One night, a certain player opened TWW2(Total War Warhammer 2). He mumbled while looking at the heavy rain outside the window,
"Warhammer 3 only released two races and then nothing. Sigh, I'll just make do with this for now.
Recover the lost Mountain Stronghold, retrieve the lost artifacts, restore the glory of the Kingdom of the Mountains..."
Suddenly, a flash of lightning, and he transmigrated. Before he could fully grasp what happened, he found himself in a bright space.
Blinking, he saw a female Dwarf. "My name is Valaya, Mother of Dwarves, Goddess of Home and Hearth, Healing and Brewing.
The female Dwarf, shaking her long golden hair that reached her feet, spoke:
"Outsider, are you truly willing to fulfill your oath?"
"Good heavens, do I even have a choice? Can I get a Dark Elf? For no other reason than wanting to see the Witch Elf ladies, or even a Slann Mage-Priest would be fine..."
"Listen to me, child," the goddess interrupted his rambling, "I saw the future in my slumber, as you should know, the End Times."
She paused, her expression twitching slightly, "Lord of the Undead Nagash disrupted my plans, drained my magic, and ruined my backup. My children are all but dead. I need a variable, and that is you."
Hearing this, the player nodded, "I understand the backstory, isn't it just the End Times? Dwarves are dwarves, at least better than bone boys. Let's talk about cheats and identity. I want... ugh, ugh, ugh."
"There's no time, child. Remember, where the oath leads, be as firm as a rock! Good luck!"
As his consciousness gradually detached from that illusory space, he felt his physical body, followed by fragmented memories and an intense feeling of weakness.
He tried to move his body, but as soon as he moved his arm, he felt excruciating pain. "Ugh, ugh..." Without time to sort through the original memories of this body, he let out a painful groan.
"By Grungni's beard!"
"Valaya above, he's finally awake!"
"Hahaha, looks like I won't need my hair dye for now!"
Listening to the noisy cheers around him, he felt himself lying on a stretcher, with a deep wound on his chest. He had just opened his mouth to ask what was happening when a mouthful of spicy liquid was poured into his mouth.
"Hey, you need this, Bergman's finest brew. This will make you feel better, young'un!"
"Cough, cough, cough..." The intense stimulation was difficult for him to bear at first. Dwarf beer was almost comparable in strength to the white liquor of his previous life. He once again strained his wound and let out a painful groan.
Various murmurs arose around him again:
"Youngsters nowadays are getting worse and worse!"
"Back in my day, I took three stabs and still twisted off four rat heads!"
Just as he was being tormented both physically and mentally, a clear female voice saved him:
"Gromril needs rest, Uncle Longhammer. The Mother Goddess's divine grace prevented him from immediately returning to the embrace of his ancestors, but his injuries cannot be disturbed like this. Also, put away your flask and give him some clean water."
After gaining some peace, the player lay on the stretcher and began to sort through the memories of the body's original owner and his own past life.
He had arrived in the world of Warhammer, a world where many fantasy races, including Elves, Dwarves, Vampires, and Humans, were active. The body he occupied belonged to the Dwarf race, an ancient and diligent race created at the beginning of the world, but one that was gradually entering its twilight years.
They worshipped their Ancestor Gods, the three most important of whom were:
Grungni – God of Mining and Forging, who taught dwarves how to extract and shape the metals hidden within the earth;
Grimnir – the Dwarf God of War;
And Valaya, who appeared earlier. She was also the wife of Grungni and Grimnir. Polyamory was not uncommon in Dwarf society, as Dwarf females were roughly only half the number of males.
Most of their children became lesser gods in the Dwarf pantheon, such as Stadhammer, God of Ore Forging, Thurni, God of Rune Smiths, and Mogrim, God of Engineers, among others.
During their golden age, the dwarves built many strongholds and forged many powerful weapons and equipment, but they suffered heavy losses in the War of the Beard with the Elves. Subsequently, earthquakes and continuous attacks from Greenskins and Skaven led to the fall of one Mountain Stronghold after another.
Thereafter, with the development of Dwarf technology and the establishment of the Imperium of Man, the Dwarf kingdom gradually recovered, but it never returned to its former glory.
The body he occupied was named Gromril-az Thorson, the youngest son of the current High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer.
In the Dwarf social structure, each stronghold had an independent King, and the High King, as the King of the Karaz-A-Karak stronghold, nominally received allegiance from the Kings of other Dwarf holds.
However, in reality, the Dwarf High King, when calling upon Dwarf Kings, would more often persuade them as equals, appealing to the friendship between Dwarf brethren, rather than issuing strong commands.
Each Dwarf Clan had a book of grudges to record the injuries and betrayals suffered by their Clan, and the High King held the great book of grudges, which recorded all Dwarf grudges.
This book was written with the High King's blood, and only they had the authority to add new grudge entries or cross out resolved grudges.
Gromril's profession was Rune Smith. Dwarves could not use magic, but they could forge the letters of their language into objects in different ways, thereby utilizing magic. This form was called runes.
As those who forged runes, Rune Smiths used their hammers as a medium to inscribe the power of the Winds of Magic into the runic engravings.
Besides forging powerful weapons and equipment for their Clansmen, they could also suppress enemy magic in combat, or apply buffs to nearby comrades through runes, or fight with weapons and armor they crafted themselves, as every Dwarf was a natural warrior.
The current time was Dwarf year 6943. The Greenskin warlord Grom the Paunch rose from the Misty Mountain. He launched an unprecedented Waaagh, sweeping across the entire Badlands, with his forces directly targeting the Dwarf Mountains.
High King Thorgrim launched the Battle of Iron Gate to stop him, which was also Gromril's first time participating in a military campaign.
In the battle, he was positioned with the Quarrelers at the back of the formation. As the battle intensified, the front lines of the Dwarf army were gradually breached by the Greenskin assault. The crossbowmen also ran out of ammunition, took out their personal weapons, and prepared to join the fight.
Gromril swung his hammer, striking the Rune of Hearth and Home, boosting the morale of his struggling Clansmen, and then also took out a sharp battle axe.
Just as he was about to charge towards the large Greenskin charging from the front, he heard shouts from the side. Turning, he saw a fat Goblin, whose belly nearly dragged on his instep, holding a huge battle axe, speeding towards him on a dilapidated chariot, followed closely by a squad of Goblin Wolf Riders.
"Form ranks!!" Gromril roared with all his might, "Valaya above!" He called out the names of the Ancestor Gods and charged towards the fat figure on the Wolf Chariot.
"Beardless dawi!" This was the last sound Gromril heard before losing consciousness. He was sent flying by the impact of the chariot, and then a master-crafted battle axe pierced his armor and struck his chest.
His soul went to the hall of the Ancestor Gods, while a soul from another world occupied his body.
The player exclaimed, "Like a newborn calf with no fear of tigers — ignorance is bliss!"
"That's Grom the Paunch of the Misty Mountain, a legendary lord who overturned the Empire and led a Waaagh! all the way to the High Elves' territory by the sea. How dare a mere functionary confront him directly?"
"Hmm, from now on, I am Gromril-az Thorson. Rest in peace, no, rest assured and return to the embrace of the Ancestor Gods. I will take your place in restoring the glory of the dwarves, making this name known throughout the Old World and even the Warp."
With the psychological foundation built from countless transmigration novels in his previous life, the player quickly accepted his new identity and cheered up.
"Next, it's time to check my cheat. System, system?"
"It's voice-activated, how smart," Gromril muttered to himself on the stretcher.
Automatically ignoring the murmurs of a few old veterans nearby—"His beard isn't even fully grown, he must be crazy," "His chest wound didn't reach his brain, did it? I once took a dragon's breath head-on and..."
He began to familiarize himself with his system. The system's content was quite simple:
Thorek Ironbrow's artifact vault and Ironbrow's own skill interface, except the topmost layer was replaced by the four skills of the Mountain King from Warcraft III: Stormhammer, Thunder Strike, Bash, and Avatar of the Gods.
Apart from a beginner's welfare section, the rest of the sections were still locked.
Apart from a beginner's welfare section, the rest of the sections were still locked.
Mountain Kings are called "Lords" in the world of Azeroth, the most powerful Dwarf warriors living at the foot of the Mountains. Unlike their Clansmen who are keen on crafting machinery and mining ore, Mountain Kings are born for battle.
