CHAPTER 507: CHAPTER 436 WANDERER

Veldor had been wandering the Kaelonde Kingdom for many years since he left the Wood Stone Clan. He constantly changed his name and his appearance, barely distinguishable from the restless spirits that roamed the wilderness.

He led, and could only lead, a life of constant upheaval. In the past, he had left his Clan in anger, becoming what the Dwarves commonly referred to as a "Wanderer."

Wanderer meant someone who had either left or lost their Clan for various reasons. This term was not equivalent to the commoners’ notions of refugees or beggars. In the Dwarf society that valued clan bloodlines, it was a tragic appellation.

When Dwarves cursed others, calling someone a Wanderer was more offensive than calling them a scoundrel or ruffian. Its severity was unparalleled, even among Dwarves known for their irate nature, who would readily bring one’s parents into a tirade.

Being clan-less meant not just being homeless, but having no place of belonging in the entire Kingdom.

The Clan carried a Dwarf’s birth as well as death. Wanderers who died met the truly absolute death of having no grave to call their own.

Beyond that, the Clan also carried a Dwarf’s social status. Wanderers, devoid of social status, were the scorned of society, and no one dared employ a Wanderer for work. Dwarves often assumed that male Wanderers were beggars or robbers, and the females, prostitutes or thieves.

And Veldor, as a male Wanderer, often had to rely on stealing to survive, living up to the expectations placed upon him.

His long, unkempt beard hung down, and Veldor tapped the table in front of him with frustration filling his heart.

Over the years, he had lived by thievery and tinkering with little mechanical devices.

Most of these were mechanisms Veldor had learned from the Mechanical Book, and his most successful transaction was selling a steam gyroscope to a child from a Clan associated with craftsmen, which had earned him enough money for half a year’s food.

Soon enough, he had invested all that money in the Temple vicinity—on the services of prostitutes.

The social structure of Dwarves was different from that of Humans or the Three-eyed Ape People.

Humans and the Three-eyed Ape People had long since regarded Temples and other holy places as the only sanctuaries, forbidding any base desires to sully them, only allowing the sacred. Greed, sexual desire, filth, and the like had to be kept at bay.

But Dwarves were different.

Perhaps due to their inherently crude nature, the Dwarves traditionally viewed procreation as the continuation of a Clan, the most important affair for everyone. As for who the parents were specifically, that could wait until after procreation.

Therefore... it was very normal to find prostitutes near the Dwarven Temples, and dealings with them were referred to as "sacred weddings." In the Dwarf Kingdom, there was an ancient tradition still continued to this day, which required every new King to undergo a "sacred wedding" upon ascension to the throne.

Even so, spending what little money one had on debauchery was, morally speaking, still a disgrace.

But Veldor no longer cared about morality. As a Wanderer, surviving each day was all that mattered.

The young Dwarf stood up, intending to seek out a prostitute to vent his frustrations, but when he reached into his pocket, he found only a few copper coins.

He was out of money, and those coins would scarcely last a few days.

Veldor rubbed his hands together and looked at the machine he had been working on.

The machine was still an unfinished product, and not guaranteed to sell at all. By the time it might sell, he figured he would probably have starved to death.

With that thought, Veldor decided to revert to his old ways.

.........

On the city’s main street, pedestrians hovering around one meter in height bustled to and fro. Some were dressed in dazzling finery, while others wore coarse hemp garments. Among these dwarves, every now and then, giants as tall as hills passed by.

A young dwarf lingered in the shadows, eyes darkly fixed on the passersby.

After a whole morning, he still hadn’t found a suitable mark.

It seemed as though there were too many Wanderers like him in this city, each one vigilant. Even though Veldor prided himself on his thieving skills, he had yet to claim any loot.

Veldor sighed deeply, stroking his beard, his mind brimming with frustration he couldn’t release.

"...Time to leave this place, find another city."

Veldor muttered to himself. For Wanderers, being homeless and drifting around was nothing out of the ordinary.

As he was about to bow his head and ponder his next destination, Veldor was suddenly startled by an impassioned preaching voice.

Whirling around, he saw a group of simply dressed dwarves on the edge of the square. They were delivering sermons from a hastily constructed platform, speaking of some lord, of God, describing the relationship with Hiris. By the looks of it, they appeared somewhat different from the Priests in the Temple—poorer, perhaps.

Many pedestrians stopped to listen to the Preachers’ sermons.

From a distance, the young dwarf remembered hearing about these people—they seemed to be the True Believers. They worshipped the lord but did not venerate Hiris like the traditional dwarven Priests. Instead, they only held bloodline respect for the latter.

Due to similar faiths, these True Believers and the local Priests didn’t have much conflict. Moreover, often, they would assist and save each other.

Even when there were conflicts, they were mostly not public, not fit to be brought to the fore.

This friendly relationship between the two parties traced perhaps back to the creator of the dwarves—the Mountain and Craftsman God, Hiris, and his reverence for his own father.

Veldor watched the group of True Believers as they preached and distributed food.

"These people look simple, but they must be rich... otherwise, where would they get so much food to give away?

Maybe at night, they sneak off to revel and indulge."

Veldor speculated maliciously. Then, a somewhat audacious idea popped into his mind.

Since he was short of money...

Why not pretend to be an admirer curious about the True Religion, gain their trust, and eventually infiltrate them to abscond with all the money belonging to those Priests and Monks?

It was a bold idea, a malicious one. But Wanderers like him weren’t ones to care about such distinctions—they were the discards of the dwarf race, the insulted, the abandoned.

With that in mind, Veldor rubbed his hands together fly-like, his eyes gleaming with greed.

He took a deep breath, slowly moved from a distance towards the group of Preachers, and worked his way into the crowd, trying to stand near the front. Then confidently, he feigned an adoring face.

That calloused hand, hidden in the shadows, ready to filch enough coins from these Preachers to squander.