Chapter 762

Chapter 762
The rest of the mercenary troop was incapable of handling the metallic staves. Their bodies simply couldn’t endure the violent backlash of mana vibrating through the conduit.
“Move faster!”
Julien ground his teeth, grabbing a fresh rod from a teammate’s hands. He thrust it forward once more, creating a barrier against the encroaching tide of beasts.
KWA-A-A-A-AANG!
He was reaching his limit. Their supply of rods was dwindling to almost nothing. Furthermore, the constant channeling was rapidly depleting Julien’s physical reserves. He turned and bellowed toward the fleeing dwarves.
“Get to the royal fortress immediately! That is where the dwarven legion is mobilizing! If you stay and fight here, it will be a massacre!”
“But… we can’t just—”
“This is a royal decree! We were dispatched by His Majesty himself!”
Julien shouted the fabrication without hesitation. In this crisis, survival took precedence over honesty. Luckily, the dwarves took the bait. They realized that staying to fight was a path to certain death.
“You heard the man! To the fortress!”
“Warn everyone in the neighboring camps on the way! We must consolidate our strength at the capital!”
“Don’t worry about us! You need to fall back as well!”
The dwarves pivoted and fled. This was the outermost perimeter of the dwarven territory. If these refugees managed to alert the inner settlements, the evacuation would accelerate.
KWAANG! KWAANG! KWA-A-AANG!
Julien stayed behind with his mercenaries, maintaining a defensive line to stall the onslaught. The metal staves were now screaming as they discharged 7th-circle lightning magic. Ghislain was likewise emptying the mana reserves he had stored over several days, flooding the magic circle with energy. However, the structural integrity of the rods was failing. Julien and his crew began a measured retreat, rationing their spells. They weren’t looking for a total victory—they were simply buying seconds.
The priest representing the Salvation Order watched the scene, his eyes burning with resentment.
“Those damn pests…”
The strategy had been straightforward: launch a surprise strike on the outskirts to thin the herd of dwarven fighters. But the operation had been compromised from the start. A random group of outsiders had appeared, unleashing high-level sorcery to halt their momentum. They hadn’t even managed to stack a significant body count. Before the vanguard could close the distance, the dwarves had vanished. They tried to pursue, but recurring bursts of magic obstructed their path. The priest gnashed his teeth. Without those interlopers, the dwarves in this sector would have been erased.
However, the priest managed to regain his composure.
“It doesn’t matter. This wasn’t our only point of entry.”
Coordinated ambushes were currently striking across the entirety of Vallscrum. This was merely one theater of war. Even if they hadn’t dealt a killing blow here, the seeds of chaos were sown.
“Now that we’ve breached Vallscrum, the end result is inevitable.”
Even if the dwarves managed to rally, it would be a futile effort. Their resistance would only delay the unavoidable. After all, two prophets had descended upon this mountain. The priest moved forward once more, followed by his dark mages. Their ultimate objective remained the royal fortress.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Emerging from the veil of black smoke, a tide of undead horrors and stitched-together chimeras surged ahead.

—

“They certainly don’t know when to quit.”
The sovereign of Vallscrum, sentinel of the Iron Fortress, master of the Thunder Axe, overseer of the Twelve Workshops, and the progenitor of hammers… Grondal, the King of the Dwarves who held all these titles, was currently slumped against his throne. He was drinking, his face etched with profound irritation.
He had been informed that delegates from the Pope had arrived. He was well aware of their intentions, which is why he had refused to grant them an audience. Despite their daily petitions, he remained unmoved. He had assumed they would take the hint and depart, but instead, they had occupied a local inn and made themselves at home.
“Are humans always this thick-headed? I used to think they were a perceptive lot.”
His comment drew a round of boisterous laughter from the surrounding dwarves.
“I imagine returning with empty hands is a bitter pill to swallow.”
“If they return with nothing, wouldn’t the Pope have their heads? They’re just mercenaries, after all.”
“If they’re sellswords, that makes them even more expendable! The Pope likely just grabbed some common thugs for the errand!”
“Humans are always killing one another over trivial things like titles and vanity! Puhaha!”
The hall echoed with their loud laughter. Unlike the rigid hierarchies of humans, dwarves spoke their minds freely, even in the presence of their monarch. Such was their culture. They respected the King’s office, but they never knelt in mindless servitude.
Dwarves were defined by their immense pride. Unlike the reclusive elves, they had only adopted the human concept of kingship for the sake of organizational efficiency and societal growth.
As the drinking continued, Grondal let out a sharp snort.
“What was their warning again? That the Salvation Order and a pack of dark mages were going to hit us?”
“Indeed. They claimed that even if we didn’t meet them, we should mobilize our forces and stay vigilant.”