They can violently hurl their warhammers, knocking out their enemies with a single blow, or strike the ground to damage surrounding enemies and slow their attack and movement speed.
Bash is a passive effect that gives the Mountain King a chance to deal extra damage and stun the target.
By awakening the ancestral power within them, they become taller and stronger, their appearance transforming into a stone statue. In this form, they are immune to magic and all their abilities are greatly enhanced.
"An unexpected surprise!" Gromril's heart bloomed with joy:
"With so many control skills, not only am I stronger in one-on-one combat, but I can also keep people from escaping. Since dwarves have no cavalry, I'll have to rely on my throwable hammer for chasing and fleeing."
Suddenly, he felt the sun on his face. Struggling to sit up on the stretcher, he looked around. Behind him was a continuous stream of troops emerging from the tunnel, and in front was a mountain whose peak was lost in the clouds—the Dwarf capital, Karaz-A-Karak, the Everpeak, had arrived.
Halfway up the mountain was a hundred-meter-tall gate, seemingly embedded in the mountain. The gate was carved with the mark of the Ancestor Goddess Valaya, shining with the light of Rune magic.
Unexpectedly, the main gate was not open. The procession wound its way around to a smaller side gate.
"Uncle, why don't we use the main gate with such a large procession?" Gromril asked, puzzled.
"Child, you didn't really hurt your head, did you? The Everpeak's main gate only opens for expeditions and triumphant returns. This trip..." Longhammer paused.
"Nearly a thousand of our Clansmen have returned to the embrace of the Ancestor Gods, and almost as many are severely wounded. Heh, another grudge added to the Greenskins."
He took a sip from his flask.
"But these grudges will eventually be settled," the old dwarf hammered his chest plate, as if telling Gromril, and also as if talking to himself.
"They will. I will revitalize this Mountain Stronghold and indeed the entire Kingdom of the Mountains!" Gromril, who had accepted his new identity, said from the bottom of his heart.
The old dwarf glanced at him. "Hmph, you lad actually have a chance. Not only did you awaken the ancestral bloodline to become a Rune Smith, but you also received the Mother Goddess's divine grace on the battlefield. Back in my day, I chopped..." Fueled by alcohol, the old dwarf began to mumble again.
The procession entered the Mountain Stronghold with heavy steps, their grumbling complaints drowned out by the sound of iron boots on the ground.
Gromril brought up the system and saw that the faction's grudge severity had reached forty-eight, the third most severe level—the so-called "Grumbling" stage. No wonder his Clansmen were beginning to complain.
Gromril was taken all the way back to his chambers on the upper level of the Mountain Stronghold. As the High King's son, he had his own private room.
Lying on the hard stone slab bed, he began to ponder again: Thorgrim Grudgebearer is known as the last High King, isn't he? I haven't heard of any descendants of his. Perhaps there's some unknown story hidden in old records. Thorgrim served as High King until the End Times, so a normal succession is out of the question. As a young Dwarf, how could he quickly gain enough power to change the course of history in a stubborn and conservative Clan?
Two days later, Gromril's severe injuries had somewhat recovered due to the divine grace, but the questions about his future remained unanswered.
As he was tossing and turning, unable to clear his mind, the door to his room was thrown open with a "bang." A burly Dwarf, richly dressed with a meticulously groomed beard, burst in.
"Gromril, how many times did I warn you?" he exclaimed, wiping sweat from his brow.
"How long has it been since our Drazklad Clan had a member awaken a Rune talent!"
From memory, Gromril knew that Drazklad was the name of the Dwarf Clan ruling the Everpeak, meaning Stone Armor. Its origin was that the Clan's ancestor, unable to afford metal armor, crafted a suit of granite armor for himself and gained fame wearing it. This became the ancestor's nickname and subsequently the name of the Clan he founded.
"Nala said you charged straight at those damned Greenskins. If it weren't for the Mother Goddess's intervention, you would have returned directly to the embrace of the Ancestor Gods. Are you trying to die?"
The Dwarf took a deep breath. "Give me a beer to wet my whistle! I rushed back from the Karak-Varn front as soon as I heard the news. Rune Smiths should stay at the anvil in the forge, enchanting weapons and armor for everyone. That's good enough..."
Listening to the Dwarf in front of him ramble, Gromril quickly searched his memory. This was his elder brother, Grom-Skullcrusher, a vigorous Dwarf warrior.
He had recently been leading a unit in a protracted battle against Goblins at Karak-Varn by Black Water Lake, protecting an exploration team mining meteorite iron.
In Dwarf society, each Dwarf's name consists of a given name, a surname, a Clan name, and a nickname.
Privately, or in familiar and close relationships, dwarves often call each other by their given names; in more formal settings, they address each other by their surname or nickname.
Dwarf nicknames have many sources: personality, achievements, physical characteristics, technical expertise, etc., are usually material for nicknames.
Some nicknames are passed down through generations within a clan, and some dwarves inherit nicknames from their elders. These inherited nicknames are often not easily changed, and the inheritors also strictly demand of themselves to live up to the nickname itself and its historical honor.
Of course, there are also some derogatory nicknames that dwarves try their best to avoid. If they do acquire an undignified nickname, they will strive to wash it away, even to the point of swearing an oath to become a Slayer.
The old dwarf's nickname, Longhammer, mentioned earlier, came from his courageous act of swinging his hammer to attack a dragon that was harassing the Mountain Stronghold.
Elder brother Gnome's nickname, Skullcrusher, came from him smashing a Goblin warlord's head with a hammer on the battlefield.
Currently, Gromril does not have a nickname. Young dwarves without nicknames are referred to by their surnames.
Clan names are not commonly used, only mentioned in important occasions such as rituals.
"Gromril, you daft boy, are you even listening to me?!"
Grom fully embraced the Dwarven style of incessant chatter, talking to himself for a long time while holding his beer before realizing Gromril had long since drifted off.
"If I were you, I'd focus on training, striving to become a Rune Master as soon as possible. Then you could lead your own army, or even become a Lord."
He finished his speech with a vision for the future, drained his beer in one gulp, and stood up to leave.
Unexpectedly, Gromril instantly perked up at the words "lead your own army" and "become a Lord."
"Uh, that Rune Master… how do you become one?"
"What?" Grom turned around, looking surprised.
"You know, that Rune Master, the kind who can lead his own army and become a Lord," Gromril repeated.
Hearing this, Grom walked to the bed and patted Gromril:
"Uncle Longhammer said you hit your head, and I didn't believe him, but it really does seem like a bad injury. Mastering one Master-level Rune makes you a Rune Master; even rats in a gutter know that. How could you, a disciple of the esteemed Krag the Grim, not know this? Forget it, get some good rest. I'll call a Priest to check on you."
Grom mumbled as he left the room.
Gromril, overjoyed, brought up the system while in bed. "The path to getting stronger is right beside me!! Let me see which Master-level Rune is suitable."
Gromril accessed the novice welfare function in his system. This was the part of the game where Oathgold was used to forge weapons and Runes. However, this function could only be used three times.
In the Rune forging system, the forgeable Runes were divided into two categories: personal character Runes and battle standard Runes for armies. Given that he didn't yet lead his own army, Gromril decided to forge a character Rune first to enhance his combat power.
He ultimately chose the Master-level Rune of Steadfastness and the Master-level Rune of Flight.
The Rune of Steadfastness increased maximum health by twenty percent. Grumm the Great Belly King's axe strike had left him with lingering fear, and increasing maximum health would obviously improve his survivability.
The Master-level Rune of Flight was an additional ranged skill, capable of dealing fire and magic damage, and was effective against heavily armored units. Giving a melee-focused Dwarf, who rarely dealt magic damage, the ability to cast spells had obvious significance.
The description in the information panel, "This Rune possesses the powerful ability to shatter armor, used to ambush the foes of the Dwarves since the dawn of the world," further captivated Gromril.
"Hehehe, why shouldn't I have them all? With the Rune of the Furnace on my left and the Rune of Might on my right, the Rune of Cleaving at my waist, and the Master Rune of Alaric the Mad on my chest — wouldn't I be able to smash the Everchosen and cleave the Council of Thirteen with a laugh?!"
Gromril was immersed in joy, repeatedly clicking in the system. "Hey, why isn't there any response? Is the system frozen?"
After a brief check, he discovered he didn't have the Oathgold needed to forge the Runes! Gromril turned his small treasury upside down, finding over three thousand Dwarf gold coins, but not a single piece of Oathgold.
