Knight Lord: Start with Daily Intelligence.

Chapter 474 The Final Showdown
Su Li put away the Engineer's Hammer, intending to hand it over to Beros Dragon Hammer after returning to his territory. Its heavy weight seemed to be a manifestation of his newly acquired power.

He looked around. This ruin, twisted by Gorenson's mad obsession and death energy, was gradually losing its last energy support. The space was becoming more unstable, and tiny arcs of energy were shooting out randomly like the nerve endings of a dying creature.

He took a deep breath, the scorching heat and the pungent smell of ozone filling his lungs, yet making him even more alert. His gaze passed over the twisted metal wreckage and crystallized ground, landing on the path leading to the final destination—the ancient elven mass grave. That was the beginning of it all, and it would also be the end.

“Everything is ready.” His voice broke the unsettling silence of the area, clear, cold, and unquestionable. “It is time to proceed to the core of the tomb, to hand over the remains of the three masters… to the tomb keeper, and to end this millennia-long cycle.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a low growl, suppressed to the extreme and sounding like a volcano about to erupt, rang out from the side.

"Give it to the gravediggers?! Give it to those...long-eared ones?!" Gerson Grayrock whirled around, his face, which had been excited about obtaining the treasure, now contorted with extreme rage and disbelief, a terrifying red glow emanating from his ashen skin. He practically stepped in front of Su Li, and despite being much shorter, the raging fire within him seemed to consume him.

"My lord! Please wake up!" His voice was hoarse with excitement, carrying the deep-seated suspicion and contempt that dwarves held for elves. "Those pointy ears! Ten thousand years ago, they used vile illusions to trap the souls of our ancestors here! Like dogs on leashes! Torturing them for ten thousand years! And now you're telling me to hand over the glorious remains—forged in blood and fire, obtained with the lives of three legendary ancestors—to their watchdogs?! To perform a damned, hypocritical elven 'purification' ritual?!"

He waved his thick arm, pointing to the three body bags carefully guarded by the chosen knights, containing Baldek's left arm, Agrim's remains, and Gorenson's right hand.

"This is a disgrace! The most vicious betrayal of all the dwarven souls who died here! We went through so much trouble to find them, not to send them back to the elves!" Gerson's roar echoed through the twisted metal jungle, drawing the attention of the other dwarven warriors, their eyes filled with the same resentment and incomprehension. The air instantly filled with the tense atmosphere of gunpowder.

Arielia's brow furrowed imperceptibly, but she remained silent, observing coldly. Morkana, however, flashed a hint of amusement in her burning crimson eyes, seemingly enjoying the infighting.

Orstein and Hilder instinctively took a half-step closer to Su Li, their hands on their weapons, watching warily at the agitated Gerson and the restless dwarven warriors behind him. The rift that already existed between the Alliance due to racial divisions was suddenly torn open at this moment, becoming clearly visible and even groaning under its strain.

Facing Gerson's fury that seemed to be spitting at his face, Su Li's expression remained unchanged, only a cold glint flashing deep in his eyes. He didn't raise his voice, but every word was like a cold iron nail, striking the hearts of Gerson and all the dwarves:

"Gerson Limestone".

Simply by calmly calling out the name, the unquestionable authority and a sense of power far surpassing Gerson's instantly overwhelmed the dwarf's anger.

“I heard your doubts. Now, put away your axe and your anger.” Su Li’s gaze was like two cold probes, piercing into Gerson’s eyes. “I don’t need to explain the purpose of every step of my decision to you. You only need to know that I promised to bring the remains back to the foot of the mountains, and I will do it. But how I do it is up to me, not your… prejudice.”

He leaned forward slightly, and the oppressive feeling of being in a superior position enveloped Gesen as if it were a tangible thing.

"Trust my choice, Lord of the Black Forest, or, with your doubts and your people, leave the party now and find your own way out of this illusion. Don't forget what you promised when you left the tomb! And don't easily change your plans just because of the tragic atmosphere and terrible past of your dwarven ancestors!"

