Chapter 32 - Killing Queek

The warpstone shard armor, so treasured by the great Gnolandor, was certainly no ordinary item; it enjoyed a great reputation throughout the Skaven Empire. The energy released by the warpstone shards, embedded in a specific pattern, covered the armor, providing the wearer with special resistance beyond conventional protection.

"Hmph…"

Gotrek's throat rumbled. The Headtaker opposite him was a head taller than an average Stormvermin, quite long-limbed compared to a dwarf. Although Gotrek had shed the burden of heavy armor, the skaven's natural talent meant that its speed was no less impressive.

Queek also tensed his body, slowly shuffling his feet. He had cursed that Crooked Peak Warlord countless times in his heart. This was no mere transport captain!

In the brutal training of the gladiator pits, he had once twisted off the mutated giant arm of a Rat Ogre during a wrestling match, but the strength of that bearded fellow was still difficult for him to parry.

"The horned rat god above, this isn't a dwarf at all!"

Queek felt the sweat on his back soaking his fur. The inherent cowardice deep in his bloodline made him want to "retreat," but the clan honor and loyalty education since his birth compelled him to continue this duel. Of course, the excellent performance of the plate armor on his body also contributed to his decision. Yes, Yes! This thing was even more effective than he had imagined.

Then followed a series of clashes. Queek used both claws, weaving a circle of blades to protect his body. Gotrek tried to swing his axe several times but was blocked. One of his axe swings, taken at the risk of injury, didn't land solidly and was bounced off the armor.

"Waaagh!"

This time, Gotrek roared and launched an attack first. He sprinted forward, wanting to get inside Queek's guard. The two-handed hammers and axes favored by dwarves were not like human spears or greatswords; they had no advantage in attack range over one-handed weapons. Wielding them with two hands was merely to facilitate exerting force.

"No, seeking death!"

Queek lightly hopped backward to maintain distance. If this duel were a boxing match, he was a nimble boxer who won by points, while Gotrek was a heavy hitter who landed punches with full force.

"Hmph!"

The dwarf seized an opportunity, sweeping his great axe to parry a warblade, then ducked down and charged into the circle of blades. Queek's move was spent, and it was too late to withdraw his blades to block again.

"Your head, Grandpa Gotrek will take it!"

He took a deep breath, raised his axe over his head, and then brought it down fiercely from upper right to lower left, executing a move called 'Wild Horse Divides Mane.'

"Gotrek! Gotrek!"

"This young'un is truly brave!"

"A formidable young man, a formidable young man!"

The white flash of the axe blade streaked past. Seeing Queek about to be decapitated, the dwarves cheered loudly. Jamrik, standing beside Gromril, also looked excited. He hadn't expected that the young uncle, who had previously seemed unassuming, merely escorting the caravan with delicious food and other supplies, would turn out to be such a warrior.

"Why do I have a bad feeling?"

Gromril frowned. He found no look of panic or fear on Queek's face, which was undoubtedly illogical.

"Boom!"

A sudden explosion brought the dwarf's cheers to an abrupt halt. As the stirred dust dispersed, Queek's tall figure gradually became visible. He appeared unharmed, only the green glow of the warpstone shards on his armor had dimmed considerably.

"Cough, cough! Too bad, your blade still isn't fast enough."

Gotrek's sturdy figure also appeared. He leaned on his great axe to support his body. Sharp-eyed clansmen could see a bloody gash on his back, bleeding red liquid, and his left arm also seemed to have been cut.

"It's nothing, don't worry, my friends." Gotrek slowly straightened up. He muttered to himself while waving off his comrades who were preparing to assist him. "I heard His voice! The bravest and most skilled in battle among the Ancestor Gods!"

"Pretending, pretending to be a god!" A trace of astonishment flashed across Queek's rat face. He hadn't expected this dwarf to be so tenacious. Although the warpstone warblade's venom should also cause the injured to die slowly in agony, this couldn't compare to an on-the-spot decapitation in terms of boosting morale.

"Bearded fellow, your, your gods have long abandoned, abandoned you! Pillar City, is, is the proof!"

The Clan Mors's Claw approached the injured dwarf with large strides. He recalled the toppled, blurry statues in the Eight Peaks Mountain's geomorphic network, the shrines filled with feces and garbage by his own kind, and the desperate laments of the Angrund Clan dwarves before their deaths.

The weak gods of the Dwarf race had long entered their twilight; otherwise, why would they have remained silent during thousands of years of war? Eight Peaks Mountain even claimed to have the core temple of some Mother Goddess, yet it didn't also become the flourishing ground of the Clan Mors?

"The Great Horned Rat walks among us!" Queek silently recited the catchphrase of the spell consultant who had been killed. The sudden transformation of the brave warrior into a shaman also raised a warning in the Headtaker's heart.

"Ah ah ah!"

Gotrek pulled up his axe with his right arm and slammed it onto his shoulder. He felt his body filled with unprecedented fighting spirit and power, and this energy urgently needed a suitable outlet.

"You, you have proven your worth. I will, will save a place for your head!" Not wanting to prolong the fight, the Headtaker brought his two blades together, one on the left and one on the right, in a fierce scissor motion towards Gotrek's neck!

"Clang!"

The green glow of the warpstone warblades seemed to have already touched his hair. The dwarf moved suddenly, swinging his right arm, and the battle axe cut down like a bolt of silk.

"Puff!"

Seeing that the dwarf's head remained in its original place after that fatal scissor attack, which would have provided him with two trophies, Queek couldn't help but be slightly stunned. Slowly, his gaze shifted downward, and then, a piercing scream erupted from that mouth which usually only issued cold, ruthless commands.

"Awooo!"

"Clink! Thud!"

The upper half of the left claw warblade fell to the ground with a crisp sound. That wasn't all; a duller sound followed immediately. Queek's once muscular left claw was gone, leaving only a bare left wrist gushing blood.

"Remember, your killer is Gotrek Gurnisson!" This was the last sentence the Headtaker heard before his head hit the ground.

The dwarf lines erupted in thunderous cheers, contrasted by a deathly silence on the skaven side. The Clan Mors Stormvermin needed some time to accept the fact that their young general, who had risen rapidly with an unbeatable record, had met his end here.

"Rustle, rustle!"

The Crooked Peak skaven were clearly quicker to react. These guys had already planned to slip away after their earlier offensive was thwarted. Now that the instigator of this war had been beheaded on the front lines, why not make a quick escape instead of waiting for the bearded fellows to show them out?

"Kill! Drive the filthy rats out of our homeland!" Belegar didn't know what Queek meant. He pounded his shield and gave the command. The dwarves leaped over their cover and charged towards the morale-shattered skaven.

The skaven were quickly defeated, like a collapsing mountain. Without their leader, the Clan Mors Stormvermin were no braver than their inferior kin.

The dwarves' pursuit was brief, as Karak Drazh's forces were very limited at the moment.

"If it weren't for you and your brave warriors arriving in time, we would have been in real trouble! Leave the battlefield cleanup to my men. Although this place is desolate, there's plenty of fine wine in the warehouse to wet our throats."

Returning to the city, Belegar pulled Gromril aside to express his gratitude. The time traveler was also in a very good mood; the general and God of War among the Eight Peaks Mountain's Iron Triangle had successively fallen, which would significantly reduce the obstacles for the rightful owner by his side to reclaim his homeland.

"It's not time to relax yet, my dear friend! Although the leading rat has died under a warrior's sharp axe, the remaining stragglers are still harassing the Mountains!" Gromril placed his hand on Belegar's shoulder. He had no intention of letting the rats escape into the Mountains.

"King Kazador and his men will block the northern passage, and my men will prevent them from fleeing south." The movements of the skaven were not hard to guess. Without most of their leaders, the rats couldn't organize any long-distance leaps; they would simply return to their homes.

"Then these sections will follow your command!" Belegar's head started to spin as he looked at the various paths on the large map. Up to this point, his combat career had revolved around one main theme—charging into a fortress and then trying to defend it, whether it was Eight Peaks Mountain or Karak Drazh.

After entrusting Trolani to contact his main army and the Iron Peak Fortress army, Gromril called Gotrek. Analyzing Queek's strength from earlier, he realized that he probably couldn't defeat the future God of War of Eight Peaks Mountain while in his dwarf form.

"I have not failed in my mission, my King!"

Due to a back injury, Gotrek could only bow slightly. He had not participated in the recent pursuit but had received wound dressing. There wasn't much joy on the young man's face; instead, he looked relieved.

No one but Gromril himself knew the immense significance of Queek. To the clansmen, it was only natural for Gromril's champion warrior, the Plague Exorcist and god-slayer, to single-handedly kill a skaven warlord.

"You, um, just received the grace of God of War Grimnir?" The time traveler twisted his neck, asking tentatively.

"Yes." Gotrek nodded calmly. Gromril was stunned by the reply. He was busy processing the information behind the short answer and remained silent for a long time.

"Shouldn't it be? Or did it take so long that it disappointed you?" Gotrek looked up and saw the Ancestor Chosen's strange expression. He awkwardly scratched his head with his right hand.

"What? You know too?"

The Dwarf King frowned deeply. The fact that Mr. Gao would become Grimnir's chosen—the most failed Slayer, carrying a great axe on a path of seeking death, cutting down creatures including but not limited to Greater Daemons and Dragons—was theoretically something only he knew.

"Uh, I've heard a bit, I guess." Gotrek's Adam's apple bobbed twice, as if the words he was about to speak also needed some thought.

"The Longbeard Elders all say that the Ancestor Gods are constantly watching you, and Grimbrindal has also come to your side. Someone among the clansmen who follow you should surely gain Their approval. I, a sinner, was appointed as your standard-bearer by you, um..."

