Translator: CinderTL
As Roland uttered the words "grey dwarf," a subtle tremor stirred within him.
This wasn't mere speculation, but stemmed from Galvis, their companion who reveled in flaunting his knowledge. The bard had repeatedly mentioned this mysterious and tragic race whenever ancient secrets swallowed by the river of time were discussed.
According to Galvis, grey dwarves weren't inherently evil. Their ancestors had once been noble dwarves, but in the distant past, they were enslaved by the powerful mind flayers. Centuries of oppression and mental corruption had dragged them into an unimaginable abyss.
The mind flayers weren't merely their masters; they treated the dwarves as livestock and experimental subjects. Using their formidable psionic energy, they shattered the dwarves' wills, twisted their bodies and souls, and ultimately forged them into their current form—a race born from darkness and hatred.
Their hatred for the mind flayers had long been ingrained in their bloodline, becoming a cornerstone of their very survival.
However, because the grey dwarves had vanished centuries ago, historical records about them were scarce, fragmented, and nearly mythical.
Yet everything before him now silently overlapped with those accounts.
The signature grey-white skin, the grey-white eyes burning with icy hatred and pain.
And Durga's nearly erupting, bone-deep venom when he mentioned "mind flayers"...
All the clues pointed to a name that should have existed only in legends.
Confirming the grey dwarves' identity only deepened Roland's confusion, like a stone thrown into a deep pool, sending out ever-widening ripples.
He had never encountered this mysterious and ancient race before. Why would Durga call him an "old friend"?
That familiarity, that air of shared history—where did it come from?
What exactly was this lost, or rather, misidentified "past" of his?
As his thoughts raced, heavy footsteps echoed from the depths of the mine.
Durga's tall, muscular figure reappeared in the dim light, stirring up the lingering dust.
"It's clear. Follow me."
His voice echoed through the narrow passage, carrying a hollow resonance.
Roland temporarily suppressed his mounting doubts and signaled his companions to follow. The group trailed Durga deeper into the mine shaft.
The passage grew even darker than the entrance. Most of the lighting fixtures along the rocky walls were either dimmed or shattered, leaving only scattered points of faint light that stubbornly flickered, barely illuminating the rough, uneven path underfoot and the jagged rocks overhead.
The air was damp and icy, thick with the mingled scents of rust, dust, and a deeper, indescribable ancient aura.
Durga strode ahead, seemingly accustomed to the oppressive darkness.
After a moment, he suddenly spoke, breaking the silence of the passage and interrupting Roland's thoughts.
"Don't let this... humble appearance fool you."
Durga's voice carried little emotion, but his empty left hand gently brushed against a deep chisel mark in the rock wall, as if touching a distant memory.
"Compared to our former glory, this place isn't even a temporary refuge."
He paused, turning his head to the side. His silver-white pupils scanned Roland's face in the dim light, as if gauging his reaction, before shifting back to face forward.
"However..."
His tone suddenly hardened, even gaining a burning intensity.
"Now that I have awakened from my long slumber... it won't be long before we reclaim everything that is rightfully ours."
His voice rose gradually, the hatred and disdain within it surging like molten lava beneath the earth.
"Let those dwarven mongrels who squat on our ancestral lands, those self-righteous fools... let them all crawl back to their mountain homes! This land has never belonged to them!"
The words echoed through the mine tunnels, lingering long after he spoke.
The sheer resolve and accumulated resentment in his voice sent a chill down the spines of Bronson and the others following behind.
After navigating the dark, winding mine tunnels for a considerable time, Durga finally stopped before a seemingly natural fissure in the rock wall.
Even before stepping inside, an extremely faint yet familiar aura, one that stirred Roland's soul to its depths, drifted from the crack.
It was a blend of the icy chill of pure psionic ability and a disturbingly twisted sensation unique to non-human intelligence.
Without a doubt, a mind flayer was within.
Durga didn't hesitate for a moment. He turned sideways and slipped through the fissure.
Roland's eyes narrowed slightly. He took a deep breath, adjusted the surging power within him, and followed closely behind.
