https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-660-End-and-King-Beneath-the-Mountain/13677525/
Chapter 661: A World in Turmoil – The Mourning of the Gold Dragon
After the earth-shattering "Divine War" ended, Drool’s Empire Elite swiftly moved in, seizing thousands of years’ worth of Wisdom and Sweat Crystals from the Dwarves of Aivendeldan.
When news broke that the Ashen Empire had brazenly intervened—annihilating the High Mountain Kingdom with lightning speed—the entire Feiansuo Continent trembled. People stood frozen in shock, fear gripping their hearts.
For millennia, Aivendeldan had remained unconquered—the sacred homeland of the Shield Dwarves. And now, it had fallen so easily into the clutches of an Evil Dragon!
The surrounding powers quaked in dread. Tension reached its peak. Already, several nations were voicing intentions to form a Military Alliance, seeking refuge in numbers, clinging to the last hope of uniting to resist these barbarians from the frozen wastes.
With Aivendeldan secured, the Empire’s Patrol Units conducted a thorough sweep of the city, rooting out over a hundred hidden Dwarves. Half perished in fierce rebellion; the other half surrendered and pledged allegiance to the Empire.
Only one thing frustrated Drool: the "Mountain Lord" Aid had displayed iron will. Determined to fight to the end, he had destroyed the city’s intricate machinery before the war even began and emptied the Treasure Vault of the Lonely Mountain beforehand—leaving Drool furious and seething with rage.
Yet, there was unexpected fortune. Thanks to the divine descent of Dumason, the “Keeper of Earth’s Hidden Treasure,” rich veins of gold, silver, copper, and gemstones now surged through the surrounding mountains. After surveying the area, technicians confirmed that the mineral reserves within a hundred-mile radius rivaled the entire Anzeta.
Within just a few days, the once-dying city of Aivendeldan came alive again.
News of the treasure drew miners and merchants from across the Empire like bloodthirsty sharks to a scent of slaughter. Investment projects and construction ventures sprouted overnight. Even more astonishingly, someone from the Elemental Plane of Fire had hired three hundred Fire Dwarf miners—more accurately, slave laborers—to stake claim on the mines.
Meanwhile, as planned, more Empire forces poured into the region beyond Drool’s elite troops. Tens of thousands of Players answered the Summon Quest, drawn by the promise of glory and wealth.
Under Smaug’s command, over five hundred Wyverns from the Northern Aether descended in a dark, thunderous swarm, their wings blotting out the sun. The deep, shadowed mine shafts became their natural nests.
Smaug himself took residence in the Treasure Vault of the Lonely Mountain with his thirty-two mates, becoming the true “King Beneath the Mountain.” Though the mountain was now empty—no longer piled high with golden treasure or silver seas—the vault echoed with the mighty, two-headed dragon’s triumphant roars.
It was said that miners often heard the booming laughter of Smaug deep within the vault—his ceaseless efforts to expand the Imperial Dragon Flock, day and night.
At Kai Xiusu’s command, Aivendeldan was renamed City of Flying Dragons. The Dwarf deity statues lining the Glory Path were dismantled and replaced by statues of Kai Xiusu and the Dragon-Blooded Nobles—crafted by defected Dwarf artisans.
In the near future, Aivendeldan—now City of Flying Dragons—would become the Empire’s military stronghold over the eastern regions of Feanso, a paradise for Goldseekers, merchants, and Hybrid Dragons alike.
But for the present Kai Xiusu, the most urgent mission was clear: eradicate the threat lurking in the North—the Ogres.
Kai Xiusu knew the true horror of the spore-infected Green Skins. They were no longer mere nomadic savages. Now, they were like a living biological plague. He thought: As long as the Ogres remain, the North will never know peace.
"Clang!"
"Boom, boom, boom—hammering echoes through the long mine tunnels!"
"Clang! Clang-clang!"
The crisp, rhythmic sound of iron hammers striking stone rang through the mountains, accompanied by the Dwarves’ spirited lament.
"Shining deep in the mine, treasure lies ahead!"
"Pick and hammer, bright and bold—mining joy like song!"
"No fear of hardship, no weariness, gemstones and gold fill every sack!"
Their voices burned with passion, turning the already scorching land into a furnace of fire. Zhen, his beard hiding his face, couldn’t help but smile.
