Chapter 394 - 378: Gray Dwarf

Chapter 394: Chapter 378: Gray Dwarf

The moment the word "Heartstealer" left Duraga’s lips, Roland’s pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.

The scene of his life-and-death struggle in Wailing Gorge surfaced in his mind, as clear as if it had happened only yesterday.

If not for the narrow passage restricting the monster’s ability to maneuver, the Spiritual Resistance from [Will of Steel] withstanding its most lethal corruption, and his own fearless, close-quarters assault robbing the creature of any opening to unleash its terrifying Mind Power, he never would have survived.

He would have had absolutely no chance of survival.

And yet, even with all that, at the end of the battle, the unknown behemoth controlled by the Heartstealer—a beast powerful enough to shake the very structure of the gorge—had still nearly buried him alive.

And now this Dwarf before him, this Duraga, was claiming to have captured such a powerful, cunning, and dangerous creature alive?

Roland’s gaze sharpened, locking onto Duraga’s silver-white eyes like a hawk searching for any trace of hesitation, deception, or bravado.

But there was nothing.

Those eyes held only a cold hatred that had settled over countless ages, and an almost pathological pride in his accomplishment.

This didn’t seem like a lie. It was more like the statement of a cruel fact—one he was deeply proud of.

’What if...’

’What if he’s telling the truth?’

Once the thought took root, it spread like wildfire through his mind.

He did have an extraordinary interest in the Heartstealer, but the source of that interest wasn’t the monster itself. It was the hidden Profession he still had no leads on...

The [Spiritual Master].

Although Roland had only scratched the surface of Spiritual Energy, having mastered only the single Skill [Spiritual Self-Formation], even this preliminary application had already brought him immense improvement.

And the Heartstealer was the pinnacle of Spiritual Energy users that he had witnessed with his own eyes and experienced firsthand.

They were natural Spiritual Masters whose understanding and application of Mind Power had reached a state of perfection.

’A living Heartstealer—especially a captive one...’

’To Roland, who yearned to delve deeper into Spiritual Energy and unlock the [Spiritual Master] Profession, its value was immeasurable.’

’This might be the only shortcut available to him—a way to rapidly break through his bottleneck and grasp the deeper mysteries of Spiritual Energy.’

After a moment of inner turmoil, Roland finally suppressed the thoughts.

His gaze shifted from Duraga’s face to the heavy darkness surrounding them.

His Perception told him that numerous Gray-skinned Dwarves still lurked under the cover of shadows and caves, like coiled vipers awaiting their leader’s command.

But in Roland’s eyes, this force didn’t constitute a real threat.

In the face of an absolute gap in Power, numbers were meaningless.

He was certain that even in this pitch-black environment, so disadvantageous for a human, these Gray-skinned Dwarf Warriors who hadn’t even touched the threshold of the Extraordinary would be hard-pressed to cause him any real harm, even if there were hundreds or thousands of them.

The same was true for Duraga himself.

Roland’s Perception focused once more on the mysterious Gray-skinned Dwarf.

The Iron Glove binding his right hand was certainly strange. The wisp of pressure clinging to it, something from a Divine Domain, put Roland on edge. He didn’t dare underestimate it.

The contradiction, however, was that the aura emanating from Duraga’s own body was exceptionally weak, almost as frail as a newborn’s.

This jarring contrast was a complete mystery.

But in Roland’s assessment, he was confident that he could handle it even if Duraga suddenly attacked.

But aside from the irresistible lure of the Heartstealer, the deciding factor for Roland was Duraga’s unwavering, familiar attitude.

That tone, that look in his eyes...

It was too natural, too genuine, to be an act.

’"Our agreement back then..."’

’"The weapon I forged for you all those years ago..."’

’"Long time no see, old friend..."’

Duraga’s previous words echoed in Roland’s mind.

He searched his memories, but there was absolutely nothing about a Gray-skinned Dwarf named Duraga.

This was his first time setting foot in the Rock Kingdom. Before this, besides Noel and Master Griffin of the Blacksmith Guild, he’d never had such a deep connection with any Dwarf.

’So, where did this "familiarity" come from?’

’Who exactly had Duraga mistaken him for?’

’Or perhaps...’

’...this involved secrets even he wasn’t aware of?’

The desire to uncover the truth behind this "familiarity," combined with the potential to obtain the secrets of Spiritual Energy from the Heartstealer, finally tipped the scales in Roland’s mind.

But he didn’t respond immediately.

With a mere thought, an invisible ripple, existing only on the level of his Spiritual Attribute, silently spread out from him.

