding her eyes. And also owned by someone she’d definitely have trouble convincing to let her dismantle. Or even pick up.

“Can I just take the gemstone?” she asked, knowing the sword wouldn’t budge from the altar.

Sir Rorik seemed impressed.

“You do not wish to deprive me of my weapon?” 

“Sure. But I also don’t think the big lady is going to let me have it. We’re actually not on the best terms.”

“Not all who are virtuous are pure. And not all who are pure are virtuous. Too often do the righteous confuse duty with good and desire with sin. Wishing to earn a princess’s favour may not be viewed as strictly pious, true …  but such a heartfelt desire is more reassuring to me than those who would use my sword to smite evil in all its forms, until zeal and coldness takes them. Perhaps you might be destined to achieve deeds greater than any knight. Or perhaps you won’t. Only Lady Lumielle may decide.”

The dwarf gestured to the sword with a smile. And so Ophelia obliged.

Without any fanfare whatsoever … she reached out and picked up the sword.

Just like that.

She blinked while looking away.

Much to her surprise, the light continued stinging her eyes. Which was annoying. If the sword was going to be hers for any amount of time, she wanted it to dim just a little.

“Huh,” she said, surprised nothing exploded. “That was easy.”

The dwarf chuckled.

No expression of surprise betrayed him. Merely a hint of both relief and regret.

“Picking it up is the easy part, I’m afraid. What comes next is far harder.”

“Yeah. But I have a plan. I’m actually going to write out what I’ll say to her parents beforehand. That should at least stop me from being arrested. Maybe.”

“That’s a good idea. But I’m afraid that’s not the hard part I was referring to.”

“Oh. What’s that, then?”

“The bit about to happen. You must adhere to what anybody blessed with a holy sword must do. Facing down the wicked, the foul and the very noisy.”

Sir Rorik offered a bow, just as the room began to darken despite the sword in Ophelia’s hand.

“May the light guide you well, Snow Dancer. Best of luck with your princess related matters.”

“–[Divine Exorcism].”

The deep bow was the last thing Ophelia saw of the dwarf.

He faded, his long vigil complete. And what replaced his cheer was the sound of heavy boots trundling in through the open doorway. Of a host of armoured dwarves, their shields already locking in formation. 

But that was fine.

Ophelia the Snow Dancer was still really hard to kill.

And now she now had a sword again.