Chapter 395 - 379: The Wretched Heartstealer

Chapter 395: Chapter 379: The Wretched Heartstealer

As the words "Gray Dwarf" left Roland’s lips, an imperceptible ripple stirred within him.

This wasn’t some baseless guess. It came from Galvis, his companion who loved to show off his knowledge through what were nearly boastful tales.

Whenever the conversation turned to ancient secrets lost to the river of time, the Minstrel would repeatedly bring up this mysterious and tragic Race.

According to him, the Gray Dwarves were not born evil.

Their ancestors had once been part of the noble Dwarf race, but in the distant past, they were enslaved by the powerful Heartstealers.

Centuries of oppression and mental corruption dragged them into an unimaginable Abyss.

The Heartstealers were not only their masters but also treated them as livestock and test subjects. They used powerful Spiritual Energy to shatter their will and warp their bodies and souls, ultimately forging them into what they are today.

A Race born from Darkness and hatred.

Their hatred for the Heartstealers was deeply ingrained in their bloodline, becoming one of the cornerstones of their Race’s survival.

And because the Gray Dwarves had vanished without a trace centuries ago, records of them were scarce and mostly fragmented, relegating them to the realm of legend.

However, everything before him now quietly aligned with those accounts.

The signature grayish-white skin, the ashen eyes Burning with cold hatred and agony.

And the bone-deep venom that had nearly erupted from Duraga when he mentioned the "Heartstealer"...

All clues pointed to the name that should have only existed in legends.

But confirming the identity of these Gray Dwarves didn’t resolve Roland’s doubts. Instead, like a stone tossed into a deep pool, it sent even deeper ripples through his mind.

’I’ve never had any contact with this mysterious and ancient Race before. Why would Duraga call me an "old friend"?’

’Where did that familiarity come from? That attitude, as if they had shared a long history together?’

’What exactly is this "past" of mine that I’ve lost—or rather, that’s been misattributed to me?’

Just as his thoughts were racing, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from deep within the mine tunnel.

Duraga’s tall, sturdy figure reappeared in the dim light, his presence scattering some of the swirling dust.

"It’s done. Follow me."

His voice reverberated through the narrow passage, carrying a hollow Echo.

Roland temporarily suppressed his mounting doubts and gestured for his companions to follow. The group followed Duraga deeper into the mine.

The tunnel was even deeper and gloomier than the entrance. The lighting fixtures on the rock walls had mostly dimmed or shattered. Only a few faint, stubborn glimmers of light remained, barely outlining the rough, uneven path below and the jagged rocks overhead.

The air was damp and cold, a mixture of rust, dust, and a deeper, indescribable ancient scent. ℯ

Duraga walked at the very front, seemingly accustomed to the Darkness here.

A moment later, he suddenly spoke, breaking the silence in the tunnel and interrupting Roland’s thoughts.

"Don’t mind the... shabby state of this place."

There was little emotion in Duraga’s voice, but his free left hand gently brushed across a deep chisel mark on the rock wall, as if touching a distant memory.

"Compared to our former glory, this place doesn’t even qualify as a temporary foothold."

He paused, turning his head. His silver-white pupils swept over Roland’s face in the gloom, as if gauging his reaction, before he turned back to face forward.

"But..."

His tone suddenly turned firm, even taking on a fiery edge.

"Now that I have awoken from my long slumber... it won’t be long before we take back everything that belongs to us."

His voice rose, the hatred and disdain within it like magma surging beneath the earth.

"Let those self-righteous Dwarf mongrels who stole our homeland... all crawl back to their homes on the mountaintops! This land never belonged to them!"

The words stirred an Echo in the mine shaft that lingered for a long time.

The sheer determination and pent-up resentment in his voice sent a chill down the spines of Bronson and the others following behind.

After walking for a long time through the dim, winding tunnels, Duraga finally stopped in front of what looked like a natural fissure in the rock wall.

Before he even stepped through, a familiar scent wafted from the crack—it was extremely faint, yet it made something deep within Roland’s soul stir.

It was a mixture of the coldness of pure Mind Power and the unsettling, distorted sensation unique to a non-human intelligence.

’Without a doubt, the Heartstealer is inside.’

Without the slightest hesitation, Duraga turned sideways and slipped through.

