Chapter 290: 290 – “So What?!”

The forest finally spat them out—

not gently, not mercifully, but like survivors crawling from a beast’s maw.

But the nightmare didn’t end.

The mountain began.

And dwarven traps only evolved when stone surrounded them.

The moment their boots met the first ridge—

CLANK—SHHRRRT—WHOOOM!

Three steel plates slid open beneath loose gravel, releasing a barrage of dart-like shards. Aurelia barely managed to deflect two with her spear, but a third grazed her arm.

“—Tch!” she hissed, clutching the welt as a thin ribbon of blood trickled down.

Selena froze the remaining darts mid-air, her chest heaving. Sweat clung to her hairline.

“We… just walked five steps,” she whispered, voice trembling between exhaustion and disbelief.

Five steps.

And blood was already falling.

Another dozen paces and the mountain wall trembled—

BOOOOM!

A section erupted outward, releasing a chain-net designed to snare and crush anything within its radius.

Sylthara sliced three chains but a fourth wrapped around her ankle, yanking her off balance.

She crashed to the ground with a cry.

Aurelia immediately supported her, panting as she cut the chain free.

“You okay?”

Sylthara nodded through gritted teeth, but her voice shook.

“I forgot… dwarven traps don’t get tired even if we do.”

Lilliane struggled behind them, mana flickering unstable in her palms.

Her robe was torn at the shoulder, blood trickling down from a cut on her collarbone.

“Why—why do they need traps that react to elemental mana!?” she snapped as she dissolved another proximity glyph with shaky precision. “It’s like they knew someone like me would come!”

Kyle stomped on a pressure plate by accident—

A burst of steam shot upward, scorching his gauntlet and sending him stumbling.

“AAAAAARGH! I swear—!!” He ripped off the smoking glove, shaking his hand furiously. “Who makes steam explode!? Who!?”

Luca walked calmly through the chaos, brushing stone dust off his shoulder as though this was a casual stroll.

Pressure glyph detonating behind him?

He side-stepped with ease.

Stoneburst spike shooting from the ground?

He ducked at a perfect angle, letting it miss him by a hair.

A chain-scythe trap swinging at head height?

He tilted back like he was greeting an old friend.

And he grinned.

Not a strained grin—not forced, not bitter.

A genuine, peaceful smile.

His thoughts hummed with amusement.

Thousands of runs… and this still feels nostalgic.

These traps… this madness… I almost missed it.

He glanced at his companions—scratched, bleeding, cursing the dwarven ancestors.

…Am I the abnormal one here for enjoying this?

He chuckled.

Kyle glared murderously at him.

“WHY are you laughing!?” Kyle shouted, hair a mess, armor cracked. “WE ARE BLEEDING FROM PLACES I DIDN’T KNOW COULD BLEED!”

Selena wiped a streak of blood from her cheek.

“Luca,” she said in a very calm, very deadly tone, “if you say you’re enjoying this, I might freeze your legs.”

Luca only smiled more.

He didn’t deny it.

They climbed higher.

Higher.

Up narrow trails lined with blade-trigger steps, up rocky paths where the cliffs spat stone spikes, up slopes where rolling boulder-golems threatened to flatten them.

Aurelia’s breathing grew ragged.

Sylthara’s steps wobbled.

Lilliane’s face was pale, her mana flickering with fatigue.

Kyle was muttering curses in languages he didn’t even know.

Blood marked their path like breadcrumbs.

But then—

at last—

The mountain road widened.

The traps stopped.

And before them, bathed in the golden glow of dusk, stood an enormous stone gate carved into the mountain’s heart.

Two dwarven soldiers stood before it—

short, broad, armored like miniature fortresses, each holding a double-headed axe.

They weren’t aggressive.

Just… watching.

Guarding.

Aurelia almost collapsed in relief.

“F-finally…” she breathed.

Lilliane blinked at the sight, confused.

“Hmm? Why are there… only two soldiers?”

Kyle threw his hands up.

“WHY WOULD THEY NEED MORE? Did you SEE what we survived just to get here!?”

