Facing Master Krag's murderous gaze and Master Iron Chisel's playful expression, Master Molten Flame's barely mustered courage dwindled significantly.
He composed himself, forced a smile, and, while waving to the dwarves below, took the Rune Megaphone from Master Krag's hand.
"Everyone seated—ah, no, standing—must surely know me by now!" Although he tried his best to remain calm, Gromril could still detect the tension in his voice.
"I am Dulingen-Molten Flame, and with everyone's support and trust, I serve as the Vice President of our Guild," Master Molten Flame said a couple of extraneous sentences to buy himself more time to choose his words.
"Personally, I have absolute faith in the experience and judgment of our President Krag and Vice President Iron Chisel!"
Because Master Krag's nickname, Krag the Grim, was not complimentary, in such situations, out of respect for an elder, he was usually referred to by his name.
For dwarves, it was generally impolite to call someone of higher status or an elder by a derogatory nickname to their face. For the deceased, if their nickname was not complimentary, they would also try to refer to him by his name.
"I'm certainly not questioning their judgment! It's just that I see everyone standing here seems very eager to witness the work of our young genius, Prince Thorson, the Mother Goddess's favored one, aren't they?" After Master Molten Flame introduced the crowd as his shield, his courage returned somewhat.
He took a deep breath and continued, "Therefore, I would like to boldly act as a representative and lead everyone in appreciating this Rune. What do you all say, good or not?"
Listening to the thunderous applause from the members below, Master Molten Flame couldn't help but be glad that his literary studies back then were quite good. Seeing that Master Krag didn't stop him, he reached out and took the Rune scroll.
With just one glance, Master Molten Flame knew. This was a genuine Master-level Rune, and he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.
If it had been an ordinary Rune or even a blank piece of paper, he would have had to consider how he would endure the wrath of the two Masters or face the questioning of the members.
He gestured for a disciple to unfurl the scroll for him and held it up to the stage. It was the same inspection process, only this time Master Molten Flame conducted the inspection with one hand and held the megaphone with the other, introducing it to the dwarves below.
Soon the inspection process was over, but the dwarves below were still somewhat unsatisfied. Master Krag curled his lip, "Activate this Rune and show it to them, lest these little dwarf gossip outside!"
Master Molten Flame nodded, and with a flick of his hand, the Rune emitted a brilliant glow, and a giant fireball appeared on the stage.
Once a Dwarf's Rune is inscribed, anyone can activate it, but to actively charge the Rune, one needs to possess both Rune Power and master the unique charging method of that Rune.
Without either, one must wait for the Rune to slowly absorb the free magical winds and complete its charge before it can be used again. We can understand this as either plugging it directly into a power source or relying on solar panels for electricity.
Master Molten Flame's control over energy was much better than Gromril's. He successfully maintained the fireball for a while, allowing every Dwarf to feel the powerful energy contained within.
Afterward, before anyone else could speak, Master Krag waved his hand and directly annihilated the fireball. This incredibly skillful operation gave Gromril a more intuitive understanding of his strength.
After listening to Master Molten Flame's explanation and witnessing the Rune's power firsthand, the dwarves ' whispers turned from doubt to admiration.
At this moment, Master Krag took the megaphone and spoke again:
"I believe everyone has no objection to Gromril-az Thorson's qualification for the assessment. So, without further ado, the assessment will be arranged for today! Gromril is my disciple, and I am the President of the Guild. To avoid anyone accusing me of favoritism," Master Krag paused here, and all the dwarves in the hall held their breath.
"I have decided that the format of the assessment will be direct Rune inscription!"
Before his words had even finished, the hall erupted once more!
"Krag, are you high on warpstone dust!? What nonsense are you spouting!" Master Iron Chisel was the first to roar, not even using honorifics.
"Which Master-level Rune wasn't created by chance?" The old dwarf turned to face the dwarves below: "You are all the backbone of the Guild. Which of you didn't have a defense as your assessment format?"
Before the atmosphere setters below could respond, Master Krag's leisurely voice came from behind him: "I didn't! Back then, I completed my assessment by inscribing a Rune in front of all the Guild members! Do you have any objections, Aurem?"
Master Iron Chisel swallowed, "By Grungni's beard! That's ancient history from over a thousand years ago, how can you still bring it up?!"
"This is a tradition of my lineage, and furthermore, Gromril is my disciple. Is it wrong for me to be strict with him?" Master Krag took the moral high ground.
Just as the two were at an impasse, Master Molten Flame, who had been silent until now, slowly spoke: "Indeed, using direct Rune inscription for assessment hasn't been done for over a thousand years, but the ancestors of the Golden Age certainly had such a tradition."
He paused, "Moreover, mastering a Master-level Rune before the age of one hundred, there hasn't been a second since Thurni!" Although he didn't explicitly state it, he expressed his stance.
These words echoed the sentiments of the dwarves below. Although they didn't understand why Master Krag, as the master, would actively propose increasing the difficulty of the assessment, out of suspicion and jealousy, they generally supported this decision. One must know that many dwarves below, with their white beards, were still only Rune apprentices!
Seeing public opinion contrary to his own, Master Iron Chisel's roar turned into a helpless grumble, while Gromril, hearing this, was ecstatic. He struggled to maintain his expression to avoid laughing, while also having to display a mournful demeanor.
Seeing that everyone had no objection to the format of this assessment, Master Krag continued: "I announce that if Gromril-az Thorson fails the assessment, we will carry out the Finger Severing Ritual on him to punish his Rune forging fraud!"
Within a few short minutes, a third bombshell announcement was dropped in the hall, but this time, not many people sided with Master Krag.
On one hand, it was out of concern for their own future, as no one wanted to face the threat of the Finger Severing Ritual if they failed the assessment, especially since the assessment pass rate had significantly decreased after Master Krag took charge of the Guild.
Considering that Gromril was the son of the current High King, the direct son of the Lord of Karaz-A-Karak, where the Rune Smith Guild was located, and the grand-nephew of Vice President Iron Chisel, no one wanted to push him to a dead end and then suffer the wrath of his Clan elders.
Therefore, led by the people Master Iron Chisel had arranged beforehand to stir up trouble, the dwarves below protested one after another. Seeing the shift in public opinion, Master Molten Flame also spoke up for Gromril, hoping to regain some favor from the High Prince.
Against the opposition of almost everyone, Krag the Grim was forced to make concessions. After a fierce argument, the punishment for failing the assessment was changed to not being allowed to participate in the assessment again for fifty years.
Master Iron Chisel was very dissatisfied with this result, but Gromril didn't care at all, because he knew that with the system in hand, he would never fail.
After the assessment format and the penalties for failure were decided, the guild hall fell silent once more.
"Gromril-az Thorson!" Master Krag's voice pulled Gromril, who had been idly browsing his system, back to reality.
"Do you have any requirements for the assessment venue?"
"A sealed space, impenetrable to prying eyes, is sufficient!" Based on the memories in his mind, Gromril gave the standard answer.
The Rune Smith profession, and indeed the entire Dwarf society, highly valued intellectual property. Unauthorized spying on another's work—a form of stealing skills—would be severely punished by the guild and the Clan. This tradition conveniently created an opportunity for Gromril to use his cheat.
"Since this is a sudden arrangement, you don't have time to prepare materials. This time, the carving materials will be provided by the guild! Your assigned workshop has a secret door that leads directly to the guild's storage, where you can take any raw materials you need.
If the storeroom doesn't have what you need, hmph, then go ask the Ancestor Gods in their temple!" Master Krag grumpily handed a string of keys to Gromril.
"Insert them one by one in order! If you're so stupid you can't even open a door, then go find work with the Greenskins! Ask them if they need a war pig your size…"
Ignoring Master Krag's usual sharp tongue, Gromril took the keys and tucked them into his in my arms. He noticed that each key was engraved with three runes, and these runes seemed subtly connected. This string of keys was, in fact, quite an extraordinary set of treasures!
Since Gromril had a family and Clan, and couldn't escape his Ancestors, the Masters weren't worried that he would retaliate against the guild by directly destroying the precious raw materials.