Su Li's voice lowered, but became even more resolute, "So if you choose to stay, you must obey orders. I don't want to hear any more questions about carrying out my decisions. Understand?"

The last three words carried a cold and forceful tone.

Gerson's face twitched violently, his teeth grinding together, his knuckles white from gripping the battle axe. He could feel the gazes of his tribesmen behind him, filled with anger, resentment, but even more so with helplessness and... apprehension at Su Li's immense power. He knew that this human lord possessed the power to destroy them, and even more so, resources and means beyond their current reach.

A profound sense of humiliation and a sliver of remaining reason battled fiercely within him. Finally, he abruptly lowered his head, letting out a suppressed whimper from deep within his throat, like that of a wounded beast, and took a heavy step back, clearing the way. He no longer looked at Su Li, nor at the three body bags, but stared intently at the charred and twisted ground beneath his feet, his chest heaving violently.

Su Li withdrew his gaze, as if the conflict that had almost sparked internal strife was merely a trivial interlude. He turned towards the tomb, his voice regaining its previous coldness:

"Set off."

The group resumed their movements, but the atmosphere had become unusually heavy and tense. The dwarves followed silently behind, their faces no longer showing the joy of having found treasure, but only gloom and suppressed anger. The chosen knights were even more vigilant, unconsciously creating a slight distance between themselves and the dwarven group.

The cracks have already deepened, and trust is crumbling. Everything points to that final tomb, and the unknown "final reckoning" that awaits them there.

The group moved forward in a suffocating silence, stepping into the illusory battlefield of the War of the Longbeard, maintained by ancient elven magic, ten thousand years ago.

Upon entering, the oppressive atmosphere intensified dramatically. The stench of gunpowder and blood in the air was so thick it was almost tangible. Deafening sounds of fighting, clashing weapons, and dying roars surged from all directions, assaulting everyone present. The scene was bizarre and grotesque; shattered elven banners and dwarven shields were scattered everywhere, and blurry figures charging or falling occasionally flashed across the scorched earth.

However, Su Li and several of the chosen knights of the Goddess of the Sun also keenly noticed the changes in the scenery.

The phantoms of those high elven warriors, their faces originally displaying either valor or grief, now uniformly wore a chilling, eerie expression—their gazes pierced through millennia, fixed firmly on Su Li and his group, especially the three heavily guarded body bags. Their eyes lacked the warriors' resolve; instead, they were filled with a sinister, almost ecstatic, covetousness! A barely perceptible grin spread across their lips, like a group of vengeful ghosts who had finally found their scapegoats, silently cheering the impending release of their shackles.

The dwarven illusions, however, were more direct and tragic. They no longer aimlessly repeated their final battle actions, but rather, as if sensing the presence of their ancestors' remains, they unleashed silent yet soul-shaking roars, charging towards the ranks with a desperate, all-consuming ferocity, even at the cost of their own annihilation! They wielded warhammers and axes, their eyes burning with a final, all-purifying rage, as if they would rather be utterly annihilated than witness their ancestors' remains being carried into the depths of the elven tombs.

"Hold the formation!" Su Li's roar echoed like a rock amidst the chaotic battlefield noise. "Their target is the remains! Protect the body bags!"

The battle erupted instantly, but it was more difficult and exhausting than any previous one.

The chosen knights were forced to form a tight circle, protecting the three body bags in the center. Crimson-gold divine light blazed forth, repelling the frenzied attacks, a mixture of real and illusory assaults, surging from all directions. The dwarven illusions' attacks carried a shared, tragic resolve, each collision sending shivers down the knights' spines; while the elven illusions' cold, covetous gaze, like poisonous needles, relentlessly sought gaps in their defenses, inflicting constant mental torment.

Gerson and his dwarven warriors were caught in immense anguish and conflict. They had to wield their weapons, hacking at the charging dwarven phantoms that resembled their ancestors, each attack feeling like a desecration of their faith. Their roars were filled with pain and confusion, but they had no choice but to protect the true remains.

