Chapter 147: Chapter 147: The Train to Karak-Zorn (2)

The battle lasted about half an hour. Several guards were injured, but no one was killed. The Gurok-Stalkers finally retreated after losing over a dozen of their kind, leaving carcasses scattered along the tracks.

The guards returned to the train, panting heavily. The injured received immediate first aid from their comrades.

Kael—the young guard from before—approached the passenger carriage and opened the door. “Is anyone hurt?”

His eyes immediately sought out Dola.

Dola shook her head, still huddled against Dayat. “N-no. Thank you.”

Kael smiled broadly. “Thank goodness. If you need anything at all, just ask. I am Kael.”

“Thanks, Kael.” Dayat answered before Dola could speak. “We appreciate it.”

Kael nodded, glanced at Dola one last time, and left.

The carriage door closed. The passengers let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Thank the heavens…” Barnaby muttered, sitting back weakly. “Thank the heavens…”

Hilda rubbed her chest. “My goodness… that’s the first time I’ve seen an attack that large.”

“Usually it’s just two or three,” Olga added. “This was dozens.”

Renard sat back down, sheathing his sword. “We’re lucky the guards are tough.”

The little girl’s father wiped his wife’s tears. “There, there… it’s safe now.”

The child in his lap was still sobbing but had stopped wailing. Her swollen eyes looked toward Dola—who was now smiling gently at her.

“Pretty lady,” the little girl whispered.

Dola’s smile widened. Her mother blushed in embarrassment.

The train began to move again, leaving the Gurok-Stalker carcasses behind.

The journey continued for three days.

Three days inside the carriage, passing through endless dark tunnels. Three days of hearing the wheels rattle and the Stone Drakes’ heavy breaths. Three days of the same scenery—stone walls and crystal lamps.

But it wasn’t boring.

Barnaby often told stories about his wares—hand-woven fabrics from Karak-Loden that he claimed had unique Dwarven motifs. “This one, authentic hand-weave. Sold in Karak-Zorn, the price triples.”

Dayat listened half-heartedly, but Dola feigned enthusiasm. “Oh, how beautiful. I love the blue one.”

“Sharp eye, My Lady! Blue is the color of luck!”

Hilda and Olga frequently shared homemade snacks—hard biscuits made from stone flour and mountain honey. The taste was unique, a bit hard but sweet.

“This is an ancestral recipe,” Hilda explained proudly. “My grandmother taught me.”

Dola tasted it carefully. “Delicious.”

“Really? Here, have another!”

Renard, after his wound began to heal, asked many questions about Dayat. “Where are you from, really? Your clothes are a strange style. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“From far away.”

“How far?”

“Bolhart.”

“Oh, the frontier town.” Renard nodded. “First time in Karak-Zorn?”

“I’ve been before.”

“Seriously?” Renard was intrigued. “Then you know The Grotto of Infinite Gears? The sacred place of the Dwarves?”

Dayat nodded. “I’ve been there.”

Renard let out a low whistle. “Impressive. Ordinary people can’t just walk in. You need a royal invitation.”

“I’m not an ordinary person.”

Renard laughed, thinking it was a joke. Dayat didn’t laugh.

The first night, Dola was still in “scared” mode. She huddled against Dayat, holding his hand, whispering about strange sounds only she could hear.

“What sounds now?” Dayat asked, resigned.

“That… like a whisper. From outside.”

“Probably just the remnants of yesterday’s monsters.”

“But the whisper… it’s calling my name.”

Dayat looked at her. “Are you serious?”

Dola gave him a mischievous grin. “No. Just kidding.”

“….”

“Go to sleep, Husband. Another long day tomorrow.”

By the second night, Dola began to be a bit “braver.” She still huddled, but not excessively. She sometimes chatted with Hilda and Olga, leaving the two Dwarven women mesmerized by her silver hair.

“Your hair is so beautiful, My Lady,” Hilda praised. “Where is it from?”

“Far away,” Dola answered sweetly. “A land that isn’t on the map.”

“Oh, how mysterious.”

Olga elbowed Hilda. “She already has a husband. Don’t be nosey.”

“I was just asking!”

On the third night, the atmosphere was more relaxed. Even Renard joined the conversation. They discussed many things—fabric prices, cookie recipes, mountain monsters.

“The most dangerous thing isn’t actually the Gurok-Stalkers,” Renard said. “It’s what’s in the deepest tunnels. Rumor has it there’s something much older down there.”

“What is it?” Hilda asked curiously.

Renard shrugged. “Who knows. Only the old miners know. They say it’s better to remain silent.”

Dola glanced at Dayat. Dayat stayed silent, but his mind was working.

Something older…

On the morning of the third day, the crystal lamps on the cavern ceiling began to grow brighter. Stone buildings became more frequent. The sound of steam engines could be heard faintly.

“We’re almost there,” Barnaby said, his eyes gleaming.

