Investing in My Crippled Wife: My Duchess Makes me Overpowered

The dwarf knelt beside him, careful not to spook him.

”Hey. They’re gone.”

Emeric didn’t move.

”Can you stand?”

Emeric shook his head.

The dwarf sighed and sat down beside him.

”My name is Bjorn.”

Emeric didn’t answer.

”I saw what happened. At the exhibition. Well, the whole academy saw.” Bjorn paused.

Emeric looked away.

”What do you want?”

”Nothing. Just thought you might want company.”

Emeric stared at him.

”You’re not going to mock me?”

”No.”

”Why?”

Bjorn looked at him and his look turned serious.

”Because I know what it’s like. To be looked down on. To be told you’re not good enough.” He paused. ”I’m a dwarf. We’re not exactly welcome here either.”

Emeric was quiet.

”You defended me.”

”I did.”

”Why?”

Bjorn shrugged. ”Because someone should have. Because it was the right thing to do. Because I don’t like bullies.” He paused. ”Pick one.”

Emeric stared at him.

Then, slowly, he laughed.

It was the first time he had laughed in weeks.

Bjorn smiled. It was a small thing. But it was real.

”Get up,” he said. ”You’re sitting in the dirt like a kicked dog. It’s pathetic.”

Emeric took his hand.

Bjorn pulled him to his feet.

They became friends.

Bjorn was a blacksmith’s son. He had come to the academy to study enchantment. But the elves and high-born humans looked down on him too. Dwarves were craftsmen, they said. Not mages.

From that moment on, they were inseperable.

They ate together, studied together. Trained together—Emeric with his sword, Bjorn with his hammer.

Bjorn taught him about metal. About fire. About the patience required to shape something from raw material.

The elves didn’t stop but Bjorn was there now.

When they cornered Emeric in the courtyard, Bjorn would suddenly be there. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there. Arms crossed, waiting for them to make the first move.

”What are you going to do, dwarf? Hit us with your hammer?” Lyra said.

Bjorn didn’t answer.

He just stood there.

The elves looked at each other. Something in Bjorn’s eyes made them uneasy. They muttered insults. But they left.

Bjorn turned to Emeric.

”You have to learn to stand up for yourself.”

”I know.”

”Then do it.”

”I can’t.”

Bjorn studied him.

”You will. One day.” He clapped Emeric on the shoulder. ”And when you do, I’ll be there to see it.”

Later that semester, Duke Halden had pulled him out of the academy.

—-

Isolde was quiet when he finished.

She reached for his hand.

”I’m sorry,” she said.

”It was a long time ago.”

”It still hurts.”

He looked at her. She felt sorry for him and that had not been his intention.

”Some things stay with you,” he said. ”But they also make you stronger.”

She squeezed his hand.

He stood.

”I need to go. I need to see Bjorn.”

”Today?”

”Today. The party needs better gear. And I need to see my friend.”

She nodded.

”Be careful.”

”I will.”

He kissed her forehead.

Then he left.

The Next Day.

The forge was in the lower district.

A narrow street lined with workshops and smithies. The smell of coal and hot iron hung in the air. Hammers rang against anvils and sparks flew from open doors.

Emeric led the party through the maze of alleys.

Collin walked beside him, shield strapped to his back. Mira followed, her satchel bouncing against her hip. Maynard was still recovering, but he had insisted on coming. Clarisse brought up the rear, her eyes scanning everything with lazy interest.

They stopped at a door. This looked like the one Bjorn had described. It was a heavy iron door with a small window by the entrance.

It was plain. But the mark on it was no doubt the symbol of Bjorn’s family.

Emeric knocked.

A voice from inside that sounded gruff and irritated responded.

”Who is it?”

”Someone who needs a favor.”

Silence.

Then the door swung open.

Bjorn stood there, scanning his guests.

He was short with a broad, stocky build. His hair was rusted red, cropped close to his skull. His arms were thick—the arms of someone who worked with his hands. His face was round, weathered, smudged with soot.

He looked at Emeric. Then at the party behind him.

”Emeric Halden.” He shook his head. ”You look like shit.”

”Good to see you too.”

Bjorn grunted and stepped aside.

”Get in. And don’t touch anything.”

The forge was small but modest looking.

It was a single room with a massive hearth in the center, coals glowing orange. There was an anvil sat nearby, scarred from years of use.

Tools lined the walls—hammers, tongs, chisels, files. A barrel of water stood in the corner. The air was hot and thick with the smell of metal.

Bjorn crossed to the anvil and picked up a hammer, tossing it from hand to hand.

”So. You need something.”

Emeric nodded. ”My party needs better gear.”

Bjorn looked at the others, His eyes moved over Collin’s cracked shield. Mira’s worn satchel and Maynard’s bow.

”Cheap shit,” he said.

Collin bristled. ”Excuse me?”

”I said cheap shit.” Bjorn set the hammer down. ”Your shield’s about to split. Your healer’s carrying a satchel that’s more patch than leather. And your boy’s bow—” He pointed at Maynard. ”That thing’s a twig.”

Maynard opened his mouth to argue but he quickly closed it.

He was a fire user and he hadn’t been able to use his bow properly for fear that it would snap.

”He’s not wrong,” Mira said quietly.

Emeric stepped forward, preparing to plead their case.

”We almost died in a C-rank rift. Our gear wasn’t good enough and there was a significant skill gap. I want to fix that.”

Bjorn studied him, as if weighing if it was worth it.

”You want me to forge for you.”

”I want you to upgrade what we have. Make it better.”

”Forging may take time but repairs would do for now.”

Bjorn crossed his arms. ”What’s in it for me?”

”You owe me a favor.”

”That was years ago.”

”Friendship doesn’t expire.”

Bjorn stared at him. Then, slowly, he resigned.

”Fine. But I’m not doing it for free.”

”I’ll pay. We all will. Right?” Emeric said, turning to the rest of the party.

”Damn right you will.” Bjorn gestured to the party. ”Show me what you’ve got.”

Within minutes, they laid out their gear on a workbench.