Chapter 774

Chapter 774
Following the manifestation of the divine sign, Deneb lost consciousness and slumped over, her spiritual reserves seemingly spent. The dwarves, moved by what they had witnessed, treated both Deneb and Julien with the reverence reserved for celestial envoys. They were lifted with great care and moved into the most hallowed sanctuary of the royal citadel.

King Grondal, still caked in the grime and soot of the recent struggle, stood at the gates of the fortress and let out a thunderous cry.

“Dwarven kin! Survival is ours! Vallscrum remains standing! This victory was granted by the grace of the goddess and the holy maiden she sent to our aid!”

His booming voice rolled over the landscape like a rhythmic drumbeat, vibrating through the earth itself.

“The maiden’s miracle secured our lives, and her bravery has purged this land of filth! Let every dwarf drawing breath today remember this moment!”

He continued his proclamation, his tone intensifying. “She is not a mere mortal! She is the physical incarnation of light, executing the divine will! The fact that we stood by her side proves the goddess has not forsaken us! Together with the Saintess, we have won!”

“Uwoaaaaaaah!”

The assembled dwarves thrust their iron toward the clouds and roared. The source of the power that had saved their city was no longer a mystery to them.

“The Saintess protects us!”
“We are children of the divine! Praise be to the goddess!”
“The holy melody has cleansed our home!”

The warriors embraced one another, shouting with the unbridled joy of youths. Soon, the entire population fell to their knees before the royal walls. With palms turned toward the sky, they offered their devotion to the deity and her vessel. It was a scene of immense gravity and sacred beauty. Though their hands were still dark with the blood of their enemies, they beat their chests in a solemn oath.

“We pledge our path to the Saintess!”
“Her purpose shall be etched into our souls!”
“Our hammers shall bear her name and the goddess’s name; we will never let the shadows return!”

Ghislain, who had carried the unconscious Kyle back on his shoulders, watched the display with a quiet smirk. Having the dwarven nation officially recognize and swear fealty to the Saintess was a massive political and spiritual victory for the trials ahead.

Before long, his own fighters gathered around him. Their gear was thick with dust from the shared combat, and the blood on their steel had long since turned into dark, dry crusts. Though exhaustion weighed heavily in their eyes, their spirits were buoyed by relief.

“Vice Commander!”
“How is Kyle holding up?”
“That idiot, why did he have to go and act like a hero?”

The mercenaries hovered between worry and irritation. Ghislain simply grinned at their fussing.

“He’s stable. He’s past the danger zone. And more importantly, Kyle has finally stepped into the realm of the superhuman.”

“Uwoaaaaah!”

A new cheer erupted from the mercenaries. Julien and Deneb had already undergone their awakenings, and now Kyle had joined their ranks! It felt as though a series of impossible wonders were unfolding before them, filling them with pride.

However, one member was less than thrilled.

“Unbelievable! Why is it always the older ones getting the power-ups? When do I get my moment?” Osvald grumbled, his face twisted in a genuine pout. “It’s total nonsense! If you’re this good-looking, shouldn’t you at least be a mediocre fighter to balance it out? Based on aesthetics alone, I should be the strongest person here!”

Ghislain couldn’t help but nod, acknowledging the boy’s logic. But he knew Osvald’s stagnant progress wasn’t a curse of beauty—it was a lack of discipline.

“Don’t sweat it,” Ghislain remarked. “I’ll personally see to it that you hit the superhuman stage very soon.”

“I’m sorry. Please act like I never said anything,” Osvald stammered, backing away in terror. But Ghislain wasn’t joking. He intended to follow through. He felt that with just a bit more intense pressure, his entire team would break through their limits. After all, they were currently forged in the heat of constant, high-stakes warfare—the best training ground imaginable.

Ereneth and Lionel approached shortly after. Without a word, Ereneth called upon a water elemental, using the fluid to clean Kyle’s skin and soothe his muscles. Ghislain watched her with a curious expression.

‘She’s much different than the woman from my memories. There’s a warmth to her now, a genuine care for her comrades.’

In his past life, Ereneth had been a fortress of ice, unreachable and distant. While she had always been fundamentally good-hearted, she had rarely shown such open tenderness toward others.

Lionel, meanwhile, stood by with a conflicted look in his eyes. Ghislain understood his inner turmoil perfectly.

‘He must be losing his mind. A genuine Saintess just performed a miracle right in front of him.’

For a man of faith, seeing such a divine act left no room for skepticism. Any true follower of the Church would be expected to fall at her feet. To take the Sacred Stone from her now would feel like an act of sacrilege. Yet, he was still bound by the Pope’s direct orders to bring the stone back. He was trapped between his duty and his soul.

The dwarves’ gratitude soon shifted toward the rest of the group. Grondal gestured toward Ghislain and the mercenaries, shouting to his people.

“Dwarves! Look upon these warriors! These are the ones who escorted the Saintess to our gates! They are the Julien Mercenary Corps! They bled in our trenches to buy us the time we needed!”

“Remember their names! Record their valor in the annals of Vallscrum! Their fame shall be eternal among our halls!”

“Uwoaaaaah!”

The roar of the dwarves was deafening. Many had already experienced the group’s help firsthand, having been saved or guided during the evacuation.

“Julien Mercenary Corps!”
“True legends!”
“We are in your debt forever!”

The name of the unit became a rhythmic chant that shook the air. Eventually, Grondal walked over to Ghislain, his usual gruffness replaced by a soft, appreciative smile.

