Reyn stood motionless on the anvil platform.
He lowered his gaze to Mjolnir at his feet. Regret stirred in his heart: legendary weapon not so easily claimed.
Zoltan rushed to him and asked worriedly:
"Reyn, you okay?"
Reyn looked wretched. Above the waist, only the dragon leather belt remained—everything else burned away. Pants barely held. Exposed skin bled; no uninjured spot. Face and neck crimson with blood starting to crust. He looked dragged from a bloodbath—anyone else would surely be dead.
But Reyn remained astonishingly calm, as if indifferent.
It looked gruesome, but wounds were superficial—spend some energy, and he'd recover quickly.
He shook his head:
"I'm fine. Rest a bit, and it'll pass."
Zoltan and Roger sighed in relief, again marveling at Reyn's endurance. Mjolnir's lightning discharges rivaled a fourth-circle "Thunderstorm" spell in power. Reyn holding out so long under assault seemed unbelievable.
"You look awful. Wipe the blood quick," Zoltan pulled a towel from a drawer, moistened it with an alchemical water-gathering rod, and handed it to Reyn.
"Thanks."
Reyn took the damp towel and wiped blood off.
His gaze returned to the war hammer. He said annoyed:
"Can't claim it without 'Lightning Form' element?"
"Afraid impossible. You should know better than us," Zoltan replied regretfully.
He knew he himself had no chance to lift Mjolnir and had accepted it long ago. But Reyn was so close; the dwarf sincerely wished him success.
Reyn sighed deeply.
Zoltan was right. In truth, he fully understood what to do.
Thanks to "Metal Touch," he had heightened perception of metal structures and properties. Gripping the hammer, he sensed being inside it.
Deep in the hammer's center, in a pigeon-egg-sized cavity, was an object like a gem. Fully encased in Void Meteorite Steel, connected by runes serving as conduits.
All lightning energy from the hammer emanated from this stone.
Not seeing it, Reyn couldn't identify its nature but had no doubt of its extreme rarity and value.
This stone was the key to mastering the hammer.
After removing spatial lock with the spell, one must endure discharges from the stone. Simultaneously, generate one's own lightning energy, channel it through the hammer into the stone, forming a closed electric circuit. Only then imprint spiritual mark on the hammer.
Reyn could withstand lightning damage, but lacked his own lightning power.
The only way: fuse with "Lightning Affinity" element. And Mjolnir demanded extremely high affinity, i.e., "Lightning Form."
Reyn sighed inwardly, though partly prepared for this outcome.
The hammer's two prior owners, Emperor Elfa and "Usurper" Walden, were legendary lightning warriors.
Evidently, they first fused "Lightning Form," then claimed the hammer.
Meaning both visited Ironbeard Stronghold multiple times.
Teleportation circle in Ironbeard Stronghold activated once every sixty years. They couldn't wait that long. Another way must exist.
Realizing this, Reyn stopped agonizing.
"Legendary war hammer—rarest find. Having stumbled upon it, I must claim it."
"Must find that way at all costs."
"Once out of the stronghold, first do Soul Transformation Ritual, become fourth-level mage. Then seek 'Lightning Form' element or magic soul with Lightning Affinity. Even if it takes time and effort, must try. Can't miss Mjolnir!" Reyn resolved firmly.
At that moment, Roger, examining the runic circle underfoot, suddenly suggested:
"Since you can lift the hammer, let's break this circle. Take it with you, figure mastery later. Otherwise, hard to return here."
Zoltan's eyes lit up.
"Good idea! Think it'll work?"
"Useless."
Reyn shook his head and patted the huge anvil platform, explaining:
"The floor runic circle is just a spatial anchor. Hammer created here. Platform has small Void Meteorite Steel piece embedded, attracting hammer, pulling it back through space to this treasury.
"Hammer bound to surrounding space, can't be lifted. Lightning discharges attacking wielder—effect of runes on hammer itself. Floor circle irrelevant."