From the knowledge in his memory, Oathgold was a product of refined meteorite iron, a complex and time-consuming process. Only Rune-powered Smiths were qualified to create it, and it was often used to trade for treasures whose value was difficult to measure with ordinary money.
Gromril, having just mastered Rune power, had not yet begun to produce Oathgold. As for becoming a Lord and recruiting Rune Smiths to produce Oathgold for him, that was still a distant prospect.
"A single coin can stump a hero!" Gromril paced back and forth in the room. He was so absorbed in thinking about the source of Oathgold and the excitement of a potential status elevation that he no longer felt the pain of his wounds.
"Producing it myself is the last resort. According to the knowledge in my memory, at my current level, one per week is about right. It would take half a year to gather 25, which is too slow.
Going on adventures, reclaiming lost fortresses, or killing Greenskins and Skaven could also yield Oathgold, but not only is the harvest unstable, given my current physical condition, I'd probably just be sending myself to my death.
Stealing or tricking probably wouldn't work either. This stuff isn't like gold coins; even Dwarf nobles who have some keep it as a treasured heirloom, guarded by strong men. I don't know stealth or anything, so it's really difficult."
After much deliberation, Gromril realized his thoughts had hit a dead end.
"Hey, I can ask my cheap old man. The High King, the Lord of the Mountains, surely has plenty of Oathgold. Though 25 isn't a lot, I'd need a somewhat plausible reason. I can't just say I need it to forge Runes with the system…"
Gromril thought as he walked out of the room. After asking the guards for directions, he headed straight for Thorgrim Grudgebearer's chambers.
He passed through a long corridor and a narrow, clockwise spiral staircase.
Most of the circular spiral staircases in Dwarf strongholds ascended clockwise. The reason for this was: assuming an attacker was coming from below, a clockwise staircase would position the attacker's right hand, their sword hand, on the inner side of the spiral, making it harder for them to swing their weapon.
At the same time, the defender's sword hand would be on the outer side of the spiral, allowing for freer use of their weapon and more protection. Gromril finally met Thorgrim.
Thorgrim was quite robust, even by Dwarf standards. Due to the era, his beard was not yet as snow-white as it was in the game.
His chambers were extremely spacious, and the desk before him was a bit large even for a Dwarf, piled high with maps, letters, and books.
The fortresses Dwarves carved out of Mountains had no natural light, and a single lamp illuminated only a small area around Thorgrim, making him appear somewhat small in the vast, dim room.
"You seem to be recovering well," Thorgrim said first, as Gromril gathered his words.
"You should have heeded the elder's advice, my son. I almost lost you. Not only would that add another entry to our Clan's book of grudges, but it would also make me ashamed to face your mother in the Ancestor Halls!"
Thorgrim's deep voice echoed through the spacious room, creating faint reverberations.
"Since I took charge of the great book of grudges, more grudges have been crossed out than added. The Ancestor Goddess manifesting her divine power after so many years and bestowing divine grace must be a good omen.
Don't rush, child. Protect yourself, hone your skills, and accumulate experience. You have awakened Rune power; this will help you achieve great things. Perhaps one day, the name Gromril-az Thorson will be celebrated by our Clansmen alongside those legendary Ancestors."
In Gromril's memory, Thorgrim, after becoming the High King and declaring the clearing of all grudges in the great book of grudges, dedicated himself to public affairs and campaigns. Although he had few opportunities to care for his young son, he always tried his best to create the best conditions for Gromril. Gromril also longed to prove himself to his father and share his burdens.
It was precisely this reason that led the original owner of the body to step onto the battlefield as soon as he mastered Rune power, ultimately losing his life.
"What do you need me for?" Thorgrim, who was also an old dwarf outside of his role as Dwarf King, finished his usual admonishments and got straight to the point.
"I need some Oathgold," Gromril finally chose to be direct, "for…"
"Ha! You've finally come to your senses!" Thorgrim interrupted him.
"It's about time! Put aside your idea of forging your own weapons and armor for now. It's not too late to do that once you've mastered more powerful Runes!"
With that, Thorgrim pulled a bag from the safe under his desk and tossed it to Gromril.
"Go on, head to the armory and arm yourself. Going into battle dressed like that is not how a Dwarf should look! I must be getting senile, thinking that standing in the back and not engaging in close combat wouldn't make much of a difference…"
Gromril felt a surge of secret delight. "What a wonderful misunderstanding! It saves me from having to come up with those clumsy excuses."
Seeing another long lecture about to begin, he grabbed the money bag and quickly exited the room.
"This lad is finally wising up. Perhaps it's a blessing in disguise. He used to be more stubborn than anyone, thanks to those old traditionalists…" As the door closed, Thorgrim's mumbling abruptly ceased.
Ignoring the surprised glances of his Clansmen along the way, Gromril scurried back to his room on his short legs.
This was because, for dwarves who valued composure and steadiness, running through the Karak without an extremely urgent reason was not an encouraged behavior.
As soon as he entered the room, he immediately opened the system. Looking at the "50" in the Oathgold column at the top, and feeling the heavy, Rune-engraved gold coins in his hand, Gromril smiled brightly.
Pulling his personal Rune list all the way down, Gromril decisively forged a Master Flight Rune. With a crisp "ding" in his mind, a W-shaped Rune glowing with a bright yellow luster appeared in his hand. Gromril quickly transferred it to a parchment scroll used to hold Runes.
Dwarf Runes are usually inscribed on artifacts, which makes them more stable and easier to use. However, when creating or experimenting with new Runes, they are also attached to less expensive parchment Rune scrolls.
Rune scrolls can preserve Runes for a certain period, but as time passes, the bound magical energy gradually dissipates, so the Runes on the scroll should be transferred to an artifact as soon as possible.
"Hahaha!" Looking at the small Rune on the parchment scroll and feeling the power contained within it, Gromril's laughter echoed through the room. In his eyes, a clear path leading directly to the peak of Dwarf life seemed to have appeared.
"What's wrong, cousin? What happened?"
A young Dwarf with a black beard that only reached his collarbone pulled open the door. His name was Balin, a distant cousin of Gromril.
Balin's ancestors were also Dwarf Kings who ruled a Karak, but their Karak was overrun by greenskins during a time of disaster. His ancestors and their Clan fled to Karaz-A-Karak for refuge. After several failed attempts to reclaim their homeland, the Clan never regained its former glory.
Balin was not as brave and skilled in combat as most dwarves, but he had a talent for literacy. His family therefore arranged for him to study various subjects in the library. Not long ago, after Gromril became a Rune Smith, Balin was also instructed by Thorgrim to serve as Gromril's personal advisor.
Dwarves are a race that places great importance on blood ties. Every player must have researched the technology of "family connections" in their previous lives. Nepotism is not a dirty word in Dwarf society; they actually encourage it. Dwarves value family honor, and blood ties make them more loyal.
Gromril was startled by the sudden shout. The worry of his system being discovered by his Clansmen threw him into a panic. He fumbled to hide the Rune-engraved parchment scroll, but accidentally triggered the already unstable Rune.
Looking at the table-sized fireball that suddenly appeared in Gromril's hand, the young Dwarf's expression froze. The room fell into a deathly silence. The two dwarves stared wide-eyed at the fireball. A few moments later, cold sweat trickled down Gromril's forehead. He was losing control of the fireball!
"Balin, get down!"
Gromril roared and launched the fireball diagonally upwards, then he too covered his head with both hands and ducked down.
With a deafening "boom," the fireball exploded, followed by the clatter of falling stones. Feeling the large and small stones hitting their backs, Gromril and the young Dwarf dared not even lift their heads.
It was a full minute later before Gromril cautiously looked up. He didn't know until he saw it, but the stone ceiling of the room had a hole blasted through it, wider than a Dwarf's waist.
Just as Gromril was immersed in the physical shock of the explosion's aftermath and the mental shock of the Rune's power, a series of clanging footsteps came from the corridor.
The footsteps brought Gromril back to his senses. His mind raced. His clever intellect took over, and combining it with the various entertainment materials he had seen in his previous life, he quickly concocted a perfect explanation.
With a "crash," the door was directly smashed open by a shield. Seven or eight dwarves, fully clad in meteorite iron armor with only their eyes and beards visible, wielding meteorite iron round shields that could cover most of their bodies and battle axes, rushed in.
These iron cans were the elite of the dwarves, one could even say special forces—the Ironbreakers.