"Alright, the venue and materials are arranged. Next is to set the assessment time, Gromril. How long do you estimate you'll need to forge the rune? Don't keep us waiting too long!"
Upon hearing this, scenes uncontrollably flashed through Gromril's mind:
Master Krag informs Gromril that he only has seven days to carve the rune. Hearing this, Gromril grins, gives a mighty shout: "Seven days is too long, just a day is enough!" Then, under everyone's gaze, he activates his system and conjures a Master-level rune out of thin air.
Master Krag, seeing this, expresses that while he doesn't understand, he is profoundly shocked, his heart stops, and he returns to the embrace of his Ancestors on the spot. Gromril then seizes the opportunity to inherit his wealth and legendary equipment as a disciple, from then on smashing the Everchosen with his hammer, cleaving the Council of Thirteen with his axe, and ascending to the peak of Dwarf life.
Just as Gromril's fantasy reached the point of him fighting his way north through the Chaos Wastes, returning to Kislev, and having a friendly exchange of governance experience with the Ice Queen and a dozen Frost Maidens, Master Krag's voice unseasonably rang out:
"What are you grinning about! Have you thought it through!? Is seven days enough for you?" Hearing this, Gromril's soul returned to his body, and he quickly licked away the drool from the corner of his mouth.
Considering that his system wasn't one of those versions from his previous life that earned points by showing off and slapping faces, and the possibility of Master Krag dying on the spot was far less than the possibility of himself being hacked to death as a Tzeentch Everchosen, Gromril dismissed the very appealing idea in his mind.
"Seven days? That's more than enough, three days is all I need!" Through the knowledge in his memory, Gromril understood that forging a Master-level rune, if experienced and without mistakes, would take three days. Master Krag's seven days likely still gave him a chance to fail once and start over.
Normally, such a self-destructive decision by Gromril would cause a fierce debate, but today the dwarves below the stage had been numb to one shocking piece of news after another. They didn't know exactly how long it took to carve a Master-level rune, so they merely nodded blankly.
Looking at Gromril's confident expression, Master Krag couldn't tell whether he was truly confident and prepared, or if he had already given up hope and just wanted to struggle a bit before accepting failure.
Master Molten and Master Iron Chisel, however, were once again shocked. Master Molten still couldn't figure out what this master and disciple pair were up to—whether they truly had a conflict or were collaborating on a grand play to lure him in.
Master Iron Chisel, on the other hand, felt regret for Gromril's youthful arrogance and his apparent disregard for the assessment. He didn't know that Gromril only needed a "ding" to complete the assessment, and that three days was merely to avoid wasting precious time while not going against the common sense of his Clansmen.
"Alright, then we shall gather here again in three days to await the results!" Watching Gromril's leisurely walk into the Rune Workshop, Master Krag suddenly felt a surge of emotions.
For the first time in a long while, his nose tingled; perhaps he truly was getting old! His thoughts drifted back over a thousand years.
It was in this very hall that he learned, grew, and experienced joys and sorrows. Back then, he had mentors and friends by his side, but now he was alone. The passage of time and the growth of his power had made him increasingly stubborn. Was he keeping vigil for a golden age that could never be recreated? He didn't know the answer.
The other dwarves in the hall didn't understand what Master Krag was thinking. They noisily left the hall in groups of three or five, though the destination for most of them was not the warm beds in their rooms, but the many taverns scattered throughout the city.
For dwarves who loved drinking and boasting, what they had seen and heard tonight was incredible gossip! If they couldn't add fuel to the fire and relay this sufficiently shocking news to their drinking buddies, if they couldn't see their dumbfounded, beer-choking, coughing embarrassment, these dwarves simply wouldn't be able to sleep!
Reaching out and closing the stone door of the workshop, which was engraved with runes for protection and to prevent prying, Gromril no longer cared how much the sales of all Karaz-A-Karak's taverns would increase today, nor did he ponder how many female compatriots would toss and turn sleeplessly because their husbands hadn't returned all night.
Gromril looked at the room's layout and nodded. This was a standard Dwarf workshop, consisting of two rooms, one large and one small. In the center of the large room was a workbench, connected below to heating pipes. Candles for lighting hung from the ceiling and in the four corners of the room, and various common tools were neatly arranged on the walls.
On the wall directly opposite the door was a keyhole; presumably, opening it would reveal the secret door leading to the storeroom.
The small room contained a simple bed and sanitary facilities for the user to rest. On the bed were three bags, one containing stone bread—the Dwarf staple, made from a certain proportion of wheat flour and stone powder, extremely filling but unpalatable to other races—another with dried meat, and a third with clean water, along with a large barrel of Dwarf beer.
For many dwarves , beer was their lifeblood and source of inspiration, though Gromril himself wasn't particularly fond of it.
After tidying the room and ensuring no one was secretly watching, Gromril lay directly on the bed. Considering that the Masters could determine the rune's forging time by the carving marks, he wasn't in a hurry to create the rune. With becoming a Rune Master now a certainty, he decided to use these three days to make some plans for the future.
Gromril closed his eyes and began to recall his memories of the End Times from his previous life.
As he thought deeper, his expression grew increasingly grim. In the original setting, the Chaos armies were virtually endless. The Chaos Gods' minions were like leeks, cut down only to grow back again, and the Skaven's power expanded exponentially, advancing on multiple fronts and blooming in the center, turning the order-aligned factions upside down.
Meanwhile, the order-aligned factions were not only inherently weaker, but also had a bunch of bizarre individuals operating with scripts that had zero feasibility.
After a brief analysis, he realized he couldn't let the world develop according to its original course, because there were too many variables he couldn't control. With his current abilities, he couldn't deal with the key figures driving the plot.
In the Warhammer World, the ultimate antagonists are the Chaos Gods, among whom the four most important are the Blood God Khorne, the Lord of Change Tzeentch, the Prince of Pleasure Slaanesh, and the Father of Plagues Nurgle.
Before the Old Ones created the world, Chaos—the great enemy of all ordered beings—already existed. What is called Chaos is the energy world, Aethyr, also known as the Warp.
This world has no area, no height, and no volume. The only thing that exists in this world is energy; energy is everything in this world. The laws of the real universe can hardly be applied to the rules of that world.
The Warp's energy comes from the material world, and the Warp's energy can also interfere with the material world, which has a certain dialectical meaning.
Creatures in the Warhammer material world provide energy to the Warp through various emotions, and the Warp interferes with the material world in the form of Winds of Magic.
Originally, everything was calm, but four types of energy became too powerful, leading to distortions and the creation of four twisted wills. These four twisted wills are the Chaos Gods.
Their power comes from these emotions, and because mortals in the material world can never control their emotions, the Chaos Gods' power is endless.
The reasons they haven't yet dominated the entire universe, besides the unyielding resistance from the order-aligned factions, include the never-ending bloody infighting among the Chaos Gods themselves. Khorne, who champions war and bloodshed, despises Slaanesh's hedonism, while the cunning and fickle Tzeentch is always thwarted by Nurgle, the embodiment of decay and corruption.
Beyond the Chaos Gods, The Great Horned Rat, the most powerful lesser Chaos God in Warhammer Fantasy, and the exclusive deity of the Skaven, must also be mentioned.
Some say The Great Horned Rat created the Skaven, while others believe that the collective consciousness of the Skaven projected into the Warp to form The Great Horned Rat. Although its origin is still debated, it is known to embody the worst aspects of the four Chaos Gods mentioned earlier.
It's important to know that emotions, as a contradiction, follow the dialectical law of unity of opposites. Thus, while Khorne is the god of war and slaughter, he also governs honor and loyalty. Tzeentch represents betrayal and cunning schemes, but is also the god of hope and wisdom. Nurgle is both the god of decay and plague, and also presides over rebirth and compassion. Slaanesh, despite being fallen and debauched, also represents love and pleasure.
However, The Great Horned Rat is the god of murder, betrayal, decay, and all negative atrocities. Unlike the Chaos Gods, he has no good side; he is a thoroughly rotten god.
Well, like all villains, the Chaos Gods, for some unknown reason, all want to destroy this world, but due to their mutual checks and balances, they are all tied up and unable to personally carry out the destruction, relying instead on their subordinates.
