"Mjolnir?"
At first glance at the war hammer, Reyn recalled the legendary weapon Zoltan mentioned. His breathing slowed; his gaze locked on the find.
He stood stock-still, blocking the narrow treasury entrance.
"Reyn, what's in there? Treasures?" came Zoltan's impatient voice from outside. The Dwarf wanted in, but his broad shoulders wouldn't fit.
Reyn snapped to.
"Come in and see," he replied, stepping aside.
Zoltan and Roger squeezed through one by one. Seeing the war hammer in the runic circle's center, both froze.
Zoltan couldn't believe his eyes; his mouth hung open long minutes. Even stoic Roger was shaken to his core, eyes glazed.
Only after half a minute did Zoltan exhale:
"Mjolnir?"
"Seems like it," Reyn still wasn't fully sure.
After Zoltan's tale, he'd found a phone library book on epic and legendary weapons, plus Elf Emperor bios. Many had detailed Mjolnir illustrations.
The hammer matched images and descriptions perfectly.
But years of neglect coated it in thick dust, hiding details for a final call.
"Let's get closer!" Zoltan burst impatiently.
"Hold on."
Reyn halted the eager Dwarf. Scanning again with Will of Truth, finding no magic traps or wards, he nodded:
"Together."
The trio crossed the wide corridor into the main treasury chamber.
A vast round space over a hundred meters across, like the outer cave. But utterly empty—no treasures, just the gigantic floor runic circle.
It covered nearly everything, carved from a single stone block. Fist-sized runes deeply incised, filled with solid alchemical material.
Reyn had never seen such a massive runic circle.
Will of Truth showed it still active, pristine. Enduring millennia unscathed—its artifact value incalculable. Ironbeard Clan must've poured insane effort and resources into it.
At the circle's heart rose a forging pedestal like a hundred-times-scaled anvil, a meter high. Altar-like, covered in countless Dwarf runes.
Its surface held a depression—the circle's exact center.
There, slightly tilted, rested the war hammer.
Its head fit the slot perfectly, handle angled upward at forty-five degrees, as if beckoning to be grasped.
Reyn and companions reached the circle, halting before the anvil to study the hammer.
Zoltan reached to dust it off but hesitated, turning to Roger:
"Roger, you do it."
Roger raised a hand, casting "Ice Roar."
Boom!
A blue-white energy flash—and an invisible cold wave instantly cleared the dust. The spell's echo rolled through the treasury.
The war hammer didn't twitch, finally revealing its true form.
"Mjolnir!" Zoltan squealed. His face flushed with excitement; he bounced like a kid, babbling: "Almighty Hamaal! All-seeing Moradin! It's really Mjolnir!"
Reyn's heart pounded wildly too.
Truth be told, he didn't need it dust-free—he was already ninety-nine percent sure. But beholding the legendary weapon's true visage still shook him deeply.
Roger too stood speechless long, just shaking his head.
Their gazes glued to the hammer, impossible to tear away.
Standard Dwarf size, about a meter long. Head and haft forged as one from metal with an odd sheen—mostly black, gold accents.
The head a rectangular parallelepiped with sharp edges, symmetric both sides. Striking faces square, each engraved with different golden runes—if you smashed a foe's head, it'd leave a seal-like imprint. Where head met haft, gold Dwarf-helmeted heads glared from both sides—stern face, piercing eyes.
Reyn recognized Moradin, Dwarf forge god.
Legend said Ironbeard Clan got Moradin's aid crafting Mjolnir. Since Moradin once ruled "Lightning" domain, that inspired the name.
Golden lightning arced from the Moradin images' eyes.
These bolts spread like wings, widening and weaving into the head's surface in breathtaking patterns.
Up close, the gold lightning comprised hundreds of tiny runes delving into the metal, forming its magic properties.
The haft began below Moradin.
Dark-gold, octagonal, covered in fine diamond grip pattern. Lightning runes twisted between facets. The end swelled into a round pommel ringed with elegant runes.
At first glance, the form wasn't extraordinary.
Countless Dwarf war hammers looked similar, differing in minutiae.
But close up, its uniqueness shone. Material quality, forging mastery—near perfection. It exuded indescribable power, beyond mundane arms.
An exact replica of legendary Mjolnir.
After minutes admiring, Zoltan cracked, eyeing companions—especially Reyn, whose eyes burned with eager want.
"Try it?" the Dwarf asked hopefully.
"Of course," Reyn grinned, but yielded: "You're the Dwarf—first go."
"Right!"
Zoltan eagerly hopped onto the pedestal, gripped Mjolnir's haft, and yanked upward with full force.
The hammer didn't budge.
Zoltan's face fell instantly.
His strength matched a high-rank Iron Guard, far exceeding a normal high-level Superhuman—nearly third-level "Strength." He could lift over two thousand pounds. He'd poured nearly all into that pull—nothing.
"Again."
"Reyn, buff me with 'Dragon Strength,'" Zoltan persisted.
Reyn obliged.
Feeling the surge, Zoltan braced, gripped with both hands, deep breath, and heaved with everything, trying to rip it free.
"Mmm..." Zoltan's face reddened, paled, turned purple. He strained to his limit—futile.
