Anno sheathed her Flametongue sword, finally seizing the chance to speak: "No need for thanks. We're simply fulfilling our duty to purge fiends from this world."
Charles quickly followed up: "Humans and dwarves have always been the most steadfast of allies whenever fiends invade the material world."
"This is our ancient covenant, and an obligation for us all."
He was doing his best to be modest, making it clear "this is what we all ought to do." That way, when it came time to ask the dwarves to open up their headquarters, he would have the upper hand in negotiations.
After all, if everyone does what they're supposed to, then when it's the dwarves' turn to uphold their side, they can't exactly refuse, can they?
Given dwarven character, it would be hard for them to say no.
That was his strategy, but Anno had none of these calculations—her whole focus was on the here and now. "I heard you mention an investigation team is still trapped behind us?"
"Do any of your investigation team need healing? We have Pastors specializing in healing who can help your wounded."
The dwarf was no less forthright, smacking his own forehead and exclaiming, "Ah, I nearly forgot! Yes, hurry up and follow me! Even with a dwarf's constitution, some injuries can't be shrugged off!"
Without another word, he left his griffon and hurried off on his short legs.
Charles and the rest quickly followed, passing through a wasteland of rubble and demon-corrupted earth, then skirting a battered wood, until at last, deep in a dead-end mountain valley, they found nearly a hundred dwarves—most battered and bloodied.
The Life Domain nuns immediately moved in, casting spells to heal their pain, while Nidalee conjured Goodberries so every dwarf could eat one.
Charles also noticed that the leading dwarf, clad in heavy armor with his helmet off, his bald head covered in dark ash runes and magic inscriptions, kept glancing his way.
For a moment, Charles couldn't help feeling uneasy: Did this dwarf know him?
He didn't ask, but put on a warm smile, took out his spellbooks, and personally helped heal the wounded dwarves one by one.
As for the dead, their remains were respectfully gathered by the others to be returned home for burial.
The sun was beginning to set, dusk dimming the world. The Griffon Knight captain frowned after studying the sky.
He strode over to Charles's side: "It's getting late—we must return. But I'm worried for our wounded comrades. Sir, would you escort them somewhere safe?"
It was just what Charles had been hoping for, though he masked his delight with a look of slight difficulty. "Do you mean escorting them out of the mountains? As you see, it's already late, and we're too far from Rubble District. We can't possibly get there tonight."
"Naturally not," the captain said. "All I ask is that you escort them to our company's headquarters in the mountains—a warrior will stay behind to guide you."
The Mountain Dwarf Mining Consortium headquarters wasn't located in a central district, unlike most major companies that prioritize commercial trading. No, the dwarves had built theirs right here in the mountains.
Dwarves dislike the deceptions of finance, so their company has never gone public; they simply make money by selling goods, never borrowing or extending credit.
This means slower development, often missing out on booming eras, but the benefit is solid cash flow, never worrying about bankruptcy.
Like any true dwarf, solid and reliable, hard to poison or sicken.
In truth, after the Empire of Sein withdrew from the Roof Ridge Plateau and the raging Mountain People destroyed the Rubble District, companies with mountain headquarters became far rarer.
Most were wiped out, but the dwarves' enclave endured almost unscathed. The Mountain People are hostile to outsiders, but have always given dwarves a pass.
It must be said: honesty can mean suffering, but long-term, it's a winning strategy—especially for dwarves, who might live centuries.
Hearing the captain's offer, Charles couldn't hide his excitement. He hadn't expected to be granted access to their headquarters so easily—this was going better than any prior plan.
And that wasn't all. Locking eyes with him, the captain added, "Please, know that the dwarves will never forget what you've done for us."
He said nothing about remuneration. Anyone else might call that an empty promise meant to dupe the naïve.
But he was a dwarf.
A stubborn, blunt, utterly intractable dwarf.
Charles nodded gently, replying, "Very well. Should your company's headquarters allow us to rest within, we'll go."
"They will," said the captain. "Take this, my brother."
He pulled out a rectangular plate of fine steel, engraved with runes that Charles could not read. "Show this at headquarters, and we'll discuss further once you arrive!"
"Farewell!"
With that, he mounted his griffon and soared skyward. Charles waved goodbye, as did the other Griffon Knights resting on the hillside, all rising as one and disappearing beyond the sunset.
Gazing at the token in his hand, Charles couldn't help his delight. Finding the dwarves had gone much more smoothly than expected—he'd anticipated two or three more days of fruitless searching before any real breakthrough.
Not wanting to waste time, he called his warriors and nuns to prepare, had the guide set the pace, and together they helped the wounded and carried the dead, setting out for the dwarven company headquarters.
Along the way, the heavy-plate-clad, bald, rune-covered dwarf couldn't stop staring at Charles, and it left him vaguely uneasy.
He began to wonder if he should approach the dwarf himself. After a while, the dwarf seemed to make up his mind and walked ahead to join him.
Charles, who had been covertly observing, finally relaxed, straightened up, and greeted him: "Sir, were you looking for me?"
The strange old dwarf nodded slowly.
"You are Nigel Charles, yes?" The dwarf spoke with deliberation. "Bruno has spoken of you—I hope I'm not mistaken."
Bruno?
Charles couldn't help picturing the burly, boisterous dwarf. Was he really a bigmouth, telling everyone my business?
"Yes, I am," Charles replied. "Who might you be?"
"I am Gandren Rockseeker, a forge domain cleric and a Storm Warhammer blacksmith." He hesitated, then said, "Thank you for defending Rockseeker's Outpost, and for the help you gave today."
"Bruno was right—you are indeed a reliable friend."
Charles felt a flicker of hope, but answered with humility: "It was nothing. I was simply there both then and now. It was all I could do."
After a pause, he added, "I only regret my strength was insufficient—I could not defeat the greedy aggressors."
Gandren nodded: "Indeed, humans may be greedy, but there are those like you—brave, selfless, and willing to stand up for others."
Drawing a deep breath, as if steeling himself, Gandren said, "Bruno told me you possess a Storm Warhammer and wish to have it adjusted or improved?"
Charles nodded eagerly: "That's right. We discovered it was demons behind the mountain's troubles."
"But now my Storm Warhammer does little against stronger demons, so I hoped to upgrade it."
He showed a trace of regret. "But Bruno said your company's rules forbid such things, so it never went through."
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