Chapter 209: Post-War and Reminiscences

As far as the present is concerned, although Snorri Thorsson is still junior in seniority among the Dwarf commanders and lacks his own foundation, his status as a God-Chosen places his leadership in the second tier, comparable to the lords of large fortresses. He is second only to the High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer and the Slayer King Grimm Ironfist.

The former is the co-ruler of the Mountain Kingdom; when he stands upon the Throne of Power and reads the articles from the Great Book of Grudges, the direction pointed by the battle axe in his hand faces the collective wrath of all Dwarfs.

The latter is an unparalleled warrior in his prime, and those who have met their end beneath his Dargo Axe range from Chaos powers favored by the gods to ancient Dragon demons that command storms, and even giant lords as tall as mountain ridges.

Every Dwarf believes that Grimm can hack down anything in this world, and even when facing those races that have yet to be slain, there is no need to worry, for that only fuels the fighting spirit of the Slayer King who kills every enemy he sees.

However, adding the ability of these three to inspire friendly troops together might not even match the White Dwarf; he is a true legend, an ancestor, a hero, and a god.

The White Dwarf brandished the battle axe in his hand; whether it was a Great Bray-Shaman or a Minotaur, one swing of the axe left them headless. He left a path of flesh and blood behind him, and the two severed remains of a four-armed bull demon leaning against the mountain wall were like stone statues along the road.

Behind him, the Dwarfs pursued violently, and the Beastmen collapsed upon seeing this. That fierce man who split a giant beast with one axe was charging toward them, and those who did not want to die had to tuck their tails and run.

Malagor the Dark Omen has existed in this world for quite some years; it had heard of the White Dwarf's reputation and naturally dared not face his edge directly. However, the Dwarfs were also helpless against this spellcaster, who had its own wings and was small and very agile.

Snorri came back to his senses from his daze, only to find that he had become a lone man, with only a small number of Humans who had escaped the Beastialization still guarding the carriages. They looked at each other and the dazed Prince Snorri.

After a long while, intermittent praises rang out. "Praise you for being willing to stay and protect us!" "You really are a gentleman willing to protect women!"

"Women! Where is my sister-in-law?" Snorri looked around and discovered that the female Dwarfs had actually rushed out as well; they had also received some combat training and had their own weapons for self-defense.

While sitting with the Humans to watch over the caravan's property, Snorri kept an eye on his experience bar in the system. He felt relieved only when he saw the experience points continuously increasing and finally stopping as they approached level five.

After a moment, the pursuing Dwarfs returned, surrounding the White Dwarf. Snorri opened the commercial wine carried by the caravan on the spot for his clansmen to drink to their hearts' content.

The leaders of the caravan gathered around the White Dwarf without hesitation. This toughest of Dwarfs took off the silver helmet on his head, and Buluokesen respectfully received this divine object with both hands.

Beneath the helmet was revealed a resolute face covered in wrinkles. Although a hood had half-hidden it at the time, the Dwarfs still recognized at a glance that he was the down-and-out traveler from that day. The clansmen who had once mocked him lowered their heads in shame.

"Snorri, young people lack experience, but you did quite well, worthy of this name!" The White Dwarf sat on a wine barrel, and after some scrambling, Cousin Tomi poured him a full cup.

"Great Grimbrindal, forgive my dullness. At that time, why didn't you just tell me to turn back?" Snorri asked the doubt in his heart impatiently.

If the White Dwarf had revealed his identity earlier and demanded the caravan turn back, even if Snorri had insisted on moving forward, no clansmen would have followed him; how could the weight of a messenger compare to that of a biological son?

"It was coming for you!" The White Dwarf drank the wine in his cup in one gulp. "The stuff from those little brats is still this inferior!"

Snorri understood in his heart that even if he had retreated at that time, he would still have had to take this road later, and detouring through Human territory would not have had much effect. Humans, who are more easily corrupted, might have ended up giving the enemy more reinforcements than their own if they faced Malagor's spells.

And the riddle the White Dwarf told earlier was to get Snorri to lead the caravan into a narrow terrain convenient for his slaughter; the characteristic of Dwarfs being slow and difficult to pursue could not be changed even by the most legendary White Dwarf. If it were in the open wilderness, the Beastmen would only need to avoid his axe blade.

After ending a night of revelry and drinking, the White Dwarf, just like in countless legends, shouldered his pack and disappeared into the mountains. However, Snorri knew that there would be opportunities to meet again in the future.

Many years later, the Rune Lord Stering Pathfinder of Kalake-Zifulin held his grandson and told the stories of the ancestors, facing the relief on the stone wall in the lord's office.

This powerhouse, hailed as being able to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the ancestors of the Golden Age, became more and more enthusiastic as he spoke, from the first Granite Hand carving the prototype of the mountain fortress in the Grey Mountains by the order of the High King, to the epic battles of the War of the Beard surrounding Weifengbao, the most important stronghold in the west of the Mountain Kingdom.

"Grandpa, why is this the one about your deeds?" The young child looked at the brand-new stone carving and asked. He had also awakened Rune Power and would soon be sent to the Everpeak to receive instruction; Stering felt he could not be strict with his most beloved grandson.

"Hahaha, little Sinuorui, then what do you think Grandpa should have carved?"

"Of course it should be you wearing the Mountain Breaker and twisting the neck of the Orc Warlord Gore Bloodtooth, reclaiming the Jinte Kuangshan once again!" Little Sinuorui shouted, but he added another sentence afterward:

"Or wouldn't it be great if you led the army of Weifengbao north to the Chaos Wastes? Why, why is it you talking outside?"

"Hahaha!" Stering stroked his white beard, looking at the stone carving—in the wind and snow, a young Dwarf stood in front of a campfire saying something, and a large number of clansmen were sitting and listening. Among them, two listeners were highlighted through special techniques.

"What's important is who is listening to me speak! This one," he pointed to the person sitting on an armor pack wearing a hood, "is Grimbrindal!"

"This one!" He pointed to another clansman with a Warhammer by his side, who looked just as young, "is Snorri, Snorri Thorsson!" Stering laughed very heartily.

"Savior Snorri and the White-Bearded Ancestor! They, they sat and listened to you speak, Grandpa?" Little Sinuorui looked at his grandfather with little stars of worship in his eyes; he didn't hear this story often.

"That goes without saying, every word from your grandfather's mouth is like the rock crystals from the deepest part of the earth! They, at that time, only had the part of nodding!"