Their direct forces, in addition to various low, mid, and high-ranking demons, also include Greater Daemons and Daemon Princes as commanders.
Daemon Princes are transformed from mortal followers of the Chaos Gods through an ascension ritual. Becoming a Daemon Prince is the highest honor for a Chaos worshipper; they are powerful and long-lived.
Greater Daemons are the true direct subordinates of the Chaos Gods. They generally possess the distinct characteristics of their respective gods. Greater Daemons of different Chaos Gods have different names: Khorne's Greater Daemons are called Bloodthirsters, Tzeentch's Greater Daemons are called Lords of Change, Nurgle's Greater Daemons are called Great Unclean Ones, and Slaanesh's Greater Daemons are called Great Unclean Ones. Oh, and The Great Horned Rat also has his own Skaven Greater Daemon – the Withered Lord.
Unfortunately, although these fellows are powerful, their strength is weakened by their internal strife and by their journey from the Warp to the main material plane, so they are not yet enough to destroy this world.
To solve this problem, the Chaos Gods decided to jointly create a sufficiently powerful overall leader, who would be known as the Everchosen.
Facing such powerful adversaries, Gromril couldn't help but feel a little lost. Compared to the immense power of the Chaos Gods, the strength of the Ancestor Goddess Valaya, who brought him to this world, was merely like a firefly vying with the bright moon.
But he was no longer the original High Prince. The knowledge from his previous life had given him a new worldview and methodology, and the thoughts of that great man he learned in university pointed him in the right direction.
First, Gromril clarified his diplomatic agenda: unite all forces that can be united, exploit all contradictions that can be utilized, form the broadest possible united front, and isolate and strike the main enemy to the greatest extent possible.
In practical terms, this means striving to resolve the internal and external troubles of traditional order-aligned allies such as the Lizardmen, Bretonnia, and the Imperium of Man, uniting their strength, while also trying to win over neutral forces like the Tomb Kings and Ogres, and even factions of Greenskins and Dark Elves.
On one hand, fight against their negative aspects, and on the other, offer them certain benefits. This approach can minimize enemies, leaving only the Chaos races and their most loyal lackeys.
Strategically, he also decided to implement the great man's thinking: first, to make annihilating the enemy's living forces the primary objective of operations, not to prioritize holding or capturing cities and territories. The capture or holding of cities and territories is the result of annihilating large numbers of the enemy's living forces (here, a certain Beyle is called out).
To annihilate the enemy's living forces, the principle of concentrating superior forces and annihilating the enemy one by one must be upheld. Strive for battles of annihilation, and in special circumstances, methods of inflicting annihilating blows on the enemy can also be adopted;
Avoid attritional warfare where gains do not justify losses, or where gains and losses are equal – considering the low birth rate and smaller population base of dwarves as long-lived species, a war of attrition against the leek-like Chaos forces is clearly not advisable.
To achieve battles of annihilation, one must carefully select the direction of attack and the target for assault and annihilation, first striking scattered and isolated enemies, then concentrated and powerful ones. In each battle, concentrate superior forces, encircle the enemy from all sides, strive for complete annihilation, and allow no escape.
Every player has likely experienced winning a battle only for the enemy lord to escape, only to return shortly with a new army, leaving their own forces exhausted and unable to expand.
True principles apply in all situations. After adapting the great man's philosophy to Warhammer, Gromril felt as if he had found a guiding light in the darkness.
He stretched and stood up, ready to go to the storage room to get some raw materials, and then tinker in the forge. Even if he was going to cheat, he had to set up a decent scene!
Taking out the key ring and walking to the secret door, Gromril fell into contemplation as he faced the keyhole.
He held five keys, all forged from meteorite iron. Each key handle was engraved with the likenesses of Father God Grungni, God of War Grimnir, Mother Goddess Valaya, Rune Smith God Thurni, and an anvil of doom.
The images of the Ancestor Gods were in the standard Dwarf style, depicted with wide, roaring eyes. It was not surprising that the anvil of doom, as the most representative artifact of the Rune Smiths, appeared on the key to the Rune Smith Guild's vault.
But in what order should these five keys be inserted? Gromril believed the answer lay in the historical knowledge he had learned in his youth.
In Dwarf society, every new life was delivered by priestesses in the temple of Mother Goddess Valaya. These children would be raised by the priests in the temple for three years before being returned to their families.
Valaya's priestesses were all Dwarf females, primarily composed of elderly and young women. Many grandmothers, who had lost their fertility but were rich in childcare experience, would join the ranks of the temple priestesses, contributing to the upbringing of the new generation. At the same time, most unmarried young Dwarf women would also come to the temple to learn how to become qualified mothers, gaining experience for raising their own children in the future.
This was due to the extremely low Dwarf birthrate; every new member was the stronghold's most precious asset. Therefore, it was crucial to ensure that infants received the best and most professional care during the most vulnerable stage of their lives.
After being sent back to their Clans, children enjoyed a few years of carefree happiness. Soon, when they turned ten, they would be sent to schools run by the Clan or Mountain Stronghold to acquire knowledge.
Larger, more powerful Clans had the resources to establish their own private schools, while children from smaller Clans would receive instruction in schools funded by the stronghold lord. Due to the small population, improving the average quality of life became a critical issue.
The knowledge they needed to learn included, but was not limited to, Dwarven, Common Tongue, arithmetic, and the foundation of the Dwarf race—mining knowledge.
As a member of the Drazklad Clan, which traced its lineage back to the era of the Ancestor Gods, Gromril also needed to study history.
For the tradition-focused dwarves , being able to recount the glorious deeds of their most revered ancestors, to remember the pain suffered by their Clan and the entire Dwarf race, and to loudly declare a specific grudge settled upon killing an enemy, were all essential for becoming a qualified leader.
After completing their studies in school, Dwarf children would enter the local Miners' Guild to receive training. After mastering theoretical knowledge, a ten-year practical mining experience awaited them.
For the Dwarf race, who lived year-round in underground strongholds, even if they did not ultimately become Miners, they still needed to learn how to live underground and how to face and avoid potential risks.
It is important to know that dangers are everywhere in the underground world. These could be natural occurrences like cave-ins or water breaches, or the sudden appearance of Goblins or Skaven in tunnels. Without relevant experience, even the strongest warrior could be inadvertently swallowed up.
Legend has it that in the Imperium of Man, there was a famous adventurer known as the Goblin Slayer. He was renowned for his extensive underground combat experience and had resolved many subterranean threats that had caused the Imperial Knightly Orders and Colleges of Magic to suffer heavy losses.
After completing their mining practice, Dwarf youths, around thirty years old, would enter a guild to begin their apprenticeship.
Which guild they entered depended on the abilities and talents they had displayed in their previous life, while their Clan's traditions and strength were also important influencing factors.
Some extremely conservative Clans did not allow their members to join emerging guilds like the Engineers' Guild or the Gunnery Guild. Conversely, some Clans would send Clansmen with less prominent talents to specific guilds for the sake of certain traditions.
While the choice was related to displayed talents, generally, stronger Clans tended to have talented Clansmen join professional guilds with longer apprenticeships but higher status upon graduation, such as the Rune Smith Guild or the Scholars' Guild. Members of weaker Clans, however, more often chose to enter organizations with easier graduation and lower thresholds, such as the Miners' Guild or the Warriors' Guild, to join the workforce as quickly as possible.
His thoughts returned to the keys and the keyhole before him. Gromril deduced that these keys should be arranged in the chronological order of the images carved on their handles.
First, it could be confirmed that the fifth key was the anvil of doom. Thurni, who was both a lesser god and the producer of the anvil of doom, should be inserted fourth.
But how should the three Ancestor Gods be ordered? According to the tradition of the Dwarf pantheon, it should be Grungni, Grimnir, and then Valaya. However, Gromril knew it wasn't that simple. Recalling the memories in his mind, he remembered the story of when the Rune Magic system was first created.
In the era of the Ancestor Gods, Thurni was born. He was the son Valaya bore for Father God Grungni. As he grew into adulthood, he found that compared to his brothers, he was not as physically strong and felt powerless when facing the Chaos armies.
