Chapter 392 - 376: Dragon Mighty

Chapter 392: Chapter 376: Dragon Mighty

Roland’s eyes narrowed slightly.

A riot?

’Or a long-planned rebellion?’

The thought flashed through his mind like lightning, and his body was already moving on instinct.

After snatching up his Secret Silver Longsword, Roland quickly turned, left the room, and, in a hushed voice, woke the still-sleeping Bronson, Hobbit, and the others one by one.

Just as the group had gathered, before they could even figure out what was happening, the village’s tranquility was utterly shattered.

The once boisterous and joyful square below was now filled with screams and angry shouts.

Taking advantage of the high ground where Noel’s House was situated, Roland focused his gaze downward.

In the pitch-black night, one well-trained dark figure after another emerged like ghosts from the shadows of houses and the corners of alleys.

Their movements were precise and efficient, their coordination seamless.

Using their superior numbers and the element of surprise, they controlled most of the still-confused Dwarf villagers in the center of the square in the span of a breath, using their weapons and aggressive postures.

In the distance, the towering flames from Stone Furnace Castle still flickered, illuminating the chaotic scene in shifting light and shadow.

By that unsteady light, Roland clearly saw the faces of the attackers.

Their grayish-white skin glinted coldly in the firelight. They were the Gray-skinned Dwarves, those infected with Stone Speech Syndrome.

The sudden turn of events elicited different reactions from the group.

Bronson’s face instantly turned pale. His lips parted slightly as he nervously wrung his hands.

Although Hobbit’s face was tense and his breathing was rapid, having been through several battles before, he quickly suppressed his initial panic.

He gripped the longsword at his waist tightly and turned to Roland, asking in a low voice,

"Mr. Roland, what do we do now?"

Freddy, however, said nothing.

The taciturn Beastman Warrior was the quickest among them to enter a combat-ready state.

His massive body stood like an iron tower in front of his companions, his heavy war axe held firmly in his hand, his murky eyes scanning the surroundings warily.

Tress was also woken by the commotion.

The petite Pikachu peeked out from the collar of Roland’s shirt, rubbing her sleepy eyes, and asked in a sharp, confused voice,

"Roland, it’s so noisy outside. Is everyone playing a game?"

It was only then that Noel hastily threw on a robe and came out of his room.

When he got a clear look at the leader in the square below—a particularly burly figure calmly directing the other Gray-skinned Dwarves—he shuddered violently, his face a mask of incredulous horror.

"No... this is impossible..."

He cowered, his voice hoarse with fear.

"Is that... Master Klener? One of the most respected elders of the Blacksmith Guild... But-but the official report said he died in a mine collapse six months ago!"

"Everyone, calm down!"

Roland’s deep voice was exceptionally clear in the night, trying to steady everyone’s nerves.

"The situation is unclear. We..."

Before he could finish, his keen Perception caught the extremely faint sound of shifting dirt by his feet.

Without a moment’s hesitation, a cold glint flashed in Roland’s eyes.

With a cold snort, he violently lifted his right foot, instantly gathering Fighting Spirit in his sole, and stomped down hard on the ground to his right like a heavy warhammer!

"BOOM!"

A muffled, thunder-like explosion erupted in the courtyard.

The solid ground, paved with rammed earth and gravel, actually caved in from the impact, forming a shallow crater from which spiderweb cracks spread rapidly.

The dirt and gravel blasted away by the immense force shot out in all directions like arrows.

Amidst the swirling dust, a gray figure was sent flying backward out of the forcibly ruptured tunnel below, letting out a pained groan.

It landed like a rag doll a few steps away, struggled to get up, then suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood and fell lifeless.

However, this was only the beginning.

As if in response to Roland’s stomp, the next moment, from the darkness surrounding the courtyard, the sound of shifting dirt arose from all directions like a dense rainfall, a ceaseless RUSTLE RUSTLE.

But Roland’s thunderous move had clearly served as a powerful deterrent; no more attackers dared to emerge directly from beneath their feet.

Under the intertwining dance of flickering firelight and deep night, one gray figure after another silently rose from the earth, standing outside the low walls surrounding the courtyard.

Their specific appearances were blurred in the darkness; only their pairs of eyes, gleaming with a grayish-white light, were clearly visible.

Burning within them was a cold, pure hatred and resentment that made these Gray-skinned Dwarves look more like a pack of masterless, man-eating ghosts.

In the oppressive silence, a hoarse voice suddenly broke the stalemate.

"You... aren’t going anywhere."

