Ch 97 - A Fellow Cargo

The grand halls of the Dwarven Guild were a marvel of craftsmanship, with every inch of the stone walls adorned with intricate carvings and glowing runes. The air was thick with the scent of molten metal and the hum of adventurers, but as Luc and I walked through the corridors, the atmosphere shifted.

All eyes turned to us—dwarven adventurers gazed with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled resentment. The entire hall was built to dwarven proportions, featuring low ceilings, narrow doorways, and staircases that forced Luc and me to duck and shuffle awkwardly. It was a constant reminder that we were outsiders in this place.

Sestia led the way, her grip on her spear firm and her expression unreadable. Behind her, Lord Jaltar moved with the confidence of a ruler, his sharp eyes occasionally flicking toward Luc with a glint of something unspoken. I trailed behind, feeling like a fish out of water, my unease growing with every step.

When we finally reached Jaltar’s private chamber, the heavy doors shut behind us with a resounding thud, sealing us inside. The guards remained stationed outside, leaving only Jaltar, Sestia, Luc, and me in the room. The office was spacious but cluttered, filled with maps, scrolls, and strange artifacts that gleamed under the light of glowing crystals embedded in the walls.

Jaltar stepped forward, his sharp eyes fixed on Luc. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension palpable. Then, to my utter shock, the dwarven lord suddenly grinned and opened his arms.

Without hesitation, Luc mirrored the gesture, and the two embraced like long-lost brothers.

“It’s good to see you, Sir Luc,” Jaltar said warmly, his voice carrying a note of genuine affection.

Luc chuckled, his tone light and easy. “And you seem to be in fine health, Lord Jaltar.”

Sestia and I exchanged bewildered glances. Whatever we had expected, this certainly wasn’t it. The tension in the room evaporated, replaced by an almost casual camaraderie.

Jaltar pulled back, frowning slightly. “Please,” he said, waving a hand dismissively, “there’s no need to call me ‘Lord.’ You are our savior. Formalities are unnecessary.”

Luc smirked, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Come now, it was a one-time thing. I only protected you because of your father’s orders. I’m surprised you even remember me.”

Jaltar let out a dry laugh, the sound echoing in the chamber. “Forget? How could I? The day you hunted down those bandits is burned into history. Even now, your name still strikes fear into people’s hearts. Dwarven mothers still warn their children—‘If you misbehave, the Merchant of Death will come for you.’”

Luc scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s just cruel. You make me sound like some evil boogeyman.”

Sestia, who had been standing silently with her arms crossed, finally spoke up, her voice laced with skepticism. “Tales are just exaggerated nonsense. I still don’t see what makes this human so special.”

Jaltar’s expression darkened, his tone sharp as he turned to her. “Hush, Sestia! He is an honored guest—”

Luc raised a hand, cutting him off. “It’s alright.” He turned to Sestia, his smirk returning. “I like your feisty dwarven women. Someone who isn’t afraid of the crude title, let her be.”

Sestia clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowing as she shot Luc a glare, but she held her tongue. I could see the frustration in her posture, the way her fingers tightened around her spear. She clearly didn’t trust Luc, and I couldn’t blame her. There was something about him—something unnerving, even if he seemed harmless enough now.

Jaltar shook his head with amusement, his earlier irritation fading. “Well, Sir Luc, it really is good to see you again. I swear, you haven’t aged a day. With those dark circles under your eyes, it’s as if time itself has stopped for you.”

Luc chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “You, on the other hand, have certainly been keeping track of the years. What are you now, seventy?”

Jaltar smiled wryly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Two hundred and ten.”

Sestia and I froze, our minds racing. The implications of Jaltar’s words hit me like a hammer.

Two hundred and ten? And Luc hadn’t aged a day? My eyes darted to Luc, searching for some sign, some clue that would explain what I was hearing. But he looked the same as always—tired, unkempt, and utterly unremarkable.

Certainly, no ordinary human can live so long.
There was more to Luc than met the eye.

A single human-sized chair had been prepared for Luc, which he took without hesitation, leaving me to awkwardly squeeze into a dwarven-sized seat that felt more like a child’s chair.