“This boy is Kyle, I take it? I’ve heard he played a pivotal role in saving our future.”

“He did. He’s quite the talent,” Ghislain replied.

“I won’t forget him. Kyle’s name will be chiseled into the history of this city.”

“He’ll be thrilled to hear that. Truly,” Ghislain said, genuinely amused. Kyle lived for recognition and flashiness; knowing he was a literal historical figure in a dwarven kingdom would be his greatest dream come true.

Bathed in the dwarves’ adoration, the group was ushered into the heart of the fortress. Grondal led them deep into the mountain, down a winding staircase of expertly carved rock and reinforced alloy. At the bottom stood a titanic metal portal.

“This,” Grondal whispered as he swung the doors wide, “is the soul of Vallscrum.”

A sudden rush of heat hit them. Beneath the citadel lay a cavernous hall housing a massive, ancient forge-brazier that had stood since the dawn of their race. It throbbed with a rhythmic energy, like a beating heart of fire. The flames were a shifting mix of blue, gold, and crimson, radiating a heat that felt less like temperature and more like a spiritual weight. A low, constant hum filled the chamber, making the fire sound like a continuous, wordless prayer. This flame had burned for millennia, representing the dwarves’ identity, faith, and survival.

“This is the Eternal Brazier,” Grondal said softly. “Our most hallowed relic, and the fire of our resolve.”

It was to the dwarves what the World Tree was to the elves—a focal point of their entire existence. Grondal turned back to the flames.

“As I swore, the Guardian Stone is yours.”

The King reached toward the fire. The flames, previously steady, began to churn in a violent vortex. The fire parted down the middle, revealing its core. At the center, a deep red gemstone, glowing with an intense internal light, drifted upward.

“Incredible…” the onlookers whispered.

The scene mirrored the moment Iralniel had taken the stone from the tree. Though the methods differed between races, the underlying divinity was identical. Grondal took the gem into his palm.

“Only a representative of a race recognized by the Origin can retrieve a Guardian Stone from its source.”

Ghislain tilted his head. “What defines being ‘recognized by the Origin’?”

“The Origin is the anchor of a race’s identity. For elves, the World Tree. For us, the Eternal Brazier.”

“Do humans or dragons have such things?” Ghislain asked.

“Naturally. For your kind, it is the Holy Grail. For the dragons, it is the Primordial Heart.”

Ghislain fell silent. This was new information to him. He could only assume the Holy Grail was currently held by the Pope, the symbolic leader of the human race.

“How is a representative chosen?” Ghislain pressed. “Is there a trial?”

“I cannot say,” Grondal admitted.

“You don’t know?”

“The knowledge simply settled in my mind when I ascended to the throne. I imagine it’s the same for the others—the High Chief, the Pope, the Dragon Lord. The relic itself chooses the representative. It is a mystery beyond our logic.”

“And if someone else claims the title? If the people support a different leader?”

Grondal laughed, crossing his thick arms. “Dwarves don’t have such treacherous politics, so I wouldn’t know. But humans? Your history is likely full of such drama. I doubt you can force it, though. The relic must accept you. Perhaps if the collective will of the people truly shifted, the relic would follow.”

Ghislain nodded, filing the information away. These were ancient rules of the world. What mattered most was getting the stones to Deneb so she could ascend. He began to wonder where these other relics would be in the timeline of the future.

‘The World Tree is hidden… the others are likely tucked away as well,’ he thought. If he could find them, the advantage would be immense.

Grondal didn’t just hand over the raw gem. “Carrying this as it is would be reckless. Since it belongs to the Saintess, I will provide a proper vessel.”

He signaled an aide to bring a bracelet. It was crafted with a specialized housing, much like the necklace Deneb already wore. With a click, the Sacred Stone snapped into place.

“Is that made specifically for this?” Ghislain asked, fascinated.

“Yes. It is an heirloom designed for this very purpose, identical in function to her necklace.”

Ghislain stared at the jewelry. In his past, he recalled Gatros possessing a similar artifact that radiated protective divine energy from his wrist. He realized then that these weren’t just random items; they were a set. A necklace, a bracelet… likely more to follow. It was as if a full set of regalia had been prepared for a single individual to wear. It felt far too deliberate to be a coincidence.

Grondal’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, turning much colder.

“I will present the bracelet to the Saintess when she wakes. However, there is a separate matter we must discuss.”

“Go on,” Ghislain said.

Grondal pointed at the blade, Gramdir, hanging at Ghislain’s side. “That sword is a crown jewel of our monarchy. It was locked in our most secure vault. Why is it in your hands?”

The King’s gaze was piercing. He was effectively accusing Ghislain of possessing stolen royal property.

“Ah, this?” Ghislain remained unbothered, unhooking the scabbard from his belt.

The mercenaries watched nervously. They assumed Ghislain was going to do the right thing and return the stolen treasure. They had no interest in starting a feud with the dwarves over a sword, even a legendary one. Grondal reached out his hand, expecting the weapon to be placed in his palm.

Suddenly—
*Flash!*

Ghislain opened his dimensional storage and dropped Gramdir inside.

“…”

The room went silent. Grondal stood with his hand still extended, frozen in shock.

Ghislain just stood there, looking perfectly satisfied. “This is mine now.”

Grondal’s eye twitched. He realized in that moment that getting that sword back was going to be an absolute nightmare.