The original purpose of this unit was to counter threats from underground. Due to earthquakes and the secondary disasters they caused, some of the underground networks and mines built by the dwarves were discovered by greenskin tribes or Skaven and used to attack the dwarves themselves.
On one hand, the dwarves didn't have enough troops to block all potential threats, and on the other hand, large forces couldn't operate effectively in narrow underground spaces. So, they formed this unit, fully equipped with meteorite iron, to patrol underground in small squads.
Ironbreakers are often the strongest and most experienced Dwarf warriors. In peacetime, they endure the tedious, sunless darkness and threats from all directions to protect the safety of the Karak. In wartime, they form the most solid shield wall to resist all charges, making enemies crash into them head-on.
"Damn rats, come on! Come out and die!"
Accompanied by a rough shout, a Dwarf dressed similarly emerged from behind the squad. The difference was that his beard was white, and his battle-axe and shield shimmered with the luster of Runes.
"Prince Thorson, it's so good you're alright! Get behind my shield! Did you see those cowering rat-men? Where are they?" The old dwarf rattled off a long string of words.
"No Skaven, I caused this commotion, I'm terribly sorry!" Gromril replied with a hint of panic.
"Grimnir above! What are you joking about, lad? Who else could cause such destruction besides a Skryre Clan Warlock Engineer? Not even those tinkering grease monkeys from the Engineer's Guild could do it!" The old dwarf twitched his beard, completely unconvinced.
"To tell you the truth, I've just mastered a Master Rune! A Rune that was thought lost! This is the power of the Rune!" Gromril exclaimed with an expression of extreme excitement, gesticulating wildly.
Honestly, as someone who had read all sorts of web novels in his previous life and was familiar with common tropes, he was no longer surprised by a transmigator having a cheat. But out of respect for his Clansmen's intelligence, Gromril decided to add a bit of acting.
"The power of runes? Master Runes?" the old dwarf repeated Gromril's words with a questioning tone.
He tried to judge based on his experience, but this was somewhat beyond his comprehension. After a brief silence, the old dwarf waved his right hand, which held an axe, and four or five more Ironbreakers rushed in from behind him.
They swiftly inspected Gromril's room with rune detectors. At the same time, the Ironbreakers who had initially rushed in formed a circular formation with their shields, protecting Gromril, Balin, and the old dwarf in the center.
A few minutes later, the Ironbreakers responsible for the inspection completed their work. Finding no anomalies, they each gave the old dwarf two hand signals, indicating safety. The tense atmosphere in the room immediately relaxed.
"I am Ironbreaker Captain Dain Ironfoot, Prince Thorson, uh, Master? You can just call me Dain," the old dwarf said, pushing up the visor of his helmet, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
Gromril noticed a scar on his face, which caused his mouth to be slightly crooked. Without a doubt, this was a seasoned veteran, but what was happening before him was somewhat beyond his common sense.
"Apologies for the disturbance, but this is our duty! What should we do now? Uh, I mean, originally I should take you to the City Defense Commander to explain the situation, but if you have more important matters, such as meeting the High King, then my men and I can escort you there," the old dwarf found himself using respectful language towards a young junior.
"Of course, I'm going to see my father. Such great news must be told to him!"
Dain made a gesture to invite him, and the Ironbreakers quickly changed formation, escorting Gromril out of the room.
"Balin! Balin!" As he left, Gromril didn't forget to turn back and call out to his advisor, who was still dazed from the immense shock, "Help me tidy up the room, and also clean up upstairs!"
Gromril walked along the corridor he had just run back and forth on less than an hour ago, filled with emotion. Amidst his joy, he couldn't help but want to slap himself twice.
"Sigh, what a waste of all those transmigration novels I read in my past life. I couldn't even keep my composure. Not to mention being a cautious person, I shouldn't be so blatantly using cheats. If I can't explain it later, I'll just have to blame it all on superstition…"
Gromril continuously simulated various possibilities in his mind, so much so that he ignored Dain's attempt to converse. The poor old dwarf began to worry about the thought that "Master Gromril is angry because of my reckless actions."
Both men were preoccupied with their thoughts, but their steps did not falter. Soon, they arrived at the familiar room.
Gromril took a deep breath and pushed open the door under the strange gaze of the Iron Hammer Guard outside. For Dwarves, with their long lifespans and unhurried pace of life, less than an hour was almost an instant.
Thorgrim, who was at his desk, looked up at the sound. "What is it, my dear son? Was the oath-gold not enough just now?"
Following his plan from the journey, Gromril dramatically waved his arms, "Father, I have mastered a Master Rune! I am a Rune Master now!!! Hahahaha!"
Like Dain before him, Thorgrim's expression was first shock, then disbelief.
"Gromril, why are you drunk in broad daylight? I know, nearly losing your life in your first battle must have been hard on you, and I understand your desire to become stronger, but relying on alcohol-induced illusions won't work! If you continue like this, how are you any different from those who wallow in past glories?"
Thorgrim's voice was filled with anger and grew increasingly high-pitched. It pained him greatly to see his youngest son, on whom he had placed such high hopes, become like this.
"I am serious, Father! I swear by the Ancestors' name!" Gromril thumped his chest and quickly pulled out the scroll inscribed with the Master Rune of Flight.
"Your High King, my men and I all saw it. Prince Snorri blasted a hole in the ceiling of his chambers, a hole thicker than my waist!" Dain also chimed in from the side.
Thorgrim narrowed his eyes, scanning the two Dwarves standing opposite his desk.
He knew Dain Ironfoot; he was a loyal veteran. He also knew that his youngest son, Gromril, was a steady person who would never profane the Ancestors' honor.
"Grenson! Go inform the City Defense Force. Tell them to immediately change the patrol team!" Thorgrim shouted to the guard outside the door.
After hearing the sound of iron boots thudding outside the door, he turned back to the Dwarf warrior in front of him.
"Thank you for your hard work, Dain. Take your men to rest in the next room. There's plenty of Bergman's dark beer there! You understand, let's keep this news under wraps for now."
Dain bowed at the words and retreated with a solemn expression.
"That child of the Greizman Clan (Balin's Clan's) should be tight-lipped. He knows his mouth should be like a beer bottle cap right now," Thorgrim muttered to himself again.
"Now, let's talk about your matter!" Thorgrim said, glaring at Gromril.
Gromril, knowing that actions speak louder than words, stepped forward and handed the rune scroll to Thorgrim.
Although he didn't wield rune power himself, as High King, he had handled countless weapons and equipment inscribed with Master Runes.
Feeling the surging power contained within the W-shaped rune on the scroll and comparing it to other runes he had seen, Thorgrim quickly confirmed that this was a genuine Master Rune. What shocked him even more was that he had never seen this rune before; nothing in the Karaz-A-Karak treasury was inlaid with it! This meant it was a lost rune.
"Uh… did you really inscribe this yourself?" Thorgrim pondered for a moment, trying to phrase his question delicately, but he ultimately decided to be direct.
"Yes, Father, I forged this myself! The Ancestor Goddess, while saving me, also taught me how to make this rune. According to her, it possesses the powerful ability to shatter armor, and it was used by the Ancestors to attack our enemies at the dawn of the world."
Thorgrim's eyes scanned back and forth between the scroll and Gromril's face. After a brief thought, he spoke.
"I will believe you for now, but you must understand, whether this is truly a Master Rune, whether you can become a Rune Master, and so on, is not for me to decide. It depends on the Rune Smith Guild. Do you have confidence in passing the Guild's assessment?"
In Dwarf society, professional Guilds and Clans are the two most important organizational structures, and their relationship can be described as intertwined.
Some Guilds are controlled by certain Clans with relevant talents, while some Clans are formed by several families from the same Guild through intermarriage and alliances.
Most Guilds do not have high entry barriers, but it is often not easy to become one of the Masters leading a Guild.
Guild organizations are generally divided into three levels: Apprentice – Journeyman – Master. For the Rune Smith Guild, this means Rune Apprentice – Rune Smith – Rune Master. Of course, for Guilds with a larger membership base, such as the Warriors' Guild and the Miners' Guild, the grading will be more detailed, including titles like "Senior" and "Intermediate."
Guilds are usually located in a fortress, but their members are spread everywhere. As the capital of the Dwarf Kingdom, Karaz-A-Karak houses the halls of many Dwarf Guilds, including the Rune Smith Guild.
