Chapter 390 - 374: Rejection

Chapter 390: Chapter 374: Rejection

Walking through the desolate streets of the fortress, Roland clearly perceived a silent yet sharp antagonism.

Several ordinary Dwarves, their skin still rosy-hued, were chatting around a small Forging Furnace. But when two of their slow-moving, gray-skinned brethren passed by with their heads lowered, the chatter and laughter abruptly ceased.

A young Dwarf instinctively tightened his grip on the handle of the War Axe at his waist, his eyes showing unconcealed vigilance and even a faint trace of...

Disgust.

"Stay away from the Forging Furnace, you ’Stone Fools’!"

An old Dwarf with his beard braided into a thick plait hissed in a low voice. Though not loud, the rejection in his tone was as sharp as a blade.

"Don’t bring your bad luck near the ’Fire Source’!"

The two Gray-skinned Dwarves showed no reaction, not even pausing in their steps. They simply skirted the leaping flames, as if the light and heat caused them physical discomfort.

They retreated to the edge of the street, almost pressing themselves against the cold stone wall.

One of them reached out a coarse, gray hand and unconsciously caressed the rock wall, a look of almost...

Serenity washing over his face.

This strange affinity for stone and aversion to fire was particularly jarring and incomprehensible in the eyes of the ordinary Dwarves.

"See that?"

another Dwarf whispered to his companion.

"They’re becoming more and more like stone, their hearts have grown cold! They’ve even forsaken the ancestral furnace fire. Can you still call them Dwarves?"

Along the street, some shopkeepers cast wary glances as the Gray-skinned Dwarves approached. Some even hurriedly packed up goods displayed outside that might be easily tainted by "bad luck."

Although no violent conflict broke out, this pervasive cold shoulder—this rejection of their own kind as outsiders, even as a plague—filled the air, more biting than the winter wind.

Roland, however, keenly perceived that while most of the Dwarves infected with Stone Speech Syndrome displayed an almost numb indifference to the ostracism and accusations...

...there were one or two Gray-skinned Dwarves whose eyes were not entirely vacant in the moment they lowered their heads and turned away.

It was a suppressed light, buried deep within their gray pupils.

Cold, sharp, and filled with undisguised hatred.

Though the gleam vanished in an instant, swallowed by a deeper silence.

But their clenched fists, which appeared even grayer from the force of their grip, and their quickened pace as they practically fled toward darker corners, ultimately betrayed this fleeting moment of truth.

"If only Mr. Mason were here..."

Just as Roland was focused on his observations, Hobbit, who was beside him, suddenly spoke.

The hobbit stared at the snowflakes drifting down from the sky, his voice low.

"Mr. Mason said he loved snowy scenery. It’s a shame the climate in the River Domain is so mild; it’s rare to see snow even in the dead of winter."

’Mason...’

The name brought to Roland’s mind the image of a slender young man who always wore a gentle smile.

After the incident in the Magic City Giles, Mason had returned with him to the River Domain.

Roland had asked Colin to arrange a stable job for him, hoping he could live out the rest of his life in peace.

However, the young man of noble birth didn’t stay long before gracefully resigning.

Shortly after Roland left to study in the Golden Valley Kingdom, Mason quietly departed the River Domain, leaving only a letter entrusted to Bronson to be passed on.

In the letter, he expressed his gratitude to Roland and wrote of his plans for the future.

’Travel the continent... Heh, that guy is really a free spirit.’

Roland shook his head gently, setting aside thoughts of his old friend for the moment.

The strange glint that flashed in the eyes of those Gray-skinned Dwarves put him instinctively on alert, and a faint premonition of danger lingered in his mind.

He didn’t linger any longer, turning to urge his companions to pick up the pace.

No one objected, and they all quickened their steps.

Unlike the vast fields and winding marshes of the River Domain, or the fertile plains of the Golden Valley Kingdom, the domain of the Rock Kingdom was covered in range after range of towering mountains.

The winding mountain roads were already treacherous, and the continuous snowfall and icy surfaces of deep winter slowed the party’s progress considerably.

It took them a full half-month to finally reach the first true Dwarven town of their journey.

Stone Furnace Castle.

After a brief inspection by the gate guards, they stepped into the fortress city, which was built into the mountainside.

The first thing that met their eyes was a towering statue standing in the central square of the town.

It depicted a Dwarven figure of immense authority.

He wore heavy Battle Armor, his hands gripping a massive Warhammer that he leaned upon.

His thick beard was carved with meticulous detail, and on his resolute face, a pair of stone eyes seemed to gaze upon the entire town, conveying an unquestionable will of determination and guardianship.

This was the holy statue of the deity worshipped by the Dwarven race, Moradin, the god of forging and protection.

However, in stark contrast to this statue symbolizing unity and resilience, the atmosphere inside Stone Furnace Castle was unusually somber and tense.

Among the residents walking the streets, nearly everyone visible to the naked eye was a gray-skinned, numb-faced Dwarf.

The far less numerous ordinary Dwarves, on the other hand, were all fully armed, patrolling the streets in small squads.

They gripped their weapons tightly, their gazes sweeping warily over their silent, gray-skinned brethren. The air was thick with a silent, hair-trigger tension.

