Ugh... so smelly.

Chen Yu sensed trouble the moment he entered.

The shack was filled with a pungent mix of sweat stench, the foul odor of excrement, and irritating mineral dust. This pure mental assault was even worse than having size thirty-eight feet stomping repeatedly on a slime's head.

"I can't take this."

Chen Yu decisively cut off the sensory sharing, leaving this "enjoyment" for the Chubby One brothers.

The Nanny Brother carried the Chubby One as they struggled through the narrow gaps between piles of debris in the dimly lit shack.

Dark illusions enveloped them, making them appear like two slowly moving ink stains that perfectly blended into the shadows in the corners.

Huff, huff...

After considerable effort, the two little ones finally reached their destination—the shadows behind the dwarf's shack.

At this moment, Anvil lay on a pile of filthy dry grass, his breathing seemingly very weak. The little boy called Little John, exhausted, had fallen asleep beside him, tear stains still visible on his small face.

Chen Yu examined the bloodied back and the already swollen, darkened wounds on Anvil's arms.

Even with a dwarf's robust constitution, it was difficult to endure continuous hunger, torture, and such severe injuries.

Especially in a filthy place like the mine shafts filled with pathogens, infection and sepsis could easily claim this dwarf's life within a few days.

Chen Yu controlled the Nanny Brother to approach silently, then with a light jump, landed in Anvil's palm covered with calluses and cracks.

Upon contact, a stream of pure life energy secreted from the gel, like a warm current slowly permeating the dwarf's body.

In his dazed state, Anvil felt the warmth emanating from his palm.

It was so faint, yet so resilient.

Like the first flickering spark in a furnace on a cold winter night, completely igniting the firewood within. The bone-chilling cold and tearing pain actually melted away like ice and snow in the scorching warmth.

"Is this... Moradin's forge light?"

A thought flashed through Anvil's hazy consciousness.

The warm glow of the Eternal Forge—Moradin's divine realm, the final resting place for souls?

Yes, only the Father God's power could be so warm, so full of creative vitality.

An intense wave of nostalgia and relief washed over him.

His consciousness seemed lifted by that warm current, traversing through darkness, returning to the depths of his memories...

He saw the majestic "Blackrock Bastion," that was his home.

Massive obsidian guarded the mountain's belly, with forges burning day and night, hammering precious ores into fine weapons and sturdy armor.

The clinking of hammers sounded like a lullaby, while the complex scent of ore, sweat, ale, and roasted meat gradually formed a picture like gathering clouds—

Clansmen sitting around long tables, raising heavy oak mugs, rugged laughter echoing through the stone hall, celebrating having survived another food-scarce Winter Year.

But soon, the stench from goblins permeated, bringing destruction to this scene.

Deafening explosions tore through the sturdy city gates, screaming Goblin Army, mixed with even larger slave armies, flooded into the fortress like filthy torrents.

Dwarf warriors roared as they raised warhammers and axes, building the final defense line with their flesh and blood, but the numerical disparity was despairing.

Forges were defiled, exquisite stone carvings were smashed, the screams of clansmen intertwined with goblins' sinister laughter...

Then he saw himself captured in the chaos, saw clansmen falling one by one under whipping, starvation, and overwork, saw the unyielding light in their eyes gradually replaced by hopeless numbness.

The fortress had fallen, clansmen either died in battle or were enslaved, ultimately... it seemed only he remained struggling in this hell.

"Father God..."

Anvil's consciousness whispered in the warm current.

"Am I finally... returning to the Eternal Forge? Well then... I'm tired..."

He hadn't been able to defend the fortress, hadn't been able to protect his clansmen, and even in this final mine shaft, he hadn't truly united those equally enslaved Corrupted believers to ignite the flames of rebellion.

Endless regret overwhelmed him.

Perhaps death was the only release...

Just as Anvil completely abandoned hope for life, a soft, gentle voice suddenly sounded in his mind.

"How can someone your age sleep so soundly."

"Get up!"

"Who?!"

Anvil jolted violently, his consciousness instantly yanked back from the chaos of near-death and warm memories. His body trembled intensely, emitting a hoarse, startled gasp from his throat.

This commotion immediately alerted the lightly sleeping human slaves around him.

"Uncle Anvil?!"

Little John was the first to wake, rubbing his eyes to look, then letting out an unbelievable low cry.

"Hea... heavens, Uncle Kane, look!"

Kane and several other believers quietly gathered around. When they saw Anvil's condition clearly by the faint light filtering through the shack's gaps, everyone gasped sharply, their eyes filled with shock.

The terrifying whip marks on Anvil's back and arms that were deep enough to see bone, with skin torn and flesh gaping, had now... miraculously healed for the most part.

The gruesome wounds hadn't completely disappeared, but the torn flesh had closed and scabbed over, the swelling had subsided, leaving only dark scars.

His originally pale, paper-like complexion had regained some of its bronze glow. Although his breathing was still somewhat weak, it was clearly steadier and stronger now.

"Miracle... this is a miracle!" one believer said with a trembling voice, so excited he almost knelt down.

Kane supported the still somewhat dazed Anvil, asking urgently in a lowered voice.

"Anvil, what just happened? How did you suddenly recover so much?"

Anvil's consciousness was still somewhat confused, the near-death illusion, the Father God's forge light, and that soft, gentle voice... still echoing in his mind.

He instinctively touched his significantly recovered body, then looked up at Kane, then at the shocked and reverent expressions of the surrounding believers. A thought gradually became clear amidst the confusion.

"You might not believe this, but it was the Corruption, it was Morgul. He bestowed knowledge upon me in my moment of despair."

Actually, he had one more thought he didn't voice—perhaps that entity's temperament was much gentler and softer than what his believers imagined.

The feeling it gave was almost like... like a springy slime.

Yes, exactly, a very precise description.

"What?!"

Everyone's expressions changed dramatically, looking utterly strange.

They, who considered themselves Morgul believers, prayed day and night for divine guidance without receiving any. How could it be that the stubborn dwarf who believed in the dwarf Father God Moradin received divine revelation when near death?

Was their faith in the god not devout enough?

Kane's tone carried tension and urgency.

"What knowledge did the god... bestow upon you? Anvil, this is important!"

Anvil hesitated.

"It seems to be some kind of trial."

"The Corruption's trial?!"

These words exploded like thunder in the hearts of all the Corrupted believers. Their eyes widened, faces filled with shock and disbelief.