Chapter 78: The Sacred Duel Beneath the Ember Sky The clash between the Crimson Cleavers and the Mindforged Artificers raged on beneath the burnished glow of the setting sun, a celestial canvas casting molten gold across the arcane sportsfield. The Cleavers, bolstered by brute instinct and the raw fire of ambition, seized an early lead in the first rites of the contest. Yet, the Artificers, scholars of rhythm and pattern, played with methodical grace—chiseling away at the gap until equilibrium was restored. Now, the final rite approached. It was the ninth turning, the twilight inning. All momentum, all magic, all memory converged upon this single crescendo. The Crimson Cleavers took to the mound, their enchanted gear gleaming under spell-lit lanterns. The Artificers, ever-stalwart, rose to bat—tools of war masquerading as polished clubs gripped in gauntleted hands. Upon the batter’s circle stood Kong, the ste

Chapter 80: A Bastion Carved in Stone and OathThe revels surged on beneath twin moons, their silver glow shimmering upon goblets lifted high by hands both calloused and clawed. The dwarves, venerable artisans of stone and ale, took it upon themselves to instruct the newly awakened HobMankeys in the sacred art of revelry—particularly, the ancient rite of alcohol consumption.Through the twilight hours and into the dream-drenched night, the central sanctum of the village pulsed with laughter, raucous storytelling, and drunken contests of pride. Voices wove together in a tapestry of camaraderie, where slurred chants blended with clashing mugs and thudding feet.In the heart of the merriment, Thrain of the Emberforge Clan and Lolo, the boisterous foreman of the HobMankeys, found themselves embroiled in a trial of tankards. Each downed stein was a salvo in their unspoken duel, their faces reddening in tandem with the rising moonlight.Even Bubbles, th

Chapter 82: The Stone Veil in the Hollowed ValeThe grand labor of restoration unfolded with mystic rhythm as the stout-hearted Dwarrowkin and the nimble-fingered HobMankeys toiled in unity, invoking both rune-bound tools and bare strength to purge the shattered remnants of ruin. The once-blighted vale, where calamity had swallowed stone and timber, now gleamed bare as if some divine hand had scoured it clean—a pale scar in the heart of the Verdant Shroud.Thrain, the Iron-Braided, stood amongst his kin with solemn breath, gazing upon the land once revered as hearth and hall. A pang of memory coiled in every Dwarrowkin chest; their ancestral roots had been sundered. But grief could not reclaim what the earth had swallowed.Then came the crafting of the barrier—no mere wall, but a colossal sentinel born of spellstone and elemental mortar. Over ten meters tall, it stretched like a titan’s blade from one mountain’s embrace to the other, sealing the vale with

Chapter 84: Black Market BrewThe moment the frothy amber liquid passed his lips, Baldrick’s eyes widened with a dwarven gleam of revelation. With a clatter of stool legs and a crash of tankards, he rose to his feet with such abruptness that the nearby ale table teetered on the edge of collapse.“By the forges of Mount Vorthen… you’re right,” he boomed, slapping his mead-stained chest. “This elixir will sweep through our kingdom like fire through dry stone! If I can peddle this brew to every ale-starved kin in the Undermountain Clans, I’ll bring in more coin than our village has seen in centuries!”Baldrick wasted no time. Cloaked in urgency, he trundled through the moon-drenched lanes of the Ashed Lands, arriving at Elias’s sanctum well past the twilight hour.Fortunately, the young inventor had not yet sought rest. The workshop still glowed with enchanted filament orbs as he hunched over a blueprint etched onto spirit-paper, constructing somethi

Chapter 86: The Arcane Chariot Gambit In the shimmering sands of the Ashed Lands, where sun-scorched dunes kissed the skies and winds carried whispers of forgotten empires, Elias stood amid the blackened stone halls of his workshop—his mind, as always, brimming with visions too grand for the age in which he had awakened. From the moment he had been reborn into this realm of spell and steel, he had birthed countless arcane constructs within his mind. Yet his ambitions had always been shackled by one relentless adversary—scarcity. The lands were rich in mystery, but poor in the metals and conduits needed to forge his forbidden designs. But now… now he held within his grasp a gift beyond reckoning. Damascus steel—a relic from the molten forges of the dwarven citadels, whispered about in legends and praised for its unparalleled strength, mystical flexibility, and its refusal to shatter even when shaped into a sliver finer than