Thurni sought help from his parents for this. Valaya taught him a set of runes that could control the Winds of Magic, but he found that these runes required writing with a liquid containing sufficiently powerful energy to unleash satisfactory power. For this, Thurni again sought help from Grimnir, the strongest and most warlike Dwarf.
Grimnir decided to help him. This powerful Dwarf god, along with his son Mogrim, slew the first dragon in this world—Drakhyrion. After an epic bloody battle with this four-legged, two-winged beast, Grimnir handed Thurni a dragon-hide pouch filled with dragon blood. Relying on the powerful energy within the dragon blood, Thurni perfected and developed Rune Magic and ascended to the ranks of the Ancestor Gods. This pouch, once filled with dragon blood, also became a treasure.
Following the content of this epic, Gromril decided to place Valaya first, Grimnir second, and Grungni last among the three gods. After inserting the five keys in order, the runes on the door glowed with a yellow light, and the secret door silently opened before Gromril.
Entering the door, although mentally prepared, Gromril was still astonished by the sight before him. The storeroom was not large, about ten meters in length and width. Rows of shelves were filled with materials for forging runes, or more precisely, all kinds of raw materials needed to forge Master-level runes. By the light emitted from the rune illuminators embedded in the ceiling, Gromril began to explore the guild's treasures.
The raw materials were mainly divided into three categories:
Ore materials started with meteorite iron, and various rare ores, which were almost impossible to find outside, were casually placed here like ordinary stones.
Liquid materials were contained in numerous leather pouches, each engraved with preservation runes. The lowest quality among them was the fresh blood of mutant monsters like Ice Trolls and Stone Trolls, while dragon blood of various colors and condensed essences of elemental creatures were also readily available.
The third category, the carriers for runes, mainly included various magic creature hides that had been tanned and scrolls made from their skins. The inherent magical energy of these materials could help keep the runes inscribed on them active.
Based on the usual combinations in his memory, Gromril took enough raw materials. He also took some extra items for misdirection. Just as he was exiting the storeroom and preparing to close the door, his vision went black...
After a dizzying spin, Gromril found himself in a bizarre corridor, seemingly made of crystal, yet constantly shifting in color.
Hearing the seemingly omnipresent cackling laughter, and recalling his past life's memories, he knew he was likely in Tzeentch's Labyrinth, the abode of the most dangerous and terrifying of the Chaos Gods.
This labyrinth was terrifying:
Its illusory passages alone were enough to block intruders not controlled by the most powerful minds. Its gleaming corridors reflected not only light but also hope, pain, beautiful dreams, and nightmares. The Crystal Labyrinth did not merely reflect; it distorted and fragmented the intruder's goals and ambitions, transforming them into madness and despair.
Controlled by Tzeentch's unconscious machinations, the Crystal Labyrinth constantly shifted and reformed; every twist, turn, and dead-end was a momentary whim of the Lord of Fate. Those lost within the labyrinth would be forever lost, their minds shaken by the repetition of their own failures, their dreams shattered.
However, the labyrinth around Gromril seemed less powerful than legend described. Gromril not only understood the nature of this labyrinth but also possessed the dialectical materialism brought from his past life. The kaleidoscopic images flashing before his eyes and the endless whispers in his ears could distract him, but they could not shake the foundation of his thoughts.
Gromril quickly calmed down. After a brief analysis, he confirmed that this was not the true Tzeentch's Labyrinth deep within the Warp, but rather a projection within his own consciousness. With the power of the Great Vortex still undiminished, even the Chaos Gods could not directly pull him from a heavily runic and magically protected chamber into the realm of Chaos!
If their power truly reached that level, Gromril felt it would be better to give up struggling and just surrender to Chaos, at least then he could get a warm meal of dung.
Gromril knew about the Great Vortex; in his previous life's game, a map revolved around it. It was designed by the great High Elves mage "Dragon Tamer" Caledor and finally completed with the help of the Slann Mage-Priest.
During the first Chaos invasion, because daemons could be reborn in the Warp after being killed, the armies of Chaos were virtually infinite.
To solve this problem, Caledor decided to build the Great Vortex to siphon off the Winds of Magic that daemons relied on to manifest in the material world, and then channel them back into the Warp through the Chaos portals located at the world's two poles.
Caledor sacrificed his precious life to complete the Great Vortex, and the Great Vortex, true to expectations, protected the mortal world for thousands of years thereafter.
Due to the lack of the Winds of Magic as a medium, the Chaos Gods found it difficult to directly interfere with the mortal world. The power required to deploy Chaos daemon armies significantly increased, and even then, daemons manifesting in the mortal world would have their power greatly weakened due to the lack of the Winds of Magic.
Without the help of the Great Vortex, mortals would be almost powerless against Greater Daemons. It was precisely because of the difficulty in deploying Chaos daemon armies, and the weakening of their power when deployed, that the Chaos Gods chose to spread their faith, corrupting the natives of this world to serve as their pawns.
Having figured this out, Gromril looked at the labyrinth before him with a cold smile. Suddenly, a mischievous thought came to mind.
Mimicking a certain powerful being from his previous life with followers across the world, he took seven steps in each cardinal direction, pointed one hand to the sky and the other to the earth, and loudly proclaimed, "Throughout Heaven and Earth, I alone am the honored one."
The labyrinth shattered in response, but Gromril found that he had not returned to the real world but instead appeared before a bizarre castle.
"It's Tzeentch, after all, it wouldn't be that simple!" he muttered to himself while surveying the castle.
Pink and blue flames from the fortress's core twisted and spewed from its interlocking spires and towers. These existed for only a heartbeat, then flickered and vanished, replaced by an even more insane structure.
Gates, windows, and inviting archways yawned open like hungry mouths, only to suddenly snap shut the next moment, blocking all entrances.
Understanding that all of this was an illusion, Gromril was not afraid. He walked straight through the burning Tzeentchian daemonfire, a smile on his face, and strode into a twisted doorway.
Inside the castle, Gromril felt the magic of the Warp; the material concepts of space and time did not exist here. One might wander for weeks in a thimble-sized room, or traverse a journey that would normally take hours in a single step.
Gravity alternated and shifted, sometimes disappearing entirely. Every light in the spectrum, combined with unknown shadows of the universe, danced across the walls.
For mortals, this shifting fortress was an utterly unbearable existence. Obsessed with their physical explanations, people were driven to madness. But with his knowledge of quantum mechanics from his previous life, though not fully understanding it, Gromril successfully accepted these grotesqueries.
As he walked deeper into the castle, Gromril observed the bizarre sights along the way, impossible to see in the material plane.
For a moment, Gromril felt as if he had returned to his first airplane ride in his previous life. At that time, watching the buildings on the ground shrink, feeling the ear discomfort caused by pressure changes during ascent, and the magnificent beauty of the sunset on the clouds, all filled him with novelty.
After passing through several doors, Gromril finally saw a colossal figure seated before a faintly glowing well.
The figure's appearance constantly shifted before Gromril, sometimes a colorful daemon with a bird's beak and wings, sometimes a blue giant with a head on its chest and two snakes coiling behind its back.
As if to demonstrate his great power to the newcomer, he waited a moment before lifting his head from the well before him.
"Hah, Changer of Ways, you arrived sooner than I foresaw! Are you so eager to join the ranks of the Great Lord of Change?"
After a silent stare-down, he spoke first: "Ho ho, a Dwarf this time, eh? It seems those weak native gods of your world have finally gotten a bit smarter."
The dwarves were the third race created by the Old Ones after they arrived in this world. They first created the Lizardmen—who thus called themselves the Firstborn of the Old Ones—to serve as assistants in shaping the world.
Next, the Old Ones created the Elves, granting them long lifespans and the talent for using magic. However, because the Chaos Gods could interfere with the world through the Winds of Magic, the Elves were easily corrupted. Intelligent and capricious, they quickly formed factions under Chaos's influence and fell into civil war.
To remedy this flaw, the Old Ones then created the dwarves .
They stripped the dwarves of their spellcasting ability while granting them high magical resistance. They also endowed them with stubborn, conservative, loyal, and honor-bound personalities. These traits made the dwarves resistant to Chaos corruption, but also caused them to be rigid and slow to develop.
