The heavy blast door groaned as Brokk forced it open, the gears grinding against years of rust and neglect.
Inside, the air was stale and cold. It wasn't a cell; it was a vault.
Thrain hadn't destroyed the tools of the Guild Masters. He was too greedy for that. He had locked them away like trophies, displayed on racks under the harsh light of mana lamps.
"My shield…"
General Thorgar, a dwarf who looked like a mountain carved from granite, stumbled forward. He was emaciated, his skin grey from months of starvation in the dark cells, supported by Isabelle's shoulder.
But as his eyes landed on the massive slab of metal in the center of the room, his strength seemed to return.
It was a Tower Shield tall enough to cover two men. It wasn't made of iron or steel. It was forged from Adamantite, the hardest metal in the earth, and etched with the crest of the Ironclan: A hammer striking an anvil.
[The Bulwark of the Mountain]
