"That was the Graybeard Clan's entire clan, expending countless ore reserves and magical essence... Using flesh and blood as pens and pickaxes as chisels, they dug into the surface before the stars fell, and reinforced it with layers of magic arrays... A massive array! Simply to withstand the destructive impact and swallow this poisonous fruit for the entire Holy Dragon Continent!"

"When that immense rock, brimming with violent star power and icy dark magic, crashed into the lakebed we had dug ourselves... we thought all the tribesmen working on the lakebed had been wiped out by the impact..."

Torge's voice suddenly became low again, like the roar of an undercurrent deep in a mine, carrying unbearable fatigue and eternal responsibility.

"Of course, even if they were still alive, we don't have time to rescue them. The light of the Soul Forger's Oracle once again illuminates the souls of all the Dwarf Lords!

"He instructs us, every tribe that has ever heard the sound of His hammer! We must gather our might and transport the meteorite at the heart of the lake, flowing with the power of the stars and dark magic—the 'Heart of the Star Remains' as you call it—to the extreme north of the continent! There lies the eternal frozen land, a sealed prison designated by the gods!

"But for some reason, when we found the giant stone, it only contained the purest and most flawless starlight magic, without a trace of dark magic.

"But time waits for no one. The oracle ordered us to set off immediately, so we didn't dare delay even a moment. We took the huge stone and left the Central Continent with our entire clan."

Torge lowered his head again, as if a holy mountain was pressing on his shoulders.

"And we, the remnants of the Ashbeard, the embers of the Deep Furnace...were ultimately nailed to the core of this seal by fate, no different from the jailers, until..."

His fingers, stained with endless frost, gently pointed at the figures around him, slowly being eroded by the starlight, like the figures of mineral veins. Where his fingertips brushed, deep blue cracked skin appeared. "...until we ourselves have become part of this prison."

Torge's deep voice echoed in the starlit ice cave, carrying the despair of a rock sinking into the abyss.

Mark listened to the stories told by the current leader of the Deep Furnace branch of the Graybeard Clan. Deep in his eyes, the flame of exploration that belonged to him was not extinguished by the heavy atmosphere of tragedy. Instead, a spark of impatience rose in the heaviness and coldness.

What Mark hates most is this feeling of resignation, of being crushed by fate and waiting to die.

Especially since this attitude came from a group of dwarves who, like Enzo, were supposed to be true warriors, a group of dwarves who were supposed to be as fiery and tenacious as a furnace.

As soon as Torger's narration fell to the end, Mark suddenly looked up, interrupting the deeper sigh that he might have been brewing.

"Chief Torge." Mark's voice was clear and direct, with an unavoidable sharpness. "Your attitude makes me feel that if Enzo returns to this icy plain, he will only find another... desperate situation."

He paused deliberately, his eyes sweeping over the dwarven warriors who were silently transforming in the starlight, and his words became sharper:

"Have all the dwarven branches in the entire Arctic Ice Field been infected with the same ice crystals you possess? Enzo, is there truly no dwarven homeland left on this continent?"

Torge's old and resolute face suddenly lifted up, and the depths of his eyes, which had been filled with too much despair, seemed to have been chiseled open by Mark's ruthless questioning, revealing the pain and unwillingness that had been suppressed for a long time.

"No!"

The old patriarch's low voice suddenly rose, with a determination like a rock breaking, directly denying Mark's worst guess.

His fingers, like dry branches but full of power, suddenly clasped his animal-hide knees, his knuckles turning white.

"The suffering of my Graybeard clan is not a curse for all dwarves! Only we Graybeards, only we Deephearth!"

His voice was filled with sorrow and an almost aloof sense of responsibility.

"Back then, our clan, carrying the will of Mornlock, the Soul Forger, and that huge stone, journeyed north from Falling Star Lake, pulling at the thread of fate until we arrived at the core of the final prison, the Frostwhisper Rift."

Torge's gaze once again turned to the blue ice barrier emitting magnificent starlight deep in the cave, and the despair in his eyes was mixed with a hint of the fire of fearlessness in the face of death.

"Only the craftsmen and warriors of Deep Furnace are directly in contact with and responsible for guiding the giant stone core, ultimately anchoring it in the middle of the rift valley, where the frost magic is most concentrated! This supreme mission is not something that every dwarf can undertake."

Then, a dry, low laugh like the turning of a millstone rolled out of his throat.

"And the Black Anvil..." Torge's voice sank, carrying the coldness and mockery of a man who saw through everything, confirming the intelligence Mark had brought. "When I heard you say they were colluding with the Church, laying a trap in the Rift Valley, plotting to seize the 'Heart of the Star Remains,' I felt no shock at all. This is no accident, Sir Mark. This... is almost inevitable!"

Every wrinkle on the old patriarch's weather-beaten forehead seemed to be engraved with a curse brought by the oracle.

"The Lord Elder of the Black Anvil branch was one of the elders who personally heard and received the oracle of the Soul Forger God's first descent over two hundred years ago!

"It was he who, after receiving the oracle and knowing that it had designated us to transport the giant stone to the Far North, was the first to jump out and strongly demand that the Black Anvil branch be responsible for escorting and ultimately keeping the 'Heart of the Star Remains'!"

Torge slammed his calloused palms down on the cold stone surface.

"They believe this is a treasure bestowed by God, the source of power for the revival of the dwarves! On the first day the oracle was delivered, he was accusing us of forging it, refusing to acknowledge that we, Graybeard 'Deep Furnace', were the only and ultimately destined victims to merge with the Starcage.

"In the decades since we fulfilled the oracle and sealed the monolith, Black Anvil has never given up on infiltrating and spying, even attempting to storm the rift and seize control of the Heart of the Star Remains! They've long regarded us as greedy thieves... For two hundred years, their persistent pursuit of the Heart of the Star Remains has never ceased!"

"Colluding with outsiders?" Torge's eyes were sharp as a pickaxe. "Ah, for them, this is just another means to achieve their goal. Their kinship is nothing compared to the overwhelming allure of the 'Heart of the Star Remains,' or what they consider their 'rightful belonging'!"

Starlight flowed in the ice cave and the campfire crackled, reflecting Torger's sad and angry face, as well as Mark's solemn but gradually clear eyes.

The seeds of rebellion did not originate from outside, but were quietly planted within the dwarves two hundred years ago when the boulder carrying the oracle and destruction fell.

If Enzo returns to Graybeard now, he will just be stepping into muddy water.