Everywhere, mine shafts pierced the rock, platforms and scaffolding rose like spiderwebs, and crude stone huts formed the rough outline of a city.
Watching the Dwarves—drenched in sweat, laboring tirelessly—Zhen felt a deep swell of emotion. His mind drifted to the majestic fortress of his homeland—Aivendeldan.
His ancestors must have built it just like this—slowly, surely, carving a homeland from the stone.
A Dwarf elder noticed the prince’s visit and beamed, waving her pickaxe. “Your Highness, Zhen! You’ve come!”
Zhen nodded. “I had some free time. Just came to check on you. How’s work treating you?”
The elder chuckled. “It’s great! No wonder Titus offered this place—it’s a treasure trove. Gold and gemstones are everywhere. We’re digging faster than we can keep up!”
She wiped sweat from her beard, hesitated, then whispered, “It’s just… it’s so hot here. Some people have already collapsed from heatstroke. My neighbor Kent nearly died from the heat.”
Zhen frowned. “I’ll talk to Titus right away. I’ll buy Heat-Resistant Elixirs from him.”
The elder nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Your Highness. But… many of us keep asking—when will we return to Blackstone Mountain?”
Hearing this, the nearby Dwarves gathered, voices rising in unison.
“Your Majesty, when will we go home?”
“How long have we been here?”
“Ugh, my husband, old Cod, is a lazy good-for-nothing. If it weren’t for me, he’d starve!”
Zhen felt their collective longing. He sighed deeply, then spoke with quiet resolve.
“I told you—Aivendeldan is in grave danger. Until the war ends, we must stay. Stop thinking about Blackstone Mountain. Until new news comes, this fiery land is now our new homeland.”
The Dwarves bowed their heads, sorrow etched on their faces.
Zhen turned away, his eyes glistening. As a prince raised in Blackstone Mountain, he ached for his home too.
For a month, the fortress had haunted his dreams—its towering spires, its ancient halls. He couldn’t sleep.
But Zhen knew: his duty was greater. He must carry on the legacy of the High Mountain Kingdom, the glory of the Shield Dwarves, their civilization.
“Your Highness! Zhen! Titus has arrived—he says it’s an emergency!”
A Dwarf messenger cried from afar, waving frantically.
Zhen’s heart lurched. A dark premonition seized him. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, evaporating instantly in the oppressive heat, vanishing like smoke.
An emergency? Had Aivendeldan fallen?
No. Impossible.
Zhen shook his head. Not if Father—Aid, the Mountain Lord—still stands. Even without the Pillar of Stone Hammer, the King of Dwarves could command the mountains themselves. Any invader would tremble before him.
He believed in Aid.
Yet, his heart still raced.
Zhen forced calm into his voice, stepping forward. “Where is Titus?”
The messenger gasped, exhausted. “H-Your Highness… Titus is at the Summit of Laisand.”
“I know,” Zhen replied. “I was going to see him anyway. No need for you to run.”
Laisand—named after the fourth king of the High Mountain Kingdom, the Dwarf hero Laisand—lay two li to the north.
Zhen moved swiftly, his strength far surpassing the messenger. He reached the summit in moments, where a familiar figure stood silhouetted against the sky.
Golden scales shimmered in the light. Massive wings spread wide. His head carried dignity, wisdom, and ancient grace. His eyes—deep pools of gold—glistened like molten metal. Dozens of root-like gills fluttered in the wind.
It was Titus, the “Wings of Dawn,” their closest and most steadfast ally among the Shield Dwarves.
But now, the Ancient Gold Dragon’s face was solemn. His expression—grief-stricken.
“Zhen,” Titus said, his voice low and gravelly, like a sigh from the depths of time.
Zhen’s chest tightened. The dread intensified. He stepped forward, voice trembling. “Titus, what… what’s happened?”
Titus looked down, his pale golden eyes brimming with guilt and sorrow. His voice cracked.
“I’m sorry, Zhen. Aivendeldan has fallen.”
“What?!”
Zhen froze. His breath stopped. The words struck him like a thunderbolt from a clear sky.
He had imagined this moment a thousand times. But never this fast.
He shook his head, whispering, “No… no, this can’t be. How… how could it happen so quickly?”
