*Boom—!*
A pillar of blazing white fire tore through the sky, radiating blinding brilliance as it descended like divine retribution, hurtling straight toward the dwarven king's chest.
"For the glory of the shield dwarves!" Ed swung his warhammer, letting out a heart-wrenching roar as he unleashed every last ember of vitality remaining in his body.
*Rumble!*
In an instant, the ground shook violently. Countless plumes of dust and shattered boulders surged into the air as a miniature mountain ridge erupted rapidly from the earth, barring the way before the dwarf like a colossal shield.
*Boom!*
The fiery pillar smashed into the massive stone rampart. Supreme fire and supreme earth—two completely opposing forces—collided and intertwined, setting off an earth-shattering explosion.
The pillar of fire unleashed by Misha—or more accurately, Cassius channeled across the distance—plunged into the rock like a red-hot knife slicing through butter. It pierced through the stone in a fraction of a second, leaving behind slow-flowing, glowing-red magma that crackled crisply in the air.
Dense smoke and violent flashes of fire engulfed everything within hundreds of meters.
Neither the dwarven warriors holding the fortress nor the imperial soldiers and officers could see through the carnage. All they could do was gasp in awe.
"Moradin above..."
"Gods, that's nothing short of divine wrath!"
"No, His Majesty Ed can't die! We shield dwarves are a great race born from the forge! Even an explosion like that can't destroy us!"
The dwarves stared nervously at the blast, shouting back and forth even as they held off the imperial assault, terrified that the king they had pledged their lives to had fallen.
"Lady Misha!"
"Behold the might of His Majesty Cassius! Dwarves, your king is dead! Cease this futile resistance!"
"Long live the Empire!"
Rousing cheers erupted anew from the imperial ranks. The soldiers brandished their weapons, swaggering in triumph.
They had seen such scenes countless times. Every foolhardy enemy who dared stand before the Empire invariably ended the same way—reduced to ash.
The cooling lava crackled and groaned as the wild wind blew the smoke away. A massive hole several meters wide had been bored clean through the raised ridge, resembling a tunnel brutally blasted into the earth.
Behind the ridge, the dwarven king knelt motionless on the ground. His stone body was charred black and ravaged by cracks, looking like nothing more than a ruined stone sculpture.
His left chest, where his heart had been, was a gaping, soot-blackened void. The pillar of fire had pierced clean through him.
*Whoosh—*
A gale whistled mournfully as it blew through the empty hole in the dwarven statue's chest.
Along the ramparts of Evindeldan, iron hammers and battleaxes slipped from dwarven hands one after another, clattering onto the stone with sharp, ringing clangs.
At first, they could only stare blankly at one another, lost and helpless. Their minds buzzed in shock, as if a taut string in their hearts had suddenly snapped.
His Majesty Ed... was dead? Just like that?
Dwarves stood frozen in place, or slowly shook their heads, or muttered incoherently to themselves: "No, no... His Majesty Ed..."
"This can't be..."
"It isn't true, it can't be..."
Then, gazing upon the broken stone figure in the distance, they began to tremble violently. Grief tore through them in desperate wails. Some collapsed to their knees, smashing their foreheads against the stone until blood spattered the ramparts.
Dwarves had always been straightforward folk who never hid their emotions.
And now, an overwhelming tidal wave of grief crashed over them. They could hardly fathom that their undefeated king had perished in this manner.
"No—!"
"Your Majesty Ed!"
"He can't be dead! He is the Lord of the Mountain!"
Only after several agonizing minutes did the surviving shield dwarf warriors finally accept the brutal truth.
The Lord of the Mountain who had protected them all these years, the King of Evindeldan, the monarch they had followed and trusted with their lives—Ed Klein—had died beneath the flames of the wicked dragon.
In this single moment, the dwarves lost their sturdiest shield.
"Damn you dragon-spawn!"
"I'll avenge His Majesty Ed! I'll take you down with me!"
"For His Majesty Ed!"
Their eyes bloodshot with rage, the remaining dwarven warriors let out frenzied battle roars and charged recklessly at the imperial ranks. Some even leapt straight from the ramparts, desperate to recover Ed's remains.
*Bang!*
*Bang! Bang!*
"Hahaha, go rot in hell with your broken stone king!"
Yet what met them were the cold muzzles and mocking jeers of the imperial riflemen. Against such disorganized, wild charges, the imperial infantry held their ground with casual ease.