Gromril had heard of the Guild Review when Thorgrim mentioned it.
After all, it's impossible for just any Dwarf to become a Rune Master simply by acquiring a master-level rune through any means; there must be an assessment process.
But whether he could pass smoothly, he wasn't sure.
Rune magic talent is already considered rare among dwarves, and those who can successfully master master-level runes are even fewer.
As a novice who had just become a formal Rune Smith, Gromril hadn't yet researched the format of the Master Review.
"Hmm, Father, I'm not sure, but I can guarantee that this rune was forged by my own hands."
Gromril thought for a moment and still didn't make a definite promise. He believed that even though Thorgrim didn't wield the power of runes, having served as High King for decades, he must have a deep understanding of this unique supernatural power of the dwarves. Perhaps he could get some hints from his father.
Thorgrim stroked his grizzled beard and spoke,
"You are Master Krag the Grim's apprentice. You know his style without me telling you. Hmph, only a name can be wrong, never a nickname!"
At this, Thorgrim chuckled grimly:
"Since he became the head of the Rune Smith Guild four hundred years ago, the number of official Rune Smiths and Rune Masters who passed the review in the entire Mountains Kingdom has dropped by half compared to before. Even the number of apprentices successfully entering the Guild has significantly decreased!
While this includes the factor of our Clansmen's dwindling numbers, he himself deserves considerable credit! If it weren't for him..."
As Thorgrim spoke, he gradually went off-topic, and Gromril took the opportunity to search his memories for Krag the Grim.
Yes, in Gromril's memory, his master's expression always carried sternness and dissatisfaction. As the oldest living Dwarf and the most ancient and powerful Rune Smith, Krag the Grim was over a thousand years old.
Under normal circumstances, a Dwarf's lifespan is five times that of a human. Dwarves over five hundred years old, which is equivalent to a human's hundred years, are already very rare. They are called "Living Ancestors" due to their vast knowledge and experience and are highly respected.
As their power increases, a Dwarf's lifespan also grows, but reaching a thousand years is almost impossible.
Currently, Thorgrim Grudgebearer is 252 years old, considered to be at the end of his prime. Gromril himself is less than a hundred years old, just coming of age by Dwarf standards. His elder brother, Grom, is 130 years old, in the prime of his youth.
Krag had once met the Ancestor Gods and personally experienced the glory and darkness of the dwarves.
The dwarves are a stubborn, conservative, and tradition-respecting Clan.
Rune Smiths are among the most tradition-respecting dwarves, because their power comes from the runes of the Ancestors.
And Krag, as the strongest Rune Smith, can also be said to be the most stubborn and conservative Dwarf.
He believes that present-day dwarves are reckless, crude, not smart enough, and do not respect tradition enough to inherit the exquisite techniques of their ancestors.
"Don't rush to the Guild Hall for the review yet," Thorgrim said, after venting his dissatisfaction with Krag, taking a deep gulp of beer before getting back to the main topic.
"I'll go invite Master Iron Chisel in a bit. He is my cousin, Emperor Auricsson's younger brother, which makes him your granduncle. Go back to your room quietly for now; Master Iron Chisel should come to discuss it with you later.
He has been a Rune Master for a full 200 years and is one of only two vice-presidents of the Rune Smith Guild. His experience should be of some help to your assessment!"
Gromril nodded at this. "Clan nepotism is truly great; you can even get hints for exams!" He was very satisfied with the arrangement and, after bowing, exited the room.
Thorgrim Grudgebearer was not the son of the previous Dwarf High King Auricsson but his nephew.
In the Dwarf year 6825, to resist the Chaos invasion, Auricsson, then High King, led a large Dwarf army north to support Kislev.
This battle was exceptionally brutal; all of Auricsson's sons died valiantly, and he himself was severely wounded.
Realizing his time was short, he gathered over a dozen Dwarf lords qualified to succeed him as High King, giving them a year to earn merits, declaring that after a year, whoever had the greatest achievements and was most trusted by all would be the next High King.
A year later, when the candidates gathered again in Karaz-A-Karak, several of them were missing. Just as they were arguing over whose achievements were greater, Thorgrim, who had been scattered from the main army during the anti-Chaos battle, returned.
As the High King's nephew, and with the High King having lost all his heirs, Thorgrim clearly had the right to contend for the throne.
During this year, he had traveled to Du Long City, the capital of the Norscan dwarves, who had lost contact with the Old World dwarves since the Age of Calamities.
Through his wisdom and strength, Thorgrim not only gained the help of the Norscan Dwarf Lord at the time to successfully return to his homeland but also signed an agreement of mutual exchange with them. Such outstanding contributions made him stand out and become the High King.
On his way back to his room, Gromril encountered many of his Clansmen. To their kind inquiries, Gromril, with matters on his mind, simply brushed them off with a laugh.
Pushing open his door, he saw Balin bent over, tidying up books, scrolls, and other items scattered across the floor.
Gromril couldn't help but wonder why, even though his trip to see the High King and back had taken a full two hours, the room was still as messy as when he left.
Just as he was about to ask Balin, he suddenly felt something was off. "How did I get in? I pushed the door open, but wasn't the door just smashed by the Ironbreakers?"
He looked up again, and the large hole in the ceiling had also been bricked up, though the mortar filling the brick seams hadn't dried yet.
Balin brushed the dust from his clothes and stood up.
"Cousin, people from the Blacksmiths' Guild just came. The door and ceiling are fixed. You don't have to worry about the cost; they said they'd charge it to your Clan's account."
"As expected of the race most skilled in construction in the entire Old World; the dwarves' work efficiency is unparalleled!" Gromril praised in his heart.
Suddenly, he heard a rumbling sound and exchanged a smile with Balin. Yes, after a day of commotion, it was already evening without them realizing it.
"Go to the kitchen and get me a roasted rock ram, and two barrels of ale. We have such good news today; we must celebrate properly!"
"Alright!" Balin excitedly replied. The young Dwarf had been quite startled today and needed good food and wine to soothe his soul.
It is known that rock rams live among cliffs and precipices, their fur similar to the rocks, making them good at hiding. Even if they are accidentally discovered, they can easily evade Dwarf pursuit with their agile movements. Only experienced hunters can capture them by setting traps.
Dwarves do not have a habit of animal husbandry. Before establishing relations with humans and purchasing large quantities of meat, rock rams were one of the few sources of meat. And because their meat is firm and delicious, they were once only eaten on important holidays. Even though their scarcity is not as pronounced now, they are still not something one can eat casually.
The Dwarf Mountain Stronghold basically had no natural light, and judging the passage of time often required relying on the calibrated candles produced by the Illuminating Supplies Guild.
These candles burned steadily in the windless underground environment, and were precisely calculated during design so that each mark burned for exactly one hour.
As the candles in the room burned down three large marks, the moon was already high in the sky, and in Gromril's room, two young dwarves were facing a pile of lamb bones on the table, burping contentedly.
"Cousin, you're so young, *hic*, to have mastered a Master-level Rune. I read, in books, only Thorgni did it, and he was the biological son of Grungni and Valaya.
I heard the warriors say, they said you received Valaya's divine favor, *laugh*, laughing myself to death, hahaha! *Hic*, the Ancestor Gods haven't shown a miracle in how many years? If you ask me, you might just be her illegitimate son!"
Balin, completely drunk, started talking nonsense, while Gromril, with his short legs crossed, used a lamb bone as a toothpick.
"This body is just no good, trying to cross my legs is really inconvenient!" Knowing that an elder might visit that night, Gromril barely touched the barrel of ale in front of him. Balin, on the other hand, was unusually excited and drank his barrel dry.
"When the time comes, Cousin, you, you gather a large army, bring, bring a bunch of Iron Hammer Guards, and, and then a few dozen Flame Cannons. Recapturing the fortress and becoming a Lord, isn't that, isn't that just a matter of laughing, hahaha!
You surely won't forget me, will you? Grant me an official position, I'm good at finance and internal affairs! See how Daisy's parents will, how they'll beg me, hahaha!" Balin's imagination, fueled by alcohol, had completely taken flight.
"A few dozen Flame Cannons? He really dares to dream. Why not just arrange for me to have a Sky-Hammerer! Hmm, by Dwarf age, Balin is still underage. He wouldn't be starting down the path of the face-slapping male lead at such a young age, would he? Looking at this situation, is there even a revoked engagement plotline?"