Mr. Gao didn't finish his sentence, but Gromril understood. Ever since the Ancestor Gods had successively "responded" to him, the entire Mountains Kingdom had been expecting someone else to receive divine grace, and those widely considered as prime candidates had consequently faced some pressure.

Compared to established elders like Master Krag, Gotrek, due to his lack of seniority and past mistakes, was more favored by rumors.

"In any case, congratulations to you! The revival of the Mountains will require your efforts!" Gromril poured his subordinate a beer. This was entirely beneficial to him. As soon as the news spread, the King of the Southern Lands could already foresee a scenario where a large number of talented individuals would join his ranks.

For the next half month, helicopter squadrons patrolled the skies of the Southern Badlands to constantly monitor the movements of the fleeing skaven. Gromril, based at Karak Drazh, maintained contact with the northern and southern lines via communication runes, exchanging intelligence.

The routed rat armies were horrified to discover that this time, the dwarves were no longer being outmaneuvered due to their slow movement speed. Instead, they were being relentlessly pursued. Somehow, the dwarves were continuously able to block their escape routes and set ambushes.

After several ambushes, the leaderless and demoralized expeditionary rats were broken up. Considering that ahead of them, besides a lack of supplies, there were also various Greenskin warbands waiting, it could be said that the fate of these fellows was sealed.

"King Kazador and Master Thorek Ironbrow are about to arrive. Make preparations." Two days after his main force reached Karak Drazh, Gromril received news of the Iron Peak Fortress army.

The hatred between this isolated fortress in the Southlands and Clan Mors occupied a large portion of their book of grudges. To completely annihilate the elite Stormvermin attempting to flee back to Eight Peaks Mountain, King Kazador had taken some extra time.

"His Majesty Gromril! I've nearly pulled out all my whiskers waiting for this day! May the Ancestor Gods forever protect you and our Mountains!"

The Iron Peak Fortress army approached from afar. Kazador the Dragon Slayer walked at the forefront of the procession, followed by the old acquaintance Thorek Ironbrow and his anvil of doom.

The Iron Peak Fortress army appeared well-ordered; battles with Greenskins and skaven along the way had not caused them much loss. One of the top three most skilled warriors among the Dwarf Kings, along with his Rune Master, was enough to deal with most adversaries.

Gromril and Belegar went to meet them. The King of the Southern Lands was surprised to find that the Lord of Iron Peak Fortress was quite tall, more than half a head taller than both himself and Belegar. At the same time, his physique was not the typical roundness of dwarves but rather relatively lean and strong.

"Greetings, His Majesty Kazador."

Gromril adopted a rather humble attitude. King Kazador was older than Thorgrim, and as one of the few renowned Dragon Slayers among contemporary dwarves, his combat prowess was widely recognized.

"Belegar, you've grown quite a bit since we last met!"

Kazador then looked at Belegar. Iron Peak Fortress and Eight Peaks Mountain were very close, and the royal family there had historically supported the Angrund Clan's expeditions, indicating a deep relationship.

"That's because His Majesty Gromril guided me on Their behalf!"

Belegar humbly replied a few times, then led the Iron Peak Fortress army to the pre-arranged encampment. After arranging food and lodging, the three kings went together to the council hall on the upper level of Karak Drazh.

"Please!"

"Not at all, by all rights, you should sit in the middle!"

Gromril and King Kazador deferred to each other regarding seating.

Logically, Belegar Ironhammer, as the host, had some right to sit in the middle, but he also understood that besides being the host, he had no other competitive advantage. His current position was due to the full support of two sponsors!

After several rounds of polite refusals and toasts, the grizzled beard eventually yielded to divine grace and merit. Gromril sat in the middle of the long table, with the two Kings on either side. Subsequently, the administrators of the three dwarf factions also took their seats next to their respective Kings.

"Gentlemen, today, we can finally announce that Karak-Azul, the most resilient member among the nations, has returned to the embrace of the Mountains Kingdom!" After the customary praises to the Ancestor Gods, Gromril loudly summarized the results of this joint military operation.

Following applause and clinking of cups, King Kazador expressed the joy of all Iron Peak Fortress dwarves at re-establishing contact with their kin. Belegar, in turn, thanked his two allies for their strong support and the unremitting efforts of the warriors.

Ever since Belegar moved his operations to Karak Drazh, connecting the Southlands and Iron Peak Fortress had been on the agenda. After more than two years of preparation and waiting, their wish was finally granted. Even with the long lifespan of dwarves, King Kazador was getting impatient.

This was followed by several days of meetings and consultations. The three factions reached a series of agreements on military, trade, personnel movement, and infrastructure construction. The hard-won fruits of victory needed to be jointly protected by all three parties.

At King Kazador's suggestion, to commemorate the signing of the agreement, the three Kings stood in a triangle, raising their hammers to clink them together. A painter from Iron Peak Fortress recorded this moment, and a master stonemason would later erect a statue at the meeting point in front of the fortress gate.

Compared to the Hammer of the Angrund Clan, renowned throughout the Mountains, and the Hammer of Wrath, a treasured heirloom of Iron Peak Fortress, the forging hammer in Gromril's hand, crafted by a Master of the Broken Anvil and only inscribed with master-level throwing runes, was undoubtedly of much lower quality.

However, the illustrious reputation of the Stormhammer, accompanying Gromril's campaigns across the Old World, resonated far and wide. With this hammer, he defeated many powerful individuals who had carved out their own territories, most recently Count Notkras, the Admiral of the Dreadfleet. To outsiders, when it clanged against the two legendary artifacts, it at least did not fall short in terms of presence.

Beyond the human factions, thanks to the promotion by the Archmage Teclis, even the proud Pointy-ears of Ulthuan had heard of such a battle-hardened Dwarf King.

A few years later, the Master of the Broken Anvil led a team by sea to Red Cloud Mountain and then north to Iron Peak Fortress to exchange forging techniques lost over thousands of years. Passing through Karak Drazh, the Master visited the grand sculpture group known as the "Alliance of the Three Hammers."

Seeing his own work clinking with two legendary holy hammers, the master blacksmith was filled with emotion. He recounted his conversation with Gromril in the workshop back then, and after gaining permission, added his insignia to the corresponding position on the statue. This later became a cherished story.

After finishing the alliance matters, Gromril led his army back. Passing through Jieshi Mountain again, the planned outpost was already under construction. The road for this journey still needed to be straightened out, but he was not in a hurry; it could serve as a long-term project to provide employment.

Boarding the return train from Red Cloud Mountain, the Dwarf King finally had time to admire his achievements. For the railway's operation, he adopted methods from his previous life, dividing carriages into seats, sleepers, and high-end suites, and of course, preparing some freight carriages for unforeseen needs.

Sitting in a luxuriously appointed suite, enjoying fine Bergman vintage wine and specialty meals purchased from various stations along the way, leisurely inspecting his territory was immensely satisfying for Gromril. This was the treatment a King in another world should receive.

To maximize the railway's value and ensure this grand project was fully utilized, Gromril set a very low starting price for tickets. A few copper coins could take a villager to the nearest town, and to a neighboring large city, it was only the price of a silver coin.

Without additional prompting, immigrants naturally discovered the immense convenience brought by the railway. Villages along the railway line became increasingly prosperous, and low transportation costs also promoted the development of various economic activities.

With the arrival of the Cult of Sigmar, conflicts between divine faiths unfolded as the transmigrator had wished. Although the bald-headed ones arrived late and lost the initial advantage, the elders' councils in various cities, without Gromril's instruction, naturally favored them when mediating disputes.

The Lady of the Lake was naturally displeased with this biased approach. Her prophet stationed in the Southlands repeatedly sought an audience with the King of the Southern Lands over three years, but Balin always turned her away, claiming Gromril was in seclusion.

Currently, the development dividends in the Southlands had given everyone, from knights to farmers, a taste of prosperity. dwarves and Imperial humans also had sufficient numbers, so The Lady of the Lake chose to increase her investment to compete with the bald-headed ones.

According to Andumgar's report, besides dispatching a group of clergy from Bretonnia, the Lady also cultivated local talent. Last year, on the Day of Mystery, the most sacred day of the year in the Bretonnian calendar, she even directly manifested in the mortal realm.

The Day of Mystery commemorates The Lady of the Lake's first apparition before Gilles. People believe that on this day, the barrier between the mortal realm and The Lady of the Lake's divine domain becomes thin, and worshippers gather in Grail Chapels to pray to her.

Sir Frodo, who participated in Gromril's expedition and performed admirably in developing and governing his territory. When he prayed in his territory's church that day, The Lady of the Lake emerged from the statue, holding the Holy Grail, and granted this Grail Seeker the opportunity to drink from the Holy Grail.

Every town Gromril passed through had a well-appointed church, and every village had a shrine. Clergy from the towns would visit the villages weekly on a circuit to spread the gospel to the villagers.

Besides Sigmar and The Lady of the Lake, the faiths of other Old World order gods also spread with the immigrants. However, these were still in the nascent stage, and their followers often chose to hold private gatherings.

With suitable spiritual solace, immigrants were naturally less likely to go astray. These followers of order gods were also very sensitive to Chaos, and through multi-party cooperation, Chaos corruption in the Southlands was completely eradicated.

Gromril stayed a few extra days at Demonbane Fortress. This newly built fortress was now fully completed. Located in the heart of the Southern World's Edge Mountains, her role was crucial.

The main body of Demonbane Fortress was above ground, and many of its designers and builders came from human settlements. In style, she resembled a human city more than a dwarf Mountain Stronghold.