Eliria's magic and Morkana's death breath became the key to clearing the field, annihilating the surging illusions in large swaths, but the illusions were endless, as if all the resentment of the entire battlefield had been concentrated on them.

This was the ultimate test of will and endurance. Every step forward was exceptionally difficult, with mental and physical strength being rapidly depleted. The impact of the illusions was not without its power; knights were frequently injured by attacks imbued with the energy of obsession, and dwarf soldiers were constantly in danger due to wavering resolve.

After an unknown period of fighting, when the last wave of dwarven illusions, which had rushed in like moths to a flame, tragically vanished under Orstein's warhammer, and the maddening sounds of battle and the elves' cold gazes receded like a tide, the entire group was almost entirely wounded, panting heavily, and showing great mental exhaustion.

They finally broke through this deliberately intensified, core battlefield.

Suddenly, the familiar scene of the elven catacombs appeared before them once more—towering, pale stone pillars carved with elegant patterns, silently displayed crystal coffins, and the cold, tranquil aura of death permeating the air. They had returned to the catacombs' main hall.

However, this tranquility was shattered almost instantly. On the highest platform at the far end of the hall, that noble and ethereal figure—the spirit of the legendary archmage Yseramar Vil the Starspeaker—solidified and materialized almost at the same moment they appeared!

She was no longer the cold, indifferent, and seemingly unchanging woman she once was. Although she still maintained the elegant demeanor of an elf, her translucent body leaned slightly forward, and her eyes, shimmering with a deep blue light, immediately locked onto Su Li... and the three conspicuous body bags behind him, heavily guarded by the chosen knights!
She didn't even wait for Su Li and the others to fully enter the hall before speaking in a tone that forcefully suppressed extreme anxiety, yet still carried the arrogance characteristic of high elves. Her voice, cold and urgent, echoed in the hall:
"Mortals! You...have returned." She skipped all unnecessary pleasantries, her gaze intense, as if trying to pierce through the body bag to see what was inside. "Tell me, what was the result? Those...'things'...did you successfully 'pacify' and 'bring back' them?"

Her words still retained the elven aloofness and arrogance, referring to the remains of the dwarven legend as "things" and the taking as "bringing back in peace." However, her urgent questioning tone, as well as the unconsciously accelerating flow of the azure energy around the spirit, revealing the turmoil in her heart, completely betrayed her true state of mind at this moment—an almost uncontrollable anxiety and longing that she had anticipated for thousands of years!
Gerson Grayrock was already on the verge of exploding from suppressing his rage, and when he heard the elven spirit's condescending tone, as if it were questioning a customer, he was like a powder keg that had been lit, and he finally exploded.

He burst out of the ranks, and despite being instinctively stopped by Orstein, he still swung his fists and roared deafeningly at Yseramar on the high platform, his spittle almost piercing through the spirit:

“Pointy-eared bitch! Stop with your disgusting hypocrisy!” His voice was hoarse and cracked with extreme anger, every word imbued with the hatred and distrust accumulated by the dwarves over millennia. “‘Things’?! Those are the glorious remains of our ancestors! Not playthings for you long-eared people to manipulate at will!”

His eyes were bloodshot as he pointed at Yseramar's nose and cursed, "Ten thousand years! You've used filthy magic to lock the souls of heroes here like beasts! And now you put on this eager face for whom?! Who knows what more wicked thoughts are hidden beneath your damned 'purification' ritual! Are you trying to use the last power of our ancestors to reinforce this damned cage, or to achieve some unspeakable secret of your elves?! I, Gerson Greyrock, swear by the beard of Gronney, I will never let you succeed!"

His roar echoed through the tomb's hall. The dwarven warriors behind him dared not utter a sound, but their tightly gripped weapons and fiery eyes clearly demonstrated their shared stance.

