Hearing Zoltan's words, Reyn asked in surprise:
"You know about this teleportation circle?"
"Of course," Zoltan crouched and brushed away the thick dust layer, revealing more runes. "I bought this tavern a few years ago precisely because of it," he explained gruffly. "I put the dust here myself, on purpose. Didn't expect you'd find it."
Reyn smirked. In truth, he had noticed the circle during his first visit to the secret room.
"And where does it lead?" he asked curiously.
Zoltan hesitated a moment, as if deciding whether to share. Glancing at Reyn, he finally answered:
"This teleportation circle leads to the Khorshyntag underground fortress. You're a mage, you've studied runes, so you should recognize—these symbols were made by dwarves."
"Underground fortress!" Reyn was stunned. "So the legends aren't lies?"
Every Longsand resident had heard stories of the underground fortress one way or another. Longsand was one of the Aoriental Empire's oldest cities, and rumors said before its founding, only ruins stood here. Thousands of years ago, in the previous era, when dwarves ruled the Yorezur eastern continent, they built a massive city here called Khorshyntag, sometimes known as Ironbearded City.
Khorshyntag was divided into surface and underground parts. The surface was Ironbeard Stronghold, the underground—Ironbeard Fortress. Dwarves preferred living underground, so the fortress was far larger than the surface stronghold. Legends said its depths hid untold treasures.
Yet no one had ever breached the fortress or found any valuables. Dwarf traces had long vanished into time's river. Centuries passed, and tales of the dwarven fortress became distant legends few took seriously.
Reyn had lived in Longsand for years and heard the rumors, but hadn't thought them true.
"Naturally, they don't lie," Zoltan's face grew serious. He continued slowly: "Khorshyntag was founded by the Ironbeard Clan. At its peak, lasting over two thousand years last era, the fortress housed over six hundred thousand dwarves. It was the largest dwarven city outside the World Mountains and the first fortress built not under mountains, but on a plain."
Reyn's heart stirred—he knew of the Ironbeard Clan. He immediately opened his phone's personal library and searched the clan name. Over a dozen results appeared—books and materials on this dwarven lineage.
"The Ironbeard Clan that produced three Supreme Dwarf Kings?" Reyn clarified.
"Correct," Zoltan looked at him in surprise. He hadn't expected Reyn not only to know the Ironbeard Clan but also the Supreme Kings. Dwarves no longer had a Supreme King—only a few ordinary ones now.
"At the end of last era," Zoltan continued, "Abyss demons destroyed most of Ellunes's cities. Khorshyntag, on a plain, was vulnerable. The Ironbeard Clan, unable to defend, left the city with heavy hearts before the demon siege and retreated to the World Mountains.
"Before leaving, to preserve the underground fortress, they blew up all gates and entrances leading below, leaving only five hidden teleportation circles on the surface."
Reyn understood instantly: this was one of those five. Even on his first secret room visit, the outer workshop had seemed odd—not like a basement; it was spacious, with the hideout behind a magic door, as if carved from solid rock. An ordinary person would struggle to find it.
He examined the floor runic circle closely, doubts gnawing. Since the dwarves left at last era's end, the Dark Millennium passed, then the New Human Era began, and now it was year 2528 by its calendar. Over three thousand seven hundred years had gone. Could this teleportation circle still work?
Reyn's magic knowledge was still shallow, but he knew: without maintenance, a runic circle lasted years at best. Three thousand seven hundred years was terrifyingly long. In that time, even stones could wear to dust, let alone complex runic weaving. That it still emitted faint magical fluctuations was a miracle!
Guessing Reyn's thoughts, Zoltan sighed:
"Leaving, the Ironbeard Clan prepared for centuries before return. They had the clan's most skilled Rune Lords modify the circles. Made them one-way, powered by Moradin's temple in the underground fortress. To save energy, circles activate every sixty years for half a year. Thus hoping to preserve them until dwarves returned.
"From their five circles, I found only two. One fully destroyed, this one well-preserved. I checked—it still works."
Finished, Zoltan crouched by the circle again, face puzzled. He scratched his head.
"By my calculations, it should've activated in six years. Why now? Did I miscalculate?"
Catching the subtext, Reyn asked:
"Zoltan, you want to enter the underground fortress?"
"Of course!" Zoltan jumped up. "I came all the way from the World Mountains to the Empire, lived in Longsand so many years just to reach Khorshyntag!"
"And what's there worth all your long planning?" Reyn grew interested.
Zoltan rubbed his hands excitedly:
"Treasures, of course! Khorshyntag was one of the richest dwarven cities. The Ironbeard Clan left in haste, couldn't take everything. Most wealth stayed in the underground fortress. Maybe whole mountains of gold and gems in some vault!"
Reyn was skeptical:
"Thousands of years passed. Such a huge fortress… Someone's probably been there and taken everything."
Zoltan darkened. He feared the same, holding little hope for treasures.
"Treasures are secondary," he sighed. "My main goal—find ancestral rune tech. Since Moradin, our Forge and Craft god, fell last era, many rune knowledge and techs were lost. Maybe something survived in Ironbeard Fortress. I want to try my luck."