Beneath the roaring gunfire, dwarves collapsed one after another.
Even as they took their final breaths, these loyal warriors kept their eyes fixed on Ed's fallen form, feebly reaching out blood-soaked hands as warm tears spilled down their cheeks.
"Your Majesty..."
"King Ed..."
* * *
Seeing that the dwarven king was truly dead, the colossal draconic phantom in the sky slowly dissolved into drifting wisps of flame.
Misha's posture eased as she let out a soft sigh. Her pupils shifted back to their ordinary gold, and the crushing draconic aura vanished in an instant.
Cassius had clearly ended his possession, and Misha had regained control of her body.
Seeing the exclusive favor Misha enjoyed, the wyvern felt an intense pang of envy, even jealousy.
As a founding veteran of the Cinder Nest, his seniority far exceeded Misha's. By rights, he should have been the one worthy of forging a pact with the master.
Yet taking in the scene, Smaug cast those thoughts aside and nudged forward. A servile grin spread across his reptilian snout, thick saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth. "Miss Misha, you truly are worthy of being our master's avatar..."
"You are mistaken. This was not my achievement, but the master's grace." Misha shook her head gently and pointed toward the sky.
Her heart was pounding with fierce excitement. To serve as a vessel for the great Cinder Emperor was a source of profound pride and unmatched honor.
After calming herself, Misha looked toward the dwarf's ruined remains in the distance and could not help but marvel, "Such is the might of my lord. Even a mere wisp of his will descending upon the world carries such terrifying destruction..."
"Indeed, indeed," Smaug agreed, fluttering his wings and wagging his tail beside her.
"Very well. Clear the battlefield and prepare to march into the city." Misha turned back, noting that the advance into Evindeldan was proceeding smoothly.
The imperial soldiers advanced in orderly ranks, systematically cutting down the enraged dwarven warriors with guns and cannons. They were on the verge of finishing the mopping-up operation and taking full control of the fortress.
Suddenly, a mournful dirge echoed through the skies over Evindeldan, raspy and steeped in boundless sorrow.
*"When thou closest thy sacred eyes and speakest no more..."*
The imperial soldiers glanced up in mild curiosity. Atop the highest point of the palace stood an aged dwarf, softly chanting.
It was Bjorn Riley—a living relic of the dwarven race who had served three generations of Lords of the Mountain and lived for over three centuries.
Now, the old dwarf was disheveled and ragged, covered in the grim marks of battle. Yet his eyes shone with unwavering resolve, as if he had reached a final, fateful choice.
Bjorn was a devotee of Dumathoin, the Silent Keeper. In their faith, the rites of passing were of supreme importance.
The priest overseeing the burial was required to compose a song honoring the deceased dwarf's life and deeds. To honor the eternally silent Dumathoin, however, this song was never to be sung aloud.
And so Bjorn chanted softly beneath his breath, conducting the final funeral rites for the fallen Ed.
By tradition, the deceased's personal emblems, clan crest, and religious symbols would be woven into their beard, but surrounded by enemies, Bjorn had no means to perform such a ritual.
The old dwarf could only lean tremblingly upon his staff, singing on:
*"O hallowed hero, who gavest thy soul unto thy folk, and thy body unto the earth..."*
An imperial soldier turned to his officer. "Sir, should we take down that old bastard?"
The officer drew a finger across his throat, his voice cold. "Kill him. Priests and clerics have too many bizarre tricks up their sleeves. Put him down immediately to prevent any trouble."
Similar orders were shouted across the ruins of the city.
The imperial soldiers leveled their rifles at the old dwarf atop the palace roof and pulled their triggers without hesitation.
*Bang!*
*Bang! Bang!*
A scattered volley of gunfire rang out. Bjorn staggered back, several flowers of crimson bursting across his chest.
More bloody holes opened in his head, his abdomen, and his legs. He slumped helplessly to the floor, collapsing into a pooling puddle of blood.
Yet even then, a faint smile curved his lips as he coughed up a mouthful of bloody froth, dutifully whispering on: *"O hero who sacrificed all to guard the realm, the mountains... shall become thy..."*
His voice grew fainter and fainter, fading into a gentle hum before lapsing into utter silence.
Even in death, Bjorn's eyes never shut. His head slumped to one side, facing toward Ed's broken remains. His blood-stained lips hung slightly parted, as though he still had a thousand words left unsaid.