He gestured wildly at their bloodstained clothes, torn armor, bruised limbs, and frazzled hair.

“If this doesn’t filter people out, NOTHING will!”

Everyone nodded weakly.

Except Luca, who looked perfectly fine.

They stepped forward—

toward the gate.

Toward the dwarven kingdom.

Toward whatever trials waited next.

The closer they came to the gate, the more the exhaustion clinging to the group seemed to peel away, replaced by hope. The carved stone archway gleamed faintly under the mountain’s shadow, guarded by two dwarven soldiers clad in full runic armor. Their helms were thick, their beards heavy with metal rings, and their expressions… impossibly smug.

Both stepped forward simultaneously, axes crossed with a deliberate clang that echoed down the stone path.

“Hold it right there,” one of them barked, chin lifting with arrogance carved as deeply as the runes on his armor.

Aurelia, though battered and streaked with drying blood, stepped up first. She dipped her head with diplomatic composure, though her shoulders trembled from fatigue.

“We seek entry into the Dwarven Kingdom. We’ve come with peaceful intentions.”

The dwarf looked them over slowly, eyes dragging over torn cloaks, dented armor, and soot-blackened faces. His upper lip curled.

“Peaceful intentions,” he repeated dryly, as though the very concept personally offended him. “An’ what makes ye think anyone with legs can just wander up t’our doorstep an’ be let in?”

Lilliane drew a steadying breath, pushing back her hair with a trembling hand before stepping forward.

“We aren’t just anyone,” she said, voice polite despite the strain. “I am Lilliane Fairemoore, daughter of Count—”

The dwarf raised a hand.

“And?” he said bluntly. “So what?”

Lilliane blinked, visibly thrown off balance.

Aurelia tried to approach next, one hand resting over her heart in formal introduction.

“I am Aurelia Drayden, granddaughter of the Iron Duke—”

“So what?” the dwarf repeated again, this time with a bored yawn.

Kyle straightened his spine, shaking dust from his pauldrons, and stepped forward with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Kyle Drayden, grandson of—”

The dwarf leaned closer, squinted at him, then shrugged dismissively.

“So what?”

Kyle’s eye twitched.

Selena stepped forward last of the nobles, the faintest chill rolling off her skin, though her breaths came shallow from exhaustion.

“I am Selena Vermilion. Heir to the Magic Tower.”

The dwarves didn’t even blink. One scratched his beard lazily.

“So what?”

Even Sylthara, graceful despite the soot streaking her cheek, tried.

“I am Sylthara, representative of the Elven—”

“Aye, aye,” the dwarf cut in. “So what?”

The silence that followed was so loaded it could have been dropped from a height and shattered the mountain.

Kyle’s restraint finally snapped. His voice rose, hoarse and incredulous.

“SO WHAT? SO WHAT?! Is that the only phrase you people know!?” He stepped forward, hair disheveled, still breathing heavily from the uphill traps. “Do you even realize what we went through just to reach this damn gate!?”

He gestured sharply to the forest behind them, where burnt ground, shredded roots, and broken golems still littered the path. His armor was cracked; Aurelia’s spearhead was chipped; Selena’s gloves were ripped where frost-burn had crept across her own wrists; Lilliane’s arms were lined with faint red marks from elemental recoil; Sylthara’s hair was coated with dust and dried blood. And Luca—calm despite the bruises—stood silently, observing the guards with measured curiosity.

Kyle wasn’t finished.

“We survived collapsing glyph fields! Tripwire spellstorms! Mines that exploded into razor stones! And golems—hundreds of them! We’re half-dead! LOOK at us!”

The dwarf lifted an eyebrow as if Kyle were reciting a mildly interesting weather report.

“Aye. Ye got past the toy traps,” he said, casual as a man discussing the texture of bread.

Kyle froze. “Toy… toy traps?”

The dwarf nodded sagely.

“Aye. The warm-up mechanisms. Meant t’keep beasts an’ drunk travelers away. Not challengers.”

Kyle’s mouth opened. No sound came out. His soul seemed to leave his body momentarily.

