Chapter 515 - 514: Hall of the Dwarves

Chapter 515: Chapter 514: Hall of the Dwarves

"Do you see that black gate? That’s a creation of our ancestors! Legend has it that only royalty of the Shadow Anvil Clan can push it open. Those Gray Dwarves could live here for an eternity and never open this gate!"

Dorn’s voice rang out in Colin’s mind. The excitement in the Dwarf’s tone was so thick, Colin figured even Kase or Ale could have heard it.

Colin replied in his mind, "You should be more worried about your arm. Hurry up and get Orelia to reattach it."

With a push from Durkin, the black gate slowly swung open, like two black curtains being drawn apart.

The moment the gate opened, the Dwarves let out a collective gasp and slowly began to gather by the entrance.

Though Dorn was visibly excited, he dutifully remained at the back of the group.

Colin and the others stayed by Dorn’s side.

’Besides, they didn’t have to worry about the Dwarves in front blocking their view, so it didn’t matter where they stood.’

Once the gate was fully open, the group moved closer for a look.

Beyond the gate lay a massive hall.

In the center of the hall stood an anvil roughly the size of a carriage. Suspended above it was a massive, hammer-shaped block of iron.

Carved into the wall directly opposite the gate was a colossal bust of a Dwarf, its head slightly bowed as if gazing down upon the hall’s interior.

Colin guessed it was likely a former king of the Shadow Anvil Clan, or perhaps even the Dwarves’ Main God, Moradin.

The left side of the room was filled with casting tables and molds.

The right side held what looked like assembly-line equipment. Lined up alongside it were individual workstations, each with its own anvil, forging hammer, and quenching bucket, clearly set up for blacksmiths.

The ceiling was crisscrossed with suspended steel tracks, from which hung mobile casting ladles, flexible water hoses, and ore buckets.

A thick layer of dust covered everything, making Colin feel as if he were witnessing the sheer weight of time itself.

In Dwarven mythology, Moradin shaped the bodies of the Dwarves in His forge and gave them life, which is why He is also known as the "Soul Forger."

Thus, in most Dwarf Clans, the forge is essentially considered a shrine to Moradin.

The Dwarves who entered the hall explored every corner, their eyes wide as they carefully observed their surroundings, afraid of missing the slightest detail. Some of the older Dwarves covered their faces and began to weep silently.

Colin recalled a line from a book he’d read about Dwarves that had left a deep impression on him—"Their memories are long, and their grudges last forever."

A Dwarf’s memory is like an inscription carved in stone.

In some ways, this made them vengeful and resistant to change. But from another perspective, it also meant the love and loyalty of these stout people were incredibly enduring, difficult to alter even with the passage of ages.

It was both a weakness and a strength.

Once the Dwarves had composed themselves, the party began to clear the area.

’The Gray Dwarves must have already cleared the surrounding area, so we shouldn’t have to worry about running into any more monsters.’

Colin went to the entryway outside the gate to inspect the damaged tents, flipping open the flaps one by one to check their contents.

Before he could flip open the sixth tent flap, he suddenly felt that something was wrong—as if someone were hiding inside.

Colin inconspicuously moved away. He used Mind Communication to ask Dorn to alert the others, then cast See Invisibility on himself again. Drawing his Giant Sword, he slowly approached the tent and flicked open the flap with its tip.

However, the person hiding in the tent wasn’t a vicious Gray Dwarf, but a rather tall human.

The man had blue hair, and his skin had a faint blue tinge, as if he’d been stained by a badly dyed shirt. Wrapped in a blanket, he huddled fearfully in a corner of the tent. An iron collar with a chain was fastened around his neck.

Seeing the man’s terrified expression, Colin spoke in a soothing voice. "We’ve already taken care of the Gray Dwarves. Are you an Adventurer they captured?"

The man continued to glance around nervously.

Just then, Colin noticed something blue peeking out from under the blanket... ’Scales?’

He raised his Giant Sword again, aiming it at the man. "Sir, if you don’t mind, could you remove that blanket? Or at least move it aside."

"I... I’m a Fishman..." the man said in halting Common Language, tinged with a southern accent. He pulled the blanket higher.

Colin took a closer look.

Both of his legs were covered in blue scales, and in place of feet, he had a pair of wide, webbed flippers.

Recalling something he had read in the library, Colin asked, "Are you a Triton?"

The Fishman nodded.

"Why are you wasting your breath on him? These Underworld creatures can’t be any good!" Langgrin walked over, drawing the Battle Axe from his hip.

Colin replied, "You’re mistaken about that. He’s a Triton, and they’re a naturally good-natured species."

"Don’t try to out-knowledge a Mage, Langgrin!" Donkexes called out teasingly from a distance, letting out a booming laugh. He was clearly in high spirits.

Durkin, who had been standing nearby, walked over. He looked at the Fishman and asked, "Are your people nearby?"

"My tribe lives in the surrounding underground rivers. I was captured by those... things... because I got lost." Seeing that the newcomers weren’t immediately hostile, the Fishman relaxed slightly.

Durkin asked, "We’re going to establish our own foothold here. If we were to join forces, life in the Underworld might be easier for all of us. What do you think?"

’So that’s his plan,’ Colin thought.

When Durkin had so readily paid tribute to that band of Bullywugs, Colin had suspected he was trying to find allies in the Undercity.

On the strength of the Shadow Anvil Clan alone, taking control of the entire Undercity was practically impossible. Not unless they could secure help from other powers.

"Perhaps... but I... I don’t know if the others would agree."

"Then what should we call you, and what is the name of your clan?"

The Fishman hesitated for a moment before speaking. "You can call me Lanser. I’m a member of the Floating Shell Clan."

"Very well, Lanser. You can stay here for a time, until you’ve recovered from your injuries." Durkin then looked to Colin. "Could you help escort him back to his clan once he’s healed? I’ll add it to our commission and reward you accordingly."

"How much longer will you need to establish a portal connecting to the Surface?" Colin asked.

"It might take a week," said Donkexes. "If there are complications with the portal, it could take even longer."

"Alright, then. It’s no trouble," Colin said, nodding in agreement.