"Besides, this circle is too large; it's hard to destroy.
The Ironbeard Clan must have anticipated such a possibility. The entire circle was carved into a single piece of gigantic stone nearly a hundred meters in diameter. The alchemical materials used were extremely durable and seemed to possess self-restoration properties. That's why the circle had functioned for thousands of years and was still in perfect condition.
Roger rubbed his chin and shrugged:
"Well, nothing to be done then. What a pity..."
Reyn sighed too.
The Legendary Weapons lay right in front of him. The famous warhammer, perfectly suited to him, but still out of reach. It would be a lie to say he wasn't disappointed.
The feeling was akin to having a naked beauty lying on the bed before you, striking seductive poses, ready for passion, but lacking the most essential tool. Impotent rage that could drive one mad.
Zoltan stroked the hammer, sighing nonstop.
The trio settled down to rest, quenching their thirst and hunger.
Strangely, the treasury gates remained open, yet no night goblin tried to rush inside. The cave outside was quiet too, as if all the goblins had vanished.
After a few hours, Reyn's strength recovered, and the lightning wounds had almost healed.
He stood up without extra sentiment:
"Let's go."
Zoltan and Roger nodded silently.
Passing through the corridor to the treasury exit, Roger squeezed through the gap first. Zoltan reluctantly tore his gaze from Mjolnir and followed.
Reyn brought up the rear. Before leaving, he cast a long glance at the warhammer resting on the anvil.
*I'll definitely come back.*
Outside the treasury, not a single night goblin was in sight.
Reyn's Voice of All Things didn't detect their presence either. Where had they gone? The entire eighth level seemed deserted.
"What's going on?" the trio wondered.
In fact, even as they fought their way to this throne cave, the number of attacking night goblins had steadily decreased, as if something else had distracted them, allowing unimpeded passage through the eighth level.
Reyn glanced back at the treasury gates.
"Let's close the door."
If they left the gates open, when the night goblins returned, they might break into the treasury. They couldn't lift Mjolnir, of course, but given their filthiness and stench, by the next visit, the treasury risked turning into a latrine.
At that thought, Reyn inwardly rejoiced.
Night goblins were weak, and the space before the stone gates was limited. Even if dozens piled on at once, they couldn't budge the gates. That's why Mjolnir remained untainted to this day.
The tall stone gates had indentations carved as handles.
Reyn cast Dragon Power on himself and his companions. Straining every muscle, they spent over ten minutes slowly, inch by inch, pulling the stone doors outward and sealing the gates again.
Leaving the throne cave, they pressed on, consulting the rough map.
They passed several caves serving as night goblin dwellings. Most inhabitants were absent; only a few guards raised alarms and charged, but were easily slain.
Reyn couldn't understand what was happening.
Previously, the eighth level swarmed with night goblins— no fewer than seventy to eighty thousand—attacking in waves. Now they had vanished.
Compared to the grueling path here, this ease felt unfamiliar to Reyn.
The absence of night goblin attacks meant no soul energy recharge.
Zoltan pondered aloud as they walked:
"Looks like the night goblins ran into a stronger foe, so the whole tribe went to fight."
"A stronger enemy? Is there someone else in the stronghold?" Reyn grew alert.
"Just my guess," Zoltan wasn't certain. "Most night goblins are brainless, incapable of thought. Besides food and sleep, they only care about fights. In fact, rather than attacking outsiders, they prefer slaughtering each other. Tribes battle over mushroom fields and territory; endless brawls control their numbers."
"Night goblins breed faster than rats. They mature in just three years. If they didn't cull each other, they'd have overrun all of Ellunes long ago."
"This stronghold houses several night goblin tribes, each controlling its territory."
"I figure our intrusion caused a stir. We moved too fast for them to catch us. Without an external enemy, they probably fell back to old habits—attacking rival tribes."
Reyn listened in amazement. What a strange race!
Soon the trio reached a fork.
This was the stronghold's transport hub: two wide stone staircases led one up to the sixth level, the other down to the ninth.
