Chapter 166: The Vault-Keeper’s Grudge
Chapter 166: Chapter 166: The Vault-Keeper’s Grudge
Chapter 166: The Vault-Keeper’s Grudge
The descent into the Stoneheart City was deafening.
Draven stood near the edge of a massive, circular mechanical lift. The platform was larger than most Vanguard military outposts, constructed entirely from thick slabs of iron and bronze.
Heavy, enchanted chains as thick as redwood trunks lowered the platform deep into the mountain’s core. The sheer industrial scale of the Dwarven engineering made the air vibrate.
CLANG!
HISS!
The sounds of a thousand massive hammers striking anvils echoed up from the abyss below, blending with the roar of pressurized steam venting from enormous pipes.
The heat rising from the magma rivers was oppressive, settling over Draven’s heavy iron chainmail like a physical weight.
Beside him, a rotund Dwarven merchant grumbled loudly, mopping sweat from his deeply wrinkled forehead with a soot-stained rag. He carried a heavy satchel of raw gemstones over his broad shoulder.
"You humans look absolutely miserable in this heat," the Dwarf muttered, glancing sideways at Draven’s sweaty, scarred face.
"Though I suppose I cannot blame you. It is hotter down here today than it has been in two centuries."
Draven, playing the role of Haldor the guard, offered a gruff nod.
"The forges seem to be running beyond their limits."
"It is not the forges," the Dwarf scoffed, his thick beard bristling with sudden anger.
"It is the Elves. They govern the upper aqueducts near the Verdant Canopy. For the last three weeks, the water pressure feeding our cooling systems has dropped significantly. They are choking us out."
Draven narrowed his gray eyes slightly. "Why would the Elves choke the water supply?"
"Because they are arrogant, tree-hugging cowards," the Dwarf spat, gripping the straps of his satchel tightly.
"They think we are secretly building weapons to burn their precious forest down. Lord-Emissary Lionel is the only one trying to maintain the peace, but even he cannot force High-Warden Sylveth to open the floodgates."
The lift suddenly jolted, coming to a heavy, metallic stop at the lowest accessible level of the Stoneheart City.
"Watch your back, human," the merchant warned as he stepped off the platform.
"The Forge-King’s patience is wearing entirely too thin. Blood is going to spill soon."
Draven stepped off the lift, his mind rapidly processing the new intelligence.
’The paranoia has already set in,’ Draven thought, moving through the massive, rune-lit tunnels.
’The King Level Beast is using Lionel to restrict the water supply, framing the Elves to enrage the Dwarves. How tragic!’
He followed the dense, immovable mana signature he had locked onto earlier. He navigated past massive foundries and roaring blast furnaces, heading toward the heavily fortified military sector. The heat here was almost unbearable.
He finally reached a massive, vaulted training courtyard carved directly into the mountain stone.
In the center of the courtyard stood a remarkably wide, heavily armored Dwarf. He possessed an outrageously thick, braided red beard that nearly touched the floor.
He was currently pacing back and forth in front of a dozen exhausted Dwarven soldiers, screaming at the top of his lungs.
"I do not care about your runic formations!" the red-bearded Dwarf roared, his face flushed purple from the extreme heat and pure frustration.
"When the enemy breaches the frontline, you do not stand there trying to read a glowing rock! You lock your shields, you drop your center of gravity, and you brace for impact! It is basic Vanguard protocol!"
The Dwarven soldiers stared at him in complete, baffled silence.
"Sir... what is a Vanguard protocol?" one of the soldiers asked cautiously.
"It means you do not die like an idiot!" the Dwarf yelled, ripping the heavy iron helm off his head and throwing it onto the stone floor.
"And by the Gods, it is entirely too hot down here! I am sweating through three layers of steel, and this stupid beard feels like a wool blanket glued to my chin!"
Draven watched from the shadows of a massive stone pillar. A faint smirk crossed his lips. He stepped out into the open courtyard, his heavy boots clicking softly against the stone.
He approached the group of soldiers.
"Excuse me, Commander," Draven said, keeping his voice gruff and respectful.
The red-bearded Dwarf spun around, his eyes burning with intense irritation. He glared up at the taller human guard.
"What do you want, human? I am in the middle of a very stressful lecture about not dying."
Draven did not flinch. He looked directly into the Dwarf’s eyes.
"Embrace the poor, embrace the weak," Draven said softly, his voice cutting through the ambient noise of the forges.
"Embrace the dying as they speak. Though our fingers drip with a crimson flood. The Embracing Hands wash clean the blood."
The Dwarf froze completely. His jaw went slack. The intense irritation vanished from his eyes, instantly replaced by a look of sheer, overwhelming relief.
The Dwarf slowly turned back to his confused soldiers.
"All of you, hit the showers," the Dwarf ordered, his voice suddenly very calm.
"Training is dismissed for the day."
The soldiers quickly scattered, eager to escape the heat. Once the courtyard was entirely empty, the Dwarf turned back to Draven. He let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to deflate his massive frame.
"I have never been so happy to see you," Bram groaned, rubbing his sweaty, bearded face.
"I am trapped in the body of a Dwarven heavy infantry instructor named Kaelgar Ironfoot. I hate it. I am two feet shorter, I am carrying eighty extra pounds of muscle, and everything in this sector is currently on fire."
"You blend in perfectly," Draven noted dryly.
"Do not mock me," Bram muttered. He looked around the empty courtyard, his expression turning serious.
"Did the System give you the objective?"
"Prevent the fall of Thaldrasil," Draven confirmed.
"I spoke with a merchant on the lift. The water supply from the Elven canopy has been cut. The Dwarves are blaming High-Warden Sylveth, and Lord-Emissary Lionel is supposedly trying to mediate."
"Lionel is lying," Bram stated immediately, dropping his voice to a hushed whisper.
"I am stationed right outside the primary military vaults. Forge-King Thorgar is completely insane right now. He has locked himself inside the Great Forge with his elite apprentices. Last night, Thorgar issued a secret order to all the infantry commanders."
Draven’s eyes narrowed. "What kind of order?"
"He ordered us to empty the deep vaults," Bram explained grimly.
"We are supposed to quietly divert massive shipments of restricted Void-Core metals away from the public markets. Thorgar wants us to build massive, armor-piercing siege ballistae in the lower tunnels."
"He is preparing for a preemptive strike against the Elven canopy," Draven concluded, the pieces of the puzzle rapidly clicking into place.
"If those siege weapons are fired upward into the roots, the World Tree will shatter. The civil war will wipe out both races."
"Exactly," Bram nodded.
"I tried to delay the metal shipments today, but Kaelgar is just an instructor. I do not have the clearance to stop an order from the Forge-King. We have to shut down the production lines before the ballistae are built."
Draven shook his head slowly.
"Stopping a single production line changes nothing. The paranoia is the actual disease. The King Level Beast is using Lionel to cut the water, and someone is whispering lies into Thorgar’s ears to force a retaliation. We need to reach the Forge-King directly."
"That is impossible right now," Bram sighed in frustration.
"Thorgar has sealed the massive doors to the Great Forge with ancient runic locks. The military commanders are not allowed inside. The human diplomats are banned entirely. The only people he allows in his presence are his elite blacksmiths."
Draven smiled faintly beneath his dark hood.
"Then it is highly convenient that we brought our own Forge-Master with us," Draven said.
"We need to locate Cole."