Naraku's figure vanished into the shadows as if blending into ink, leaving only the silent "Shadow Howl" and a vast amount of information about a legendary being, slowly settling in Lind's meditation room.
Linde sat quietly for a moment, his purple eyes flashing silently as he repeatedly analyzed and archived Narosh's words.
Legendary... The embodiment of rules, the manifestation of concepts.
This is indeed a more profound level than a simple energy level.
However, Nelosh is, after all, the king in the shadows of humanity, and his perspective and sources of information are limited.
For Kamran, the "Soul Forger" whose fate may be deeply intertwined with that of the dwarven race, there may be another, more direct, more... "insider" person who knows the truth.
Linde stood up, his tall and imposing figure reflected in the cold metal floor.
Instead of using the teleportation device, he strolled casually towards the vast work area inside the Steel Dome, which was specifically designated for the dwarves.
Before you even get close, the deafening hammering, the hissing of steam, the dwarfs' rough and bold chants, and the strong smell of a mixture of ale and engine oil hit you.
This place is less of a work area and more of a miniature version of a colossal dwarven dungeon crammed inside a starship.
The enormous furnace roared to life, illuminating the mountains of adamantite ingots, mithril ore, and all sorts of strange alloys whose names were unknown.
The dwarven craftsmen worked shirtless, their bronze skin glistening with sweat and oil, their muscular arms wielding runic power hammers that were half their height, striking the ground and sending sparks flying.
The air was filled not only with the scorching heat of metal, but also with an almost fanatical excitement that belonged to the craftsmen who had discovered the ultimate treasure.
Every dwarf, from the white-bearded master to the apprentice who could barely swing a hammer, had red eyes—not from exhaustion, but from the light of extreme focus and enjoyment.
Linde's appearance caused several dwarven craftsmen near the entrance to pause instinctively, bowing respectfully with their hands on their chests, their eyes filled with awe and...
A hint of eagerness to see the "super big spender and ultimate project provider".
Linde nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over the bustling scene before finally settling on a relatively "quiet" corner deep within the work area.
There stood a huge stone table, carved from a single block of obsidian (heaven knows how they got it in), scattered with extremely complex and precise blueprints of ship structures (some of the non-core drawings provided by Lind), the dwarves' own forging designs, and several empty giant oak beer mugs.
Muradin Bronzebeard, the dwarf king, was sprawled out on a specially made master chair covered with thick salamander skin beside the stone table, his deafening snoring briefly drowning out the surrounding forging noise.
He was holding a wine barrel that was almost half his height in his arms, his thick beard was covered with glistening wine foam, and his already furnace-like face was now even redder and brighter. He had obviously just experienced a "thorough and enjoyable" work (and drinking session) and was now in a deep restorative sleep like a dwarf.
Linde walked up to him and stood quietly for a moment.
The surrounding noise seemed unable to penetrate the dream barrier that this king had constructed with the aid of alcohol.
Linde didn't urge him, but simply extended two fingers, with a faint, highly concentrated energy fluctuation swirling around the fingertips, and gently touched a certain acupoint on Muradin's arm as he held the barrel.
"Ugh!" Muradin's massive body trembled violently, like a powder keg that had been lit, and he almost jumped off his chair.
His bell-like eyes snapped open, and his lava-like pupils first erupted with a furious outburst of surprise, but upon recognizing who was in front of him, the rage quickly transformed into astonishment, bewilderment, and a lingering hint of intoxication.
"Lin...Linde kid?"
Muradin's voice was like two rusty anvils rubbing together, thick with drowsiness and a drunken hoarseness, "The storm extinguished your furnace? Can't you see I'm...refueling?!"
He instinctively hugged the barrel of wine in his arms tighter, as if afraid it would be taken away.
"The fuel supply is plentiful, Your Majesty."
Linde's voice was calm and even, revealing no emotion. "I have a question that requires your clear-headed wisdom to answer."
Muradin shook his massive head, trying to shake off the alcohol and drowsiness inside.
He let out a loud burp, releasing a strong smell of fermented malt, rubbed his eyes, and finally saw the serious look on Linde's face, which was not a joke.
"Tsk, you humans are so troublesome, you can't even let us sleep in peace..."
He muttered, reluctantly sitting up straight and carefully placing the precious barrel at his feet. "Tell me, tell me, which rare mineral vein have you set your sights on this time? Or is there an area of armor plates that needs us to hammer them all over again using our ancestral techniques?"
"It has nothing to do with the Steel Sky."
Linde shook his head slightly, his purple eyes looking directly at Muradin. "I want to ask you about a person, or rather... an existence."
"oh?"
Muradin's drunkenness seemed to dissipate a bit, his thick fingers unconsciously twirling the metal ring on his beard. "Who? Could there be a master craftsman that I, old Muradin, don't know?"
Lind slowly uttered the name, his voice clearly penetrating the surrounding noise: "'Soul Forger,' Kamran."
"Clang!"
Muradin instinctively kicked the empty wine barrel at his feet, sending it rolling a long way before crashing into a cooling armor plate with a loud bang.
Several nearby dwarf craftsmen looked over curiously, but Muradin glared at them and they quickly looked away, pretending to be focused on their work. However, their perked-up ears betrayed the turmoil in their hearts.
