Chandaea, Year of Severus, 15, I.R., the 34th day of Fall, Arenfall

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Earlier that day, the dwarf and Adaloun snuck out from their tent before the sun rose, and immediately reported to Lord Prestonheim who followed them back into the mines along with the small group of knight escorts.

When they arrived, the knights were instructed by the Commander to wait outside the gates as they went deeper into the eerie silent camp, while alerting themselves of any possible attack that might come out of nowhere. As Lord Prestonheim put it, there might be remnants of those vile Dhampiirs and the last thing they want, was to be ambushed by them.

Adaloun pushed the cartwheel containing the swords of the fallen knights while the dwarf picked them up and placed them into the barrow. The dwarf looked around the camp, waving his light rune around. There was not a living soul on it, not even the crickets and vermins dared to populate the ghost settlement.

The dwarf accidentally waved his light towards Tristam, who insisted to go with his Lord inside the dead camp.

"Ohh…That stings!" He squinted.

"Apalagies, lad." He slightly bowed his head. "Tis just me makin' sure, nay gon' tah jump on us in the clear."

The knight didn't understand mostly of what he said but he nodded politely at him. They moved along a little further, passed the dilapidated tents while tearing the veil of darkness with the runes they brought with them.

The wind blew towards them caressing them with its chilling touch. The younger knight shivered and sighed.

"Cold ayn it?" The dwarf broke the silence.

"Y-yes." Tristam answered while waving his light rune around, looking for anything that might move towards or away from them. "That looks like another blade." He pointed at the sword stuck on the ground.

"Yah tis is." The dwarf nodded as he directed his light into it. "Would yah kindly pick the…errr…watch me back, lad." He changed his mind. The dwarf remembered the Principalian knights tend to be too superstitious for their own good.

The dwarf recalled their race had a similar superstition about looting, but he thought of it differently this time. This situation was dire, and he thought even those departed souls would understand the quandary they were currently in at the moment.

"I hope the dead won't go unrest with what we are doing." The young knight commented as he waved the light rune.

"Nay, lad." The dwarf answered softly. "The dead shall be glee that tis we get 'em avenged." He looked at the young knight.

They were able to gather almost all of the blades that the fallen knights left inside the camp. The dwarf looked at all the blade inside the cart barrow looking contented with the amount they had. He looked at Adaloun and gave him a nod.

"Lad, we are goin' tah dig a hole." The dwarf instructed Adaloun.

His friend nodded and took out the pickaxe and shovel they brought on the cart. The dwarf took the pickaxe and drew a square four footlings by four four footlings. His human friend then dug out the ground inside the square until it was deep enough for him to stand on.

The sun had already peeked in the horizon when they finished digging the squared pit. The dwarf and the knights helped Adaloun out of the hole. After removing him off the hole, the dwarf stood at the corner of his outline and touched the hole's opening.

"Dey come by eight, dey come by strong, may he who toiled them lands be stronger than bone." The dwarf activated a magic spell that even the veteran knight Prestonheim wasn't able to learn.

As he released the spell, the ground started to solidify. The soft ground became rigid and hardened itself into rocks. After the walls have turned to stone, the dwarf along with Adaloun poured the contents of the cart into the pit.

The dwarf took out from his pocket the earth runes lent to him by Lord Prestonheim. He placed it on the ground in every corner of the square. He chose his own corner and asked the other men to do the same.

"Right!" The dwarf took a deep breath. "I need alofyah tah getta yer places."

The other men chose their own positions and stood into their corners. They knelt down and touched the runes placed on the ground.

"On my mark, we activate dem runes together!" The dwarf commanded.

The three men nodded and waited for his command.

"Un, two…" He looked at the other men. "Three."

They focused their exousia on the runes and release its magic forming a tall pillar of soil. The dwarf then controlled the rest of runes by skillfully molding it into a roof to cover the pit.  He molded it some more and integrated his spell to make the soil turn into stone, a perfect insulator for what was about to come next.

The dwarf wiped the sweat off his brow. Molding the runes was a bit difficult than one might've thought. It required focus and skill just to command the runes release into a form of his choice. Tristam pulled out a bottle of restoration potion from his pocket and gave it to the dwarf.

The dwarf looked at him and nodded. "Thank yah, lad." He drank the potion and replenished the exousia he lost earlier.

He took a clump of ground in his hand; and he molded a siphon big enough to fit the opening on the other side of the roof. He attached it using his magic and checked if it was snugly attached. When he was contented with the fit, he then began writing runes into the kiln like structure.