Looking at the Evil God before him and listening to the demonic sound that seemed to pour directly into his mind, Gromril recalled a widely circulated saying from a great man: "Strategically despise the enemy, but tactically take them seriously!"
Yes, although the power of the Chaos Gods was immense, the Tzeentch before him was merely an illusion reflected in his mind. If he was afraid of even this, how could he talk about facing Its true form in the Chaos Realm?
In that case, the slogans of reclaiming the lost Mountain Stronghold, recovering the lost artifacts, and restoring the glory of the Mountains Kingdom would surely become empty words.
"Hmph!" Gromril snorted, a puff of air escaping his nose. He looked up at the Demon God:
"Tzeentch, I'll tell you the truth: you might be able to take my life, but make me submit to you? Dream on!"
Gromril roared, pouring out all the negative emotions he had accumulated since his rebirth.
"Ha Ha Ha…" Tzeentch's laughter echoed through the fortress.
"Every mortal who comes here says the same thing at first. Some overconfident fools shout even louder than you, but well, ga ga ga, let me show you something interesting."
Saying this, Tzeentch pointed a finger, and a magic mirror appeared between It and Gromril. "Watch closely. Their present is your future. Thank the omniscient and omnipotent Holy Tzeentch for the divine grace bestowed upon you!"
Gromril looked at the magic mirror. First to appear was an Elf, or to be precise, a creature that could barely be recognized as having once been an Elf. Extensive Chaos mutations had made it almost unrecognizable.
He had a pair of asymmetrical horns on his head, and a third hand with vicious claws grew from the right side of his body. His legs had additional joints, allowing him to firmly fix himself to an equally deformed war machine.
From the surrounding environment, he was in the battlefield of the Chaos Gods, surrounded by a large number of Tzeentch Daemons, while opposite them was a lush green ocean, presumably Nurgle's daemon army.
At the same time, Tzeentch's voice, at times sharp and at times hoarse, rang out: "This fellow, he was once a variable created by that stinky chicken who burned off all his feathers. Now, he's even willing to bathe in Nurgle's garden for Me!
Haha, in this mortal realm where you cling to life, only that stinky chicken and a dead toad are somewhat interesting. But alas, before My infinite wisdom, they are merely clowns!"
Gromril roughly knew that the 'dead toad' Tzeentch referred to was Venerable Kroq-Gar—the strongest of the first Slann Mage-Priests created by the Old Ones. His power was so immense that he could alter the orbits of planets and shift continental plates, among other things.
During the first Chaos Incursion, Master Kroq-Gar sacrificed his life to hold back most of the Chaos daemon army, creating an opportunity for Caledor the Dragon Tamer to create the Great Vortex. Even after his death, his soul still resided in his mummy, allowing him to continue casting spells to destroy the enemies of the entire world.
Just as Gromril was wondering which great being the 'stinky chicken' referred to and whether he could try to contact and ally with it, the scene in the magic mirror changed.
This time, at the center appeared an unnamable, terrifying creature, like a moving blob of flesh composed of tentacles and eyes. From his memories of his previous life, Gromril knew this was a Chaos Spawn – a mutated creature twisted by the corrupting influence of magic and Chaos.
However, this monster was different from the group around it; it was larger, had many twisted claws, and constantly spewed blue Tzeentchian daemonfire from all over its body. Gromril guessed this one had probably received Tzeentch's blessing.
As if guessing Gromril's thoughts, Tzeentch's voice rang out at the opportune moment: "Lovely, isn't it? This is My most satisfying creation! Before bathing in My divine grace, this was once the headmaster of the Imperial College of Magic, the most powerful human wizard of his time!"
The Changer of Ways paused, seemingly waiting for Gromril to gasp in surprise or show a look of fear, but Gromril did not give It that satisfaction.
"One who has thunder in their breast but a calm face can be a great general," Gromril deeply understood this principle.
"When he was fortunate enough to witness My supreme power, to receive My boon, he did not hesitate to sacrifice the entire Celestial College, attempting to become one of My princes! But the great Holy Tzeentch never disappoints the most loyal of followers; I gave it a unique blessing. Look at it now: it doesn't need to think, has no worries—how happy it is!"
Yes, Tzeentch was such an Evil God; Its greatest pleasure was to savor the despair of mortals when their plans went awry, and even Its most loyal followers were no exception.
As the magic mirror before him glowed eerily once more, about to switch scenes again, Gromril made a halting gesture with his hand. Gromril, who had not uttered a word since entering, apart from his initial refusal, slowly began to speak:
"I say, what do you hope to gain by showing me these disgusting things? My dinner was a bit greasy, and now I'm nauseous! Could it be that you actually don't want me to directly turn to Chaos because I already know the outcome?"
Seeing the fleeting look of surprise on Tzeentch's constantly shifting grotesque face, Gromril knew he had guessed correctly.
"Let me guess further! For this world, the End Times are already set. If I can change it, perhaps it could bring you even greater joy? Change and no change are a pair of opposing yet unified relationships. Sacrificing a small change for a big change must be good for you, right?" At this point, Gromril even made a pun.
"Ha Ha Ha!" Tzeentch let out another strange laugh. "What a sharp-tongued mortal! It seems you might truly bring Me more amusement. When that happens, I will not be stingy in bestowing divine grace! A Dwarf Daemon Prince, that sounds interesting, ga ga ga, maybe that hermaphrodite will like your cute little thing!"
Tzeentch waved a hand, dispelling the magic mirror. "Whether it can change or not depends on your fortune, mortal! Just don't end up in Nurgle's garbage dump before I can reap more joy!"
Accompanied by Tzeentch's cackling laughter, Gromril's consciousness once again felt his body. Standing up and stretching his limbs, he suddenly felt extremely hungry.
"Strange, didn't I eat half a roasted rock ram for dinner?" Gromril mumbled as he looked around. Suddenly, he noticed that five candles on the wall had burned down, and the sixth was almost at its end.
Dwarves used marked candles for timekeeping; generally, each candle could burn for twelve hours. If a longer period needed to be recorded, the end of the wick of the previous candle could be connected to the head of the next, automatically lighting the next one after the first burned out. This forge had such a design.
The concept of time was distorted in the consciousness world; the three-day deadline was almost up!
Gromril didn't have time to think much. After chugging a large gulp of water to moisten his dry throat, he immediately began setting up the scene. He lit the forge fire, turning the heat to maximum, then dumped all the raw materials he had taken into it for smelting.
Just as he was putting the molten materials into water to cool, the candle burned out, and a knock sounded at the door.
Gromril quickly poured the molten raw material directly into the drain. In his haste, he knocked over tools placed by the forging table, which then toppled other bottles and jars around them, triggering a domino effect.
A series of thudding sounds echoed through the workshop. The knocker at the door heard the commotion inside, and his knocking became more urgent.
Gromril let out an exaggerated, wild laugh to try and reassure the person, while simultaneously pulling up the system and opening the Rune Forging interface for the beginner's welfare. Due to the time crunch, Gromril scrolled down to the bottom of the character runes and clicked 'Forge' without looking closely.
With a 'Ding!' a glowing rune appeared out of thin air. Gromril grabbed a pre-prepared rune scroll, affixed it, and rushed to open the door.
"Ah!" Gromril yanked open the workshop door with a bang. Because he rushed too fast, he collided head-on with the knocker at the door.
It took him two seconds to adjust to the brightly lit Guild Hall, and he realized the person he had crashed into was Master Iron Chisel, the Guild's Vice-Chairman.
"How is it, Gromril, did you succeed?" Master Iron Chisel asked anxiously without even standing up. "It sounded like an explosion inside, I was so worried I almost pulled out all my beard!"
"Don't worry, I am a member of the Drazklad Clan, and the Ancestor Gods are watching over me!" Gromril said, helping the elderly uncle to his feet.
"Look, isn't the rune right here!" With that, Gromril picked up the rune scroll that had fallen to the ground during the collision.
The scroll unrolled as it tumbled, revealing a corner of the rune. Looking closely at the hall's lights, Gromril realized this rune's appearance was different from the original Master-level Flight Rune. That one was a yellow W-shaped rune; this one was directly red.