Compared to the damp darkness underground, the high-ranking immigrants and merchants preferred to live here. The core churches of the two major faiths in the Southlands were also built here, making it the center of human activity in the Southlands.

Demonbane Fortress, as the new city built by the Ancestor Chosen Gromril-az Thorson, naturally had its share of dwarf gods' temples. Directly facing the city's main gate in the central square stood a majestic and unadorned dwarf-style building.

It had two levels, one underground and one above ground. The underground level housed the temples dedicated to the Seven Ancestor Gods, while the upper level served as the city's center of power. The Elder Council, the court, and other administrative departments were also located here.

On either side of the building were two cathedrals of distinct styles, with the chalice and iris symbols representing The Lady of the Lake, and the hammer and twin-tailed comet of the Cult of Sigmar, complementing each other.

The city radiated outwards from the square, with guilds, markets, residential areas, schools, and other essential amenities, already possessing the necessary conditions for a prosperous settlement.

With the opening of the railway greatly reducing travel time, knightly lords and Imperial estate owners who had immigrated to the Southlands also began acquiring properties in Demonbane Fortress. Life here was much richer than in their villages, and they also recognized the potential appreciation of Demonbane Fortress properties.

The arrival of the Lord of the Southern World's Edge Mountains was met with a warm welcome from the residents. Everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of the legendary figure, who was said to be a divine favored one, a warrior, a wise man, and a benevolent king all rolled into one.

After touring the city and observing the people's conditions, Gromril met with upper-class figures such as landlords, merchants, and priests. He listened to their opinions and made some adjustments to the current policies.

Although Bretonnians and Imperials also lived in various fortresses in the Grey Mountains, dwarves still constituted the majority. Some policies could be referenced, but simply copying them had led to a few issues.

Having finished all this, Gromril took some time to check on the situation at the Living Dead Ring Pit. It seemed that the deployment of Vahhaf, Emperor Settra's eldest son, in Casket Canyon had diverted the attention of the western undead legions. There were no longer any organized undead assaults on the Lost Plateau.

"Your Majesty, a human calling himself Scholar Pukel Te requests an audience. He says he is an old acquaintance of yours!"

Gromril had just finished mediating a heated dispute between The Lady of the Lake's prophet, Freya, and the old bald man, Kasimir VII, and was about to have a small drink and go to bed when Gotrek walked in and disrupted his plan.

"Scholar Pukel Te!" Gromril repeated the name. As his memories unfolded, the long-sealed recollections gradually became clear.

It was in Bordeleaux, after a great battle, also at night, that this mysterious visitor brought him the news of his elder brother Constantine's death by manann's wrath, and then analyzed the differences between the gods for him.

"What do you say? Do you want to see him? Or should I send him away?" Gotrek's voice pulled Gromril back from his thoughts.

"Please, quickly! Also, bring me a small barrel of good wine, Bergman's Select!"

A few minutes later, the Scholar slowly walked in. He was still covered from head to toe in a black cloak, leaning on a staff. However, compared to last time, he had lowered his hood, revealing his bald head and aged face.

"It's been a few years, and you seem unchanged! What brings you to the Southlands?"

Gromril smiled, stood up to welcome him, and offered the old man a glass of fine wine. Even though he now held a high position, he still maintained sufficient respect for this knowledgeable and mysterious individual.

"Haha, greetings to you, esteemed King of the Southern Lands. For ordinary people, the passage of time brings nothing but a step closer to death, but for a wise ruler like you, a few years are enough to bring about earth-shattering changes!" The Scholar laughed heartily and offered a few compliments.

"From what I've seen on my journey, your territory is flourishing, especially this grand railway spanning a thousand miles, which is truly a wonder of the world!" The old man praised Gromril's achievements, and the transmigrator stroked his beard; who doesn't appreciate their accomplishments being recognized?

"The Greenskins and skaven in the north have disintegrated under your warhammer, no longer a significant threat; the undead of Nehekhara are now held in check, unable to harass your people; as for the two factions of Pointy-ears, their strength is as meager as their physiques, practically not worth mentioning!"

This Scholar had apparently traveled in the Southlands for a long time, as he concisely analyzed the situation of the forces surrounding Gromril. Gromril nodded repeatedly, recognizing that such individuals with a broad strategic view were truly rare among dwarves.

"To be honest, I've heard plenty of good things. Your insight is exceptional, do you have any suggestions for me? If nothing else, a few hundred gold coins to fund your travels would be possible."

Gromril knew that the Scholar, after disappearing for seven or eight years, wouldn't suddenly appear just to sing praises. He gestured for the human opposite him to get straight to the point.

"I heard on my way here that the heir to the Norscan Dwarfs' Great Lord position is preparing to head south. Once he marries your sister, the nobility will achieve even greater internal unity!" Pukel Te was indeed well-informed; Gromril, as the younger brother-in-law, hadn't even heard this news!

"The clansmen of Norsca have been away from the embrace of the Mountains for a long time. Although my father has re-established contact with them, it's still not very close. I'm indeed not clear on the specific situation. Perhaps you could tell me more."

Gromril sat up straight. His knowledge of this world, beyond what a normal dwarf noble knew, was based on his past life's game, but it didn't specifically detail the northern dwarves, so he only knew the general outline.

"Hahaha, as far as I know, that northern noble intends to come all the way to Highland Fortress. Didn't the traditional custom of challenging for a bride also bring you to Bordeleaux? You can discuss it in detail with him then."

The human shook his head; his visit was not to provide Gromril with intelligence on the four northern cities.

"After your sister, Princess Nina, is married, it will be your turn. A suitable marriage can bring strong allies, and an excellent heir can ensure the long-term stability of your territory. As a king, you cannot overlook this!"

"Hmm?" Gromril raised an eyebrow at this. He hadn't expected a human to be concerned about his marriage, but it did strike a chord with him. Ever since Lady Anya brought it up again in Karak Drazh, he had indeed been pondering it now that the war was over and he had free time.

"Go on, what are your suggestions? My father, as the Lord of the Mountains, has already contacted all the fortresses of our clan with eligible noblewomen. Is it possible that some human Elector Count also wants to marry me?"

Gromril joked, but in his heart, he felt it wouldn't hurt to hear the Scholar's opinion on this matter. Compared to his dwarf civil and military officials, a human would likely have fewer conflicting interests.

"In my humble opinion, there is one point you should consider carefully, and that is the lifespan of your partner. After all, your lifespan will likely not be limited by a mortal body." Pukel Te's face was calm, but his words made Gromril's heart skip a beat.

Pukel Te's deduction about his lifespan did not surprise Gromril. In fact, among the current Dwarf Holds, his eventual ascension to godhood was no longer a deduction but close to a certainty; even the most conservative Ancestor Gods acknowledged that Gromril would at least attain demigod status.

The Dwarf King himself believed this; compared to enduring the End Times, achieving godhood was not difficult for a Transmigrator. Had he not rejected the God of Fertility back on Spiderweb Mountain?

With this as a prerequisite, if he didn't want his shamelessly blissful life to end with his wife's demise or her fading youth, then finding a companion with a similarly long lifespan was indeed a good choice.

"There's some truth to that, but putting aside undead creatures, should I go compete with Phoenix King Finubar for his wife, or apply to be The Witch King Malekith's stepfather?" Gromril's mind raced, and a moment later, he burst out laughing.

Aside from deities, the immortal beings active in the mortal world were few; in his previous life's game, there were only a handful of humanoid females, and each of them was already taken.

Three Elven races accounted for a large proportion of these: Everqueen Alarielle, The Witch Queen Morathi, and the Wood Elves' Queen Isha were all, theoretically, peerless beauties. Although Gromril himself didn't mind the so-called ancient grudges, his own kin would likely not accept it.

"What a pity, what a pity! Why doesn't The Lady of the Lake come to enlighten me herself? If I were in a good mood, I might even follow her!" Gromril drained his cup and mused. Having read that famous work in his previous life, it was impossible for him to have no thoughts at all.

"Cough, cough!" It seemed the King of the Southern Lands had been cackling and pondering for too long, as the Scholar lightly coughed.

"Uh, hahaha! You speak, you speak!" The Dwarf King snapped back to reality, twisting his body and crossing his legs to hide his embarrassment.

"The enmity between your kin and the various Elven races is common knowledge in the mortal world, so naturally, I wouldn't joke with you about such things." Gromril's dismissive attitude towards the Phoenix King and The Witch King made it difficult for Pukel Te to respond.

"In the eastern Cathay Empire, you maintain close ties with them. The Dragon Emperor Shen Yang and the Moon Empress Gui Yin begot nine Dragon Children, three of whom have vanished amidst time and change. Of the remaining six active ones, there are three sons and three daughters."

Pukel Te spoke slowly. Hearing the words Cathay, Gromril recollected himself and focused.

"Three sons and three daughters. I know Ming Dragon Yin Yin well, so that means there are two other Dragon Daughters. Hmm, Biao Long is one, who is the remaining one?" The Jade-Blooded woman named Wan'er spoke eloquently about other matters, but remained tight-lipped about the Dragon Emperor's family.

"Shen Zhu, the Dragon Daughter rumored to preside over light and hope," the Scholar did not disappoint the Dwarf King. "They can all transform into human forms; the men are heroic and imposing, and the women are all solemn and beautiful."

"Heh heh, could it be that the old Dragon Emperor is looking for a son-in-law?" Gromril licked his lips.

"Son-in-law?" Pukel Te showed a puzzled expression.

"Hahaha, it just means son-in-law; it's just a different way of saying it." The former Cathayan was secretly delighted and chuckled to gloss over it.