Roland’s eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath, adjusted the Power flowing within him, and followed close behind.

In stark contrast to the dark, damp mine tunnel outside, the cavern within was surprisingly "bright."

This light came not from torches or the glow of Magic, but from the countless complex and ancient silver Runes carved into the cavern’s walls and even its ceiling.

These Runes seemed to have a life of their own, slowly circulating and emitting a steady, cold silver luminescence that illuminated the entire cavern in minute detail. At the same time, they created an oppressive, silent Force Field that seemed to freeze even the very air.

And in the center of the cavern, a figure was brutally bound.

It was a typical Heartstealer.

It had a humanoid torso covered in slick, dark purple-toned skin.

From the back of its bald head, four long, octopus-like facial tentacles drooped limply, curled at the tips.

Based on its appearance alone, it was nearly identical to the one Roland had encountered in the Wailing Gorge, a testament to the unsettling uniformity of its Race.

However, this particular Heartstealer was in a truly wretched state.

Its limbs were brutally pulled apart and firmly fixed to the ground, spread-eagled.

It was bound by several incredibly thick, dark iron chains that pulsed with the same eerie light as Duraga’s right Iron Glove.

These chains weren’t simply tied around it; they were covered in sharp, inward-curving iron spikes that had dug deep into the Heartstealer’s slick skin and muscle.

A viscous, blood-like fluid continuously seeped from the wounds, forming a small, dirty puddle beneath it.

Even more unsettling was the faint aura of the Gods lingering on the chains—identical to the one on Duraga’s glove—which seemed to form an invisible, suppressive Force Field.

It not only imprisoned the Heartstealer’s body but also acted as a heavy shackle, completely sealing and crushing its once ocean-vast Mind Power within its tortured shell.

Its large eyes, which should have glinted with cunning and cruelty, were now completely dim. Only an occasional, almost imperceptible twitch proved that a trace of life remained.

Duraga walked up to the tightly bound Heartstealer. His ashen face was expressionless, but a cold Flame was Burning in his silver-white pupils.

He reached out with his right hand, the one wearing the Iron Glove. Without using any tools, he brutally grabbed one of the Heartstealer’s limp tentacles with his dark metal-clad fingers and yanked it downward.

"Urgh..."

An extremely faint, agonized hiss, as if torn from the depths of its soul, came from the Heartstealer.

Its dim eyes trembled violently, and its body instinctively tried to curl up, but the cold chains held it fast, causing only a grating scrape of metal and deepening its wounds.

"Come..."

Duraga released his grip and turned to face Roland, his voice low and hoarse, laced with a long-suppressed urgency.

"Just as we agreed..."

He pointed with his Iron Glove at the Heartstealer twitching in agony behind him.

"It’s your job to pry this bastard’s mouth open. Use your methods to ask it about ’those things’ I want to know."

He paused, patting his muscular chest with his free left hand, which made a dull thud.

"As for your reward... as long as it’s something I can provide right now, you have but to ask!"

Seeing that Roland’s cautious gaze remained fixed on the Heartstealer, Duraga let out a short, hoarse laugh tinged with understanding.

"Don’t worry, old friend. Right now, it’s like a worm that’s been de-fanged and de-clawed."

He kicked a metal stake at his feet, one of the anchors for the chains, and the Runes on it flared faintly.

"Under my ’shackles,’ this bastard can’t even stir up a single ripple of Mind Power."

"It’s more harmless than a newborn Caveman right now."

Having said this, Duraga seemed to have accomplished his main purpose for the trip. He waved his hand.

"There’s a whole mess outside waiting for me to deal with. The remnants of Stone Furnace Castle need to be cleaned up, and the defensive lines must be re-established."

He gestured toward the cavern entrance.

"You can take your time to ’communicate’ in here. If you need anything, just tell the Guards inside or outside the cavern. They will meet all your requests."

With that, Duraga didn’t linger. He turned decisively and strode out of the cavern.

The sound of his heavy footsteps faded into the distance, leaving only the faint scraping of chains on the ground and...

...the eyes that had been dim and lightless, now slowly turning to fix an indescribable gaze—a mixture of pain, venom, and a strange, probing curiosity—upon Roland.

The air seemed to freeze solid in that instant.