"A mistake in haste!" Gromril thought to himself, but he did not show his thoughts. Instead, he maintained the joyful expression of someone who had successfully completed a rune while secretly pondering a solution.
Holding the rune scroll high in one hand and waving to the dwarves gathering in the hall with the other, Gromril saw the crowd in front of him automatically part, creating a path to the platform beneath the dragon-head-shaped spout.
Gromril walked the short distance of several tens of meters unhurriedly, but by the time he reached the platform, he was confident. On the platform stood Master Krag the Grim and Master Dulingen-Molten. Seeing the joy on Gromril's face, the two Masters had differing expressions.
Krag still looked cynical, while Master Molten forced a smile. As Master Iron Chisel took his place, the three Masters stood in a row, with Krag in the center and Iron Chisel on the right.
Following the procedure from his memory, Gromril walked to face the three Masters, held the rune scroll with both hands, bowed deeply, and spoke:
"Thanks to Thurni's blessing, I, Gromril-az Thorson, a member of the Drazklad Clan descended from Father God Grungni, have completed this Master-level rune. I ask the three Masters to inspect it and all Guild members to bear witness!"
With that, he handed the scroll to Master Krag. Krag took the scroll and unrolled it. The other two Masters also leaned in. Seeing the glowing red rune, the three Masters were momentarily stunned!
At the same time, Gromril turned to face the dwarves watching from below the platform. This time, there were many more people than the members hastily gathered three days ago. Besides some Guild members who were absent last time, many dwarves had come to watch the excitement. From their attire, Gromril judged that quite a few females had also come, after all, a Rune Master under a hundred years old had not appeared even in the time of the Ancestor Gods!
As his gaze shifted, Gromril suddenly saw his father. Because he wasn't wearing the highly recognizable Karaz Dragon King's Crown, Gromril didn't recognize Thorgrim at first glance.
This crown was adorned with a statue of a dragon with spread wings. This was because the Silver Road, where Karaz-A-Karak is located, was originally the territory of dragons. It was only after the Ancestors fought bloody battles and expelled the dragons that today's Fortress came to be.
Inscribing the dragon on the crown served as a reminder to every wearer not to forget the hardships of the Ancestors' founding and to always maintain a sense of crisis. Since the completion of Karaz-A-Karak, the Dragon Crown has been worn by successive High Kings.
Gromril knew that his father not wearing the High King's Crown meant he was not here as the High King of the Mountain Stronghold. He was currently just the father of the assessed, Gromril-az Thorson.
Their eyes met, and Thorgrim waved to Gromril. For a moment, Gromril's eyes welled up. He knew how heavy the burden on Thorgrim was. "The Grudge Bearer"—what a nickname that was. Just then, Master Krag's voice rang out.
"This is indeed a newly inscribed Master-level rune, and the forging workshop has been guarded by our three Anvil Guards and the city guard, ensuring no one entered or left. However, before we call you Master Gromril, could you answer a question for us three old fellows?"
Gromril turned around, beaming: "Please ask! As long as it doesn't involve my personal academic secrets."
"Why is this rune not the same one you submitted three days ago?" Before Gromril could answer, Master Molten also interjected, "And what does this rune do? None of us three, including Master Krag, have ever seen it!"
"By Grungni's beard!"
"Oh, the unquenchable forge!"
"There's actually a Rune Master Krag hasn't seen!"
"Heavens, how old is he! The Ancestor Goddess hasn't abandoned us yet!"
One stone stirred a thousand ripples! The dwarves below the platform let out exclamations filled with various emotions. Some were simply astonished, some were genuinely happy for Gromril, and some long-bearded dwarves with foresight saw it as a sign of the Ancestor Gods' return. Of course, some dwarves also felt jealous.
"This is a Master-level Throwing Rune, which can increase the damage caused by thrown weapons and also return them to the owner's hand." Looking at the rune's annotation in the system, Gromril first answered the second question.
"In the time of the Ancestors, this rune was used to create surprises for our enemies, but in the years of calamity, it was lost with the fall of many Mountain Strongholds that held it. Can the Ancestor Goddess not teach me two methods of rune inscription at once?"
Gromril paused, "I don't like doing repetitive work, and I enjoy challenging myself to unleash my potential. Therefore, I chose to inscribe a different rune from last time. Any other questions, Master Krag?"
Master Krag nodded. This was the only explanation he could think of that made sense.
"Sure enough, in this world, if you can't explain something, blame it on the gods. That's the best approach!" Gromril thought to himself.
Then Master Iron Chisel spoke: "The three of us have unanimously confirmed the authenticity of the rune. If anyone has an objection, state it now; it will not be accepted later!" After looking around and confirming no one spoke up, Master Iron Chisel took out an emblem and handed it to Master Krag.
"By the Ancestor Gods above! I declare Gromril-az Thorson has passed the assessment and officially become a member of the Rune Masters!" Master Krag expressionlessly pinned the emblem to Gromril's chest, then directly walked off the platform and returned to his own forging workshop.
The guild members present were already accustomed to Krag the Grim's behavior, and the other onlookers had also heard about the eccentric temper of this oldest and most stubborn Rune Master.
Ignoring his departure, the dwarves began to celebrate the addition of a powerful Rune Master. Thorgrim Grudgebearer jumped onto the high platform and snatched the runic microphone from Master Iron Chisel's hand.
"I, Thorgrim, the Clan Chief of the Drazklad Clan, and also Master Gromril's father!" The High King's face was filled with a rare smile:
"I announce that every tavern under our Clan will provide free ale to everyone tonight! Let us celebrate my son together!" His generosity pushed the cheers to a new climax.
At this moment, Gromril's attention was deeply drawn to the voice prompt in his mind: "Host has completed the professional level promotion and passed the novice period. The system is about to start upgrading, and welfare functions are closed. New functions will be unlocked after the upgrade is complete, please look forward to it!"
He was passively led by the surrounding dwarves to the largest tavern in the city, and then, in a sea of free ale, he lost consciousness.
When Gromril woke up the next day at noon, feeling a splitting headache from the hangover, he couldn't help but laugh as he touched the runic insignia carved on his chest!
He had taken an important step after his transmigration. From today onwards, he would be qualified to build his own power and contend with many powerful factions across the entire continent and even the Warp.
Hearing his laughter, Balin walked in with a glass of water. "Drink some water, cousin, uh, no, esteemed Master Gromril!" Balin was also very happy, as a personal advisor, his status also rose with Gromril's.
"Ancestor Gods above! You don't know how scared I was when I woke up and found you gone and the door directly turned into powder! If anything had happened to you, I would have had to become a Slayer!"
For dwarves who value honor, when they feel they have suffered a great disgrace, or have broken a promise, or have encountered tragedy or failure, they choose to take the Slayer Oath.
These dwarves shave off the excess hair from their bodies and heads, leaving only a tuft of hair, and dye their hair and beards orange, then cover their dishonorable bodies with blue tattoos.
Thereafter, they leave their homes to seek a glorious death—especially preferring to single-handedly challenge giant beasts or armies. For a retainer like Balin, failing to protect his master would clearly be something that would lead him to do so.
As a young Dwarf, Balin did not like to dwell on memories like a Longbeard Elder. Soon, his thoughts changed topics.
"Cousin, I hear people outside calling you the Chosen of the Goddess," Gromril spluttered a mouthful of water upon hearing this overly dramatic title, but Balin continued on his own,
"You must have really seen the Ancestor Goddess, right? What does she look like? Among the descriptions of the three main gods' appearances in books, hers is the most varied. Is she beautiful? Is she as beautiful as Princess Nina, the Jewel of Karaz-A-Karak, your second elder sister?"
Just as Gromril, battling a post-hangover headache, was struggling to deal with the infatuated Balin, a knock sounded at the door. "Is Master Gromril awake?" Balin, not forgetting his duties, ran to open the door.
Three burly dwarves with white beards reaching past their bellies walked in. From their highly recognizable equipment—a two-handed long-handled warhammer forged from meteorite iron, glowing with runic light—Gromril identified them as Hammerers, another elite troop type of the Dwarf Clans.