[Domain of Honesty].

He needed one last confirmation.

Duraga immediately detected the probing power, but his silver-white eyes showed no trace of offense. Instead, they held a flicker of detached indifference, as if he were long used to it.

He stood there calmly, allowing the invisible Domain to wash over him, patiently answering Roland’s various questions, except for...

"Let’s save the reminiscing for after this is all over."

When Roland asked how they knew each other, Duraga simply waved his hand.

"You know me. No fine wine... no time for idle chatter."

Seeing him respond this way, Roland had no choice but to drop the subject for now.

And after confirming that everything Duraga had said was true, the last trace of the sharp aura around Roland finally dissipated.

He gave a slight nod, his decision made.

"Lead the way, Duraga. Let me see your... ’prey’."

Seeing Roland finally lower his guard, a nearly savage smile spread across Duraga’s deeply-lined face.

Without another word, he turned and headed deeper into the village.

The group moved through the deathly silent village. In the surrounding shadows, the indistinct figures of Gray-skinned Dwarf Warriors stood in great numbers.

Like silent stone statues, they lowered their heads as Duraga passed, stepping aside to clear a path.

Their posture wasn’t so much respect for a leader as it was...

...reverence for some supreme authority.

However, Roland keenly sensed that beneath their lowered eyelids, the gazes of these Gray-skinned Dwarves weren’t focused on Duraga himself.

Instead, they were fixed—with an inexpressible mix of Fear and awe—on the heavy, spiked Iron Glove on his right hand.

It was as if the glove, not Duraga the "man," was the true object of their Fear and submission.

Duraga, for his part, seemed either long accustomed to this or simply didn’t care.

His stride was steady as he led Roland’s party toward Stone Furnace Castle, the site of the recent conflict.

The closer they got to Stone Furnace Castle, the thicker the stench of blood and smoke grew.

As they passed through the massive, violently destroyed gateway, the scene before them changed drastically.

The once-sturdy and majestic stone fortress was now littered with the signs of a fierce battle.

Shattered weapons, charred blast craters, and dark, coagulated bloodstains spattered the walls and ground.

The bodies of the Dwarf Guards and the attacking Gray-skinned Dwarves were piled together, a silent testament to the brutal battle that had recently occurred.

In the center of the courtyard, atop a gruesome mound of corpses and shattered armor, a rough wooden stake had been driven.

Impaled on its tip was a head, beard bristling and eyes wide with fury. It was none other than Balin, the arrogant member of the Dwarf Royal Family who had tried to throw his weight around earlier.

His face, once filled with arrogance and malice, was now just a rigid mask of shock and rage in death.

Duraga stopped before the pile of bodies. Following Roland’s gaze to the head, he let out an unreadable scoff.

"Look, our ’noble’ Prince Balin."

Duraga said slowly, his voice laced with its characteristic sarcasm.

"I told him the arrogance of the Stone Furnace Clan would eventually bring about their Destruction... A pity. Just like his old man rotting in his grave, he couldn’t stomach unpleasant truths."

He paused, then tilted his head to glance at Roland with those silver-white eyes, a cruel smirk twisting his lips.

"But I imagine he finally understands now. Here... what decides whose head gets put on a stake isn’t bloodline. It’s... Power."

After speaking, the Gray-skinned Dwarf leader didn’t linger. He led Roland and his companions to the back of the castle, stopping before the entrance to a mine shaft carved into the mountainside.

The entrance had clearly weathered long ages. The edges of the once-neatly arched entryway were now worn smooth, and the deep tunnel extending inward was quickly swallowed by an unsettling darkness.

The air was thick with the cold smell of dust and stone. An occasional draft of foul air billowed out from the cave’s depths, carrying a bone-chilling cold.

"Wait here a moment."

Duraga stopped at the entrance, shook his gloved right hand, and turned back to Roland.

"Some of the ’protections’ inside need to be temporarily disabled. I’d rather not cause any unnecessary trouble."

With that, he stepped alone into the profound darkness. The sound of his heavy footsteps quickly faded, vanishing completely into the depths of the mine.

Bronson, who had been silent and vigilant the entire time, quickly moved to Roland’s side once he was sure Duraga was gone.

His brow was furrowed, and he lowered his voice, his tone graver than ever before.

"Roland, if my observations and deductions are correct, these so-called Dwarves infected with ’Stone Speech Syndrome’... their characteristics, this collective mutation and behavioral pattern... I’m afraid they’re..."

"Gray Dwarves."

Before Bronson could finish, Roland calmly completed his thought, his voice clear and certain.