"The Dragon Children are indeed all unmarried. I'm just providing you with an idea; how to proceed specifically is for you to ponder." The human leaned back in his chair, indicating that he had finished speaking.

"Excellent, excellent!" The Dwarf King smiled. Although a tiny dwarf might seem very ordinary compared to a Cathay True Dragon, he was quite confident!

"Last time in Bordeleaux, you didn't ask for a reward. Let's settle both now. Speak boldly; the King of the Southern Lands will grant your wish!"

"Thank you for your generosity. After my travels, I wish to settle down somewhere, and your stable and prosperous territory suits my intentions perfectly. May I be granted a place here to open a school?" Pukel Te bowed slightly.

"Of course! It would be an honor for the children of the Southlands to have the opportunity to be taught by a wise Scholar such as yourself!"

Gromril praised him. He had been about to invite the Scholar himself if he hadn't brought it up! With a growing population, the next step was to improve quality, and establishing schools and focusing on education was the only way.

While the two major faiths also offered rudimentary education, their primary goal was to spread their beliefs. Having another option beyond that was good. He even considered having the children of his own clan attend, believing there was no harm in broadening their horizons.

"You may temporarily reside at the inn. I will arrange everything immediately. With the efficiency of the Sons of the Mountains, your school can open in less than a month!" Gromril stood up to see him off; it was late, and he needed to rest.

That night, Gromril slept deeply. He dreamt of first drinking foot-washing water, then licking wildly, then becoming an undead knight fighting wars in the north and south, followed by a fierce reckoning with the Pointy-ears for old grudges, and finally becoming a literal Dragon son-in-law.

"How strange! Where did he learn these tricks? Could it be that some fellow, whose brain was fried by pleasure, got ahead of me? But that shouldn't be…" Pukel Te did not rest; he sat until dawn, muttering occasionally.

Early the next morning, Gromril boarded a train back to Highland Fortress. The great battle at Karak Drazh had disrupted his original plans, but fortunately, this trip had been very fruitful.

After getting off the train, he went directly to his workshop. His apprentices reported some difficulties encountered while manufacturing Rune Guardians. Even with Master Krag providing the blueprints, this long-lost technique was not so easy to learn on their own.

Gromril stared blankly at the blueprints himself. His already shaky rune knowledge had faded even more over the years.

"Put down your work and join me in prayer to the Venerable God Thurni!" He checked the system and saw that he had plenty of Revival Points again, so he decided not to waste his precious brain cells.

After a simple ritual, the Ritual of Toolni began, and the previously confused apprentices suddenly had an epiphany. These ambitious young people, working like oxen and horses while expressing gratitude, made Gromril feel a little uneasy, so he simply slipped away to avoid seeing and feeling bothered.

Before he could return to the Geomantic Web node to continue his research, Thorgrim's message arrived. Sogard-Kolromsson of Du Long City had already set off. He would pass through the Dark Rolling River passage located in Skjortraken, cross the Claw Sea, and arrive in the Old World.

Afterward, this Prince of Du Long City planned to travel through the Imperium of Man, follow the Silver Road into the Mountains, and reach Everpeak. After resting, he would then set off again, following Gromril's expedition route to Highland Fortress. Pondering this journey that would traverse the Old World from north to south, Gromril felt a sense of respect for his brother-in-law, whom he had yet to meet.

This indicated that Sogard was willing to embrace new things and possessed considerable initiative. Such a quality was very rare for dwarves, especially for the Norscan Dwarfs who had been cut off from the Old World for a long time.

Years later, when everything had settled, the diary of Sogard-Kolromsson, the Great Lord of the Norscan Dwarfs and Lord of Du Long City, unexpectedly surfaced during his travels in the Old World. Many clansmen wanted to know what happened during this journey that led the Four Cities of the North back into the embrace of the Mountains.

September 1st

The first day of the brewing month, I set off, but unfortunately, I didn't have time to drink this year's new brew. If all goes well, we should reach Karaz-A-Karak before the winter solstice. It is said that from there to the Southlands only takes half a month, which means we'll arrive just in time for Karak-Zorn's annual Ancestor Gods' sacrifice.

September 3rd

The team arrived at Sjo Traken. Praise the Ancestors who discovered and built the Dark Rolling River passage! With it, we can easily bypass the mad barbarians in the wasteland and directly enter the Claw Sea.

September 5th

This is my third time taking this route, but my younger brother, Soli, keeps asking questions. Even the present-day Ancestors with beards down to their feet don't grumble as much as him! Uncle Hadra said I was the same when I first came. How could that be?

Alas, if it weren't for that future brother-in-law, Gromril-az Thorson, who claims to have slain demigods and banished Greater Daemons, I certainly wouldn't be his match, so why would I need to bring him along!

September 7th

Entering the Claw Sea, the wind and waves are still so uncomfortable! If given a choice, the Sons of the Mountains should never leave the land.

September 12th

We finally arrived at Kislev. This time, besides trade goods, the fleet also carried my enormous betrothal gifts. The Northmen's longships chased the fleet relentlessly! But fortunately, the wind and the terrifying waves of the Claw Sea helped us.

Erengrad is indeed prosperous; perhaps Karak-Drak and the other three fortresses combined don't have as many people as here. The Lynx River divides it into northern and southern parts. In the multi-ethnic district to the south, you can find almost all races of the Old World.

With only thin and crude city walls and low-quality brass gates, the Kislevites can hardly become the so-called Shield of Mortals to withstand the northern Chaos armies; they still have to rely on the protection of their gods.

There are temples everywhere in the city: Salyak—God of Healing and Solace; Ursun—God of Bears, also Kislev's guide and guardian deity; Dazh—God of Fire and Sun; Tor—God of Thunder and Lightning.

Besides these four widely revered main gods, other human deities also have a place in this prosperous city. Thanks to Gromril, the Ancestor Gods have also revived, and life will get better and better!

September 16th

The team split. Some clansmen were going to Praag and the Ice Court in Kislev City. This land only has these three large cities. Another group was heading south to Middenheim for trade.

His Majesty Thorgrim Grudgebearer's people arrived. Uncle Hadra said he had seen me when he visited Du Long City back then, but unfortunately, I was too young to remember clearly.

The one leading the team was a Longbeard Elder named Grenson. The Eternal Hammer Guard, whose organization has been preserved since ancient times, is indeed extraordinary! He said he had fought alongside Gromril-az Thorson for a long time, and I could talk to him more on the way to gather some intelligence.

September 18th

After separating from our compatriots, our military strength was not very sufficient. Considering the wealth we carried, we set off with a merchant caravan. Captain Grenson only brought forty men.

He explained that this was partly because there were many newborns, and there was a shortage of manpower in all aspects, and partly because a large number of people had migrated to the five newly established fortresses in the south. Four of these belonged to my brother-in-law Gromril, and the other one belonged to the Angrund Clan.

Karak-Eight-Peaks, the Queen of the Silver Abyss, that prosperous city so heavily described in history books, had actually fallen! I hope that one day she will once again bathe in the Mother Goddess's light.

September 19th

On the way, I chatted with the merchants. They said that Marienburg in the Imperium of Man and Bordeleaux in Bretonnia further south were even three points more prosperous than Erengrad! And these two major metropolises were deeply intertwined with Gromril! Who exactly is he?

September 24th

The caravan entered the border of the Imperium of Man. A wealthy merchant named Tomi came to greet us. His mother is His Majesty Thorgrim's own sister; he is Princess Nina's cousin, and will also be mine in the future.

The human merchants held Tomi in high regard; he is the Southlands' top trade representative. Gromril opened up trade routes with Cathay—the legendary Eastern Empire—and Tomi handles the distribution of silk, tea, and other goods, as well as much of the Everpeak's trade.

He also seems to have extensive connections. After entering the city, he secured a squad of guards from the human nobles. Hmm, he invited me for a drink...

September 25th

This Tomi is truly generous!

September 27th

I think I drank too much. The alcohol of my southern compatriots isn't strong enough, and their drinking capacity isn't great, but they have enough people! In a haze, I promised that Tomi would handle some of our family's trade in the future. This shouldn't have much impact; he's family and very capable!

To be honest, the Four Cities of the North are no less wealthy than the south, but they lag far behind in terms of enjoyment! The humans here have low wages and good service! Let's keep drinking tonight!

September 29th

We continued our journey. After passing through Ostland, we entered Talabecland. This Elector Counts' territory is the largest in area and is located in the center of the Imperium of Man, bordering the most provinces.

It thus became a major trade route, with land and river transport converging in the capital, Krigslitz, which is naturally a prosperous city.

October 2nd

Although most of the land is covered by large forests, it is still much safer here than in Kislev. There are three major mountain ranges within the province; the western one is more mysterious and dangerous. We chose a relatively safe route.

October 5th

We encountered greenskins, a group of strong but savage and foolish creatures. They are one of the main enemies of our southern compatriots. The other kind are large rats that walk on two legs—how big can those little grain-stealing rascals get?

This group of green mushrooms was easily dealt with, but Captain Grenson said they are very difficult to completely eliminate, and they might even grow back next year. Once their numbers are large enough to form a Waaagh, it will be a disaster for the surrounding creatures. Gromril once rescued a fortress besieged by them.

October 8th

Arrived in Krigslitz, resting for a few days. The accompanying merchants went to trade, and Tomi invited me for a drink again!

October 13th

Continuing our journey, we are heading to Stirland. Tomi packed a lot of food. He said that place is a backwater, and the locals have a lot of problems. Besides that, this territory also includes Sylvania, where evil forces that desecrate the dead are said to lurk.