As Roland and his party made their way through the oppressive streets of Stone Furnace Castle, a commotion ahead drew their attention.

Several fully armed Dwarf Guards were struggling to drag a few struggling Gray-skinned Dwarves away from the entrance of a mine tunnel.

"It’s you stubborn ’Stone Fools’ again!"

The Guard Captain roared furiously, forcefully throwing one of the Gray-skinned Dwarves onto the snow.

"The Seventh Mine Tunnel is explicitly sealed off! Why do you keep trying to sneak in?"

Just then, an arrogant, booming voice cut through the chaos.

"What’s all this commotion about? What’s happened now?"

Everyone looked over to see a Dwarf in extravagant brocade robes, with an exaggerated potbelly, strolling over surrounded by a retinue of elite guards.

His fingers were laden with enormous gemstone rings, his beard was adorned with gold hoops, and his squinting eyes were filled with impatience and disgust for the scene before him.

The Guard Captain immediately bowed, his tone a mixture of helplessness and indignation.

"Your Highness Balin, these individuals infected with ’Stone Speech Syndrome’ were trying to break the barrier and sneak into the Seventh Mine Tunnel."

"This is the one hundred and thirty-sixth incident this month. We can’t keep up. We don’t even know how many have already managed to slip inside!"

Balin snorted, his gaze sweeping over the Gray-skinned Dwarves pinned to the ground as if they were nauseating vermin.

"This dross has forsaken even the furnace fires of Moradin. Their souls have long been defiled by stubborn stone. Keeping them around only creates endless trouble and taints the lands of our people. Just get rid of them."

He waved his ring-laden, plump hand dismissively.

"Your Highness Balin..."

A trace of reluctance and hesitation crossed the Guard Captain’s face.

"They are, after all... our kinsmen. And the ’Stone Speech Syndrome’ might..."

"Kinsmen?"

Balin cut him off harshly, his voice dripping with caustic sarcasm.

"You commoners are mere tools even when you’re healthy. Now that they’ve become so filthy, how are they any different from the rats in the mines? My command is iron law! Do you commoner guards dare to question the authority of the Royal Family?"

Seeing the guards still hadn’t moved, his face instantly frosted over. He barked at his own retinue.

"What are you waiting for? Do I need to repeat my order? Do it! Clean up this filth!"

At his command, the cold-eyed royal guards beside him unsheathed their blades without hesitation.

A cold glint flashed. Accompanied by a few short, sickening cutting sounds, the Gray-skinned Dwarves didn’t even have time to scream before their heads rolled to the ground.

Dark red blood spurted out, spreading across the white snow in glaring stains.

But Balin, watching the dark red bloodstains spread rapidly across the snow, still seemed unsatisfied.

His eyes, narrowed to slits by his fat cheeks, turned to the Guard Captain who had just tried to argue, and a sinister glint flashed within them.

"As for you..."

He drew out his words, his voice holding the cruel playfulness of a cat toying with a mouse.

"A mere commoner guard. Who gave you the courage to question my judgment and plead for those filthy Stone Fools?"

The Guard Captain’s face turned deathly pale. He opened his mouth, as if wanting to explain.

"Your Highness Balin, I wasn’t questioning you, I just..."

"Just what?"

Balin cut him off rudely, his face filled with disgust and impatience.

"To contradict the Royal Family is a crime tantamount to treason! It seems you commoners have forgotten who the masters of this land are!"

He didn’t even spare the captain another glance, just waved a hand dismissively at his own guard as if shooing away a fly.

"Get rid of him. He’s an eyesore."

The order was given so casually, yet it was so deadly.

This time, there was not a shred of hesitation.

The royal guard standing next to the Guard Captain moved with a fluidity that suggested he’d practiced the motion a thousand times. His blade was drawn again, a cold light flashed...

"Urgh..."

The Guard Captain only had time to let out a short, incredulous grunt.

Then his eyes widened as he watched his own headless torso topple forward.

His vision froze on the sight of Your Highness Balin’s cold, fat profile.

The next moment, another head rolled onto the snow, mixing with the heads of the Gray-skinned Dwarves from before.

The crimson blood flowed and mingled, staining the pristine white an even more shocking and garish color.

The air around them seemed to freeze.

The faces of the onlooking ordinary Dwarf guards and residents were mostly a mask of deadened numbness, as if they were long accustomed to such brutal scenes. They only clenched their fists instinctively, then powerlessly relaxed them.

However, in the eyes of the Gray-skinned Dwarves standing silently at the edge of the street, a flicker of concealed hatred could not be suppressed.

That light, like the dim gleam of ore deep within a mine, was cold and sharp. It flashed in the depths of their gray pupils before being concealed once more by an even deeper silence.

Balin glanced around at the silent crowd, seeming quite satisfied with the effect.

After a soft snort, he straightened his magnificent brocade robes.

"Clean this place up."

Tossing out that sentence, he turned and, surrounded by his guards, arrogantly strolled away from the street he had just "purged" in an instant with blood and authority. 𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

He left behind nothing but a mess of blood, headless corpses, and the suffocating fear that permeated the cold air, along with an undercurrent stirring quietly beneath the dead silence.