Before the words had faded, a figure strode forward with heavy steps.

When the firelight illuminated his wrinkled yet exceptionally resolute, grayish-white face, Noel cried out in shock.

"Uncle Baric?"

The young Dwarf’s face was filled with disbelief and panic.

"What... What is going on?"

However, Baric didn’t even glance at his nephew, merely speaking softly.

"Noel, come here."

"These Alien Races... must be silenced here forever."

The color drained from Noel’s face, but he abruptly spread his arms, resolutely blocking the path between Baric and Roland’s group.

"No! Uncle Baric, this must be some kind of misunderstanding!"

His voice trembled, but it carried an undeniable firmness.

"Mr. Roland is my friend! He’s definitely not our enemy! Why... Why are you doing this? Weren’t we always..."

Seeing his nephew stubbornly defending Roland’s group, the last trace of warmth vanished from Baric’s eyes.

"Noel, my child."

His voice grew even hoarser, like grinding gravel.

"Since you insist on standing with them..."

Baric raised his hand slightly, and the surrounding Gray-skinned Dwarves took a simultaneous step forward, the silent pressure becoming almost suffocating.

"Then, for the true rise of the Gray Dwarves... you can join these Alien Races in eternal silence."

The moment his voice fell, a frigid killing intent surged forth like a tangible tide.

At almost the same instant he uttered the last syllable, the Gray-skinned Dwarves surrounding the courtyard moved.

There were no roars, no battle cries, only a heart-pounding, dead silence.

They surged inward from all directions like a ghostly gray tide, their movements synchronized with cold efficiency.

The Gray-skinned Dwarves at the front raised their crossbows, the poison-tipped crossbow arrows glinting with a sinister blue light under the moon, locking onto every figure in the center of the courtyard.

The attackers on the flanks charged forward in a low stance, their recurved war axes and spiked iron shields forming a deadly, moving wall.

More unsettlingly, a faint vibration could once again be felt from the ground beneath their feet.

Clearly, there were still ambushing troops hidden underground, ready to launch a fatal strike at any moment.

The attack had not yet landed, but the intersecting gleam of crossbow bolts, the flash of axe blades, and the faint killing intent from underground had already woven an inescapable net, compressing despair and danger into this small courtyard.

The air was as taut as a fully drawn bowstring, as if it would be torn apart by blood and steel in the next second.

But facing this siege from all directions, this deadly, tide-like assault, Roland’s expression didn’t change in the slightest; it was as placid as a deep pool.

He didn’t even look at the approaching blades and crossbow arrows. He simply patted Noel’s fear-stiffened shoulder in a small gesture of comfort.

Then, just a moment before countless cold blades were about to strike, he slowly closed his eyes.

When he opened them again...

It was as if everything in the world froze in that instant.

His originally human pupils had completely transformed into two cold, vertical slits of molten gold.

There was no roar, no spell, not even a single extraneous movement.

[Dragon Mighty] descended.

An invisible, intangible, yet abyss-like terrifying pressure erupted from Roland’s position.

It wasn’t a sound, yet it made everyone’s eardrums ring.

It wasn’t an impact, yet it made the air in the entire courtyard instantly stagnate like iron.

It was as if time itself had stretched.

The Gray-skinned Dwarf warrior charging from the front, his grayish-white eyes filled with hatred and killing intent, found them instantly flooded with boundless fear in a fraction of a second.

His forward momentum came to an abrupt halt, as if he had run into an invisible wall of despair.

"CLANG! CLATTER!"

His war axe fell from his limp grasp, clattering to the ground.

The archers with crossbows on either side were hit even harder.

A tremor originating from the deepest part of their souls completely stiffened their fingers on the crossbow triggers. The cold metal bodies of the weapons became as difficult to hold as if they were searing hot.

"THUD... THUD..."

Like stalks of wheat being reaped.

Inside and outside the courtyard, all the attacking Gray-skinned Dwarves lost control of their bodies at the same moment.

Those closest to him rolled their eyes back, foamed at the mouth, and passed out.

Those a bit farther away felt their knees go weak and involuntarily knelt, trembling like chaff in the wind, unable to even dream of lifting their heads.

The once-tight encirclement crumbled in an instant.

With just a single gaze.

The courtyard, once brimming with killing intent and sealed tight, now held only a floor of collapsed, unconscious gray bodies.

...and under the gaze of those molten-gold, vertical pupils, the only one still standing rigidly was Baric, his face as pale as paper, his eyes filled with incredulous horror.