Jaltar, ever the gracious host, leaned back in his own seat, his sharp eyes flicking between Luc and me. "So, Sir Luc," he began, his tone warm but laced with curiosity, "this young man here must be your new 'cargo' that you're escorting to the Isle Continent?"

I straightened my back. "Oh, hello, Lord Jaltar. It’s an honor to meet you," I said, bowing my head slightly. "This package is labeled as Benjamin Almond. It’s a pleasure."

Lord Jaltar laughed heartily, "Haha! Kid, you’re not the first cargo he has dealt with. My father hired Sir Luc's services when I was a young Dwarven lad. Even I was tossed around like mere cargo back then—Ah, good old memories! Haha!"

Luc scratched his head, looking slightly sheepish. "Hey now, it’s easy to say 'cargo.' I’m not very good with names, after all."

I stared at him in disbelief. To think that the old Lord Jaltar had once been protected by Luc... How was it possible that Luc hadn't aged a day since then? Who exactly was he?

Jaltar turned his gaze back to Luc, his expression growing more serious. "I was surprised to receive your message out of the blue. You seek passage to the Isle Continent, yes? I’ve already made the necessary arrangements. Though I must admit, the timing is... less than ideal. The death of Lux Sentinel has stirred unrest across the realms, and tensions are high."

He turned to Sestia, who stood rigidly by his side, her grip on the spear steady. "She will escort you to the speedport, where a ride will be waiting for you. They will drop you off at the continent on their way."

Sestia blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting this assignment. Her expression tightened, but she said nothing. Her jaw was set, her eyes unreadable, though I could sense the shift in her mood.

Luc smiled, his tone light and almost teasing. "Oh, that’s very kind of you. And Lady Sestia here has already graciously offered to restock our supplies at her own expense. Truly, her generosity knows no bounds."

Sestia’s jaw tightened, her teeth grinding audibly, but she forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Of course," she said through gritted teeth. "I’m more than happy to help."

Jaltar chuckled, clearly amused by the exchange. "Very well, then. I’ll take my leave—"

"Hang on," Luc interrupted, his smirk widening. "I can’t let you make this trip free of charge, now can I?"

Jaltar’s smile faltered, and he waved a hand dismissively. "It’s alright, Sir Luc. You don’t have to force yourself to pay. Consider it a gesture of goodwill."

Luc leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. "Come now, I’m a merchant at heart. I don’t like to be owed. Besides, I’ve brought along a proper payment." He placed a heavy bag on the table, the contents clinking faintly.

Jaltar’s brows furrowed as he eyed the bag with curiosity.

“Sir Luc, I truly can’t accept payment, not after the way you were treated at the border. That was my oversight, and I take full responsibility. Please, allow me to make amends."

Luc’s smile didn’t waver. "Well, I’d like you to see the contents before you refuse. As for the border patrol incident, Lady Sestia has already agreed to cover the cost of our supplies. Isn’t that right, Sestia?"

Sestia’s shoulders slumped, her expression a mix of resignation and irritation, but she didn’t argue.

Jaltar’s curiosity got the better of him, and he leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the bag. There was something about it—a mysterious aura that seemed to emanate from within. Luc reached into the bag and pulled out its contents, placing them on the table with deliberate care.

The room fell silent as everyone’s eyes locked onto the object. It was a skeletal arm, but unlike any I had ever seen. Its jagged bones seemed to writhe in the light, the fingers curved into claw-like talons. An extra set of bones jutted from the forearm, giving it an unnatural, almost monstrous appearance. An eerie energy pulsed from the thing, as if it were alive despite being clearly lifeless.

Jaltar’s eyes widened, his voice barely above a whisper. "This… is this what I think it is?"

Luc nodded, his smirk returning,
“An arm of the Bone Devourer Tribesman. Rare, isn’t it?"

Jaltar shot up from his seat, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief.
"Unbelievable. Is this for real?"

Luc scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Of course it’s real. I came across it during my travels in the Dark Continent. It wasn’t easy to get my hands on, but I thought it would make a suitable payment for your assistance."