Zoltan fell silent. Reyn nodded, understanding his motives. He knew dwarves' current state. Once one of Ellunes's two dominant races, they suffered heavy losses from Abyss demons, lost several gods, population plummeted, territories shrank over ninety percent. Now they held only five mountain fortresses in the World Mountains.
In this era, humans ruled, dwarves steadily declined. Reyn doubted Zoltan's found rune tech would greatly help his people. Dwarven decline stemmed from demographics, tech, culture, trade, lack of strong warriors and mages, fallen gods. From any angle, past glory was irretrievable. Millennia-old rune knowledge might help but likely outdated. Magical civilization spiraled forward, not backward. Ancient knowledge couldn't always surpass new.
Zoltan shared so much, revealing years of plans without reserve. Clearly, he wanted Reyn to join for the underground fortress.
Reyn hesitated a moment.
"Does Master Roger know about this teleportation circle?"
"Naturally," Zoltan replied. "Roger owes me a favor. We agreed long ago to go together." He shrugged and added honestly: "Reyn, you're strong, and I'd love you to join. But I won't force. You're young, life ahead. Not wanting to risk is right. Originally, just Roger and me planned. Think it over, tell me your answer tonight."
With that, Zoltan busied himself in the hideout: moving alchemical shelves, clearing floor dust. Reyn silently helped.
Soon they cleared the secret room. The circular runic pattern took most of the floor. In gas lamp light, carved lines dimly gleamed. The pattern itself wasn't complex; essence lay in key runes.
Rune knowledge stemmed from soul elements. Each element had a unique symbol—sometimes graphic, sometimes ideographic. These naturally arisen symbols held vast rune knowledge. Decoding and studying element graphic symbols yielded simplified signs, from whose combinations runic systems formed. Any energy use—spells, enchanting, alchemy, circle creation, curses, potions, scrolls—relied on runes somehow. Mastering runes meant mastering the world.
Ellunes's runic systems were extremely diverse; nearly every sentient race developed its own. Most renowned and powerful were dwarven runes, surpassing even elven. Last era, rune tech let dwarves become one of two dominant races. Their magical gift weaker than elves', but runes enabled powerful weapons, armor, war machines, siege engines, rivaling elves. Dwarves wielding these were Rune Smiths, highly respected in clans. Above—Rune Masters, higher still—revered Rune Lords. Any Rune Lord equaled a king in status. Now dwarves had fewer than ten Rune Lords.
Zoltan was a Rune Master.
Humans developed their runic system too, but it lagged far behind dwarven. Yet humans advanced mechanics and alchemy. These three complemented, giving humans edge and surpassing dwarves in total might.
Reyn's phone held a full volume of Rune Knowledge—an vast, deep tome he just started studying, far from mastery. When learning spiritual gun crafting, Zoltan generously shared some dwarven rune knowledge. Comparing systems benefited Reyn greatly.
Since arriving in Longsand, Zoltan treated him well. First day, provided workshop and alchemicals. Though Reyn paid, the sum was laughable—less than one gold shield total. Over months, they became good friends. Now Zoltan shared his greatest secret of the underground fortress without hesitation, showing full trust.
Reyn leaned toward going with Zoltan but knew too little of the fortress, breeding uncertainty. The circle was one-way—enter, maybe trapped forever. Not to mention other dangers lurking in the underground fortress.
Noting Reyn's doubt, Zoltan smirked:
"Reyn, I'm sure there's an exit from the underground fortress, don't worry."
"Why do you think so?" Reyn asked.
Zoltan abruptly changed topic:
"You know of the Elf Emperor?"
Reyn nodded. In the Aoriental Empire, every child grew on Elf Emperor legends. Empire founder, revered as humanity's greatest hero, perhaps without doubt. Songs praising his feats and life echoed across Ellunes for centuries. Nearly everyone—human, elf, dwarf—could tell a tale or two. Some true, some fiction, but the emperor always starred as hero in poems, novels, music.
"The Elf Emperor was born in a human settlement south of Longsand," Zoltan continued. "Son of a chieftain, he spent youth in Longsand, grew up here. So Longsand is essentially his homeland."
This was common knowledge. What was he getting at? Reyn didn't grasp Zoltan's intent.
"You and the Elf Emperor have something in common. Never thought about it?" Zoltan's gaze slid over Reyn, strange expression in the dwarf's eyes.
"Me and the emperor?.. Something in common?" Reyn faltered, then it hit him. "Warhammer?" it burst out.
He couldn't hide excitement. The Elf Emperor's warhammer was too famous. Legendary weapon with long name: Thor's Wrath, Cursed Skullcrusher Hammer. In songs and tales, usually just Mjolnir!
This hammer accompanied the Elf Emperor his whole life, becoming his symbol. Legends said Mjolnir was the mightiest weapon after god artifacts, topping all legendaries. With hammer in hand, Elf Emperor was invincible, countless foes felled with crushed skulls.
After emperor's death, Mjolnir vanished. Over a thousand years ago, it briefly reappeared, causing huge uproar in the Empire and a chain of events, then vanished again.
Reyn looked at Zoltan with anticipation-burning eyes.