Although Gromril's age in both lives wasn't particularly old, with his rich literary knowledge, he still had far more experience than his peers.
While enjoying the drunken ramblings of the potential protagonist of a fantasy world's revoked engagement and face-slapping trope, Gromril carefully listened for any sounds at the door.
Finally, he heard the long-awaited knock. He held down Balin, who was unsteady and still trying to struggle to open the door, and moved him to the bed in the inner room. Gromril then pulled open the door.
A Dwarf, whose face was obscured by a hood, slipped into the room.
"Gromril-az Thorson?" The Dwarf spoke. It was clear this was an elder; his voice contained a wisdom and gravitas that the Dwarf fathers before him lacked.
"Lord Iron Chisel, uh, Master?" Although Gromril had already guessed the visitor's identity, he couldn't help but ask.
"Ha, then I'm in the right place." The old dwarf removed his hood, revealing a kind face. His snow-white beard had grown to his knees, and his eyebrows were almost pure white. Unlike the older dwarvesG romril had met before, his face showed little sign of weathering or the scars many old dwarves considered badges of honor.
For dwarves, almost all of whom wore heavy armor, the exposed face was ironically the most vulnerable part.
The old dwarf straightened his back, scanned the room, and smiled.
"It's been a long time since I've been on this floor! Back when I was a prince, I lived next door to your next door for many years. It's been over two hundred years, and still nothing has changed."
He wrinkled his nose and sniffed, "Ho, roasted rock ram and ale, quite the connoisseur, young man! Let me guess, is it Bergman No. 7 or Corlison's Selection?"
Before Gromril could answer, he started talking to himself again, "It seems Thorgrim has done quite well these past few years. I remember when I became a Rune Smith, a few brothers and I just shared a roasted suckling pig and that was it, hahaha!"
Master Iron Chisel was about to continue his reminiscence when Gromril, hearing this, couldn't help but interrupt him:
"When you became a Rune Smith, you and your brothers ate roasted suckling pig. What about when you became a Rune Master?"
The old dwarf gave Gromril a look, then chuckled:
"Do you think everyone is favored by the Mother Goddess like you, able to master Master-level Runes less than two years after becoming a Rune Smith? This Master here, I've been clever since I was a child, and I only became a Rune Master in my early three hundreds. Back then, *sigh*, let's not talk about it!"
Seeing that he had said the wrong thing, Gromril quickly apologized.
"When you get old, you talk too much, almost forgot the important business!" The old dwarf slapped his forehead. "Come, show me that Rune of yours, what was it called?"
Gromril quickly pulled out the scroll from his embrace and handed it over.
Master Iron Chisel took the scroll and unrolled it. As soon as he saw the Rune, he nodded: "Hmm, the intensity of the Winds of Magic is undoubtedly that of a Master-level Rune!"
He then reached out a finger to touch the Rune. Gromril was startled at the sight, "Uncle, be careful!"
The old dwarf's finger touched the Rune, but the huge fireball seen before did not appear.
"Don't worry, young man, you have to trust beards and experience! I've forged more Runes than pisses you've taken!"
Iron Chisel carefully felt the flow of the Winds of Magic in the Rune with his finger while shaking his snow-white beard.
"The mechanism of this Rune is somewhat similar to the Rune of Fury and Destruction, but, hmm, this energy circuit structure is something I've never seen before. From the engraving marks, it's indeed freshly made!"
He put down the scroll and turned to Gromril:
"Unless some old geezer figured out how to engrave this Rune from who knows where, then traveled thousands of miles to Karaz-A-Karak, evaded the patrol's supervision, successfully engraved the Rune, and you just happened to get your hands on it,"
He paused, a smile spreading across his face, "Then I can call you Master Gromril!"
Hearing this, Gromril, though prepared, still wanted to jump up and celebrate. Suddenly, he realized something was amiss.
"Isn't Master Iron Chisel here to share his experience of passing the Guild's review with me? How did it turn into a congratulatory visit?"
With a thought, he suppressed his physical reaction.
"But Uncle, I heard there's still an assessment from our Rune Smith Guild to pass," Gromril said slowly, carefully choosing his words.
"Have some patience, child, don't be in such a hurry to interrupt me. What did I say? I can call you Master Gromril, but I didn't say others could, hahaha!" The old dwarf chuckled slyly, making a joke.
"To be so calm at such a young age, very good, very good, you're someone who can achieve great things! At your age, hmm, you're not even two hundred yet, are you? If I had heard this news, I probably would have already written the wedding invitations!"
Master Iron Chisel praised Gromril's performance endlessly. High talent yet not conceited, who wouldn't like that?
"Come on, let me tell you about my assessment process back then. Later, after I became the Vice President of the Association, I also participated in several assessments. Let's talk about them one by one."
Master Iron Chisel sat down, stroked his beard, and prepared to begin. Gromril, understanding the hint, handed him a wine glass.
Just then, with a "crack," the recently repaired door was broken again!
Thanks to the support of the readers, the signing process has begun! As a new author, I don't have much experience, so all valuable opinions and suggestions are welcome.
Unlike the Ironbreakers who smashed the wooden door to splinters with their shields this morning, this time the door was directly pulverized. This was clearly the effect of a Rune.
Watching the figure gradually emerge from the smoke and dust created by the shattered wooden door, Gromril thought to himself:
"Holy crap, is this what they call 'blasted to smithereens' in legends? That door was too pathetic, I need to replace it with an iron one. No, no, no, a meteorite iron door is more like it! And it needs, it needs to be engraved with Master-level Runes of Fortitude!"
As the smoke and dust gradually cleared, Gromril also stopped his wild imaginings. Standing at the doorway was a Dwarf with extremely distinctive features.
His beard dragged on the ground, but it seemed poorly maintained, looking somewhat scorched and dry. His eyebrows hung down to be level with his nose, and his gaunt face was covered in wrinkles brought by age.
His sparse hair was casually tied back with a ring, and he was shirtless, wearing only an apron. His shriveled muscles were exposed, and his lower body was obscured by his floor-length beard, but it was clear he was wearing heat-resistant trousers to block the heat from a furnace. Such an appearance indicated he had come directly from the workshop.
In Dwarf society, the older a Dwarf is, the more attention they pay to their appearance in cities or settlements.
This includes a well-groomed and maintained beard, comfortable and appropriate clothing, and accessories that subtly display their wealth without being too ostentatious – compared to gold necklaces and jeweled rings, less flashy items engraved with Runes are more popular.
If a young Dwarf is disheveled and dirty, it can be assumed he is diligently striving to achieve something great and has no time to tidy his appearance.
But if an old dwarf of advanced age looks like this, it's like telling his Clansmen that he didn't work hard in his youth, neither accumulating wealth nor mastering skills, merely wasting his time. If he had offspring—
Because Dwarf females are only half the male population, unsuccessful male Dwarves rarely have the opportunity to marry and have children, and his offspring would also be shamed by this.
However, these conventional standards of judgment did not seem to apply to the unkempt old dwarf before him.
As the saying goes, "an expert sees the method, an amateur sees the spectacle." Both experts and amateurs could easily sense his extraordinary nature.
For a Dwarf like Gromril, who wielded the power of Runes, the old dwarf before him was almost the physical embodiment of Rune magic in the mortal world. The surging Rune energy within him radiated light like a beacon in the night.
As he approached, Gromril felt the Rune energy within him become more active, and the charging speed of the Runes engraved on surrounding objects also increased.
For Dwarves who had not mastered Rune abilities, the items in the old dwarf's hands were enough to attract attention.
He held a massive forging hammer in his right hand, and in his left, a relatively rare item—a Rune Totem.
A Rune Totem resembles a cross, covered with various Rune letters. It can be used to densely store Runes, making them easier to preserve and use, but due to its difficulty in creation and the fact that almost no one can use it, such an item exists almost only in legends.
This is because for most Rune Smiths, being able to engrave their weapons and equipment with the Runes they master is already quite good.
According to the rules of Rune magic, each item can carry a maximum of three Runes. A full set of equipment, from helmet to boots, plus accessories, can easily accommodate around twenty.
For Rune Masters who have mastered Master-level Runes, although each piece of equipment can only carry one Master-level Rune, their effects will cancel each other out if there are duplicate Master-level Runes in a set of equipment. Therefore, in most cases, a Rune Master's arsenal of Master-level Runes cannot fill all of his equipment.
