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Chapter 8: The Dwarves’ Friendship

The black-robed leader was clearly very strong, and with Ashura’s limited power he could not tell the man’s cultivation level at all.

All he could do was hide in the tree and worry for the Dwarves.

Once the black-robed leader joined the fight, the dwarven captain was clearly forced onto the defensive, and his giant axe swung ever more slowly.

Just when the black-robed men thought the outcome was decided, the dwarven captain suddenly roared, “Battle Spirit Ablaze!”

His muscles swelled, faint crimson flames flared around him, and the blood-red chains binding his body loosened slightly.

Next the dwarven leader unleashed a powerful martial technique that blasted the 5 black-robed men surrounding him into the air.

All 5 crashed to the ground injured, and even the black-robed leader spat blood, clearly badly hurt.

Ashura watched in rapt excitement, for it was the first time he had seen such a fierce battle.

He guessed the dwarven captain had just used an innate combat skill, because his strength had jumped by an entire tier.

Seeing the dwarves gain the upper hand eased Ashura’s tension and stoked his desire to grow stronger.

After hurling 5 enemies away, the dwarven leader turned and helped the other dwarf warriors cut down the black-robed men.

Spotting how most of his warriors were wounded ignited his fury, and he swung toward the injured black-robed leader.

With a roar he charged, raising the battle-axe high to cleave the black-robed leader in two.

The black-robed leader was both shocked and enraged; he had never expected this dwarf to be so formidable.

Realizing he had underestimated the race, his eyes flashed with savagery; he seized the chests of two wounded subordinates beside him, crushed their hearts in one claw, and shouted, “Blood Sacrifice Ghost Bind!”

The moment he acted, crimson light flared across the array, and the chains on the dwarven captain snapped tight again.

Additional chains appeared and wrapped the raised giant axe, freezing it in midair.

The dwarven captain strained with all his might yet still could not break free; his squat body was wrapped head to toe in crimson chains.

The other dwarves tried to rescue their trapped leader, but the remaining black-robed men held them back at the cost of their lives.

The black-robed leader rose with a ghastly cackle.

He brushed the dust from his robe, walked up to the dwarven captain, and sneered, “You little runt actually dared resist; did you really think I can’t tame you?”

“Once I plant the seal, you will become my strongest slave!”

“Heh-heh… relax, I will capture more dwarves to keep you company; serving our great organization Blood Dawn is your tribe’s greatest honor!”

The more Ashura heard from the tree, the more his heart pounded.

Why did these black-robed men want so many dwarves, and what was this Blood Dawn he mentioned, a name Ashura had never heard before?

Their behavior screamed evil cult, especially the way he sacrificed his own men to power a formation; that was madness beyond belief.

The dwarven captain, burning with shame and rage, gathered all his strength to swing the axe, yet the chains held it immovably aloft.

Laughing uproariously, the black-robed leader stepped right beneath the suspended axe, which now hovered less than a fist’s breadth from him.

He looked at the dwarf with mocking eyes and said, “Come on, swing, if you have the guts; otherwise be a good slave, shorty!”

With that he reached out, intending to pat the furious dwarf on the cheek…

Yet suddenly the crimson chains binding both dwarf and axe flickered and vanished.

Driven by the dwarf’s unchecked strength, the giant axe crashed down and effortlessly split the unprepared black-robed leader from left shoulder to hip.

Everyone froze and stared blankly at the scene before them.

The dwarven captain also stumbled forward when the chains vanished and had no idea what had happened…

The bisected yet not-quite-dead black-robed leader slowly turned his head.

He saw a figure standing beneath a distant tree, one arm covering his face while the other clutched the small black flag that he himself had planted the previous night… the formation eye.

The black-robed leader tried to speak, but blood gushed from his mouth.

His eyes remained wide open, as if he refused to die before seeing clearly who had doomed him…

The crowd finally realized what had happened, and the unbound dwarf warriors erupted with astonishing power.

Leaderless, the black-robed men panicked and tried to flee, only to be chased down and slaughtered by the dwarves; the battle turned into a one-sided massacre…

Behind the tree, Ashura shielded his face with one arm and clutched the black flag while nervously watching the field.

He feared that a surviving black-robed man might break away and seek revenge on him.

Fortunately the fighting soon ended, the black-robed men lay dead, and only the dwarves’ ragged breathing filled the battlefield…

Seeing that none of the enemy had escaped, Ashura secretly let out a sigh of relief.

He had no wish to stir up more trouble, so he faced the field and slowly backed away.

But the dwarven captain suddenly shouted, “Stop!” and strode toward him.

Ashura had just witnessed how terrifying the dwarf’s charge could be; the only difference now was the absence of the raised axe.

Even so, the momentum alone chilled Ashura to the bone.

The dwarf halted before him, eyed the youth who still hid his face with an arm, glanced at the flag in his hand, and seemed lost in thought…

Ashura looked down at the approaching dwarf, afraid this not-so-clever warrior might misunderstand.

He quickly said, “I mean no harm… I just helped you!”

He then recounted in detail how he had arrived the previous night and been trapped in the tree while witnessing everything, as dwarf warriors gathered around him…

After hearing the story, the dwarven captain let the red flames around his body dissipate.

As the flames faded, his aura weakened sharply.

He drew a huge keg from his storage space, popped the lid, and gulped down the liquor…

Dark-red drops trickled from his beard to the ground, and Ashura caught the pungent aroma.

Watching the dwarf drink that way made Ashura secretly click his tongue.

Grandfather had been right… the dwarves truly lived for liquor!

Ashura still did not know why he had dared meddle in that fight; perhaps his basic kindness had decided for him.

All he could do was sabotage the array, and he hid his face because he feared the black-robed men would see him again and take revenge…

After the dwarf had drained more than half the keg, his spirits clearly revived.

He suddenly burst out laughing at Ashura, who was still covering his face.

He reached out, hauled Ashura close, gave him a mighty hug, and slapped the boy’s back with his thick arm while saying sincerely, “Thank you, my friend!”

The tug pulled Ashura’s arm aside, revealing his youthful face.

But the heartfelt embrace nearly knocked the wind out of him.

The dwarf’s two hearty pats hurt so much that Ashura bared his teeth and could not speak for a moment.

The surrounding dwarves burst into loud laughter at the sight.

The captain noticed how frail the youth was, scratched his head in embarrassment, and said again, “My friend, I am Kasa; what is your name?”

As he spoke, he offered the keg to the boy.

Still leaning on the tree and gasping, Ashura had a bizarre thought… Father must love me, for all the times he hit me growing up, none of his slaps were ever as heavy as this dwarf’s…

He quickly shook the notion away and looked at the warm gazes of the dwarf warriors before him.

His mood brightened, and he smiled and said, “I am Ashura, from the Olei Kingdom!”

He casually accepted the heavy keg, imitated the dwarf, and took a deep swig…

What Ashura did not know was that when a liquor-loving dwarf shares his brew, it means you have earned his genuine friendship.

Nor did he know that the drink Kasa gave him was the dwarves’ War God Wine.

The liquor burned like molten lava going down and possessed mysterious effects…

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