They are usually the personal guard of Dwarf Lords, and their members are the most loyal and powerful warriors personally selected by the Lord. Every member has proven himself in countless battles.
Hammerers hold a high position in Dwarf strongholds. When the Lord goes on campaign, they surround him, wielding heavy hammers capable of shattering enemy shields and armor, carving a bloody path for him; when they have no protection duties, they guard key parts of the fortress such as the throne room, main gate, or treasury.
The leading Dwarf bowed and spoke: "Good afternoon, Master Gromril! May the Ancestor Goddess bless you! My name is Grenson, and I am a squad leader of the Eternal Hammer."
"Eternal Hammer!" Both Gromril and Balin were shocked to hear this name. In Dwarf society, normal troops are referred to directly by their troop type name. Only elite troops with a long history and numerous battle achievements have their own unique names, such as Dragonback Slayers (Dwarf Warriors) and Iron Drake Guard (Iron Drake Handcannon troops).
The Eternal Hammer is the name of the High King's personal guard. The formation of this unit has existed since the day Karaz-A-Karak was built, which is also the origin of their name.
The members of the Eternal Hammer are consistently around one hundred. Although their numbers are not large, their strength is exceptionally powerful.
Becoming a member of the Eternal Hammer and fighting alongside the High King is the highest honor for every Dwarf warrior.
Only when a Dwarf is exceptionally strong in his Clan is he qualified to come to Karaz-A-Karak, and after passing through layers of selection, gain the opportunity to join the Eternal Hammer. Their equipment is also better than that of normal Iron Hammer Guard units.
Throughout Dwarf history, countless deeply ingrained grudges have been settled when the Eternal Hammer, accompanying the High King, charged into battle. At the same time, it was often thanks to the selfless and desperate rearguard action of this unit that the Dwarf army was able to retreat intact from a disastrous defeat.
With respect for this iron army, Gromril stood up and returned the bow, hand on his chest. "Respected Longbeard, what brings you here?"
"His High King summons you, Master Gromril!" Hearing this, Gromril nodded. After a quick wash, he followed the three Hammerers out of the room.
Although he was still going to meet the High King, this time the route was different from three days ago. The four of them no longer proceeded to the upper levels of the fortress but instead circled halfway around the mountain.
Exiting the corridor, a large gate appeared before Gromril, sandwiched between two towers. From memory, he knew this was the residential area of the Drazklad Clan. The stone plate armor emblem on the arch proved his memory was correct.
Passing through the outer Clan residential area, greeting his kinsmen as he walked, Gromril felt the warmth from his Clan. Soon, he arrived in front of the Clan's great hall, which was subtly grander than the Rune Smith Guild's hall.
At the entrance stood a statue of a Dwarf wearing stone plate armor, with his battle-axe resting on the ground, presumably the ancestor who first founded the Clan. Entering the hall, Gromril saw Thorgrim on the central dais, discussing something with several Longbeard Elders. Seeing Gromril from afar, they all waved their hands.
"My good son, you've finally grown up! We were just guessing when you'd wake up! Looks like your alcohol tolerance has improved!" Thorgrim said with a beaming face.
Coming to the platform, Gromril noticed that Thorgrim was seated in a circle with two men and two women. Besides Thorgrim, he recognized one of them: Uncle Longhammer, who had appeared earlier.
Their eyes met, and Longhammer burst out laughing, placing the wine cup from his hand into Gromril's.
One cannot refuse a gift from an elder, so Gromril took a sip. He was surprised to find that the beer invigorated him. Looking at the runes shimmering on the cup, he realized this was no ordinary drinking vessel!
"Add a chair?" Thorgrim asked inquiringly.
"Of course!" the oldest man among the five said decisively.
"Since the Ancestor Gods reshaped this world, there has never been a Rune Master standing during a council meeting!"
Soon, a chair was brought by a hall guard, and Gromril sat directly opposite Thorgrim. The meeting officially began.
"Gromril, this is your first time sitting in on this meeting. Let me introduce you to the elders of our Clan!" Thorgrim, as the Clan leader, began.
He first looked at the elderly man to his left, whose beard almost touched the ground.
"This is Grandfather Dorson. You should call him Great-Grandpa Dorson. He is the oldest member of our Clan, currently safeguarding our Clan's book of grudges and also serving as the head of the school."
Every Dwarf Clan has its own book of grudges, and some families even have their own small ledgers. The book of grudges is usually kept by the Clan leader, but if the Clan leader has a more important book of grudges to safeguard, this task is entrusted to the oldest male Dwarf.
The old dwarf gave Gromril a kind smile:
"Very good, my child. I have watched the snow on the Everpeak melt and freeze five hundred and twenty-three times, but in these five hundred and twenty-three years, I have never seen the Gods manifest their divine grace."
He paused, and Thorgrim offered him a wine cup. "Now, knowing that they have not abandoned their children, I can rest assured and go to the Ancestor Halls!"
"Don't say that, Grandpa!" The other dwarves cried out upon hearing this.
Dorson raised a hand to calm them. "Don't worry! I still want to see our Clan, and indeed the entire Dwarf race, restore its former glory! Surely Grungni is not in a hurry to take an old Miner like me, right?" The old dwarf laughed heartily, his beard and eyebrows quivering.
In Dwarf society, age is the most respected virtue. There is a saying, "A Dwarf's wisdom is measured by his beard."
Dorson's status in the Clan was originally not high, and he didn't even have a particularly distinguished nickname. But upon becoming the oldest member, he joined the Elder Council.
Thorgrim then looked at the elderly woman to his right. "This is grandmother Krazrin-dor, the wife of High King Auricsson!"
Hearing this, Gromril couldn't help but scrutinize the elderly woman. She had smooth, silver hair styled in a Bohemian fashion, reminiscent of a Greek goddess. Although time had left its marks on her face, it was clear she had been a beauty in her youth.
"She currently serves as the High Priestess of Valaya's Temple and is also responsible for managing the women and children of our Clan. Gromril, you and your siblings were all delivered by her!"
The centers of worship for the three Dwarf Ancestor Gods were originally established in the three most important fortresses of the Mountain Kingdom.
In the northern stronghold of Karak Kadrin, there was the largest Slayer Shrine in the entire Mountain Kingdom, which was consequently known as Butcher Keep.
During the Ancestor Era, the God of War Grimnir last appeared here before entering the Chaos Wastes. His followers came here, built Karak Kadrin, and it eventually developed into the center of Grimnir worship and a holy site for Dwarf Slayers. Most Dwarf Slayers completed their shaving rituals here and embarked on the path of seeking an honorable death.
The Everpeak, Karaz-A-Karak, is the center of worship for the chief god Grungni. This was the first fortress built by the Ancestor Gods after they came to the Old World from Lustria. Grungni, the God of Mining and Forging, personally laid its foundation and led his sons in building its main structure. This is currently the capital of the Mountain Kingdom, and the headquarters of the Miners' Guild and Blacksmiths' Guild are also located here.
The center of worship for the Ancestor Goddess Valaya was originally in Karak-Eight-Peaks, the Queen of the Silver Abyss. This was a vital stronghold connecting the north and south of the World's Edge Mountains, possessing the most developed underground network and the richest mineral deposits. In the Golden Age, its prosperity rivaled Karaz-A-Karak. The Ancestor Goddess loved this place so much that she laid the foundation for the fortress and carved her emblem on its gate.
However, during the Dark Ages, it fell under the combined assault of Greenskins and Skaven. The former Valaya's Gate became the current Valaya's Sorrow. As the royal family of Eight Peaks Mountain sought refuge in Karaz-A-Karak, the center of Valaya's worship also shifted here. Generally, the most respected woman would serve as the High Priestess of the Ancestor Goddess's temple.
Grandmother Krazrin-dor was exceptionally affectionate towards Gromril, the "Chosen of the Goddess," pulling him aside to ask him many questions. After all, despite serving as a Goddess priestess for hundreds of years, she had never received a response from the Goddess, and every ritual had only been a mere formality.
Thorgrim introduced Longhammer third: "This is my cousin, currently serving as the commander of our Clan's army and the most valiant warrior of the Clan!"
