"Looks like you'll need to stay and keep practicing."
After saying that, the chanical construct stopped moving.
Frieren puffed up her cheeks in protest. "That one doesn't count. Let's go again!"
Shane couldn't take it anymore.
How do you lose rock-paper-scissors this badly?! As expected of soone who could be solo-killed by a Mimic. "Move aside! Let your big brother show you what [Great Luck] really looks like!"
Five seconds later.
Shane: 0 wins, 20 losses.
Huh?
That's not right!
This is rigged!
With both of their attempts used up, the chanical construct fell silent.
The stone statues at the entrance refused to let them pass.
The atmosphere turned painfully awkward.
Frieren thought for a mont, then pulled out her staff again, preparing to force her way through.
Shane glanced at the corridor ahead, filled with endless stone statues, and instinctively shrank back. His ntal strength was drained, and he had lost his weapon—he was, in every sense, "extrely fragile."
Forcing their way through? Better not.
He circled around the rock-paper-scissors construct twice and noticed a small bump on its back.
It wasn't very noticeable—about the size of a thumb.
Curious, he pressed it.
Sothing strange happened. The chanical construct, which had just been inviting them to play, started speaking again—this ti inviting them to play cards.
He pressed it again. The chanical construct began offering song requests.
Pressed again. The chanical construct asked if they wanted to go upstairs to a private room and enjoy so exclusive services.
"..."
Well, damn. It really is a service-type chanical construct.
Shane imdiately chose the "private room" option.
And so, under the chanical construct's guidance, the two safely passed through the entrance, turned right, went upstairs, and headed toward the so-called private room.
The "private room" wasn't small at all.
The entire second floor was elegantly arranged, resembling a public lounge.
What surprised Shane, however, was one side of the room, where countless broken chanical construct parts were piled up into a massive heap, reaching all the way to the ceiling.
Judging by their appearance, they were identical to the chanical construct currently guiding them.
"Please select your exclusive companion. We hope you find happiness here."
Shane and Frieren looked at the pile of wreckage, then at the oblivious chanical construct, and couldn't help but feel a trace of sympathy.
It seed to have no idea that the Dwarven Kingdom had long since fallen, that its kind had been reduced to scrap… and yet it still faithfully served its guests.
Looking at the chanical construct's stiff smile, Shane fell silent for a mont.
"Let's go. There's nothing more to see here."
This ti, the stone statues did not stop them. They passed through the long corridor and arrived at a forging chamber.
The chamber was built beside an underground cliff, tightly pressed against a steep rock wall. Beside it was a bottomless abyss, from which the faint roar of rushing water could be heard.
Shane guessed the dwarves had directly utilized geothermal fire and underground water.
Bold. And clever.
The forge, sealed for thousands of years, had long rusted away. Chains of varying lengths hung from the ceiling, connecting to cauldrons of all sizes. On the forging platform lay a half-finished battle axe.
It was clear that the war between the demons and the dwarves had been extrely sudden.
The two climbed the steep spiral staircase.
Before long, they arrived at the center of the underground royal city—the Golden Hall.
This had once been the residence of the dwarven leader.
The tightly shut doors were engraved with complex, twisted dwarven script. Shane carefully read them—it was a poem:
————
Across the cold and misty mountains,
A thousand years have passed in these deep underground caverns,
In ages past, the dwarves chanted mighty spells,
Accompanied by the ringing music of hamr and anvil,
In the depths, dark creatures lie sleeping,
Travelers who co this far, take heed.
————
Shane pondered the aning.
"Mighty spells," "sleeping dark creatures"—had the dwarves sealed sothing here?
Or was it just a simple folk song?
Before he could figure it out, Frieren had already pushed open the long-sealed doors.
A dry, ancient breath of air rushed out.
The sight before them left them stunned.
The Golden Hall was filled with dwarves of all kinds. A serious eting was in progress.
Shane and Frieren imdiately tensed, gripping their weapons as they scanned their surroundings.
They had already fallen for an illusion once. They wouldn't make the sa mistake again!
But strangely, no enemies appeared.
The people in the hall didn't seem to notice them at all.
Shane glanced at Frieren. From her eyes, he read the sa suspicion.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward and walked straight into the nearest dwarf.
Nothing happened.
He passed right through him.
The dwarf showed no reaction, calmly holding his battle axe and continuing a quiet conversation with another.
Shane couldn't help but recall the dream he once experienced in the mine—about the "Mad Sage Sharl."
This felt similar.
They had entered another dream.
But why?
Why was there a fragnt of the past in this hall?
They tried to leave, but the path they ca from had vanished.
With no other choice, they slowly moved deeper into the hall, weaving among the dwarves and observing their actions, hoping to find so clue.
Clang—clang—clang—
Soone struck tal.
The hall instantly fell silent.
Shane followed the sound to a raised platform deep within the hall.
A human girl stood there, wearing leather armor, her posture sharp and composed, her expression solemn. She gestured for silence.
"King Ailan has sothing to say."
After speaking, she stepped aside.
Behind her, upon a golden throne, an elderly figure slowly rose. He stepped forward, looking down upon the dwarves below, sweeping his gaze across the room before speaking in a deep voice:
"The Demon King has declared war. Many of our tribes have already been slaughtered."
"Today, I have gathered you all to hear your opinions. Do we fight… or surrender?"
His question echoed calmly.
The dwarves below looked at each other. So were deep in thought, so were furious, others lost and uncertain.
Suddenly, a young warrior stepped forward from the crowd.
He wore a steel helt and armor, with a short golden beard and a resolute expression.
Facing the king and all present, he spoke firmly:
"To beg for the enemy's rcy is the most foolish act."
Those words instantly ignited the crowd.
The dwarves erupted into unified roars—roars filled with hatred for the slaughter of their kin, with unending killing intent toward the demons.
The entire hall surged with overwhelming battle spirit.
Shane looked at the young figure and let out a quiet, surprised sound.
Beside him, Frieren was equally stunned.
Because they both realized—
That figure looked far too much like Eisen…
But that was impossible…
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