Exhaling as breath gave out, the hammer hadn't shifted a millimeter.
Zoltan tried several more times in frustration. The hammer seemed welded to the anvil, part of it. No matter his effort or pose, it resisted.
"Can't... too heavy for me. Your turn," Zoltan slumped to the floor, head hung.
Reyn eyed the demon hunter.
"Master Roger?"
"You're so polite—I'll go first," Roger smirked indifferently. He mounted the pedestal, waited for Reyn's "Dragon Strength" buff, then tried lifting.
Demon hunter strength was low, even for legends.
Roger quit after two tries.
Finally, Reyn's turn. Zoltan and Roger watched hopefully. They knew he was strongest of the three, best shot.
Buffed by "Dragon Strength," Reyn gripped the haft two-handed and pulled.
His "Strength" at fourth level teetered on fifth. Raw power over twelve thousand pounds.
With buff, total around fifteen thousand!
Legs spread, body tensed, "Steel Body" maxed. Muscles bulged; colossal force roiled within. Phone gyroscope and Will of Truth perfectly channeled it to hands and hammer.
Before Roger and Zoltan's eyes, the hammer seemed to twitch faintly.
Barely perceptible—so slight, staring hard, they might've dismissed it as illusion.
But that was it.
"Mmm..."
Immense counterforce slammed Reyn's arms, drawing a muffled groan. His power scattered instantly.
He released the haft—no point persisting.
"Why stop? Keep going!" Zoltan urged excitedly.
"Useless—I can't lift it either," Reyn shook his head. He'd figured it out: Mjolnir couldn't be lifted by brute force alone.
Will of Truth revealed the counterforce's nature—nearly matching his own, spawning from nowhere, from space itself, perfectly nullifying. Eerily magical.
Without dispelling that Magic Resistance, no amount of strength—even maxed "Strength" to tenth—would work.
Futile.
But Zoltan wouldn't quit. He kept trying long, failing to budge it an inch.
At his request, Reyn and Roger tried lifting together—but force vectors worsened it over Reyn solo.
Mjolnir stayed put.
Finally, Zoltan conceded. He began studying the hammer's runes.
Meanwhile, Reyn had long activated his camera, snapping high-res photos of the runes from all angles, saving them to phone memory.
Zoltan peered intently at the runes for a long time, frowning, and then said hoarsely:
"These runes are very ancient and complex. Many of them pertain to areas of knowledge in which I am not versed. I'm afraid there are few dwarves nowadays capable of reading them all.
"Half of these runes control lightning power. The other half seems connected to the Void, but I'm not sure.
"The main material of Mjolnir is Void Meteorite Steel—there's no doubt about that."
Reyn nodded.
He descended from the pedestal and circled the entire runic circle, sketching its gigantic pattern.
Once finished, he scanned every corner of the treasury. The empty chamber was simply arranged. The walls were covered in numerous bas-reliefs, hidden under layers of dust and in places illegible.
The bas-reliefs depicted the glorious history of the Ironbeard Clan and praised the deeds of Moradin, the god of forging and crafts.
Reyn sighed inwardly. Who could have imagined in those times that Moradin himself would fall?
"And what's this?"
Suddenly he noticed lines of dwarven runes carved into the stone beneath one of the bas-reliefs, like an inscription on a stele. Due to the thick layer of dust, they were almost invisible, and he hadn't spotted them right away.
Reyn had recently begun studying the dwarven language and had already memorized many words.
The inscription on this stele was made in very ancient runes, most of which he didn't know. He could only make out a few words, among them "war hammer."
"Zoltan, come here, take a look at what's written here!" he called loudly.
His two companions approached.
Roger cleared the stele of dust with "Icy Roar," and Zoltan immediately set to reading.
He scanned the first lines, frowned, his gaze clouding over in thought. But soon he figured it out and read the entire inscription in just a few minutes.
"Ha-ha, so that's it!"
Zoltan cried out joyfully and explained:
"The stele describes the way to lift Mjolnir. Three conditions must be met to claim it."
Reyn's eyes lit up.
"What conditions?"
"First: possess the strength to lift the hammer's own weight," Zoltan said with admiration. "Mjolnir weighs ten thousand eight hundred pounds sterling. It's probably the heaviest weapon in the world. This condition alone eliminates almost everyone."
The dwarf's face darkened—he himself didn't meet this criterion.
Roger also shook his head regretfully—such a heavy weapon was beyond his capabilities.
Only Reyn was pleased. His strength already exceeded ten thousand eight hundred pounds sterling, and he had great potential for growth. Even if the hammer were heavier, he could handle it.
"Second condition: while the hammer's runic circle is not activated, it is spatially bound to the area within a hundred yards. Any force applied to the hammer will be nullified by space. Therefore, you need to know the runic spell to remove this lock," Zoltan continued.
"And the final requirement: you must have high or higher Lightning Affinity to activate the hammer's runic circle with the power of lightning via the runic spell and imprint your soul upon it. Only then will you become its master."
Hearing this, Reyn's expression changed slightly.
Mjolnir had been forged in the previous era, when humans had no Superhumans or soul element concepts.
High or higher Lightning Affinity was equivalent to the current superior element!