He made a long line of Dwarven runes until he reached the outer corner of the kiln. He repeated the process until he filled every corner with the specific runes. The dwarf went back into the siphon and placed his hand over the opening.

He took another long breath and focused his exousia into his hand. He slowly released his exousia into the kiln. The runes glowed a slight tinge of crimson as his exousia slowly incorporated into the writings on the make-shift kiln.

"Fhyr dht mhlts thy lhyf, I hsk th byrn thy wyrld, mihk ht nhw. (Fire that melts life; I ask to burn the world and make it anew)" The dwarf chanted. He took a deep breath and with remaining exousia, he released the magic. "Brhyth hf dy Wyrm (Dragon's Breath)!"

A sudden violent surge of fire was unleashed into the siphon. The fire roared as it engulfed the alloyed blades, melting it in a temperature that might rival that of the liquid fires of Mount Kaspharia. Everyone felt the heat as the fire slowly melted the swords.

It was the first time in a long time when he felt the scorching flames licked his skin like those in the forge, he used to work in. It was a nostalgic vibe of mixed emotions, part of him missed the hot and smoldering forges of his kingdom. On the other hand, he didn't want to recall the many ways he used his flame magic in the past.  The screaming poor souls he trapped and burnt during the war sometimes gave him nightmares especially after fighting against the Dhampiirs.

Before he was captured as a slave, he swore to himself never to use flame magic again, but yet, here he was pathetically using the same magic he promised himself never to use again. He could've declined the Lord Prestonheim right then and there, but he didn't want his friend to be in trouble.

To him, Adaloun had contributed much to save him from his own despair. The human gave him a family he thought he had lost and the struggles Adaloun had to overcome became something that inspired him to move forward despite the demons that tried to drag him down.

He looked at the surging flames and poured a little more of his exousia to reach the optimal temperature needed to melt the adamantine alloy, then he heard the first cracking sound of the blade. It was then he knew he had reached the optimal heat needed to melt the supposedly indestructible metal known throughout the Principalia.

"Indestructible, heh." The dwarf said smugly.

The dwarf knew the properties of Adamantine and knew very well that it was not as indestructible as the human scribes had described it to be. Adamantine on its own was just a plain metal. The only difference it had was the high threshold it had with its hardness.

The metal was heralded as the hardest metal in the world. But it wasn't at its toughness that the Adamantine was known for. The faerfolk often used this sturdy element on their weapons and armor. Contrary to popular belief, wasn't the toughness of Adamantite that made it world-renowned. It was its ability to store and project exousia that made it the primary ingredients for armor and weaponry.

The dwarves had mastered the use of Adamantite through runes. Their craftmanship and rune work was second to none, and during the Great Uprising their weapon stood and almost drove the Principalia to the brink of defeat.

The dwarf could no longer stand the heat of the kiln, he stepped away from the kiln and sat on the ground from a safe distance.

Lord Prestonheim approached him as Tristam gave him another bottle of the potion.

"Is it done?" Lord Prestonheim couldn't contain his sense of urgency.

"Nay yet, m'Lord." He answered. "Tis need tah wait until everything melts and cools down." He pointed at the kiln.

The fire crackled violently inside the kiln. The dwarf looked at Lord Prestonheim who incidentally stared at him. The Commander's expression felt painfully unbearable. He could feel a painful memory as he felt the heat of the flames.

"W-we better check the perimeter for anything." Lord Prestonheim said. "Tristam, Adaloun, since it's already sunrise, we can now roam around freely into the camp, but of course, just be vigilant in case something might come up." He ordered them both.

Lord Prestonheim received a nod from the other two men and made their way into the empty tents. The silver-haired Commander on the other hand, made one last glance to the dwarf. "Are you coming with?" He asked.

"Nay, m'Lord. Tis one had tah check tis kiln every moment." The dwarf bluntly refused.

"Very well, be vigilant for anything and one more thing…" Lord Prestonheim pulled out his dagger and gave it to him. "I know you fairly know how to use this."

The dwarf stood up and accepted the dagger. "This'll do!" He bowed to the Commander.

"Aren't you going to check if the blade is sharp?" Lord Prestonheim asked.

"Nay, I trust yer blade with me life." He answered as he sat back and stared at the flames. "Even if I don't trust yah." He mumbled softly not to let Lord Prestonheim hear.