novelraw Chapter 364: Hall of Heroes, Eternal Death Dragon
Chapter 364: Hall of Heroes, Eternal Death Dragon
The iron dragon Sorog suddenly opened his eyes, pupils narrowing into thin slits through the curtain of rain, his mind solemn.
Alya — that name was not new to him.
According to intelligence gathered by the tribe, the one called the Luckbringer had once briefly appeared in the Ximu Domain and attempted to proselytize. At that time the domain lord Shire had explicitly told her that Ximu Domain did not welcome any spreading of faith, and she left calmly. After that, she had seemed to vanish without a trace, as if she had never appeared at all.
He never expected to hear that name again at this time, in this place, and in this manner.
More importantly, from the domain characteristics displayed by the invisible barrier before him and from the voice that had sounded directly in his mind, Alya was very likely a legendary being, and possibly a follower favored by a deity — someone the Molten Iron Tribe should not provoke lightly.
“Greetings, Lady Alya.”
“My name is Sorog, Iron King of the Molten Iron Tribe.”
Facing a legendary, the iron dragon answered in a deep voice, stating his identity while keeping enough courtesy and restraint.
He paused briefly, choosing his words, and continued, “That item in your possession — our Molten Iron Tribe has poured enormous time and effort into tracking its trail. We have sacrificed many loyal followers in the process.”
The Luckbringer Alya gently bowed her head, her expression still calm.“I know.”
Her voice sounded directly inside his mind as she said, “It was by following the traces left by your exploration teams that I was able to locate this place with ease.”
She offered a simple explanation.
In fact, after leaving the Ximu Domain, the Luckbringer had wandered the wilderness aimlessly for some time.
A chance stop brought her attention to the Molten Iron Tribe’s outpost at an abandoned mining pit.
An ordinary person might have overlooked another outpost in the wasteland.
But the Luckbringer was different.
As her title suggested, her luck was outrageously good — so much so that she had even earned the favor of the Goddess of Fortune and become a rare divine follower.
Since then, her luck had grown even stranger.
Wherever she went, opportunities and treasures seemed magnetically drawn to her.
When she saw the mining outpost, an inexplicable intuition told her this was not a meaningless coincidence.
Perhaps something extraordinary lay hidden beneath that bottomless pit.
Acting on that premonition, she displayed remarkable patience, secretly observing for a long time, and ultimately arrived ahead of others at the long-sealed underground hall.
Suppressing the turmoil within, Sorog probed cautiously, “If that is so, Lady Alya, would you return the item to us? We are willing to pay other prices as compensation for your retrieving it on our behalf.”
He knew his hope was slim, but he still wanted to seize any possible opening.
The Luckbringer slowly shook her head.
“The Molten Iron Tribe — I have learned about you.”
“I know you are not those chaotic evil brutes who only destroy and plunder, so I am willing to speak with you.”
Her gaze dropped to the white sphere of light floating in her palm.
“It is called the Hall of Heroes.”
She said, “The Hall of Heroes is a legendary creation forged by master smiths among the gray dwarves, modeled after the famed Hero Domain. They poured their hearts into creating it.”
“It forms its own semi-planar space, capable of absorbing and housing the souls of the dead, allowing them to exist as heroic spirits, which can be summoned into the Material Plane to fight.”
Hero Domain... Sorog knew of that plane.
Among the many planes, it was uniquely special. The souls of warriors, conquerors, virtuous kings, and other beings possessing heroic qualities could be drawn into that plane after death, becoming immortal heroic spirits who endured in eternal glory and combat.
“However, the Hall of Heroes is far from the sanctity of its prototype; it is an extremely dangerous thing.”
Alya said gravely, “Its creation and subsequent loss of control directly caused the destruction of Marnes Dungeon, where countless gray dwarves perished. Only a tiny fraction of those souls were absorbed and became heroic spirits.”
“Those heroic spirits are, in a sense, eternal prisoners.”
“The holder of the Hall of Heroes can freely command and control them, showing mercy or inflicting torment.”
Her inner light lifted again, as if piercing through layers of rock to look above the mining pit at the iron dragon: “Imagine if this artifact fell into the hands of an ambitious, unscrupulous schemer or a cultist of some dark god. The waves of disaster it could unleash might devastate living beings and make the earth weep blood.”
At that point her tone turned extremely serious.
“I know you have invested effort and paid sacrifices to trace it and to find the path leading to it.”
“I do not ignore those sacrifices.”
“But considering the potential risks, it is more appropriate that I keep the Hall of Heroes in my custody.”
Hearing this, the iron dragon fell into a brief silence; only the steady patter of rain against his scales filled the air.
There was no doubt that the Hall of Heroes was an immeasurably powerful legendary item.
If nothing else, had they been able to secure it, the Flower Lord who fell during the campaign against the Mad King might have been revived as a heroic spirit; the tribe’s followers would fight with even less regard for death, since death would no longer be an end.