My mind raced as I stared at the arm. The Bone Devourer Tribe—a name I had only heard in legends. A savage race, said to have been wiped out after their bloody war. They thrived on consuming the flesh and mana of mages and monsters, gaining their powers in the process. Their bodies were nearly immortal, capable of regenerating so long as they had access to blood and mana. After their defeat, their remains were deliberately scattered to prevent their resurrection. To see a piece of one now was both fascinating and deeply unsettling.

I couldn’t help but remember the Ascension Ceremony—when I had touched the corpse of a fully assembled Bone Devourer. The moment my healing magic had brushed against its flesh, it had begun to regenerate, not unlike how my own abilities worked, except with a much more terrifying and violent nature. The thought sent a chill down my spine.

Jaltar’s eyes glittered with excitement as he reached out to touch the arm, his fingers trembling slightly. "This… this is a treasure beyond measure. The Bone Devourer Tribe’s remains are legendary crafting materials. With this, my forge can create something truly extraordinary."

Luc’s smile widened, and he leaned forward, his tone playful. "But it seems you don’t want it. I’ll just take the ride for free, then."

Jaltar’s hand froze mid-air, and he looked up, his expression a mix of panic and determination. "Wait!" he said, his voice steady but urgent, "Sir Luc, I’ll pay you 2000 gold upfront, along with passage to the Isle Continent. How does that sound?"

Luc pretended to ponder, tapping his chin as if considering the offer. "Hmm, should I sell—"

Sestia slammed her hands on the table, her patience wearing thin.
"Hey! Lord Jaltar is offering you a fair deal, and you’re acting all high and mighty. Show some respect!"

Jaltar raised a hand, silencing her. His eyes never left Luc’s. "Sir Luc, name your terms."

Luc’s smirk returned, and he leaned back, his tone casual but firm. "Very well. I’ll agree to the deal on one condition: you cover our tracks. No one else can know we’re heading to the Isle Continent. Can you guarantee that?"

Jaltar nodded without hesitation. "Consider it done."

With that, the two shook hands, their smiles mirroring each other—one filled with excitement, the other with quiet satisfaction.

By now, the entire city was abuzz with the news of our presence. The dwarven people whispered among themselves, their voices carrying through the stone corridors like a low, persistent hum. It wasn’t every day that humans ventured into their underground stronghold, and the arrival of two outsiders—especially one with a reputation like Luc’s—had sparked a wave of curiosity and unease. Crowds began to gather outside the guild, their eyes darting toward the entrance, eager to catch a glimpse of the so-called “tall humans.”

Some dwarves watched with fascination, their expressions a mix of awe and wonder. Others, however, glared with open hostility, their disapproval palpable. The idea of outsiders—particularly someone like the Merchant of Death—stepping foot in their sacred city didn’t sit well with many. Luc’s reputation preceded him, and it wasn’t a favorable one.

The problem was, we needed to keep a low profile. Many people were already hunting for Luc, and our goal was to reach the next continent without drawing attention. That was precisely why Luc had asked Lord Jaltar to cover our tracks and throw off any pursuers.

Jaltar, ever the resourceful host, had a plan. He reached into a small chest and pulled out two silver masks, each embedded with intricate runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Moments later, two dwarven warriors entered the room, dressed in outfits identical to ours. But what caught my attention were the peculiar stilted boots they wore, elevating their height to nearly match ours.

“Are those… our stand-ins?” I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief.

Jaltar nodded, handing each of us a mask. “Yes. Now, place a drop of your blood here.”

Following his instructions, we made a small cut on our fingers and pressed a droplet of blood onto the mask’s surface. The runes pulsed with a soft glow before dimming back down. Jaltar then took the masks and handed them to the two disguised dwarves. The warriors slipped them on, and in an instant, their faces and hair shifted—morphing perfectly to match ours.

I blinked in astonishment. Before me stood an exact replica of myself, right down to my red hair and—of course—my admittedly handsome face. Meanwhile, Luc’s duplicate bore the same perpetually tired, dead-eyed expression he always wore.

“This is… unsettling,” I muttered, unable to tear my eyes away from my doppelgänger.

Luc nodded, his tone dry. “These make for the perfect tools of disguise.”

Jaltar chuckled proudly. “It’s dwarven craftsmanship, after all.”

I couldn’t argue with that. The masks were impressive, to say the least. Still, as I watched the two perfect replicas, a sense of unease settled in my chest. It was one thing to see someone mimic your appearance, but another entirely to see it done so flawlessly.