Zoltan pointed without hesitation:
"Up."
His goal was the lost rune knowledge, possibly stored in Moradin's temple on the fourth level. They needed to ascend.
Reyn hesitated for a moment.
From below, the ninth level, came a faint sound of rushing water. Was there really an underground river beneath the tenth level?
Flowing water—a possible escape route, a hidden exit.
"Reyn, something wrong?" Roger noticed his hesitation.
Reyn shook his head slightly, deciding to keep the underground river quiet for now. Better to ascend first and check Moradin's temple; maybe a better exit awaited there.
They began climbing the stone steps to the seventh level.
After a short distance, they encountered night goblins again, but still few in number. Reyn dispatched them effortlessly en route.
The Voice of All Things caught a deafening roar ahead, far off—countless night goblins shrieking and howling. More than ever before.
Reyn's face changed, and he stepped first into the vast cave.
As the trio emerged from the tunnel, the sight stunned them.
This cave, in the central part of the seventh level, had an irregular oval shape. The ceiling rose over thirty meters. Once, dwarf forges stood here—numerous stone buildings linked by streets, forming a small city.
Now, hundreds of thousands of night goblins clashed. The entire cave was a battlefield.
War cries shook the air, blood flowed like rivers!
Night goblins, biters, shamans, chieftains, archers, even several tribe leaders— all frenzied with rage. They no longer distinguished friend from foe, attacking anything that moved.
Reyn gaped at the slaughter.
The cave was littered with corpses. Hundreds of night goblins died every second. Souls fled dead bodies, dissolving into the air.
*So much soul energy wasted!*
Reyn inwardly groaned in frustration. He wanted to charge into the fray and absorb all those souls.
How many energy cells could he charge?
Even a tenth would raise Force and Steel Body levels several times.
Zoltan, unaware of Reyn's thoughts, watched the battle and said:
"Let's go around this place."
"What if we cut straight through?" Reyn suggested.
"If we enter the battlefield, all the goblins will likely attack us at once. We'd save time, but it's too dangerous," Zoltan rejected it.
*I want them to attack me,* Reyn thought.
If only all the night goblins stopped the slaughter and swarmed him!
But those were just dreams. He couldn't voice them without arousing suspicion.
They took another path, skirted the battlefield, and soon found the passage to the sixth level. The sixth level was mushroom-growing caves. Previously patrolled by many night goblins, now it was empty too. Soon they reached the fifth level.
The path was easy, but Reyn nearly wept in frustration.
Almost all night goblins were in that grand battle. When it ended, barely one in a hundred would survive. The population would plummet, taking decades to recover.
And he'd hoped to return for souls.
Such a perfect grinding and farming spot—ruined so wastefully...
Reyn and his companions spent half a day on the fifth level searching for the upward path and found it collapsed. But at the collapse loomed a hundred-meter sheer drop with a near-vertical wall. Climbing it led straight to the fourth level.
Standing at the base looking up, Reyn rated the climb low difficulty.
Roger, beside him, looked uncertain.
"We have to climb here?"
"Of course," Zoltan had already unpacked climbing gear—hooks and rope—and started up. Minutes later, he was atop and lowered the gear.
Reyn followed and climbed quickly.
Roger dawdled long but eventually ascended the rope. Reyn noted the demon hunter's pale face, fearful expression, not daring to look down.
*Legendary demon hunter afraid of heights, ha-ha...* Reyn chuckled inwardly.
The fourth level served as the dwarves' residential zone. Due to the drop, most night goblins couldn't climb here, so no traces of them.
Pitch darkness reigned everywhere, like an untouched tomb for millennia.
After two hours, following the ancient book's map, Zoltan found the cave housing Moradin's temple. It was also the Ironbeard Clan's governance center, the stronghold's largest underground space, home to the royal family. It was called the Throne Hall.
But upon entering the Throne Hall, Reyn sensed something amiss.
Ahead, in the darkness, a light flickered!
***