CHAPTER 1012: A NEW TYPE OF TREASURE (2).

"And so, that is the story of how I slew the old {Groundhog Wyrm}. She was a nasty one, I’ll tell ya!"

Throwing back a swig from the canister that has been hanging at his hip, Beorstone guffawed loudly, very clearly drunk as all hell.

Beside him, Cain sat cautiously.

In his mind, he couldn’t help but think to himself,

’The mood of these dwarves changes so erratically.’

One moment, they were dead serious, the next, they were gathered around him, laughing and throwing back large gulps of alcohol.

"Are yer sure you don’t want any, Cain my boy! This is the good stuff!" Bilfur slapped his hand on his shoulder and pulled him closer.

Feeling the dull pain brought about from the simple pat, Cain’s expression wrinkled as he let out a nervous chuckle,

"No. I don’t really like to drink."

Grimdor snorted,

"The nectar of the gods gives you strength! Removes the softness from her core! Those damned highlanders also didn’t like our stuff, did they..."

The other Dwarves grunted in agreement.

Cain turned to Gungir who was busy drawing runic patterns into the air,

"These highlanders, from the way you described them earlier..."

Gungir nodded, "Aye. We call them Highlanders, but they are more commonly known as elves."

Beorstone huffed, "Those darned bastards!"

Cain was a bit more at ease not that the Dwarves seemed to have agreed. However z Gungir had asked that he gave them a few hours to communicate with the ’Elders’ of their City, the underground City of Lent.

From that, he could tell these small band of dwarves were definitely not simple.

"Why exactly do you all hate these... highlanders?" Cain asked curiously.

Gungir adjusted his goggles and turned to Beorstone.

The leader of the dwarves cleared his throat,

"Aye. Our conflict runs as deep as the roots of a mountain. From what I can remember, the damned highlanders were staking claim to a portion of our mountains five centuries ago, by my beard."

Cain raised a brow,

"Give centuries?"

He frowned and turned to look at the dwarves again. A sudden thought appeared in his mind.

Seeing his surprise, Gungir cackled,

"Boss Beorstone here has seen and lived through seven hundred winters of scourge."

Then he pointed at himsel,

"I am the youngest of us all. I have seen three hundred and seventy winters of scourge."

Cain’s jaw went slack,

"That is..."

{Replying to Host: The winters of scourge occur at the end of every planetary revolution of the world of Calistora, a large super world located in the heart of the Aether Realm. A single cycle is equivalent to One and a half Urbus years}.

He turned to look at the drunken Beorstone again.

’Are you telling me this guy is more than a thousand Urbus years old?!’

{Replying to Host: Affirmative}.

"As I was saying," Beorstone drunkenly continued,

"The Highlanders tried to claim some of the ancient mountains. When we refused, they waged war and destroyed a few cities."

"Luckily for us, we were able to drive them all the way to their tree tops and gardens. At the time, I was just a young fledgling, so I didn’t get to fight in the war. But from what I heard, it was the stuff of legends."

Gungir turned to Cain, "Does that answer your question?"

Cain paused for a moment, then nodded, "It certainly does. Such hatred I feel, is rather justified then."

Gungir nodded, "Aye, it is. Then, I’d like to ask you a question as well."

Cain raised a brow, "Sure. Go right ahead."

"How did you become the champion of the Black Stone Turtle?

Cain frowned.

He had expected Gungir would ask that question. After all, the flames of curiosity burning in the eyes of the dwarf were very hard to miss.

"It’s a bit of a long story..."

He carefully recounted his account of the events that had let to his encounter with Fuji, as well as the circumstances under which the Sun of Aether has blessed him with the skill, {Black Warrior}.

By the end of it, the Dwarves seemed rather surprised,

"To think our god still lives. This is most excellent news." Gungir muttered.

Cain shrugged then said, his words masking a tiny bit of curiousity,

"Although I did meet him, he certainly didn’t seem like a god in my eyes!"

"You speak cursed words, Cain the Human!" Beorstone cautioned him.

"The greatness of the god of the Black Mountain is certainly not one your eyes, or our eyes can comprehend."

"The Black Stone Turtle might not be a celestial, but he fell many great celestial beasts and deities in the war of a thousand millennia." Beorstone said with a haughty chuckle.

The corners of Cain’s lips lifted up,

"I see."

He for sure knew that Fuji was a rather incomprehensible creature.

In a way, these dwarves reminded him of that little turtle.

One moment, they seemed small. The next, their might appeared larger than everything else.

Gungir clasped his hands together and rose from the ground,

"Alright, I have spoken with the elders."

Beorstone nodded and rose to his feet as well. When he stood, he was as steady as a rock. All signs of inebriation were completely gone.

"Cain, let me let you in on a secret now that we are friends." The {Black-Hearth Dwarf} said with a smirk.

Cain raised a brow, ’We are friends already?" He couldn’t help but think to himself.

"We the Dwarves of the Black-Hearth, the eternal black fire that never waxed cold and never smolders... Excel at many things."

The rest of the dwarves rose to their feet. In their hands were pickaxes with metal heads stained with dirt and grime. The handles were made of blackwood, worn from years upon years, perhaps even centuries of use.

"However, the things we love more than anything else, are creating wonderous works finer than anything yer’ll ever seen."

Heaving his pickaxe over his head, Beorstone smashed it hard into a nearby vein of mana stone,

"Second love’s tearin’ the treasures hidden beneath the mountains till she’s got nothin’ left to hide!"

BANG!

The ground shattered and cracked to reveal the vein running even deeper than he had originally thought.

A flash of greed appeared in all their eyes, including Cain.

"Is that all?" Cain absentmindedly muttered.

Beorstone guffawed,

"Course not! We love our ale strong, our purses heavy, our bellies full, an’ our women fiery!"