October 19th

This place is indeed not very good. The wine is poor, and the mutton tastes very gamey! I heard that in the past, it was a good place for chefs to come from!

October Twenty-second

We arrived at Utterbade, the capital of Stirland, which seemed less prosperous than the previous large cities. When Tomi revealed his identity upon entering the city, the human officer guarding the gate looked at him with a mix of hatred and fear.

The residents here mostly worship the Nature God Taal, and they are not as enthusiastic towards us, even cold, compared to areas dominated by Sigmar's faith. There are no free activities planned for tonight, but I think I should go out for a stroll.

October Twenty-fourth

Ancestor Gods above! Gromril-az Thorson overthrew the previous Imperium of Man's Emperor a few years ago!

Compared to the familiar Kislev, the Imperium of Man is larger, wealthier, and more populous. Even though the Emperor, like the High King of the Mountains, mostly holds an allied position, the Elector Counts of Stirland have held the imperial throne for three generations.

As for how he did it, opinions vary. The locals are unwilling to mention this matter, and the several versions told by my clansmen are either vague or overly exaggerated. Claims like that foolish pig rolling off the throne with just a glare are certainly distorted.

However, all versions have one thing in common: Tomi played a significant role, and Gromril must have personally praised him for being 'first in merit.' I never expected this portly fellow, whom I could pin down with one hand, to be so capable!

October Twenty-sixth

We set off again from Utterbade, with some companions leaving and new ones joining. According to the humans, the Undead Lords of Sylvania have been so terrified by the Slayer King of Karak Kadrin that they hardly ever harass our convoy.

Unexpectedly, Tomi was also unwilling to tell me the detailed process of the power struggle and his role in it. He said this was wisdom he learned from Gromril.

Firstly, not to live entirely in past achievements and grudges, but to constantly look forward; secondly, if cooperation is to continue, it's best not to spread the other party's embarrassing stories everywhere.

Perhaps the widespread legends failed to fully portray the never-before-seen brother-in-law, as the clansmen's interest focused on his divine grace, strength, and generosity.

November First

Finally, we arrived at Mootland. These little folk, even shorter than us, are truly excellent cooks! With their culinary skills, they even earned themselves an electoral vote.

Captain Grenson revealed that in the past, various Mountain Strongholds would add clauses to the book of grudges to compete for certain Mootland master chefs. If I had to find fault, their brewed wine is still a bit too light!

November Third

Continue the feast, continue drinking! On the way back, I must hire a few chefs to take with me. Our food in Du Long City is worse than even the farmers here! Although the Ancestors taught that the best ingredients only need the simplest cooking methods, still...

November Seventh

We are about to enter the World's Edge Mountains. The journey took over two months, and our travels through the human world were much smoother than expected, undoubtedly thanks to the powerful strength and influence of our southern clansmen.

November Ninth

Entering Zhufbar, it is an exquisite city. King Serenthin held a welcoming banquet for us, showing me an extraordinary enthusiasm, but Prince Balendin beside him seemed uninterested and even showed a hint of hostility.

November Tenth

My hand trembles as I write this. King Serenthin and the guild leaders here accompanied us on a tour of the Engineers Guild headquarters and production lines. It's hard to imagine their engineering technology has developed to this extent.

Low-power multi-barreled cannons, tar-spitting flame cannons, gyrocopters, flamethrowers, and even submersibles! If we had these earlier, crossing the Claw Sea would have been effortless!

Besides these war machines, King Serenthin also showed us two types of runic statues: large ones like giants, and smaller ones as big as Fimir. The latter came from Karak-Zorn, and it was Gromril who rediscovered this lost technology.

November Eleventh

I've heard the name Gromril-az Thorson no less than a thousand times in a single day. Every clansmen, from apprentice to master, praises him. He has made immense contributions to the popularization of a series of engineering creations and the increasing prosperity of this city.

The foundries, once covered in dust, are now brightly lit every night. Sealed design blueprints are unrolled one by one, and the giant waterwheels used for drawing and cooling water beneath the waterfall spin incessantly.

"Whether new technology or old tradition, anything that can strengthen our Dwarf race and help us revitalize the Mountain kingdom is a good thing worth learning!"

This famous quote from Gromril can be seen and heard in almost every corner of Zhufbar. Considering his status as a Rune Master, what a grand vision he possesses! I can't wait to go to Highland Fortress.

November Thirteenth

I, Sogard, representing the Four Cities of Norsca, reached a series of procurement intentions with the Engineers Guild. The wealth carried by the convoy, besides the bride price, was not much, but fortunately, Tomi was willing to vouch for me.

He hinted that I didn't need to rush to sign the order, as Zhufbar was just the first stop in the Mountains. This made a lot of sense, but I still decided to get some urgently needed submersibles first, which I could use on the return journey.

November Fifteenth

I was eager to depart, and Prince Balendin escorted us with his guard. We traveled around Black Water Lake, and along the way, we saw a group of submersibles at work. They were subordinates of my future elder brother, Grom, Lord of Karak-Varn.

Thanks to Nina, I got to experience it firsthand, but this kind of thing should still have some room for improvement. The Dwarves of Zhufbar informed me that Gromril had already used them in naval battles, annihilating a combined pirate fleet in one fell swoop. Why does he always create miracles?

November Sixteenth

Arriving at Mountain Lake Fortress, my elder brother Grom and sister-in-law Pamela warmly received us. They are Nina and Gromril's closest relatives and told me many stories about my fiancée and brother-in-law.

Karak-Varn is where the Mother Goddess first publicly bestowed her divine grace, and her magnificent statue protects the fortress gate. Many clansmen from various places come here to worship, and the Chosen of the Goddess or Ancestor Chosen are often on their lips.

November Seventeenth

Elder brother Grom suggested we spar, and Uncle Hadra took my place. They stopped short of serious injury, resulting in a draw, but I knew that if they truly fought, Uncle Hadra would likely gradually fall behind.

In his youth, his martial arts ranked among the top five in the entire North, otherwise, he wouldn't have become my father's guard captain. But time spares no one, and Grom, nicknamed Skullcrusher, is in his prime, his twin warhammers spinning like silk without a hint of fatigue.

Knowing that Soli was going to challenge Gromril on my behalf, elder brother Grom earnestly advised him to take time to pray to the Ancestor Gods. My elder brother was worried that Gromril might not control the force of Stormhammer, and Soli was a bit nervous about possibly receiving divine grace in such a manner.

November 19th

Due to the warm hospitality of my elder brother and sister-in-law, the convoy stayed at Mountain Lake Fortress for two extra days. My sister-in-law shared the story of Gromril-az Thorson's journey to pick up his bride back then, and particularly emphasized Grimbrindal's appearance on the return trip.

The Whitebeard Ancestor had also appeared several times to help us when our homeland was in crisis, but for some unknown reason, he suddenly disappeared after the battles ended, without guiding us back to the Old World.

Valana-Gnodil, a lovely little one who will soon be my niece. Grom excitedly repeated many times how extraordinary the meaning of this name, personally given by Gromril, was, but I couldn't bear to remind him that such simple variations of a deity's name are quite common.

Just in these few years, there must have been over a dozen baby girls in Du Long City with 'Va' or 'Ya' in their names. I hadn't realized it before, but it seems that in addition to the increase in newborns, the proportion of females has also increased!

November 21st

Arrived at Karaz-A-Karak, the heart of the King of the Mountains, from where our ancestors first set out for the northern ice fields! What a magnificent mountain gate, but unfortunately, for now, I can only enter through a side gate. The main gate can only be opened if my father visits.

Uncle Kadosen was already waiting for me at the entrance. This Prime Minister of Eagle Peak Fortress had not returned since representing our Four Cities of the North at the Grudge Gathering, and has been stationed here as an ambassador.

His Majesty Thorgrim held a grand welcoming reception for me in the Great Throne Room. 'The King of the Mountains resides here, the book of grudges is read here!' This throne room was like this before the Star Gate shattered and Chaos invaded, separating us from our southern kin, and it remains so thousands of years later.

November 23rd

Too many clansmen toasted me; I didn't want to get drunk, but there were just too many of them.

November 24th

I presented the gift list to the High King. Well, theoretically, I can call him father-in-law now. Although he is older than my father, he looks energetic and shows no signs of aging.

I asked him for the secret to his vigor, planning to bring it back to my father to improve his physical condition, which has been affected by war and internal affairs. However, my father-in-law said that this was a grace Gromril had sought from the Ancestor Goddess for him.

By the Kings of Du Long City! How is everything related to Gromril along the way? Could it be that this trip of mine... Well, it was indeed him and his legendary achievements that prompted me to decide to pick up my bride myself and plan to travel all the way to the Southlands.

November 26th

The wedding here is set for the Open Cup Festival in March next year. I don't have much to do before then; Uncle Kadosen will help me sort out the ritual matters.

Rather than staying here and indulging in banquets every day, it's better to go south earlier to see. Having heard too many of his stories, I am already impatient to see Gromril-az Thorson with my own eyes!

November 29th

Bidding farewell to my father-in-law, we left the Mountains and headed towards the sea. Along the way, large groups of workers were laying two parallel, thin iron strips in the geomantic network. They said this thing was a railway, and I would see the completed version in the Southlands.

News of Gromril building railways has been circulating for several years. People say these things can move on their own, faster than carriages, can pull thousands of people at once without rest. I didn't believe any of these short phrases before, but now it seems they might be true, at least in part.

November 30th

Arrived at Barak-Var. This port city is comparable to Erengrad in prosperity, and in addition to the Sons of the Mountains, a large number of other races can be found. Prince Panosen, who received us, claimed that a large proportion of those wearing hoods were elves—our southern kin mostly disdainfully call them Pointy-ears.