In stark contrast to the dark, damp mine tunnels outside, the cave's interior was surprisingly "bright."
This illumination didn't come from torches or magical radiance, but from countless intricate, ancient silver runes etched across the cave walls and dome.
The runes flowed slowly, as if alive, emitting a steady, icy silver glow that illuminated every detail of the cave. They also created a silent, oppressive field that seemed to freeze even the air itself.
At the cave's center, a figure was crudely bound.
It was a typical mind flayer.
Its humanoid torso was covered in slick, dark purple skin.
Behind its bald head, four long, octopus-like tentacles drooped limply, curling slightly at the ends.
In appearance, it was nearly identical to the mind flayer Roland had encountered in the Howling Gorge, a testament to the unsettling uniformity of this race.
Yet the mind flayer before them was in a state of utter misery.
Its limbs had been brutally stretched out and pinned to the ground in a cruciform position.
It was bound by several massive Dark Iron Chains that shimmered with the same eerie glow as Durga's right-hand gauntlet.
These chains weren't merely restraints; their inner surfaces were studded with inward-curving, razor-sharp iron spikes that had sunk deep into the mind flayer's slick skin and flesh.
A viscous, blood-like fluid seeped continuously from the wounds, pooling into a dark stain beneath its body.
Even more unsettling was the faint divine aura that clung to the chains, identical to the aura emanating from Durga's gauntlet, as if forming an invisible field of suppression.
The chains not only imprisoned the mind flayer's physical body but also acted as heavy shackles, completely sealing and crushing its once vast, sea-like psionic strength within its tormented shell.
The mind flayer's massive eyes, which should have gleamed with cunning and cruelty, were now dull and lifeless, with only occasional, barely perceptible tremors betraying the faintest spark of life.
Durga approached the tightly bound mind flayer, his gray-white face utterly expressionless, save for the cold flame burning in his silver-white pupils.
He extended his right hand, clad in an iron gauntlet, and without using any tools, brutally pinched one of the mind flayer's limp, dangling tentacles with his dark metal-covered fingers, yanking it downward with savage force.
"Ugh..."
A faint, soul-deep moan of agony escaped the mind flayer's direction.
Its dull eyes trembled violently, and its body instinctively tried to curl up, but the frigid iron chains held it fast, producing only the grating screech of metal against metal and deepening its wounds.
"Come..."
Durga released his grip, turned to face Roland, his voice low and hoarse, carrying a suppressed urgency that had been building for too long.
"Just as we agreed."
He pointed his iron-gloved hand at the mind flayer writhing in agony behind him.
"You'll pry open this mongrel's mouth, using your methods, to extract the 'things' I want to know."
He paused, then slapped his muscular chest with his empty left hand, producing a dull thud.
"As for compensation... anything I can offer right now, just name it!"
Seeing Roland's wary gaze still fixed on the mind flayer, Durga let out a short, hoarse laugh, tinged with understanding.
"Don't worry, old friend. It's like an Underground Worm with its teeth pulled and claws broken."
He kicked a metal stake connected to the iron chain at his feet, causing the runes etched into it to glow faintly.
"Under my 'shackles,' this mongrel can't even stir a ripple of psionic ability."
"It's more harmless now than a newborn troglodyte."
Having said this, Durga seemed to have accomplished his primary objective for this visit. He waved his hand dismissively.
"There's still a mess outside waiting for me to clean up. The remnants of Stone Furnace Fortress need to be cleared out, and the defensive lines must be reorganized."
He gestured toward the cave entrance.
"You can take your time 'communicating' here. If you need anything, just ask the guards inside and outside the cave. They'll fulfill all your requests."
With those words, Durga turned decisively and strode out of the cave without another glance.
The heavy footsteps faded into the distance, leaving only the faint scraping of iron chains against the ground and...
Those once-dull eyes, now shifting slightly, slowly turning to meet Roland's gaze. The look in them was indescribable—a mixture of pain, resentment, and a hint of eerie curiosity.
The air seemed to freeze completely.
(End of the Chapter)
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