Karak-Zorn

The train station in the capital of Terragard was magnificent. A black stone building with a thick, transparent glass roof. Crystal lamps in every corner, dozens of them, illuminating the entire area. Tracks branched out in various directions, and other trains lined the platforms.

Dwarves in work uniforms hurried about, noting things on clipboards. Several humans and Elves were also visible, likely merchants or adventurers.

The train came to a gradual halt. The hiss of steam from the Stone Drakes signaled the end of the journey.

Passengers began to dismount.

Barnaby bowed respectfully to Dayat and Dola. “Farewell, Master Dayat, My Lady Dola. May fortune favor you.”

“Thanks, Barnaby.” Dayat shook his hand. “Safe travels.”

Hilda and Olga waved enthusiastically. “My Lady, if you’re ever in Karak-Loden again, do stop by! Our house is near the market!”

Dola smiled. “Certainly.”

Renard nodded from a distance. “See you again someday, Dayat!”

Even the small family said their goodbyes. The father nodded politely, the mother smiled shyly, and the little girl waved to Dola.

“Bye-bye, pretty auntie!”

Dola waved back. “Bye-bye, sweetheart.”

They walked away from the station. Dola reached for Dayat’s hand, their fingers intertwining.

“Not bad,” Dola murmured.

“What?”

“A new experience. Pretending to be scared… it’s fun.”

Dayat sighed. “You love annoying me.”

“But Master Dayat still loves me.”

Dayat didn’t answer. But his hand gripped Dola’s fingers tighter.

Karak-Zorn.

The city was exactly as Dayat remembered—but busier, more alive. Stone buildings soared on either side, some carved directly into the cavern walls with intricate reliefs. Stone bridges crossed chasms, connecting one district to another. Everywhere, steam engines hummed, white smoke billowed, and giant gears turned slowly.

Dwarves bustled about in their work clothes. Merchants shouted their wares. Children ran between the legs of adults.

“It’s crowded,” Dayat muttered.

“An industrial city.” Dola looked around, her eyes scanning rapidly. “Production has increased by three hundred percent since you gave them those precision calculations.”

“You calculated that?”

“I always calculate.”

They walked along the main street. Weapon shops displayed swords and axes in their windows—some looked to be of high quality. Small workshops emitted a rhythmic hammer sound. Food vendors offered grilled meat with mouth-watering aromas.

Dayat didn’t ask for directions. He turned left, passed through the market, through the busy Customs Plaza filled with foreign merchants, and then into a quieter stone alley.

“Still remember the way?” Dola asked.

“You think I have amnesia?”

“Sometimes, yes. Yesterday you forgot to bring the provisions.”

“You were the one who hid them.”

“I was only testing your memory.”

Dayat shook his head in amusement.

At the end of the alley, a massive building came into view. Unlike other buildings in Karak-Zorn, this place had no sign. Only a large iron door with intricate gear carvings that looked like a living mechanism. Two chimneys billowed smoke above it, emitting thick white steam.

The Grotto of Infinite Gears.

Dayat approached the door. Before he could knock or search for a opening mechanism, the door opened on its own. A heavy creak, followed by a puff of warm steam.

In the doorway stood a giant Dwarf.

Baruk-Ahn.

His body was nearly double that of a normal Dwarf. Broad shoulders, arms like tree trunks, and a chest that looked like it could withstand an axe strike. His black armor shimmered, covered in scratches—scars of hundreds of battles. His thick beard flowed to his chest, slightly messy and smelling of smoke.

His sharp eyes observed Dayat—then widened.

“Master Dayat!”

His voice was heavy, echoing in the narrow alley. Like the sound of stones grinding together.

Dayat smiled. “Baruk-Ahn. Long time no see.”

Baruk-Ahn stepped forward, his massive hand shaking Dayat’s with extreme care—as if holding something fragile. “The King will be delighted! Come in, come in!”

His eyes shifted to Dola. He furrowed his brow, confused. “Is this… Dola?”

Dola smiled. A different smile than usual. Warmer. More human. “Yes, Baruk-Ahn. I have changed.”

Baruk-Ahn scratched his thick beard. “The old one… was rigid…”

“Now I am Dayat’s wife.”

Silence.

Baruk-Ahn stared at Dayat. Stared at Dola. Stared at Dayat again. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Finally, “WIFE?!”

Dayat nodded awkwardly. “Yeah. It’s a long story.”

Baruk-Ahn shook his head, but his smile returned. A wide Dwarven grin that showed large teeth. “The King must hear this! Inside! Quickly!”

They stepped into The Grotto of Infinite Gears. The heavy iron door closed behind them, muffling the bustling sounds of the city.

Inside, the sound of hammers and the hiss of steam greeted them. The air was warm and smelled of metal. Crystal lamps illuminated giant machines working incessantly.

And in the distance, behind a pile of gears and flying sparks, an old Dwarf with a beard stained with oil was slamming a hammer against hot metal.

The King of Terragard was waiting.

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