"Urgh… they stink…"
"Look at them—covered in soot!"
"And is that… a human with them?"
The murmurs crept from every direction, carried by the crowd's disgusted whispers.
People stepped aside, clutching their belongings as if afraid the group might taint them just by walking past. Razan could feel their eyes burning into his back, though he kept his head forward.
"Dwarves must not be locals in this world," he muttered under his breath, eyes scanning ahead while his ears caught every sneer and comment.
"Judging by the way they're staring at us, they're either rare… or unwelcome… or an entirely new race that they had never saw before"
"Hah!" Dragkon barked out a booming laugh that earned him even more glares.
"Let 'em scorn! Let 'em whisper and point all they like!"
He slammed the head of his hammer on his shoulder with pride, his deep voice cutting through the street noise.
"In the end, every single one of these soft-handed nobles will crawl to us beggin' for a blade, or a piece of armor forged by a true craftsman!"
Razan smirked faintly at the dwarf's pride before asking,
"Were there humans in your world too?"
Dragkon's expression softened, his tone shifting as his eyes stared somewhere distant—past the city, past the present.
"Aye,"
he muttered after a short pause, the weight in his voice noticeable.
"In Therea, our home world, three great civilizations ruled the lands."
He raised three thick fingers, each one trembling slightly as he spoke.
"The dwarves, who lived beneath the mountains and mastered the forge," he began, his tone calm and steady.
"Then the humans… like you."
He looked briefly at Razan, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips.
"But not like the ones here, lad. Those humans wielded magic and steel both—they were brave, foolishly so at times, but brave nonetheless. Some were heroes, others… monsters born from grief, greed, and darkness."
He paused, tightening his grip on his hammer until his knuckles turned pale beneath his rough skin.
His eyes dimmed, as if staring into a memory that refused to fade.
"And the last… were the Specters."
"Specters?" Razan asked, his voice quieter now.
"Aye…" Dragkon's tone dropped low, nearly a growl.
"Crystalline abominations—born from the corruption of our world's life force. They were the offspring of Dregnor, the ancient beast that nearly consumed all of Therea. A creature of pure malice, lad. Its roar alone could shatter stone, and its blood turned the lands it touched into glass."
Razan felt the air grow heavy around them as Dragkon's words settled in.
The dwarf's eyes flickered with something—anger, loss, or maybe both.
"...Sounds like hell," Razan muttered after a moment.
"Aye," Dragkon replied grimly, lowering his hammer.
"And the fires of that hell… are what made us what we are."
"You think that beast got transferred to this world too?" Razan asked, his tone low and serious.
There was no hint of sarcasm this time—
only genuine curiosity and a quiet sense of concern.
Dragkon's eyes widened for a brief moment before narrowing, his expression hardening like stone.
"You know what I think, lad?" he grumbled, his voice deep and gravelly as the two of them continued walking through the busy streets.
"I think that damned creature's too stubborn to die," Dragkon said, his grip tightening around the handle of his hammer.
"That wretched bastard's as relentless as they come! Even after we pierced its skull clean through with the Lance of Lorderan, it kept movin'! Its heart refused to stop beatin', its flesh refused to rot!"
He spat to the side, the sound sharp against the stone road.
"Wouldn't surprise me one bit if it slithered its way into this new world too."
Then suddenly, his tone changed—lighter, almost teasing.
*snap!
Dragkon snapped his fingers and pointed straight at Razan, a wide grin spreading beneath his beard.
"Thankfully, we've got you, eh? The so-called Great Monster Hunter himself!"
His laughter erupted like thunder, booming across the street and startling a few passersby.
A couple of nearby merchants flinched at the sound, while one muttered under his breath,
"Crazy dwarves…"
Razan exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head at the dwarf's antics.
"Hopefully you're not mistaking me for someone else," he said with a faint smirk, glancing at Dragkon from the corner of his eye.
"Because if your entire plan's depending on me, then you might be in trouble."
"Hah!" Dragkon barked, slapping Razan's arm with enough force to make him stumble a bit.
"If trouble's what it takes to bring that old spark back, then I'll gladly dance with it again!"
Razan chuckled lightly under his breath, and for the first time since arriving in Vrynn, he felt something faint but familiar—like the start of purpose forming in the chaos around him.
Razan, Dragkon, and the rest of the dwarves continued their noisy march through the bustling streets, stopping every now and then to ask a confused local for directions.
Most passersby either ignored them or gave quick, nervous answers before scurrying off—after all, a group of loud small men accompanied by a tall human wasn't exactly a common sight in Vrynn.
After several wrong turns and one short argument about whether they'd already passed the same fountain three times,
they finally stopped in front of a massive structure that dwarfed (no pun intended) everything around it.
"By the forge of Mirin…" one of the dwarves muttered, awe in his voice.
Before them stood a towering castle-like building, its walls made of dark stone that shimmered faintly under the sunlight.
A massive metal gate guarded the entrance, its surface carved with intricate golden dragons locked in an eternal battle.
The air around it was filled with the chatter of hundreds of people—warriors, mages, and adventurers of every race—pouring through the gates into a sprawling courtyard beyond.
"This gotta be the Adventurer's Hall, right?" Razan asked, his eyes sweeping across the scene, from the looming towers to the moving crowd below.
The sight almost reminded him of a busy city square back on Earth, if only everyone there wasn't armed to the teeth.
"Looks like it," Dragkon said, stroking his beard as his eyes gleamed with excitement.
Then, squinting at the crowd, he suddenly pointed ahead.
"Oi, look there! Yer friend, the pretty lass!"
"What?" Razan's head snapped in the direction of Dragkon's finger, eyes scanning through the sea of faces until he saw her—
Haeryn.
She stood out easily, her golden hair catching the sunlight as she clutched a sling bag filled with supplies.
But what caught Razan's attention more was who she was with.
Beside her walked none other than Prince Eredyn, his polished armor glinting faintly, surrounded by his guards and several elven followers.
Their formation was disciplined, precise—like a royal entourage that commanded attention wherever it went.
"Looks like she got herself some knife-ear company," Dragkon said with a snicker, clearly amused.
"Yeah," Razan replied, his expression unreadable as he adjusted the straps of his bags.
"Looks like it."
He exhaled deeply before nodding toward the gate.
"What are we waiting for then? Let's head inside."
Dragkon's grin widened as he turned to his fellow dwarves.
"Ye heard the lad! Time to get ourselves some contracts—and some coin while we're at it!"
"AYE!!!" the dwarves roared in unison, raising their hammers, axes, and mugs (one of them somehow still had ale) into the air.