“Typical human arrogance. They think they’re so vital, sticking their noses in everyone’s business. No wonder they’re perpetually at each other’s throats.”
The other dwarves chimed in with agreement.
“What kind of place do they think Vallscrum is to say such things? A human dares to fret over our safety?”
“How are those Salvation Order zealots supposed to hit this city without marching an entire legion out of the Demonic Realm?”
“They’d probably pass out from the climb before they even saw our gates!”
“Bwahahaha! True! These peaks are far too brutal for such soft creatures!”
The dwarves roared with laughter, mocking both the Salvation Order and the Julien Mercenary Corps. Their confidence was rooted in the legendary defenses of Vallscrum.
In the middle of their revelry, the doors were suddenly slammed open. Grondal let out a loud belch and grumbled,
“Burp… what’s this? Have we forgotten how to knock?”
Grondal’s drunken rambling died in his throat. The dwarf who had entered was covered in soot and grime.
“What’s happened? Speak up!”
“An invasion! We’re under attack!”
“…What did you say?”
“An assault! The Salvation Order has penetrated the fortress!”
Grondal’s intoxication vanished instantly. He blinked, trying to process the news.
“Explain yourself!”
“Dark mages and high-ranking priests of the Salvation Order are hitting us from multiple sides! Chimeras and the dead are falling from the sky, and a massive sandworm has tunneled through the bedrock! Monsters are pouring through the breach!”
Grondal’s eyes stretched wide in shock. The six dwarves beside him shared his disbelief. They were prepared for aerial threats; even thousands of fliers could be repelled. But a breach from below? How could anything tunnel through that solid, reinforced stone?
However, there was no time for interrogation. The terror on the messenger’s face told him everything he needed to know.
“Those bastards… how dare they…”
Grondal ground his teeth and reached for the weapon resting by his throne.
It was a massive, long-handled halberd. He hauled the weapon, which dwarfed his own stature, and stormed outside.
The scene beyond the palace was one of total pandemonium. Dwarves from various districts were flooding the streets, trapped in a state of confusion. Panic was spreading like wildfire. None of them had ever conceived of an invasion reaching the heart of Vallscrum.
Seeing his subjects in disarray, Grondal slammed the butt of his halberd into the pavement.
BOOOOOM!
A shockwave of raw power rippled through the air. Every eye turned toward the King. With a face of thunder, he bellowed,
“Get a grip on yourselves! If the enemy is in our house, then we kill them! Where is the problem?!”
His roar acted as a cold splash of water. The dwarves began to steady themselves. He was right—if they were under attack, the only answer was steel. Their fear turned into a grim resolve as they gripped their tools and weapons.
Grondal began barking commands.
“Spread the word! Call every warrior to arms! Move the children and the elderly into the deep shelters!”
Every dwarf was trained for combat. If they consolidated, they were an unstoppable wall. Grondal held onto that belief. But the incoming reports were grim.
“They’re hitting the outer residential sectors first!”
“The attacks are coming from every point of the compass!”
“We have to send relief forces immediately!”
Grondal’s eye twitched. His mind raced through the tactical possibilities.
‘Those snakes… are they trying to bait us into splitting up?’
Engaging multiple groups is a risky endeavor. If your units are too thin, they get picked off one by one. But the scale of this multi-pronged attack suggested something worse.
‘They have superhuman-class priests leading this!’
With chimeras and the undead involved, dark mages were a certainty. If even a single superhuman was in the mix, the casualties would be catastrophic. The dwarves in the outlying areas would be walking into a slaughter without knowing the true strength of their foes.
“We must send help—”
Grondal cut himself off. What if this was exactly what the enemy expected? If he sent his warriors to the outskirts, his central defense would be gutted. If a primary force struck the palace while they were divided… his death would mean the end of his race. The Eternal Forge and the Guardian Stone would be lost or destroyed.
Realizing the gravity of the choice, Grondal made a hard decision.
“All warriors are to hold their positions here! Send only light messengers to the settlements—order them to fall back to this location immediately!”
He refused to be manipulated by the enemy’s playbook. Following their lead would only end in ruin.
Several dwarven lords nodded solemnly. They understood the sacrifice. The outer settlements would be devastated, and many of their kin would perish. But it was a necessary cruelty. They had to preserve the core of their strength.
Grondal rubbed his temples and closed his eyes for a brief moment.
“…I was a fool to doubt those humans.”
The Julien Mercenary Corps had given them an explicit warning. And he, along with every other dwarf, had laughed it off. He felt the sting of regret. He should have listened. Even if his advisors were skeptical, the King should have looked deeper.
Dwarven pride had paved the way for this tragedy.
BOOM!