After contact was severed, the clansmen of the Old World and the elves erupted in a massive war, and the associated grudges lasted for thousands of years. By the time my father-in-law visited Du Long City, there was almost no interaction between the two sides. The rumors of improved relations that have appeared in recent years must again be attributed to Gromril.

The fortress was still filled with praise for that younger brother-in-law. Here, he was called the Restorer, or the Restorer of the Ancestral Homeland.

His epic expedition departed from here, and more than half of the profits gained and supplies needed were distributed from here. The vast commercial activity brought opportunities, work, and wealth.

To the west, in the land south of the Grey Mountains, there is a human kingdom called Bretonnia. They possess the best horses and knights in the Old World; even Chaos marauders are no match for them.

The Knight Kingdom was only established in the last thousand years, and among them, Bordeleaux, whose lord supported Gromril's expedition and greatly benefited from it, has since caught up with and surpassed many older, established metropolises.

December 2nd

We boarded the dreadnought 'Mogrim's Fury'. What a behemoth it was! Rather than a ship, it was more like a steel fortress floating on the sea.

I asked Soli to inquire with Panosen if this warship could be sold. He flatly refused, saying they were the foundation of Sea Gate, and even Gromril couldn't buy them. However, he also indicated that some smaller steam gunboats were available for sale.

December 4th

The dreadnought rode the wind and waves as if on level ground. What 'Bandit's Fjord'? There wasn't even a shadow of a skull sail! The crew said the place had been renamed. More than three years ago, Gromril completely annihilated a joint pirate fleet here, and since then, no one has dared to raid again.

What a pity, I still wanted to witness the power of those dark muzzles!

December 6th

We sailed into the Great River Mortis. What was once a thousand li of fertile land has now become a dead land. Fortunately, our Mountains remain as they were. Gromril and Settra, the leader of the Tomb Kings, reached a series of agreements, including navigation rights.

I vaguely remember seeing the name Settra in historical records. He was the leader of the clever monkeys below the Mountains even before our ancestors left the Southlands and went north. At that time, he seemed incredibly arrogant, but I didn't expect him to be easier to get along with after his resurrection.

December 8th

Disembarking, a dwarf calling himself Emissary Johnson was already waiting at the dock. We got into a steam truck. I had seen this technology in Zhufbar, but the Southlands' version was a size larger.

Red Cloud Mountain Fortress is the gateway to the Southlands. Gromril's senior apprentice brother, Master Nathan, a disciple of the Rune Demigod Krag, met me at the city gate. It seems the King of the Southern Lands still shows my brother-in-law a lot of respect!

December 9th

I didn't want to stay long, but the train hadn't returned to Red Cloud Mountain today.

December 11th

I am writing this on the train. Traveling by train is an unprecedented experience! The scenery outside the window appears slanted because of the speed! The conductor said we are moving forty kilometers per hour.

Everything in the first-class carriage makes me feel like I'm in a luxury hotel in Wolfenburg. Traveling like this is truly delightful.

As soon as he received news of Sogard-Kolromsson's arrival by train, Gromril ended his secluded study. The immense power contained within the ley lines was like a poison, drawing him in, and after returning to Highland Fortress and finishing his administrative duties, he immediately dove into his workshop.

"He arrived quite quickly! Have all the welcoming activities along the way been arranged properly?" Gromril asked Balin from his throne. Among the dwarf Lords of the Old World, the King of the Southern Lands held the Norscan Dwarfs in the highest regard.

Gromril knew that one day he would have to confront the Three-Eyed King riding the Black Donkey of Doom, and to solve the problem once and for all, he would even have to venture into the Chaos Wastes.

Regardless of the task, the Four Cities of the North, which had stood for thousands of years in the Mountains of Giants, would be an important force. Setting aside the population and military strength of the Four Cities, their deep understanding of the Chaos Wastes alone could provide immense help.

The Transmigrator, of course, knew what his sister's marriage alliance meant this time—after more than a hundred years of effort, the Norscan clansmen were finally going to transition from a nominal return to a substantive one.

But what aspects would the specific cooperation involve, and to what extent would it deepen? The future heir of Du Long City's journey could be considered an inspection from the Norsca side.

Du Long City's scale and power were inherently stronger than those of Thunder Fortress, Raven's Roost Fortress, and Eagle Peak Fortress. More than half of the Norscan dwarf Great Lord positions throughout history belonged to Karak-Drak, and with the marriage to the High King's daughter, it could be said that the next Great Lord position was already within Sogard's grasp.

Sogard traveled thousands of miles to the Southlands; respecting tradition might have been one reason, but more so, he wanted to see how capable the most prominent dwarf of the current era, the likely next helmsman of the Mountain Kingdom, truly was.

Gromril believed that everything in the Old World would be dazzling enough for his northern clansmen. As the last stop, he had to offer something even better, something more exciting than the railway, preferably something that would teach the young'un a lesson!

"The activities arranged by Demonbane Fortress are as above, how do you want to handle things on our side?" Gromril thought with a mischievous grin, not really listening to Balin's report.

"Oh, a simple welcoming line at the train station will do. My hammer is quite large, I'll show it to our friends who've traveled so far." Gromril waved his hand, he needed to adjust his state.

Sogard and his entourage disembarked from the train, deeply shaken by this unprecedented travel experience. dwarves were already a talkative race, and in these few days in the Southlands, they had used up a lifetime's worth of exclamations.

"I am Gromril-az Thorson, King of the Southern World's Edge Mountains, and I welcome you all to my territory!"

Gromril stood on his anvil of doom, announcing his welcome loudly. His reputation preceded him, and his self-introduction instantly quieted the noisy Norscan dwarf contingent.

"Ahem, on behalf of all our clansmen in the Four Cities of the North, I greet you, esteemed Ancestor Chosen. May They forever protect our Mountains!" Sogard had simulated his greeting countless times, but when it came to speaking, he still stumbled.

"Hahaha, Prince, there's no need to be so polite. We're about to become family, so consider coming here like coming home!" Gromril jumped off the anvil and pulled Sogard inside.

In the Ancestor Hall, a grand banquet had already been set up. This welcome feast had a strong exotic flavor, with two separate buffet tables featuring Cathay and Lizardmen dishes.

"Look, look at this Soli, he's already drunk after just a few barrels, he's really too weak!" After eating and drinking his fill, Gromril patted Sogard's thigh.

"Soli is weak, I'm super good at drinking!" Sogard's tongue was thick from being plied with drinks by the generals of Highland Fortress.

"From what you say, you're very brave, aren't you?"

"Are you kidding?! I'm super brave, okay? I'm super good at drinking!"

"Super good at drinking? Very brave indeed. Nice build, quite solid!" Gromril squeezed his brother-in-law's muscles.

"Nuo Ge, what are you doing?!"

"You're getting married and still so shy, I think you completely don't understand, do you?"

"Understand what?"

"Of course, it's to prove that you can protect my sister well!"

"Today…" Sogard wanted to postpone, but Gromril didn't want to give him the chance.

"Oh, come on!" The Dwarf King grabbed both brothers by the hand and pulled them to their feet. Their guards, seeing this, also sent a few men to follow.

"Let's go outside!"

"What are you doing?!"

"My hammer is very big, um, very powerful, just bear with it!"

"Nuo Ge, where are we going?" A gust of wind outside sobered Soli up quite a bit.

"Oh, you're nervous! Come on, let's go outside and spar a bit!" Gromril tugged at the young man, not letting go.

"No, Nuo Ge! Don't be like this!"

"Let me see how strong you are!"

"Nuo Ge, no!" Soli screamed at the top of his lungs. During his journey in the Southlands, he had heard too many tales of how Gromril had torn apart demigod heads and fiercely fought Nurgle Greater Daemons.

The storytellers, upon hearing that he was to challenge on behalf of his brother, had given him looks filled with pity, even schadenfreude, and insincere words of encouragement, which ultimately shattered his composure. Soli was just an ordinary dwarf noble; even if Gromril went easy, he might not be able to withstand it.

"Nuo Ge, no, Nuo Ge, no!"

The Norscan Prince's cowardly display drew laughter from the drunken clansmen. Sogard's face flushed red, but his lips moved for a long time, unsure what to say. This was indeed embarrassing, but forcing his younger brother to challenge was also truly asking too much.

"Hahaha, well then, how about this? I have a hammer technique, I'll demonstrate it for you all. If anyone thinks they can take it, I wouldn't mind admitting defeat directly! Let's not hurt our feelings over such a small matter!"

Gromril laughed, smoothing things over. With words like that, the Norscan Dwarfs could no longer refuse, and they followed Gromril out of the fortress.

Gromril walked ahead, seemingly aimlessly, but in reality, his goal was clear. He meandered towards the ley line network node he had discovered outside the city.

"This will do, watch closely!"

Finding the spot, Gromril stretched his limbs and began to remove his armor and clothes. The local clansmen, familiar with his abilities, of course knew what he was about to do, while the Norscan Dwarfs were utterly shocked.

Did this powerful warrior, whose titles were so numerous, have some unknown eccentricity? He said he was going to demonstrate a secret technique, but why was he taking off his clothes after bringing everyone outside the city?

"Earth, grant me strength!"

Gromril roared, activating Avatar of the Gods. The northern visitors had, of course, heard that Gromril could turn into a stone statue, but they all thought such an utterly unimaginable thing was a metaphor or an exaggerated figure of speech.

"Hammer, come!"

Ignoring the dropped jaws of the onlookers, Gromril raised his right hand, and the warhammer on the ground shot into his palm.