Even if he truly had a sufficiently vast reserve of Runes, engraving less frequently used ones on the anvil of doom would be a more convenient and cost-effective choice.
Observing the forging hammer that had pulverized his door with a single strike, Gromril understood that this was a truly legendary weapon.
"The Hammer of Krag!" he murmured.
In this world, the quality of weapons and equipment is generally divided into five tiers:
The first tier, Common quality, is used by ordinary Human soldiers. For Dwarves, a race renowned for its forging skills, no one would use such things; they have a unified name among Dwarves—trash;
The second tier, Fine quality, is the steel armor equipped by ordinary Dwarf Warriors. Temporarily conscripted Miners and Dwarf Warriors would use them. For the Imperium of Man, only elites of the Greatswords and Reiksguard level would have the opportunity to wear them;
The third tier, Rare level equipment, is often crafted from meteorite iron, or consists of Fine quality weapons engraved with Runes. Advanced Dwarf units like Ironbreakers and Iron Hammer Guard would be equipped with them, and some wealthy Longbeards might also possess this level of equipment. As for the Empire, only generals or Demigryph Knights would be qualified to equip them.
The fourth tier of equipment is called Exquisite. This level is already considered a treasure whose value cannot be measured by money. In Dwarf society, they are meteorite iron equipment engraved with common Master-level Runes.
In Gromril's memory, frequently appearing on weapons were Master-level Runes of Strength and Master-level Runes of Striking, or commonly used on armor were Master-level Runes of meteorite iron or Master-level Runes of Resistance.
Such equipment is often held by Dwarf commanders at the level of Clan Chiefs or Hold Lords. In the Imperium of Man, only the twelve Runefangs passed down through generations by the Elector Counts as symbols of power, and a few pieces of equipment enchanted by Elven Archmages, reached this grade.
Equipment above Exquisite is called Legendary. These weapons and their users almost always leave their own stories in the long river of history.
For Dwarves, only a Master-level Rune combined with two ordinary Runes that serve as auxiliary enhancements, working together harmoniously, is worthy of being called Legendary.
However, because the raw materials capable of bearing a 1+2 Rune combination are almost always unique, even with the same Master-level Rune as the primary one, the optimal Rune combination is not fixed and needs to be adjusted according to the material of the equipment. This requires extensive experience and a certain amount of luck.
Most such equipment was produced by the Ancestor Gods during the Golden Age of the Dwarves, with only a small portion crafted by the most outstanding Rune Masters.
Many Dwarf Holds only possess one or two as inherited treasures; only the most powerful Dwarf Holds have the means to equip their strongest warriors with a full set of Legendary equipment.
In Human society, the divine hammer ghal-maraz, a symbol of the Emperor's imperial power, falls into this category. The remainder might only be sporadically bestowed upon their followers by certain powerful deities through divine grace.
The Hammer of Krag, as its name suggests, is a weapon custom-made by Krag the Grim for himself. This is his signature creation.
The Rune of Krag on the hammer face and the two Runes on the hammerhead and handle complement each other. With a single strike, let alone a wooden door, even meteorite iron would shatter.
"Master Krag! By what right do you trespass into someone's private residence and destroy his property without permission?"
In the silent clash of auras, Master Iron Chisel held on for a moment but ultimately fell into a disadvantage.
Although Gromril spoke bravely, he still noticed that he subtly shrank back half a step.
"Heh heh, little Aurem."
Iron Chisel was his nickname, and Aurem was his given name. Because he was an elder to Gromril and Thorgrim, the father and son called him by his nickname. Compared to Krag, he was a junior, and thus Krag addressed him by his given name.
"After all these years, you're still only tough with your words!" Master Krag stroked his beard.
"What? Do I need your permission to come see my most talented disciple, to see the youngest Rune Master in our Rune Smith Guild?" With that, he turned his head, no longer bothering with Master Iron Chisel.
"Come on, boy, let me see that master-level Rune of yours!"
Krag looked at Gromril, his sarcastic tone making Gromril uncomfortable, but in his memory, the original owner of this body seemed accustomed to such a way of speaking.
"It seems he's been gaslit quite a bit," Gromril thought to himself as he respectfully presented the Rune scroll with both hands.
Krag took the scroll and began to examine it. "Hmph, if I find out you've plagiarized the wisdom of our ancestors, then prepare for the Finger Severing Ritual!"
Gromril knew that the Finger Severing Ritual was the most severe punishment in the Rune Smith Guild, only carried out on members who had committed major offenses such as harming fellow members or plagiarizing others' work.
These offenders would have a middle finger cut off in front of all guild members, and then be expelled from the guild, no longer permitted to use Rune power from then on.
There were exceptions, however. During his travels in Du Long City, Thorgrim had met a Rune Master named Augie Four-Fingers. From his nickname, it was clear that after enduring the Finger Severing Ritual, he had traveled thousands of miles from the Middle Lands to Norsca to continue pursuing the power of Runes.
Master Krag's inspection method was similar to Master Iron Chisel's, both touching the Rune with their fingers to feel the flow of the Winds of Magic and the time of engraving, only Master Krag's inspection speed was faster.
A moment later, Master Krag put down the scroll: "This is, let me think, a master-level Flight Rune, isn't it? I saw this Rune on the anvil of doom preserved in Karak Ungor
(also known as Red Eye Mountain, the first important Dwarf fortress to fall during the Dark Ages. In the initial Golden Age, the powerful Dwarf race did not view the weak Goblins as a threat, allowing them to live in abandoned mines and tunnels. When the Dwarf King of Ungor led his main forces to participate in the War of the Beard against the High Elves, the Goblins took the opportunity to sneak into the heart of the fortress through the tunnels. The remaining Dwarf forces were forced to abandon the city. After the Greenskins occupied it, they renamed it Red Eye Mountain).
At the beginning of the world, before our ancestors settled in the World's Edge Mountains, Mother Goddess Valaya created it to combat giant flying beasts."
Just as Gromril and Master Iron Chisel were marveling at Krag's erudition, a look of anger appeared on Krag's stern face.
"Those idiots, not only couldn't they defend their own fortress, but every time they sent troops to reclaim it, they suffered defeats! In the end, even the anvil of doom was lost, that was a treasure passed down by our ancestors! A disgrace! A disgrace!"
Yes, Gromril knew that in the days after Karak Ungor fell, the Dwarf race constantly tried to reclaim it, and even more than one former High King died in battle because of it, but that fortress remains in the hands of the Greenskins to this day, with only its entries in the great book of grudges continuously growing.
The older the Dwarf, the more easily he would fall into memories, and Master Krag was no exception.
After a rambling monologue composed of memories of the Golden Age and dissatisfaction with the current Dwarf race, he finally returned to the main topic.
"What are you waiting for, hurry up and go! Do you want this old man to carry you?" Master Krag called out impatiently.
Gromril and Master Iron Chisel exchanged glances, and Master Iron Chisel spread his hands and sighed.
"It was always going to happen sooner or later, and since it's directly in our faces, we can only wait and see. I just don't know how Master Krag arrived so quickly!" Thinking this, Gromril calmly composed himself and walked out the door.
At the entrance, he saw a squad of Ironbreakers, specifically, Dwarf warriors equipped with full meteorite iron armor.
Unlike ordinary Ironbreakers, their weapons and equipment were all engraved with Runes; these were Krag the Grim's Anvil Guard.
Every Rune Master was a precious asset to the Dwarf race; their status was comparable to that of the lords who ruled fortresses, and thus they also had the right to form their own personal guard.
The personal guards of Rune Lords were generally called Anvil Guard, named because when a Rune Master carried the anvil of doom onto the battlefield, these guards would surround and protect him and his Anvil. When there was no war, these guards would protect the Master's forge, treasure room, assist with transporting raw materials for the Master's production, and so on.
The equipment and maintenance costs of the Anvil Guard were provided by the Rune Master himself. Following the principle of quality over quantity, they often possessed better equipment than ordinary Ironbreakers, and their martial skills were generally second only to the personal guards of Dwarf Lords.
Accompanied by the Anvil Guard, who were half-escorting and half-protecting them, Gromril and Master Iron Chisel descended along the corridor, taking the elevator to the Rune Smith Guild located deep within the fortress.
Along the way, Gromril continuously organized the Rune-related knowledge in his mind, but this master-level Flight Rune was directly provided by the system. He racked his brains but couldn't find any relevant information, so he could only walk forward calmly, with the mindset that things would work out in the end.