Then, realization. His voice cracked. “Father… Aid… he’s not—”
He couldn’t finish. His voice broke.
Titus closed his eyes, then spoke with solemn gravity.
“Aid… sacrificed himself.”
Zhen’s legs buckled. He collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face. The image of his father—tall, unyielding, the Mountain Lord—filled his mind.
No matter how strong Zhen had grown, in his father’s presence, he was still just a child.
He clutched the Pillar of Stone Hammer, voice choked. “Father… I failed you. It’s my cowardice that… that led to this…”
“No,” Titus said, lifting his head. Fire danced across his golden scales. His eyes, pools of gold, shimmered with reverence. “It was not your fault, Zhen. This is the sin of the brutal invaders.”
“He was a true hero. My greatest friend. He died bravely, on the battlefield, fighting for freedom. History will remember him—Aid Klein, King of the Shield Dwarves, Mountain Lord, the warrior who died to resist the Tyranny of the Evil Dragon.”
Zhen wiped his tears. He stood, gripping the hammer tightly.
“Titus, I swear—I will carry on his legacy. I will overthrow the Evil Dragon’s tyranny. I will reclaim Aivendeldan.”
Titus nodded, his voice soft. “I’m glad to hear it. I know Aid would be proud.”
“But not yet,” he added. “The Evil Dragon and his minions are too strong. Our strength… is not enough.”
Zhen gazed into the distance. “I know. But one day… justice will prevail. Darkness will be banished by light. Isn’t that true?”
“Of course,” Titus smiled gently. Then, his eyes turned wise, golden, and deep.
“Zhen, before he died, Aid made me a promise. He asked me to give you something—when the time was right.”
With a slow, deliberate motion, the Ancient Gold Dragon extended a claw. From thin air, he drew forth a crown—forged of gold, studded with gemstones, exuding the deep, noble craftsmanship of the Dwarves.
Zhen’s breath caught. His eyes widened.
He recognized it instantly.
The Crown of the Mountains.
Only the true King, acknowledged by all the Shield Dwarves, could wear it. Only the rightful Mountain Lord.
Titus placed the crown in Zhen’s hands. “To wear a crown, one must bear its weight. I believe… you are ready.”
Zhen’s heart pounded. He looked at the Dwarves working below, at the city rising from the fire, at the memory of his father.
He knew.
Now, he must carry the burden.
He must lead his people toward glory.
Suddenly, from below, a chorus rose—“Mountain Lord! Zhen, Your Majesty, Long Live!”
Zhen turned, stunned.
There, at the foot of the mountain, stood the elderly, the weak, the sick, the disabled—tears streaming down their faces, shouting in unison, cheering him on.
Titus had amplified their voices, spreading the truth across the entire Volcanic Enclave.
Every Dwarf knew. Aid was gone. And Zhen—his heir—would be their new King.
Titus chuckled. “See? No need to worry, young King. Your future subjects have already accepted you.”
Zhen felt warmth flood his chest. The weight of responsibility burned brighter than ever.
He stepped forward, bowed his head.
Titus carefully placed the crown upon his head. His voice was gentle.
“Congratulations, Zhen. No longer just a prince. Now… Zhen, Your Majesty.”
“Titus, I thank you for your trust. I swear—I will lead the Shield Dwarves to a bright future. One day, I will reclaim Aivendeldan. I will avenge my father.”
His voice rang like steel.
It was a vow to his people. A vow to himself.
His face—determined, fierce—now bore the aura of the ancient Mountain Lord Aid.
The mantle of the Shield Dwarves had fallen upon him.
“Zhen, Your Majesty!”
“Mountain Lord Zhen!”
“Reclaim Aivendeldan! Rebuild Dwarf glory!”
“Yes! We will avenge Aid, Your Majesty!”
The Dwarves roared, waving their hammers, their picks—grief still in their hearts, yet giving everything they had to support their new king.
Titus watched, his ancient eyes glistening. He clapped his massive claw, a rare, heartfelt smile on his face.
“Like him… so much like him.”
It was the look of an old man who sees his dear friend’s son finally grow into greatness.
—One might say, Kai Xiusu’s performance had reached the pinnacle of artistry.
(End of Chapter)
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