Gromril took a deep breath and held it, stomping his feet lightly twice on the ground to get a feel for it, then began to establish a connection with the ley lines beneath the earth. At the same time, he cast a single Grimnir Rite on himself to further increase his strength.

"Hoo!"

Years of research and the extra perception granted by his Avatar of the Gods form allowed his soul to successfully touch the surging power from the planet itself beneath his feet.

Gromril extended his finger and lightly touched it, drawing out a small wisp of psychic energy. As soon as the psychic energy was drawn out, Gromril immediately withdrew his consciousness back into his body and began to exert his full strength to gather and guide the psychic energy he had drawn out.

The energy stream began to dissipate as soon as it left the earth. From the perspective of the clansmen observing around Gromril, they felt a strong gust of wind sweep outwards from the Avatar of the Gods, and the runes on many of their equipment were stimulated, emitting light.

Even a small current from the ley lines, when manifested in the real world, was like a surging, angry tide. Directly using it without specialized equipment to comb and guide it was still too crude; the untamed energy raged within Gromril's body, searching for a suitable outlet.

"The power of the Mountains, all in my grasp!"

The Avatar of the Gods roared up to the sky, the Stormhammer was unleashed, runes activated, and feeling the immense energy surging into his right arm, he looked around for a suitable target.

"That spot over there will do!"

In an emergency, Gromril looked at the mountain opposite. He narrowed his eyes, swung his arm, and threw the warhammer with all his might. With the superposition of two major skills, a rite, ley lines, and runes, this hammer throw was the strongest strike he had made since transmigrating!

"Boom! Boom!"

A deafening sonic boom erupted. When a projectile flies at supersonic speeds, the density waves of the sound it produces cannot travel ahead of it, so they all stack up behind it, forming a conical sonic cone.

A white trail stretched behind the warhammer; this was a sonic boom cloud. Behind the shockwave front, the surrounding air was compressed due to increased air pressure, causing water vapor to condense into tiny water droplets, appearing like mist.

"Bong!"

No sooner said than done, the warhammer had already slammed into the mountain several hundred meters away. At the moment of impact, the mountain rock, which had stood firm for tens of thousands of years through wind and rain, was crushed like soft tofu.

Dust billowed, obscuring the dwarves' vision, but Gromril knew from the rune's sensing that the hammer did not stop immediately; it continued to bore into the mountain with tremendous inertia.

"Don't go over there!"

Gromril folded his arms, admiring his masterpiece. Such a terrifying strike left the onlookers in awe. As the dust slowly dispersed, a few daring fellows quickly moved forward, wanting to see just how much destructive power there was.

The clansmen stopped in their tracks upon hearing him. They saw a large hole appear in the mountain, with a spiderweb-like pattern of cracks forming around the point of impact, still expanding outwards.

"Plop! Plop!"

With a few soft sounds, several pieces of shattered rock fell.

"Crash!"

"Thud!"

This seemed to open a switch; the destabilized mountain began to landslide. A large amount of mud, sand, and rock instantly poured down, and a yellow waterfall seemed to appear before the dwarves' eyes.

Having lived in the Mountains for many years, constantly excavating Mountains for mining and building dwellings, dwarves had experienced many accidents like collapses and landslides. Although engineers gradually mastered some prediction and avoidance techniques, most clansmen still attributed this to the wrath of Father Grungni and other gods.

"Achoo!"

For a moment, the entire scene was silent, with only the faint sounds of subsequent falling rocks and clansmen swallowing their saliva, until a certain Clansman let out a big sneeze due to the dust, bringing everyone back to their senses.

"How was it? Is there no applause or cheers for this?"

The power of this strike was a bit greater than he had anticipated, but after all, he was the instigator. Gromril dispelled his Avatar of the Gods and turned around, smiling.

"This, this, is this the legendary Stormhammer?" Sogard looked at the mountain, half of which had collapsed from a single strike, and stammered, mouth agape for a long time.

"Indeed, was its power not as great as you imagined?" the King of the Southern Lands retorted with a wide smile.

"I wouldn't dare, I wouldn't dare! I, I have lived far away for a long time, my knowledge is shallow, and I even doubted the rumors were true. Seeing it with my own eyes today, I realize those common folk cannot clearly describe your great power!"

The two Norsca princes were drenched in cold sweat; their drunkenness had completely sobered up.

"Hey, Soli, do you think you could take this hammer?"

Gromril turned to look at his brother, who was still staring blankly. His gaze fell on Soli as if it were substantial; the young man seemed to have been hit by a heavy hammer and directly fell to the ground with a "thump."

"I, I, I surrender, I surrender!"

Compared to his brother, who could still muster the spirit to praise a few words, this planned challenger repeatedly waved his hands and scooted backward on his backside, fearing he might actually take a hit. A mortal body, even wearing ancestral armor, would be directly vibrated into a pulpy mess by the impact.

"Right, I heard there's an ancient Dragon Ogre in the Chaos Wastes named Kholek Suneater, as big as a mountain, who calls himself the Avatar of Storms and is worshipped and sacrificed to as a god by foolish people. How does my strike compare to him?"

Gromril asked again. The effect of this hammer made him feel he was qualified to compare himself to the truly top-tier combatants in this world.

"The so-called Suneater isn't because the sun is unwilling to see him; our Ancestors recorded that he can only trigger black thunderclouds, which then obscure the sunlight." Sogard didn't rush to a definitive conclusion, but first laid the groundwork with a couple of sentences.

"Kholek sleeps most of the time, and I have never seen him. From his kind, Dragon Ogres, though powerful, are clumsy and difficult to maneuver flexibly. How could he compare to your Stormhammer, which is as easy to command as an arm? Naturally, he is vastly inferior!"

Sogard's reply greatly satisfied Gromril. A giant beast that can't see its own backside is certainly devastating for clearing out cannon fodder, but when facing a powerful individual, it's inevitably like using a cannon to swat a fly.

"Let's go back. Don't stand here in the wind! Brother-in-law, since you've come all this way, stay a little longer; there's still plenty to see around here!" His goal achieved, Gromril waved his hand and led the team back. This hammer strike was strenuous and mentally taxing, and he needed to rest.

December 16th

The Ancestor Chosen Gromril showed us his Stormhammer. The previous rumors were still too conservative; he obliterated a mountain peak with a single strike in front of everyone!

By the Kings of Du Long City, his deeds of slaying demigods and banishing Greater Daemons are all true! He even asked me who was stronger, him or Kholek Suneater, who once destroyed a fortress in the book of grudges. He is likely going to hunt that powerful being who made a pact with the Chaos Gods.

From now on, no, right now, I must train a good relationship with my dearest brother-in-law! The Kingdom of the Mountains will surely rise under his leadership, and the Four Cities of the North must also get on this bandwagon.

The next day, Sogard and his party began their tour of Highland Fortress. Gromril did not accompany them personally; after yesterday's incident, he figured they wouldn't enjoy themselves as much if he was there.

"Damn it! I lost a lot just to show off!"

Sitting in his office, Gromril wiped his warhammer, looking dejected. He hadn't intentionally left the warhammer embedded in the mountain after that mighty blow. On the contrary, when he tried to activate the Master-level Flight Rune to retrieve it, he failed.

Gromril had initially thought the burial by mud and rocks interfered with the rune's effect, and not wanting to stick his butt up in the air rummaging through the ruins and ruin his dignified image, he left directly. But the facts proved he had underestimated the situation.

Now, the head of the warhammer had some scratches, likely due to the intense impact. But external issues were nothing compared to the internal ones; the infusion of spirit vein energy had damaged the structure of that rune.

"It's a bit troublesome. Getting another rune with the help of a ritual isn't hard, but once a runic weapon is damaged, it's difficult to repair!"

Gromril muttered to himself. When the dwarves were created by the Old Ones, they were not given spellcasting abilities to reduce the possibility of being corrupted by Chaos. Therefore, weapons and equipment often were not designed to carry energy.

Through this, he also realized that as his strength increased, this weapon, which he had acquired early on, was starting to fall behind. After witnessing the power of Belegar's two artifacts in actual combat, Gromril felt a longing in his heart.

"What should I do?"

Gromril leaned back in his chair, pondering. Compared to other races, for a normal dwarf, seeking better equipment to enhance his strength was the right path.

"Going back and relying on my elders is certainly a good idea. The Everpeak's treasury and Master Krag's collection must still contain many good things!"

dwarves often refuse to pass down certain items due to 'lack of qualification,' such as the equipment of Ironbreakers and Iron Hammer Guards. Even though distributing them would directly boost troop strength, there are always old elders who believe that the current young'un are not worthy of the treasures passed down by their Ancestors in various aspects.

"Then there's my artifact vault system. Before, I was busy running around and didn't have time to specifically search. Now that I have territory, manpower, and temporary peace, I can focus on it!"

As Gromril thought, he opened his system. He had already collected three items: Thurni's Runic Pincers – which Master Krag had borrowed earlier; Gazul's Mark of Favor; and Latton's Beast Taming Collar.

Gromril hadn't found suitable targets for the latter two. Regarding giant beasts, he had previously discreetly inquired with the two familiar Slann in the Southlands, but not to mention Dread Saurians, the true overlords of the rainforest, the Southlands didn't even have ancient Triceratops large enough to carry palanquins.

Lord Oytaclass of White Bone Temple hadn't been able to find a suitable mount for his palanquin, and Gromril naturally didn't want to ride an Ankylosaurus around. That thick-skinned, clumsy creature was even inferior to the giant spiders of Spiderweb Mountain.