After exiting the elevator, although he had seen it many times in the original owner's memory, Gromril was still astonished by the grandeur of the Rune Smith Guild.
This was a semi-open hall, fanning out from a magma vent carved into the shape of a dragon's head at its deepest point.
On either side of the main entrance were statues of Mother Goddess Valaya and Thurni, the God of Rune Smiths. These two ancestral god statues undoubtedly conformed to Dwarf aesthetics—exceptionally tall, Gromril's height only reached their insteps.
Engraved on the arched main entrance was the symbol of the Rune Smith Guild—an Anvil, the artifact most representative of a Rune Smith.
This symbol was filled with the power of Runes. Gromril knew that Thurni himself had carved it on the day the hall was completed. Protected by the power contained within this symbol, this hall, located deep within the mountain, was not damaged during the great earthquake that ushered in the Dwarf Dark Ages.
On the floor of the hall were pipes connected to the magma vent, with scorching magma flowing through them like hot water, providing heat to the forging stations at various points.
The closer to the main entrance and further from the vent, the lower the temperature. On the forging stations directly beneath the dragon's head were several Anvils of Doom, which were the Rune Masters' positions.
In Gromril's memory, the dragon head vent could be closed. When there was a major assembly, the guild would close the vent, remove the forging stations, and set up tables. Almost all major decisions of the Rune Smith Guild were reached in this hall.
It was already past nine in the evening, and Gromril was surprised to find many Rune Smiths and Rune Apprentices still busy around the forge.
"Ah, so there's overtime in the Warhammer World too?" Gromril thought to himself, just as Rune Master Iron Chisel spoke.
"Look, look, these young people are so tired! Are they creating anything? They're just wasting raw materials!"
Krag the Grim snorted dismissively, blowing on his beard. "If everyone disappeared after dinner like you, how would we ever meet our deadlines?" Rune Master Krag retorted with a double meaning.
"I'll tell you the truth, it's normal for my Clansmen to work until midnight. Nine o'clock, hmph, nine o'clock is early! They should cherish the opportunity to work and learn. Overtime is a blessing! Back in my day, I didn't even have the chance to stay with my master until midnight to learn more…"
Listening to Rune Master Krag's toxic motivational speech, Gromril felt a chill in his stomach. "If I've transmigrated only to be exploited with 996 or 007 work schedules, that's just too tragic. I must seize this opportunity to establish my own business!"
Amidst the two Rune Masters' debate on whether overtime violated labor laws, the group quickly reached the dragon-head spout at the deepest part of the hall.
Gromril saw another white-haired old dwarf already waiting there with a group of his apprentices.
According to the knowledge in his memory, his name was Dulingen Moltenheart, another Vice President of the Rune Smith Guild.
Rune Master Moltenheart was about the same age as Rune Master Iron Chisel, both around four hundred years old. He was known for his skill in smelting raw materials through the power of runes.
Unlike Rune Master Iron Chisel, who came from the Drazklad Clan and represented the interests of the local Dwarves of Karaz-A-Karak, Rune Master Moltenheart came from a smaller Clan that had relocated to Karaz-A-Karak after their original fortress fell.
To increase his influence, he did not care about pedigree and accepted many apprentices, and was happy to guide the younger generation. Therefore, he enjoyed high prestige among his Clansmen, and many foreign Dwarves who came to the Guild headquarters to learn skills gathered around him.
Opposite them stood a slightly smaller group of Dwarves. These were Rune Master Iron Chisel's apprentices and Rune Smiths from local Karaz-A-Karak Clans.
Clearly, these Dwarves had been summoned on short notice; their faces showed confusion, and some were still not sober from drinking, being supported by their fellow apprentices.
Rune Master Krag stood on his anvil of doom and cleared his throat:
"Little dwarves! Put down your work for now, the night is still long! I have an important announcement to make!" He called out to the busy Dwarves.
Although Krag the Grim's reputation for being prejudiced, cold, and unwilling to mentor younger generations was well-known, his title as the oldest and most powerful Rune Smith was still a golden signboard.
Many Dwarves were still willing to join his apprenticeship, exchanging hard work for some guidance. Observing Rune Master Krag as he inscribed runes brought them great benefits.
At the same time, some of them harbored the hope that if Rune Master Krag suddenly returned to the embrace of the Ancestor Gods one day, and given that he had no descendants and his Clan had died out, as his apprentices, they might get a share of the old dwarf's millennium-old accumulated treasures.
It was known that Rune Master Krag's treasury, in addition to massive amounts of gold coins, oath-gold, and numerous valuable pieces of equipment he forged himself, also contained many legendary treasures from the Dwarven Golden Age, recovered from lost fortresses. The value of any single item was immeasurable.
Of course, Dwarves with this idea came and went, but Rune Master Krag still stood before his anvil, day after day, for centuries. Gromril suspected that the likelihood of him joining the ranks of the Ancestor Gods was far greater than returning to their embrace.
Amidst the clamor of the Dwarves putting down their work and gathering, Rune Master Iron Chisel whispered a few words to some Dwarves beside him. They nodded and, taking advantage of the confusion, blended into the other two groups. Gromril saw this and secretly nodded, thinking how reliable his Old Uncle was.
The Dwarves found their places and gradually quieted down. Rune Masters Iron Chisel and Moltenheart also walked onto the platform, standing on either side of Rune Master Krag.
"Quiet, everyone! I have a big announcement!" Rune Master Krag's voice, amplified by a horn-shaped runic artifact in his hand, echoed throughout the hall, silencing the Dwarves' whispers.
"Just today, our Dwarf compatriot, Gromril-az Thorson, has mastered a lost Rune Master-level rune. We have gathered everyone here to witness his Rune Master Smith assessment!"
With a boom, the entire hall erupted! All the Dwarves began frantically exchanging information.
"Who is Gromril-az Thorson? Some reclusive elder?"
"The High King's third son has that name, but he's not even two hundred years old yet!"
"Didn't he only become a Rune Smith two years ago?"
"Is it him? Then I suppose it might be possible. The old dwarf I was drinking with earlier said the Mother Goddess showed a miracle on the battlefield and saved him!"
"You Goblin-brained fool, how is that possible! How many years have the Ancestor Gods been gone from us!"
"Young'un, show some respect!" A buzzing sound filled the entire hall.
The Dwarves below the platform fell into arguments over the shocking news, some even pushing and shoving in their excitement. The Dwarves on the platform were not much calmer.
Rune Master Moltenheart's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Looking at Gromril, whose black beard only reached his chest, countless possible conspiracies flashed through his mind:
"Does the High King want to control the Rune Smith Guild? Has my private network been discovered, and is the Guild going to purge me? Krag has always had a tense relationship with the royal family, hasn't he? Was it all just a charade?"
Taking in the reactions of the young Dwarves, a rare smile appeared on Krag's wrinkled face. It seemed he was very satisfied with the power of this news, which rivaled that of the Rune of Fury and Destruction.
"Ah, quiet, quiet! I, Krag the Grim, President of the Rune Smith Guild, and Vice President Rune Master Aurem Iron Chisel, have both verified the authenticity of this rune! I swear by the Ancestors!"
With that, he looked at Rune Master Iron Chisel. Rune Master Iron Chisel stepped forward upon hearing this: "I also swear by the Ancestors that every word Rune Master Krag has spoken is true!" Krag nodded with satisfaction.
He raised Gromril's rune scroll with his left hand and declared, "The rune inscribed by Gromril-az Thorson is right here! Any doubters are welcome to come forward and examine it!"
Before he finished speaking, almost all the Dwarves present turned their gaze to Dulingen Moltenheart, who stood to Rune Master Krag's left. As a Vice President and Rune Master, only he possessed the full qualifications and skill to conduct the examination.
Under everyone's gaze, Rune Master Moltenheart's expression shifted repeatedly. He was in a fierce internal struggle: on one side were his many colleagues who expected him to "uphold justice," and on the other were the highly respected Rune Master Krag and the powerful Rune Master Iron Chisel, backed by the royal family.
Looking at the Dwarves belonging to his faction below, he understood that if he did not raise objections and allowed this young man, Gromril, who was not yet a hundred years old, to proceed directly with the assessment with the support of the two Rune Masters, then the morale he had painstakingly built up would scatter, and his position as Vice President would be meaningless!
Thinking this, Rune Master Moltenheart stepped forward, enduring the pressure!