Chapter 738: Puppets
The Forgefire Dwarves—normally obsessed with rare magical metals—now moved with a disturbing, unnatural aggression. Their eyes burned blue, and the air around them shimmered with a malevolent heat.
Leon barked a low warning, just as Anderson activated the Arcane Wheel—its runes flickering to life, the artifact beginning its slow, ominous rotation.
"Leon, quit the nonsense! Anyone can see the Forgefire Dwarves have lost their minds..."
Elsa, standing nearby, looked bewildered. "Something's wrong... Why are the Forgefire Dwarves so furious all of a sudden?"
In barely a few seconds, a Forgefire Dwarf roared and hurled a thunder-lit warhammer at the group. The weapon tore through the air like a deadly arrow—its speed terrifying, appearing before Hubert in the blink of an eye, shattering the Gate of Eskrym's magical barrier.
Hubert gasped, raising Slaughter to block the strike. Warhammer met legendary warhammer, erupting in a blinding burst of thunderous light—bolts of lightning arced down Slaughter's haft, crackling toward Hubert's body.
Hubert grunted, veins bulging along his arm as he staggered back four or five steps—each footfall leaving a deep print in the stone.
"Such terrifying strength!" someone exclaimed, just as the Forgefire Dwarves' eyes flared with blue flames and their voices twisted with rage: "Kill them! We let them in out of kindness, and they refuse to enter!"
Leon frowned. Now it was obvious—something was terribly wrong with the Forgefire Dwarves. Even the most hot-tempered among them could never turn so violent so quickly.
After the first Forgefire Dwarf attacked, the others radiated a sinister aura. One by one, they brandished their iron hammers and charged the party, shouting, "Kill them!"
Anyone witnessing this scene would know: something was deeply wrong with the Forgefire Dwarves. Their nature was never violent—especially not after receiving a precious magical metal. And now, they wanted to kill over the tiniest mark...
In an instant, seven or eight thunder-lit warhammers hurtled toward the party.
Hurled by the Forgefire Dwarves' unnatural strength, the warhammers tore through the air with terrifying speed, displacing the very atmosphere. Only after they passed did the air collapse back into place with a violent rush.
In the blink of an eye, seven or eight white shockwave trails streaked through the air, each accompanied by crackling bursts and surging arcs of thunderlight—a spectacle both chaotic and awe-inspiring.
Leon frowned, conjuring a Gate of Eskrym before him. Three consecutive booms—warhammers slammed into the barrier, spiderweb cracks spreading across its surface. Even the strongest sixth-tier defensive spell shattered under the assault.
Hubert swung Slaughter, meeting a warhammer head-on. The moment they clashed, his hand trembled—the force was monstrous, and the impact unleashed a surge of lightning. The shock numbed his hands, and the sensation crawled up his arms.
With every Forgefire Dwarf now attacking, the evil aura thickened. Blue flames seemed ready to erupt from their eyes as they glared at Leon's group—like enemies facing the greatest insult to their race.
"Kill them! We let them in out of kindness, and they refuse to enter!"
"They look down on us—they're disrespecting us!"
"Kill them!"