Aurelia placed a steadying hand on his shoulder to stop him from attempting spontaneous murder.

Selena closed her eyes and muttered under her breath, “If one more person says ’toy’ or ’so what,’ I’m freezing someone.”

Lilliane looked genuinely betrayed by reality.

Sylthara pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly through her teeth.

Through it all, Luca stood quietly at the back, arms crossed loosely, observing the exchange with an unreadable look—half thoughtful, half amused, as if everything happening was precisely what he had expected.

The dwarves finally seemed to notice him—especially his silence.

One of them angled his head. “What about the tall, quiet lad? He’s not said a word.”

Before anyone could introduce him, the second dwarf waved dismissively.

“Bah. Doesn’t matter. Nobles, elves, mages—titles don’t mean a thing here.”

He planted the butt of his axe into the ground, dust puffing upward.

“None o’ ye are gettin’ in.”

The group stiffened—every muscle wound tight from exhaustion and frustration.

Kyle had endured enough.

His fists trembled, his jaw clenched, and the veins on his neck bulged as the dwarven guards continued smirking. Then—with a snarl he couldn’t contain—Kyle’s patience snapped. He kicked off the ground, aura bursting from him in a sharp flare as he shot forward like a launched spear.

“YOU—!”

But he didn’t even finish his sentence.

One of the dwarves flicked his wrist.

BOOM!

The massive axe head slammed into Kyle’s chest with the force of a collapsing boulder. The impact detonated through the air like thunder. Kyle’s body was launched backward—flying helplessly, limbs flailing—before he crashed and rolled across the rocky ground, skidding more than twenty meters before coming to a stop.

“KYLE!!”

“KYLE, NO!”

“A–Are you okay?!”

Their voices overlapped, panic surging as they ran toward him. Blood dripped from Kyle’s mouth in a thin stream, splattering his arm as he coughed violently.

The dwarven guards didn’t even spare him a glance.

Their expressions, once lazily mocking, twisted into something far more terrifying—pure, unrestrained hostility.

“GET. LOST.”

Their voices boomed together, echoing like a war drum struck inside a cavern.

A heavy shockwave of aura burst outward.

Air thickened. The sky seemed to dim. Their oppressive presence crashed down on everyone like a physical weight. Aurelia staggered. Lilliane gasped as her knees bent involuntarily. Even Sylthara’s elven grace faltered for a heartbeat. Selena’s fingers trembled around her staff.

The guards’ eyes glowed a daunting hue—one a molten orange, the other a deep red—like furnaces igniting.

Smirking cruelly, they leaned forward.

“Don’t forget where you stand, outsiders,” one growled, beard bristling with pride.

“This is dwarven territory,” the other added, grin sharper than any blade.

And then—

Step.

A quiet, almost casual footstep echoed across the stone.

Luca walked forward, passing the others with a slow, controlled calm. His expression was unreadable—eyes relaxed, posture loose. A playful smile tugged slightly at the corner of his lips as if the entire tense scene was mildly amusing.

He lifted his gaze, meeting the blazing eyes of the guards without flinching.

“Why so much violence?” Luca asked softly, voice almost gentle.

The dwarves’ brows twitched, and their attention focused fully on him for the first time.

Luca didn’t look at them. Instead, he tilted his head back, letting his eyes glide up the towering gate carved into the mountain’s stone face. His smile widened, relaxed and confident.

“We are here…” he began, dusting off his sleeves as though brushing away imaginary dirt, “…to challenge the Forgeheart Crucible.”

Silence struck.

The dwarven guards stared at Luca, the arrogance in their faces cracking for the first time—faint surprise flickering, as if someone had just spoken a taboo name with casual familiarity.

Then—

A beat.

Another.

And suddenly—

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAH!”

The dwarves burst into laughter—loud, raw, shaking their shoulders and making their armor clank. One slapped his knee, the other doubled over, their booming voices bouncing off the mountain walls like a chorus of drunken thunder.

Their laughter was so uproarious, so genuine, it was almost insulting.

As if Luca had just told the funniest joke in the entire dwarven kingdom.

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