At the walls of Evindeldan, the hobgoblin Dror stood with his arms crossed, gazing down at the battered fortress with a satisfied smirk. "It's finally over. This place—"
Right then, a chilling gust of wind swept past the dwarven king's ruined body, blowing once more through the hollow in his chest with a haunting, mournful wail.
*Whoooo—*
*"O hero who sacrificed all, the mountains shall be thy tombstone, and all creation shall weep for thee—"*
The tune carried by the wind matched the melody of Bjorn's dirge note for note!
Dror's expression shifted drastically. He whipped around, staring toward the dwarven king's shattered shell.
Smaug let out a bewildered screech and beat his wings, taking to the air once more in ready stance for battle.
Misha's brow furrowed as she locked her gaze onto the stone corpse, murmuring softly, "Could it be...?"
*Flash—*
A beam of light, as deep and heavy as the earth itself, descended from the heavens, bathing Ed Klein's remains.
Shattered stone leaped from the ground, dust surged to the sky, and nearby rocks converged from all directions. The figure within the radiance grew taller, broader, and more imposing with every passing heartbeat.
An unprecedented pressure radiated outward. Even Misha felt as if an entire mountain had settled upon her shoulders, making flight nearly impossible.
"Damn it, what on earth is that?"
"Did the Lord of the Mountain come back to life?"
"How is that possible? Lady Misha burned him to cinders! I saw it with my own eyes—his heart was completely incinerated!"
As the light faded, a barrel-chested dwarf stood planted upon the earth, coming into full view before them all.
His hair and beard looked as though they had been chiseled from gray stone, his skin was the color of rich earth, and his eyes burned with silver fire. His shoulders were as broad as a barn door, his arms thick and corded with bulging, sinewy muscle.
Even the warhammer in his hand had transformed into a mattock forged from solidified magma—the Magma Hammer.
His features still held traces of Ed's countenance, but his aura had transformed beyond recognition.
"He really did resurrect!"
"Cassius above!"
"So what? If Lady Misha could kill him once, she can kill him twice!"
"These wretched dwarves are as hard as rocks! They ought to be burned into nothing but ash!"
Confronted by this miraculous spectacle, the imperial soldiers and officers buzzed with chatter. Surprise washed over them, but little true terror took hold.
Yet Misha, Dror, and the other high-ranking imperials who understood what they were looking at turned deathly pale, breaking into cold sweats.
Dror swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he uttered the entity's true identity: "That's not Ed Klein! That's... Dumathoin, the Silent Keeper!"
Dumathoin, the Silent Keeper, the Keeper of Secrets Under the Mountain, the Mountain Shield, patron deity of the shield dwarves.
In dwarven myth, when Moradin appointed Him protector of the shield dwarves, Dumathoin shaped a paradise for them beneath the peaks.
He crafted natural caverns of breathtaking splendor, embedding within them rich, glittering veins of precious metals and radiant crystalline gems.
Whenever He saw the dwarves fashion the ores they unearthed into magnificent works of art, He felt both joy and honor.
The Silent Keeper almost never spoke, communicating through gestures alone. Mortals had never heard Him produce anything more than a grunt or a sigh.
And as the divine guardian of the shield dwarves, any slaughter wrought upon His people stirred Dumathoin's wrath.
In the distance, the dwarf—or rather, Dumathoin inhabiting Ed's reconstructed vessel—cast His gaze across the battlefield. Wherever His eyes swept, violent sandstorms erupted.
*Whoosh—*
Dumathoin looked upon the ravaged earth, upon the mounds of slaughtered shield dwarves piled across the field. He released a long, deep sigh, His face clouded with profound sorrow as He mourned for the earth and His fallen children.
Then He snapped His head up, His silver eyes blazing with fury that could no longer be contained.
"Cassius above... Run!"
Every imperial soldier caught under that gaze felt as though the breath had been crushed from their lungs.
*Rumble—*
A muffled thunder rolled from deep within the earth. The ground violently convulsed. The Silent Keeper never parted His lips, yet He channeled His boundless wrath through the bedrock and the peaks themselves!
The entire Blackrock Mountain shuddered—a true, cataclysmic earthquake! Buildings collapsed one after another throughout Evindeldan, raining stone and timber down upon the screaming imperial troops.
Chapter 653