But the Hall of Heroes was in the hands of this Luckbringer.
He could not seize it back.
Even at Garoth’s prime, it might not have been easy; now Garoth was gravely wounded and sleeping, and the Molten Iron Tribe was without a united head.
This Luckbringer truly had exceptional luck. She had appeared at this exact moment and taken the legendary item with ease.
“You seem... somewhat angry.”
The Luckbringer’s voice remained calm. “I understand how you feel, and I know my actions have harmed your interests.”
“But I’m sorry.”
“For the reasons I just stated, I cannot hand the Hall of Heroes to you.”
“Besides, I have not offered nothing. I have compensated your losses to a certain degree.”
Sorog’s mind stirred. “What compensation?”
Alya’s lips curved slightly into a smile. “Have you not felt that your luck has been unusually good lately?”
“After I noticed you and decided to take this artifact, I bestowed a blessing of luck upon your tribe.”
“This blessing let things go your way, allowing many apparent coincidences and fortunate occurrences to converge around you.”
Could that be true?
Sorog narrowed his eyes and tried to recall the tribe’s recent fortunes.
It did seem... luckier than usual.
The Holy Spirit Deer and the Beholder were grievously wounded in their clash; the phoenix surged in as well and ultimately fell into the tribe’s net, reaped as a windfall.
Then there was the red dragon Gorthax, the chaotic Mad King — his father.
The trap Sorog devised, with rumors of frenzied flame used as bait... deep in his heart he had not expected much.
First, communications take time across the vast wilderness; whether the information would reach Gorthax was uncertain.
Second, Gorthax’s unpredictable mind made it a gamble whether he would take interest and follow the trail.
Sorog had expected a long baiting exercise.
Instead, Gorthax was drawn with unimaginable speed, swallowed the bait, crashed straight into the trap, and only one lord died in the encirclement, and that was under conditions of collective rage and stupidity.
That degree of perfectly timed good fortune now seemed unusual.
Sorog inhaled the cold air scented with rain and earth, forcing down the chaotic thoughts and the thread of unwillingness, letting reason prevail.
“Thank you for telling me. Thinking it over now, I can indeed feel the power of that blessing.”
His voice steadied, open. “You’re right; the Hall of Heroes is too dangerous for the Molten Iron Tribe to wield at present.”
“With you, such a powerful being, holding it — it is undoubtedly safer and more secure.”
This answer apparently surprised the Luckbringer.
A flicker of surprise passed through her eyes.
From her perspective, she had apologized and offered what she considered decent compensation. If the other party failed to appreciate that and showed malice or attempted to seize it, she would have justification to punish or even kill them. She had not expected the iron dragon to so calmly accept the reality and even express understanding.
“Good.”
Alya’s smile grew a little more genuine, her voice softening. “I truly enjoy conversing with intelligent beings like you, Iron King Sorog. Since you understand and accept my position, I wish you good luck.”
She nodded lightly and said, “I should take my leave.”
Sorog spoke to detain her, earnest: “Lady Alya, why such haste? If you have no urgent matters, would you not come to Ximu Domain and rest for a while?”
“I will host a banquet in your honor, with the highest courtesy.”
The Luckbringer shook her head slightly, declining the invitation.
“No, I have lingered long enough in the wilderness.”
She had other identities and duties to return to the church to handle, and the Hall of Heroes she had just obtained needed a safe place to be sealed.
“Your demeanor and conduct earn my sincere respect.”
At the lip of the mining pit the iron dragon bared his maw slightly, a flash of cold light on his fangs. “That changes my previous partial views of some gods and their followers. It stirs my curiosity.”
“If — and I mean if — I wanted to hear more of the Goddess of Fortune’s teachings, where should I find you in the future?”
Proselytizing was a basic duty of a divine follower, and he had asked precisely.
True to form, the Luckbringer Alya smiled and nodded, responding, “In the south, whether in Lothrian or Reipos, in the major city of any human kingdom you can find a temple of the Goddess of Fortune.”
“Any sincere person wishing to hear the goddess’ teachings will not be turned away by the temples.”
Sorog pushed further, sincere in tone: “Yet strange environments make me uneasy.”
“You know, not everyone has your noble qualities. I’m often misunderstood and judged. I would prefer a trustworthy guide like you to answer my questions.”
Alya understood his implication. She toyed with the shrinking sphere of light in her hand and smiled meaningfully.
“That will depend... on whether your luck is good enough.”
With that, the light-ball that was the Hall of Heroes vanished completely from her palm, as if stored away somewhere unknown.
“Good luck to you. I look forward to our next meeting.”
With a final blessing, Alya’s figure disappeared from thin air.
None of the Molten Iron Tribe present, including the perceptive Russell, could detect how she left or where she went.
“Russell.”