The drunkenness on Muradin's face vanished instantly, his lava-like eyes widened as he stared intently at Lind, as if he were seeing him for the first time.
The heavy breathing was clearly audible, carrying an unprecedented solemnity and... a hint of barely perceptible vigilance.
"Where...where did you hear this name?"
Muradin's voice was extremely low, like the surging of an underground river, filled with disbelief.
Lind did not answer who the source of the information was, but simply calmly repeated: "How much do you know about him?"
Muradin remained silent for a long time, his huge hand unconsciously stroking the rough edge of the stone table. His gaze became distant and deep, as if piercing through the barrier of the steel sky and returning to the Soul Forging Hall in the deepest part of Red Mountain, where the earth fire burned eternally.
“...That was the Patriarch Kamran.”
After a long silence, Muradin finally spoke, his tone filled with utmost reverence, even adopting a solemn, epic-like tone, completely different from his usual unrestrained and rude manner.
“He is not ‘one man,’ Lind boy. He is the living history of our dwarves, the soul of the furnace, the first and last hammer blow that resonates deep in the blood of every dwarf.”
He raised his thick arm and pointed to the roaring furnaces and busy compatriots around him:
"Without him, the dwarves would not have the forging skills they have today, and perhaps... there would be no dwarf race that has survived to this day."
"According to the oldest royal stone tablet, in the distant Dark Ages when even the mountains were not yet named, it was the patriarch Kamran who first heard the throbbing of the 'Heart of the Earth' and comprehended the 'Secret of Soul Forging' that fused fire, metal, and runes into one."
Muradin's eyes turned fanatical:
"It was he who led the first dwarven ancestors to ignite the first 'eternal fire' deep within Red Mountain, laying the first foundation stone for the Soul Forging Hall!"
It was he who forged the dwarves' first runic battleaxe and their first hill fortress shield!
"But what the founder pursued was never personal power or immortality."
Muradin's voice lowered, carrying a complex emotion, "His lifelong dream was for the dwarves to forever bask in the light of the earth's fire and the forging hammer, and to prosper for eternity."
For this dream, in the final moments of his life, he made a decision that still sends shivers down the spines of every dwarf to this day.
Muradin took a deep breath, as if it took immense courage to utter the following words:
"He held an unprecedented and massive soul-forging ceremony. Using his own dying embers as a catalyst and the core rune array of the entire Soul Forging Hall as a foundation, he completely and thoroughly forged his soul, will, and all his forging knowledge and memories into the 'Eternal Furnace' itself!"
"He...became the furnace! The furnace is him!"
Muradin slammed his fist heavily on the stone table, making a dull thud, his eyes flashing with a mixture of excitement, sorrow, and immense pride.
"Since then, the 'Unquenchable Forge' has possessed its own 'soul.' It is no longer merely an inanimate object; it is the guardian spirit of our dwarven race, the living source of forging wisdom!"
Whenever the dwarves face extinction or their forging skills reach a bottleneck, the most skilled craftsmen always receive guidance from their forefathers in the flames of the furnace or in the whispers of dreams!
Muradin stared intently at Lind, his molten lava gaze seeming to pierce through him:
"Do you understand now? Asking the Patriarch Kamran is asking about the very foundation of our dwarves' existence! What exactly do you want from him?"
Despite Muradin's almost accusatory tone and undisguised wariness in his eyes, Lind remained calm.
His deep purple eyes seemed to have anticipated the dwarf king's reaction.
"I just want to confirm that this path of merging one's own will with a massive energy source, or even the concept of rules, is not an isolated case."
Linde's voice was steady, "'Soul Forger' Camran is a respectable pioneer. His condition is quite interesting."
He paused, glancing at the dwarven craftsmen around him who, though feigning busyness, were secretly eavesdropping, and further away at the roaring furnace built by the dwarves themselves, before adding meaningfully:
"Perhaps one day, when the heart of the Steel Sky needs to be infused with a more powerful 'soul,' the experience of Ancestor Kamran... will be of great value."
Muradin's pupils contracted sharply, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the stone table.
He stared intently at Lind, as if trying to find any trace of disrespect for the Dwarven Ancestor on his face, but he only saw a bottomless calm and a gaze that was... beyond the mundane, purely inquisitive.
After a full minute of silence, Muradin slowly released his grip, his massive body leaning back in the chair as if all his strength had been drained away.
He grabbed another unopened barrel of wine at his feet, took a big gulp, and let the golden liquid flow down his beard.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Lind kid.”
Muradin's voice carried a hint of weariness and a deep admonition, "But the Patriarch Kamran... he is now the Spirit of the Forge, protecting the entire dwarf race."
His wisdom was not a tool to satisfy personal ambition. Touching taboos might incur… true divine wrath.
Linde nodded slightly, accepting the warning, but the light in his purple eyes did not waver in the slightest.
"Thank you for your answer, Your Majesty Muradin. Your 'fuel' seems to need replenishing; please continue to rest."
After saying this, Lind turned and left the bustling and lively dwarven kingdom, leaving Muradin Bronzebeard alone, holding the barrel of wine, looking in the direction Lind had left, his lava-like eyes flickering with an unprecedented solemnity and a hint of unease.
The realm that Lind Truk explored had far exceeded the scope of the mountains and forging hammers, touching upon the mythical boundaries that even the Dwarf King found unsettling.
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