Grondal’s halberd struck the ground again. He opened his eyes, his gaze cold.
“I will wash away this mistake with my own lifeblood.”
He would protect this fortress or die trying. That was his final obligation as the sovereign.
Oozing a murderous intent, Grondal turned to an aide.
“Find the Julien Mercenary Corps and bring them to me. Treat them with the highest honor.”
He suspected they might have fled already. But if they were still within the walls, he needed to apologize for his dismissiveness. And if the city truly fell… he would task them with safeguarding the Guardian Stone. It was better to trust it to them than to let the Salvation Order seize it.
But before he could finish the thought—
“UwaAAAAAAH!”
A massive roar of triumph erupted from the dwarves at the capital. Looking toward the gates, they saw dwarves streaming in from every sector of Vallscrum.
Grondal stood frozen. The groups from the outlying regions were arriving far too early.
“What? How is the word moving this fast? How are they here?”
It defied logic. There shouldn’t have been enough time to organize such a swift retreat.
The arriving dwarves began to shout as they marched in.
“The Shield of Durankaz has arrived! Bolum is here!”
“The Iron Hammer of Brunan! Cordin is reporting for duty!”
“We have come to stand with the King against the invaders!”
The crowd grew larger by the second. Each unit announced their clan and raised their weapons high.
When asked how they knew to move, the answer came back repeatedly:
“The Julien Mercenary Corps warned us!”
“They are standing their ground right now to hold back the tide!”
“They told us to rally here! To stand with the King!”
Grondal felt a heavy weight lift from his chest, replaced by a stinging shame. He had turned his back on the Julien Mercenary Corps. Yet, in spite of his insult, they were risking their lives to buy him a chance. He was humiliated by his own arrogance. He had completely misjudged their character.
Suddenly, a deep, booming laugh erupted from Grondal’s throat.
“Hahahahaha! Yes! Splendid! Those bastards are truly something else! It’s no wonder the Pope chose them!”
It was an incredible feat. A simple mercenary group had accomplished the impossible. He didn’t know how they were surviving the onslaught, but the fact remained that they had provided a lifeline. They had given his people hope.
Naturally, not every sector was represented. Looking at the gaps in the ranks, it was clear that the furthest settlements hadn’t made it. The Julien Mercenary Corps couldn’t be everywhere at once. Those absent were likely already gone or trapped in a losing battle.
But they couldn’t dwell on that. The fact that this many had gathered was a miracle in itself.
‘What we do now… is ensure their sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.’
Grondal’s voice boomed across the square.
“Listen to me! The enemy is closing in on our position! Today, we make our stand on this sacred ground!”
The warriors fell silent, eyes fixed on their King.
BOOM!
Grondal struck the earth with his halberd.
“Even if we fall, we will take the invaders with us! The Demonic Realm is expanding! But if we can buy time with our lives, our brothers in the other lands can prepare for the coming war!”
Ooooooooh…
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
In the distance, the enemy front became visible. A sea of monsters was moving forward, leveling everything in its path. Plumes of fire rose into the sky, and the air grew thick with soot.
Grondal roared until his throat felt raw.
“The fires are rising! Steel is forged in the heart of the flame!”
In response, the dwarven host thundered back:
“Steel is tempered in the fire!”
“This is not our end!”
“We shall be reborn!”
A master blacksmith stepped to the center of the fortress and brought a massive hammer down on an anvil.
CLANG!
The sound acted as a war drum. The dwarves locked their shields, formed their ranks, and began a slow, rhythmic march.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Synchronized with the strike of the hammer, the dwarves stomped their feet. The very foundations of Vallscrum seemed to vibrate with their movement.
Fires were breaking out everywhere—but the fire in the dwarves’ eyes was far more intense. Grondal looked upon his warriors with a fierce pride. They would give everything to break the enemy. He stood at the front, head held high.
Shhhhhh…
A freezing, unnatural darkness began to coalesce. It moved with a speed that outpaced the rest of the horde. This mist-like shadow carried a pressure that felt like a mountain.
The moment Grondal saw it, his instincts screamed. That darkness was beyond the strength of his warriors. Only he could stand against it.
“I’ll be the one to put you in the ground, you piece of filth.”
Crack!
Grondal tightened his grip on the halberd. As he drew upon his inner power, the earth beneath him began to fracture.
FWOOOOOSH!
The shadow solidified into a physical form. A middle-aged man draped in a black robe, radiating a terrifying authority, stood before them.
It was Tagmah, the Prophet of the Salvation Order. He raised a hand, and a torrential wave of pure darkness shot toward Grondal. At that exact moment, Grondal leaped into the air. His massive halberd whistled through the wind, slicing through the dark energy in a single, violent stroke.
KWA-A-A-A-AANG!