Helson stood before the mountain path, gazing at the road leading into the unknown. He took a deep breath, turned to his entourage, and said:
"You can set up camp here and wait for me to come back."
His servant frowned and said, "Sir, are you sure you want to go in alone?"
"They only allow me to go alone," Helson said calmly. "Don't worry, since I've gained their trust through the bone flute, I don't think they'll harm me."
Another attendant whispered, "But this place... is too eerie."
Indeed, this is no ordinary mountain wilderness. Morning mist swirls between the rock walls, making it difficult for sunlight to penetrate. The air is filled with a damp and ancient smell. The stone path underfoot has been worn smooth by the years, as if only the boots of dwarves have trodden it for thousands of years.
Helson patted his servant on the shoulder: "I will be careful. You guard the camp. If you do not return in five days, go back to Laketown and report to the Marquis."
The dwarf chieftain, upon hearing this, muttered in dissatisfaction, "Humans, don't make us sound like bandits!"
"Haha, sorry."
Viscount Helson straightened his clothes, lifted his cloak, and followed the group of dwarves into the thick fog.
As soon as he stepped into the fog, the scenery behind him quickly blurred, as if he no longer belonged to his original world. The dwarves in front of him walked steadily, seemingly unaffected by the limited visibility. Helson could only follow in their footsteps, silently memorizing the direction, but he soon realized that this was almost an impossible task.
They first turned left, passed through a natural stone gate, and then walked along a narrow ridge for a long time. On both sides were bottomless ravines, and further down was a downward-sloping stone staircase with as many as a hundred steps.
Then they passed through an echoing cave, the sounds seemingly coming from all directions.
In less than an hour, Helson had completely lost his sense of direction.
"Where...are we?" he couldn't help but ask.
A dwarf walking beside him replied somewhat curtly, "I'm sorry, sir, this is not something you should know."
Helson shut his mouth and stopped asking questions.
He knew he was being deliberately led into a world closed off from the outside world. This path not only led to the core territory of the dwarven clan, but also served as an invisible barrier, separating outsiders from the true secrets of the dwarves.
And so, Viscount Helson followed the dwarves for a whole day. Even though he was a mountain climbing enthusiast, he was exhausted and had to stop to rest several times. The dwarves, on the other hand, did not seem tired at all.
At some point, faint lights began to appear in the surrounding mist. The lights seemed to float in the air, flickering as they approached.
Helson looked up and saw that it was a metal lamp embedded in the rock wall, burning with a blue flame he had never seen before.
Finally, the group stopped in front of a large gate carved from a single block of rock.
"We've arrived," the leader of the dwarves said in a low voice. "Let's go in."
Helson looked up at the heavy stone door, which was covered with ancient runes, each one seemingly telling a story of a slumbering history.
He nodded and slowly walked up the steps, whereupon the dwarf leading the way pushed open the door.
Behind the door was a brightly lit world.
A wide stone staircase led down, and Helson followed the dwarves slowly, their footsteps echoing through the empty rock face.
As he ventured deeper, faint lights began to appear on the walls on both sides, illuminating the path ahead.
Soon after, he arrived at a huge cavern.
This is not a completely dark underground world, but rather illuminated by countless copper lamps embedded in the rock walls and crystals on the stone pillars, the light soft and steady. A faint metallic scent and the smell of burning grease permeate the air.
The sight before him made Helson stop in his tracks.
This is not a simple cave, but a real city—a city built inside a mountain.
Towering stone pillars support the dome, each carved with intricate patterns and ancient inscriptions, recording some distant history. The streets are paved with smooth stone slabs, cascading down the naturally formed rock layers like steps.
Rows of houses were built close to the rock face, with arched stone roofs and heavy fur curtains hanging at the entrances. Some houses had fires burning in front of them, and several dwarf craftsmen sat around the fires, polishing metal with focused expressions, their hammers striking the anvils with a crisp sound.
The sound of flowing water came from afar. Helson looked in the direction of the sound and found a man-made canal leading out of the mountain wall. Clear spring water flowed slowly down the stone trough, passed through the city, and finally disappeared deeper underground.
Bridges, markets, squares, workshops... all of these exist in reality, without any flamboyant magical brilliance or dazzling miracles, only a sense of calm and order that has been refined over the years.
"Welcome to Fireforge," the dwarf leading the way whispered. "Home of the Ironhammer Clan."
Helson took a deep breath and nodded. He knew he was standing in a place rarely visited by humans, the center of a civilization that had been closed off for thousands of years.
He straightened his clothes and followed the guide, passing through the local residents who had gathered around to look at him because of his "tall stature," and walked deeper into the city.
They traversed the streets and alleys of Firefortress and finally arrived at a stone hall located in the heart of the city.
The building was taller than the surrounding houses, with intricate patterns and ancient runes carved on the door frame, and two guards wearing chainmail and holding battle axes stood in front of the door.
The guide stopped and said to Helson, "This is where the chieftain lives. You can make your request."
Helson nodded, straightened his clothes, and took a few steps forward to the door. He took out a bone flute from his robes, held it high in his palm, and said loudly:
"I am Herson from the south, carrying the flute of oath-keeping, and I come to see the noble patriarch."
The guards exchanged glances, and one of them turned and went into the hall to report. A moment later, he came out and waved his hand:
"The clan leader is busy right now, but the young clan leader is willing to see you."
Helson paused for a moment, then nodded his thanks. The guard opened the door and gestured for him to go in.
The interior of the hall was more spacious than the exterior. In the center was a long stone table with a huge bronze brazier burning above it. The flames flickered and illuminated the entire space. Various weapons and shields hung on the surrounding walls.
Beside a large chair at the far end of the stone table, a dwarf was standing waiting for him.
He was taller and more robust than his tribesmen, with a full beard and ruddy complexion, like someone who spent years sitting by the furnace forging metal.
When he spoke, his voice was loud and clear, carrying an undeniable power:
"You're the southerner who came in with the old flute?"