The single components he had were the pickaxe head of Grungni's Divine Pickaxe and the spur gear obtained from Undermountain Hold. Counting them, he had already gathered half of the sixteen fragments for the eight artifacts, which was quite efficient.

Gromril had no clue where the remaining fragments were. Some were lost outside the Mountains, and some might be in fallen Mountain Strongholds. However, Gromril still believed that a portion remained in dwarf hands, simply unrevealed, like the spur gear from Undermountain Hold, treasures gathering dust.

"Perhaps I can collect them throughout the entire Mountain Kingdom. With my current power and prestige, I can easily find an excuse!"

Acting on his thought, Gromril quickly drafted a statement and sent it throughout the Mountains via rune-telegram. In the name of Ancestor Chosen, King of the Southern Lands, he called upon all clansmen to collect artifacts from the era of the Ancestor Gods – the kind whose purpose was unknown.

Every clansmen confident in their treasure could bring it to Karak-Zorn. Gromril would personally appraise these items. Once confirmed as suitable, generous individuals would not only receive a hefty reward but also have Gromril pray for grace on their behalf before the Ancestor Gods.

As for clansmen whose treasures were not selected, Gromril would also reimburse their travel expenses, including transport, food, and lodging. It would be considered a pilgrimage to the Ancestors' homeland, and experiencing steamboats and railways along the way wouldn't be bad either.

In fact, with the system in hand, he could have described the needed items in more detail, such as a pickaxe handle or a gear. But Gromril had his own considerations for not doing so.

Firstly, hostile forces would also get the news. If they fell into enemy hands, those guys might not have the ability to destroy the artifact fragments, but simply throwing them into the sea would be enough to prevent Gromril from ever getting them.

Secondly, who knew if the clansmen didn't have other good things in their possession? With his family knowledge and tutelage, he might indeed be able to identify some treasures, and compared to them, the additional gold expenditure was negligible.

This news undoubtedly caused a sensation in the Mountains and even the entire Old World. Many dwarf lords, after realizing they had no related treasures, gradually turned their attention to the human factions below the Mountains.

After an extensive survey, Sogard embarked on his journey back. Gromril did not accompany him. The wedding date was set for later, and with the railway now open, travel time was greatly reduced. He could stay in Highland Fortress, researching while waiting for people to bring treasures to him.

After appraising several items, all of which were common goods, Gromril was disappointed with the collections of the Southlands clansmen. It made sense; most of those who migrated here had not fared so well in the Old World, and such families often had slightly less distinguished histories and bloodlines.

"Why is it so noisy outside?" Gromril's thoughts were interrupted once again.

"Brann Bronzebeard is here! He seems to have tamed a griffon!" Rogov was on duty today, and he immediately recognized the adventurer's distinctive large beard.

"A griffon?" The Transmigrator recalled that some dwarves in the world of the Mountain Kings did ride griffons. He had considered this idea when he first arrived but ultimately gave up because griffons were too difficult to acquire.

"Greetings, Honored King of the Southern Lands! As soon as I received your announcement, I rushed south from the Mountains of Giants. I imagine you'd be interested in seeing the fruits of my many years of adventure!"

The adventurer laughed as he walked in, a small box tucked under his arm, dressed like a Norscan dwarf.

"Hahaha, bring a barrel of beer for my guest! After we've seen your things, I'd like to hear about your adventures over the years." Gromril greeted him while opening his system; the sealed vault indeed reacted.

"Let me see what this is? A beard ring? Yes!" Gromril picked out a small, lovely item and twirled it on his fingertip.

"Oh? You actually need this? I thought it was a ring!" Brian stroked his copper beard, apparently it wasn't his top choice.

"Hmm, a hundred Oath Gold, how about it?" Gromril lightly flicked his beard ring; he had no intention of returning it to Brian once he had it in hand.

"Of course!" The adventurer was also very happy; although he was experienced, bold, and meticulous, the places he went were too mysterious and dangerous, making it difficult to find a large group of companions.

Going alone ensured his mobility and allowed him to enter core areas. However, fewer hands also meant less power; for good items guarded by enemies, Brian could only watch and drool. It was very frustrating for the dwarf to be deep in a treasure mountain yet only able to pick up scraps from the outside.

"To the spirit of adventure! Perhaps you could tell me the story of how you found it, and with your vast knowledge, offer some advice on where to find similar items."

Having settled the first priority, Gromril and Brian clinked their cups. He was very willing to hear the opinions of professionals on this kind of archaeological work, as the adventurer had performed excellently in previous expeditions.

"The second question is relatively easier to answer." Brian lit his pipe and leaned back comfortably.

"Those fallen large strongholds in the Badlands: Black Rock Fortress, Dragon Cliff Stronghold, and Eight Peaks Mountain! The most precious treasures should have been taken out by our evacuating clansmen, so you might not need these."

"Another possible place, may the Ancestors forgive me! Is Ulthuan. Hmm, just like the phoenix crown in the Everpeak treasury."

The adventurer uttered a divine name. Although that war, which lasted for over a hundred years, ended with Caledor II being slain, the Mountains Kingdom also suffered heavy losses. Although no dwarf wanted to mention it, it was an undeniable fact that many treasures fell into the hands of the Pointy-ears.

"Very well said!" Gromril praised, Brian's analysis was well-reasoned and well-founded, which pleased him greatly.

"As for this, uh, what you called a beard ring, I found it not long ago in the Troll Country north of Kislev. It was an ancient battlefield frozen for a long time." The adventurer recalled with a solemn expression.

"Numerous ancient creatures corrupted by Chaos and some twisted fragments of demons were scattered everywhere. From the cuts, they suffered slashes from sharp weapons; their enemies were very powerful, and their mutated armor and fur seemed to have no effect whatsoever."

"Who killed them?" Gromril prompted.

"I don't know! Perhaps the troops that dealt with them cleaned up the battlefield after their victory. I searched the entire area, and besides this beard ring, I found nothing else untouched by Chaos." Brian stated his inference.

"Actually, there's another possibility, which is that they were encountered by Grimnir heading north; the God of War surrounded all of them alone." Gromril speculated from the item's origin, but he didn't voice it.

"Understood. So, besides this Oath Gold, do you have any other needs?" Receiving the runic gold ingot just extracted from the treasury from the attendant scribe and handing it to Brian, the Dwarf King changed the subject.

"It seems you still need more artifacts?" The adventurer raised his eyebrows.

"Indeed, recovering lost treasures is one of the three vows I made before the Mother Goddess." It had been ten years since he transmigrated, and Gromril could be said to have not forgotten his original intention.

"Then perhaps you could support me in forming an expedition team to delve into the strongholds in the Badlands for exploration." Brian's words were exactly what Gromril wanted.

"Excellent! With the Alliance of Three Hammers, you can use my warrant to mobilize manpower and resources from the Southlands to Iron Peak Fortress within reasonable limits! King Belegar and King Kazador also need more information about them."

The Dwarf King laughed heartily. Those three large strongholds had been lost for a long time, and under the destruction of the Greenskins and rats, the old maps in dwarf hands had sharply decreased in reference value. Collecting intelligence beforehand would greatly aid in their recapture.

Three days after Brian left, Highland Fortress welcomed another highly respected figure in the Mountains Kingdom - Master Brewer Joseph Bergman.

"What brings you here? The last time I passed Karak-Drazh, I didn't get a chance to visit, and my craving has been bothering me!" Gromril stood up to welcome the corpulent dwarf he had met once before.

"Hahaha, Ancestor Chosen is too kind! You have tirelessly traveled thousands of miles for our Mountains; all I can do is ensure you and your warriors have good wine to celebrate after victory!"

The Master Brewer exchanged modest pleasantries. Gromril was no longer the fledgling young'un he was during the wedding procession.

"The day news of your recapture of Karak-Zorn reached the Old World, I opened a barrel to brew a batch of truly fine wine as a celebration. Now that its aging period is complete, I specifically brought it for you to taste."

Bergman said, taking a beautifully decorated wine barrel from his attendant. After opening it, the aroma filled the room. Gromril took a sip, and indeed, the wine was clear, with a mellow and sweet taste.

"Good wine! Good wine! What is its name?"

"I thought of calling it 'Jubilant Diamond,' its myriad aromas like the brilliant facets of a diamond. What do you think?"

"A good meaning, I like it!" As the saying goes, 'he who eats another's food is beholden to them,' Gromril naturally wouldn't go against Bergman's wishes. They clinked cups, and the small barrel was soon empty. The Master Brewer then waved his hand, and a treasure chest was brought.

"Take a look." Bergman dismissed his attendants, unsealed the runes, and pushed the box towards Gromril.

"Well, well!"

Inside the box lay a wooden wine cup. It looked unremarkable, with several dents in the wood, and its iron hoops no longer shone.

"Indeed, you recognize this item." Seeing Gromril's expression change drastically, Bergman relaxed.

"That's right, this should be the Mother Goddess's wine cup. Legend has it that the nectar within is inexhaustible and possesses many miraculous effects." Gromril affirmed, observing the system's reaction.

"Unfortunately, it's incomplete and has lost its divine efficacy." Bergman sighed with regret.

"This is a family heirloom, but its authenticity has always been questioned by my clansmen. After my great-grandfather dueled to the death with a peer for the family's honor, my grandfather sealed this wine cup away."

"I need it. What do you need?" Gromril closed the lid and stared at the dwarf opposite him. Bergman had already achieved both fame and fortune, theoretically lacking nothing, and the Dwarf King didn't know how to convince him to part with this treasure.

"This wine cup can only regain its former divine brilliance in your hands; keeping it only adds to my troubles. I want nothing, as long as you are willing to vindicate it and my family."