Longhammer stroked his beard, uttering humble words, but his face was beaming with joy.
"When Gromril charged at that fat, stupid dead goblin, it reminded me a bit of myself back in the day! I remember when that blind Star-Gazer Dragon dared to invade our Everpeak, hmph, I was the first to charge up…"
"Charged up only to be swatted away by a claw and have your beard burned off by a dragon's breath?" The last, relatively younger, female Dwarf interrupted him with a laugh.
"Grungni above, Klim, you really should go learn from the human bards. You only have this one story, and even the rats in the sewers can recite it by heart!"
It was then that Gromril realized this was the reason his grizzled beard only reached his chest. He couldn't help but admire Uncle Klim's courage.
Amidst their bickering, Thorgrim began to introduce the last female Dwarf, "Sonia the Eloquent, my dear sister. She doted on you the most when you were little!"
"Poor child," Sonia said, stroking Gromril's head. "My unfortunate sister-in-law in the Ancestor Halls will surely be proud of your achievements!" Her words cast a somber mood over the cheerful atmosphere.
"She currently manages the internal production of our Clan—pastures, salt brines, spices, dyes, all fall under her responsibility. If you need anything, just ask her!" Thorgrim frowned, then continued.
"The other elders are preoccupied with other important matters and couldn't make it. Let's start the meeting now and discuss what rewards the Clan should bestow upon Master Gromril." Thorgrim said immediately after introducing the four elders.
"Where's Aurem? Not out of bed yet?" Great Grandpa Dorson asked with concern.
"He ran off to his workshop early this morning. He should be over later," Krazrin-dor said.
"Hurry up and begin! My little dwarf are waiting for me to drill them! Their formation gets messed up as soon as a War Boar Big Guy charges them. They still need more training. Back in my day, when I, Longhammer, charged head-on..." Gromril had witnessed Longhammer's tendency to bring up his glorious past every three sentences.
"First, equipment. According to the Ancestors' rules, every Clan member qualified to establish their own household should receive at least one piece of superb quality equipment. Does anyone have any objection to this?"
Great Grandpa Dorson, the eldest, spoke first. Of course, the other Elders had no objections.
"If you ask me, we should bring out that stone armor for young Gromril to wear. The youngest Rune Master since Thurni certainly deserves it, doesn't he?" Krazrin-dor said.
Before the other Elders could speak, Gromril quickly declined. On one hand, this stone plate armor had more symbolic than practical meaning. On the other hand, its granite texture, while giving it excellent magic resistance, was not conducive to the wearer's Rune energy conduction, easily leading to spell failures.
"Gromril, what do you say you need?" The Elders babbled for a long time without reaching a conclusion, so Aunt Sonya decided to hear Gromril's opinion.
"I think I might need a warhammer!" Considering that the skill called Avatar of the Gods in the system would increase his size, Gromril thought it best not to rush arranging armor. If he accidentally broke a superb quality piece of equipment, with the dwarves' love for wealth, even the Ancestors' coffin lids might not stay shut.
"A warhammer? Excellent, I like it!" Longhammer interjected, "Long-handled or a one-handed hammer?"
"Goblin brains! Have you ever seen a Rune Smith use a two-handed hammer? It's definitely a one-handed forging hammer!" Aunt Sonya retorted again.
Aside from the Miners who entered the battlefield with their accustomed picks and Iron Chisels, other Dwarf melee units typically used battle axes and warhammers. Battle axes were suitable for fighting lightly armored enemies, while warhammers, as blunt weapons, were undoubtedly superior against heavily armored foes.
Each weapon came in one-handed and two-handed versions. Heavy weapons wielded with two hands were more powerful and could cause armor-piercing damage, while one-handed weapons were often paired with shields to enhance defensive capabilities. Shields could also effectively reduce damage from ranged attacks. Of course, Slayers, who pursued maximum damage, would choose to dual-wield one-handed battle axes.
"Are there any suitable one-handed hammers in the storeroom?" Thorgrim asked Sonia.
"Brother, as far as I know, no. In that battle in the Chaos Wastes, quite a bit of equipment belonging to our brothers who returned to the Ancestor Halls was lost."
At this, the dwarves present couldn't help but sigh.Krazrin-dor even made a cross gesture on her chest, saying, "Goddess above!" She invoked a divine name to comfort herself. In that brutal battle, she had lost her husband and all her children, yet she was still able to sit here, which showed her immense strength.
"Then let's commission one from the Blacksmiths' Guild. That way, it will be more comfortable to use!" Thorgrim made a note in his book. "One meteorite iron warhammer!" he said as he wrote.
"As for the Runes, Gromril, what do you say? Should we entrust it to the Rune Smith Guild or will you do it yourself?"
"The Master-grade Throwing Rune I engraved during my assessment is perfectly suitable. Let's use that; it'll also save the Clan some funds." Seeing Gromril's understanding, the elders all nodded.
"Next is..." Before Thorgrim could finish speaking, Master Iron Chisel burst into the Guild Hall. "I'm not too late, am I?" He ran onto the high platform, panting, and snatched a mug from Longhammer's hand, taking a big gulp.
"Here, Gromril, put it on and see if it fits!" He said, pulling out a ring. The moment Gromril took it, he was shocked by its weight. The ring was made of meteorite iron!
It's worth noting that meteorite iron, as the hardest metal in the world, required a Blacksmith Master to melt and forge it into armor or weapons. Forging it into something as small as a ring significantly increased the difficulty.
Gromril held the ring up to his eyes, observing it carefully. He found the ring face empty, but a circle of Runes was engraved on the ring's shoulders.
"This thing was given to me by an old fellow from the Blacksmiths' Guild to pay off a debt. Back then, he asked me to engrave Runes on a meteorite iron Iron Chisel. I pondered over it in my workshop for a long time, and then suddenly, a flash of inspiration hit me, and I came up with a set of combinations. I engraved them, and to my surprise, it actually worked!
A Master-grade Shattering Rune combined with a Cleaving Rune and a Piercing Rune—a perfect legendary item, Aurem's Iron Chisel. Doesn't that sound good? The effects of the three Runes stack, and meteorite iron shatters under that thing like beer foam!"
Master Iron Chisel inevitably fell into reminiscing again, but Gromril now understood the origin of his nickname. Many craftsmen used their most satisfying works as inspiration for their nicknames.
"The original superb quality turned into legendary quality, so the originally agreed-upon compensation wasn't suitable anymore! That old fellow used this ring to settle the debt."
Master Iron Chisel took another big gulp of beer. "After I got it, I engraved a circle of Luck Runes on the ring's shoulders, but I never had inspiration for the main Rune on the ring face. So, over time, it just ended up in the storeroom. The first time I saw your Master-grade Flight Rune, I thought it would pair perfectly with this. Here, it's yours!"
"This is too valuable! I can't possibly..." Gromril instinctively opened his mouth to decline. "Don't be so quick to refuse, child," Master Iron Chisel interrupted him. "I just checked the Clan and Guild storerooms, and it seems there are no spare anvils of doom for you right now. Consider this your old Uncle's compensation!"
The anvil of doom, the most representative equipment of Rune Lords, are the oldest treasures of the dwarves. They are the anvils for forging legendary Rune weapons, and perhaps even the true invention of the great Forging God, Grungni.
In terms of rarity, they are no less valuable than legendary equipment, but because only dwarves who have mastered Rune power can use them, they are not particularly sought after.
They are specially crafted to attract and control the Winds of Magic, and then this power can be gathered and released by Rune Lords. We can think of it as a power bank, capable of accelerating Rune charging speed for repeated use in a battle.
At the same time, because it can attract the Winds of Magic, it can reduce the casting frequency of enemies who rely on the Winds of Magic and increase their spell failure rate. Furthermore, the magical energy they dissipate can activate the weapons of surrounding allies, increasing their armor-piercing damage capability.
All anvils of doom were forged by the Ancestor Gods at the Val Anvil – the Val Anvil is not an object, but a volcano. With the departure of the Ancestor Gods, their creation method was lost, and more importantly, the Val Anvil was also destroyed in the earthquake that ushered in the Dark Ages. Therefore, now, if one anvil of doom is lost, there is one less.