Sorog’s voice sounded again inside the werewolf’s mind, betraying no emotion. “Take people in. Search the hall thoroughly. Do not miss anything of value.”
“Yes!”
The werewolf obeyed, immediately leading followers into the hall.
Outside, the fine rain continued to fall, cold against Sorog’s hard scales, splashing in fine droplets.
Assuming the Luckbringer’s compensation truly existed and was not mere talk, even so, compared to a legendary artifact its worth was negligible.
The Molten Iron Tribe’s development strategy had always been steady and cautious; even without such luck, the Map Kings would sooner or later be defeated and absorbed one by one.
As for red dragon Gorthax, he was formidable, but his chaotic madness was also his greatest weakness. Even without the frenzied flame bait, there were always other ways to deal with him.
A blessing of luck? Nonsense!
Sorog sneered inwardly, a suppressing rage burning silently in his chest, wanting to smash the other’s shrine and twist the Luckbringer’s head off.
But facing a legendary who apologized and spoke reasonably, what could he do?
Would he behave like an immature young dragon, raging impotently and leading the tribe in a suicidal charge?
No. He chose to bury all his anger deep, to record this day in his memory.
Since unifying the convergence lands, the Molten Iron Tribe had rarely been forced into such a retreat. Their triumphant surge across the wilderness had almost made him forget the taste of being compelled to stand down.
Now, tasting it again, it had a distinct flavor.
“If Garoth were here, facing an opponent he could not overpower, he would probably make the same choice as I did.”
“Endure for now, quietly accumulate strength, sharpen our claws and teeth until they are keener than the enemy’s, then strike at the right moment and take everything back with interest.”
“Of course, that refers to the previous him.”
“Now, influenced by the frenzied flame, Garoth’s mind is enraged and wild. He might act like White Dragons do, throwing himself recklessly at the Luckbringer... which would be unwise.”
He thought calmly.
After engraving Alya’s appearance, voice, aura, and every detail into his memory, Sorog did not linger. He beat his wings and rose through the steady rain, carrying wet cold and gloom, flying directly toward the Tempering Plateau.
Time flowed like water, day and night passing.
The Molten Iron Tribe temporarily halted outward expansion, focusing on consolidating their acquired territories, strengthening their rule in the northwest region of the wilderness.
The convergence lands, Dragon Valley, remained a world of ice and snow.
One day, a fierce blizzard raged as if it would swallow the whole mountain.
Amid the howling wind and snow, the red-iron colossus slumbering in the deepest part of Scorchsteel Fortress slowly opened his great eyes.
“Roar one, two!”
A low dragon roar spread from the fortress, cutting through the storm and echoing through the valley.
Garoth stretched his long, stiffened body from a long sleep, accompanied by a series of cracking sounds as old, degraded scales fell away, revealing beneath them newer, thicker, harder scales that gleamed with a dark metallic luster.
His body had noticeably swollen compared to before his slumber; muscle contours bulged under the heavy armor of scales, filled with explosive power.
The dragon might he gave off had become more dense and oppressive.
“The battle with Gorthax was brutal, but the benefits were real.”
Feeling the surging power within, Garoth cast the Detection Art on himself.
Life Level: 18.
Thanks to that life-or-death brawl fueled by rage and to the massive resources continuously offered to him by the tribe, he had independently broken through the life level bottleneck while not in dragon sleep.
For an ancient dragon with a long growth cycle, that was a rare achievement.
At the same time, his combat rank had naturally risen to Level 11, raising his mastery and application of his strength to a new height.
Garoth raised his huge right foreclaw and slowly extended one hooked claw, focusing his spirit.
A strand of condensed Dragon Qi emerged from the tip of the hooked claw.
But unlike the fervent warmth it once had, this strand carried a cold, deathly stillness.
This signified that Garoth had formally stepped onto the Eternal Death path and begun to master the powers associated with it.
Moreover, he had naturally comprehended the first Eternal Death path skill.
Life Drain — forcibly extract part of the life essence from creatures within a certain range to restore his own wounds and life force.
Garoth had lacked a recovery skill.
This was like life-saving aid in snow — filling a critical gap for him.
As the Eternal Death path advanced, other powerful skills awaited discovery. Combined with his evolved, super-strong dragon body, they would make him increasingly formidable.
There were no other living beings nearby at that moment, so Garoth put aside thoughts of testing the new skill right then.
He turned his attention inward instead.
The invisible flame representing the frenzied fire still burned quietly in his consciousness, silently accumulating madness, though with Garoth’s adaptation over this period, its accumulation rate had slowed somewhat.
“To fully adapt to or control this frenzied fire will not be accomplished in a short time.”
Rather than feeling discouraged, Garoth was eager.
“Excellent! Let it be the finest whetstone. In opposing it, my mental resistance grows with each passing moment. The day I truly master it, most spiritual attacks will likely become completely ineffective against me.”
Time always favored dragons; he accepted this long, dangerous challenge with relish.