The two dwarven warriors, now indistinguishable from us, set out first, drawing the attention of the gathered crowd. They would exit the Heirya Kingdom and head toward another adventuring town, throwing off any pursuers who might be tracking us. There was, of course, a risk involved—acting like Luc was dangerous, given how many people were hunting him. But the dwarven warriors were skilled combatants. If things took a turn for the worse, they could shed their disguises and disappear.

Meanwhile, Luc and I prepared to leave in our own disguises. We donned long cloaks, the fabric heavy and concealing, and hunched our shoulders to appear shorter. Without the special masks, which were trade secrets of the Heiryan kingdom, this was the best we could do. The cloaks covered our faces, and we moved with deliberate slowness, blending into the shadows as much as possible.

Before we left the room, Luc and Jaltar shared one last exchange. The dwarven lord clasped Luc’s shoulder, his expression sincere.

“Sir Luc, thank you for the special ingredient you brought. I’ll make a masterpiece out of it. Please, don’t hesitate to ask for help in the future as well.”

Luc nodded, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. “Of course, old friend. Let’s hope our paths cross again.”

Jaltar laughed, though there was a hint of weariness in his voice. “Haha, of course. Just hope I don’t croak before that. I’m growing old, you know.”

Luc patted his shoulder, his tone light but oddly reassuring. “You still look like you could live another hundred years.”

The two of them shared a laugh, the kind that spoke of years of camaraderie and shared history. Sestia and I watched from the corner, our expressions a mix of amusement and bewilderment.

Finally, it was time to go. Sestia led the way, her posture stiff and her grip on her spear firm. Luc and I followed, our cloaks drawn tight around us as we slipped out of the guild and into the bustling streets of the dwarven city.

The crowd outside had thinned, their attention drawn to our doppelgängers who were now making their way toward the city gates. We moved quickly but carefully, keeping to the shadows and avoiding eye contact. The dwarves around us paid little attention, their focus elsewhere.

The city emerged from the gloom like a jewel forged in fire, its outline shimmering against the cavern’s twilight-lit ceiling. At its heart loomed a massive, funnel-like structure, its metallic surface veined with molten light. It rotated slowly, a mechanical titan humming with unseen power.

I couldn’t look away. “Lady Sestia,” I called, nodding toward the towering construct. “What is that?”

She followed my gaze, a flicker of pride in her expression. “The City’s Hearthe. It channels geothermal energy—powers everything from the forges to the watchtowers. Think of it as… a living battery.”

I frowned. “Every dwarven city has one?”

She shook her head. “Only those near volcanic ranges. The Hearthe taps into magma flows, stabilizing them. Without it, these mountains would have torn themselves apart centuries ago.”

My jaw slackened. “You’re telling me… the dwarves control the volcano?”

A low chuckle rumbled in her throat. “Would you leave such power untamed? The mountains are restless. Better to bend their fire to our will than let it consume us.”

I stared, awestruck. “No wonder dwarven craftsmanship is legendary. This… It’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Beyond anything most have seen,” Luc muttered behind me, his voice muffled by his cloak. “If the dwarves shared this knowledge, imagine how much the world could prosper.”

Sestia's gaze snapped to him, her tone sharp. "If we shared our technology, humans would likely turn it against us first." Her expression darkened. "The Virtues are already dominated by your kind. Prejudice runs deep."

She exhaled, her grip tightening on her spear. “It’s a shame Lux Sentinel died… but at least there’s hope the next chosen Virtue will be a fellow dwarven.”

I understood what she meant.

The Heavenly Virtues—a ruling force, chosen from the three dominant races: humans, dwarves, and elves. They dictated the course of the world’s future, their influence shaping entire civilizations. And right now, the humans hold the majority. Their kingdoms thrived under the Virtues’ favor, while the dwarves and elves waited, watching, biding their time for the heavens to tip the scales.

With Lux’s death, the next Virtue could arise from either race, a shift that might alter the global dominance of the kingdoms once more.

But our goal wasn’t to tip the scales. It was to shatter them entirely.

Luc and I exchanged glances but remained silent as we headed to the port.