However, faced with Gerson's almost irrational insults and accusations, Iseramar Vil Starspeaker on the platform did not get angry. Instead, a clear and extremely contemptuous mocking smile slowly appeared on her translucent and beautiful face.

That smile was cold and elegant, yet it stung the dwarf's pride more than any roar.

“Heh…” She let out an extremely soft chuckle, as if she had heard some absurd joke. Her deep blue eyes swept over the furious Gesen, as if she were looking at a mole in a muddy rage.

“What a… pathetic yet predictable reaction.” Her voice remained cold, but carried an undisguised pleasure and mockery. “Crude, ignorant, their pitiful reason consumed by meaningless anger and paranoia. That’s what dwarves are like. Ten thousand years have passed, and they haven’t improved at all. They can only bark like wild dogs.”

She slightly raised her chin and spoke in a condescending manner:
“But it is precisely your exasperated, hysterical stupidity… that makes me even more convinced.” Her gaze returned to the three body bags, the longing in her eyes almost tangible. “It seems you have indeed brought back what I ‘needed.’ Otherwise, why would your stubborn soul in the stone head be so agitated… putting on this clumsy drama?”

She waved her hand gently, as if brushing away non-existent dust.

"Your doubts and anger are worthless, dwarf. They only prove the inferiority of your race and your pathetic limitation of never being able to comprehend the mysteries of higher magic. Now..."

Her gaze finally focused entirely on Su Li, who had been observing coldly from the sidelines, and the urgency in her voice was once again barely concealed:
"Mortal lord, keep your promise. Leave these 'troubles' to me, and then you can leave this... sacred land that you do not welcome."

Her attitude was extremely arrogant. She took Gerson's angry curses as a sign of success and showed it without any hesitation. This was undoubtedly adding salt to the already bleeding wounds of all the dwarves.

Gerson Grayrock abruptly turned his head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Su Li, a look that held a sliver of hope, immense pain, and a warning of impending collapse. He no longer looked at the high and mighty elf, as if even a glance would taint his vision; all his pressure and rage were directed at the human lord on whom he had once placed such high hopes.

"My lord!" His voice was hoarse, almost breaking, filled with a desperate plea. "One last time! I beg you! Heed the advice of the descendants of Granni! Don't believe any long-eared creature! Don't believe a single word! Their race is rotten to the core! Beneath elegant faces lies the most venomous tongue of a snake, every smile is the beginning of a conspiracy! Aren't ten thousand years of hatred and betrayal enough proof?!"

He took a step forward, his heavy footsteps slamming onto the cold ground. The dwarf warriors behind him also stepped forward at the same time, silently declaring their stance. The tension in the air seemed about to snap.

“If you… if you really intend to hand over the glory of our ancestors to that pointy-eared bitch,” Gerson’s voice deepened, but carried an even more dangerous, all-or-nothing resolve, “then you are crushing the alliance between us forged in blood and spoils! You are desecrating the sacrifices of all the dwarven souls who died here!”

He gripped the battle axe tightly, his knuckles cracking, his gaze as hard as tempered steel, fixed firmly on Su Li's face.

“I cannot speak for all dwarves, but I, Gerson Grayrock, swear by the honor of the Grayrock clan and this ancestral battleaxe—if you insist on this, then between us… all ties are severed! From now on, we will go our separate ways! Even…” He paused, his cheek muscles twitching with immense pain, but he finally managed to squeeze out the words through clenched teeth, “…we will fight to the death!”

This was an ultimatum. The foundation of trust was riddled with cracks; a final, gentle push would cause it to crumble completely, leading to catastrophic consequences. All the dwarves watched Su Li with bated breath, and the chosen knights gripped their weapons tightly; the air was frozen solid.

Su Li listened silently to Ge Sen's almost tearful pleas, his face remaining expressionless, only a complex glint flashing deep in his eyes. He pondered for a moment, as if truly weighing the pros and cons, and finally, he slowly raised his head to meet Ge Sen's desperate and angry gaze.

His voice was unexpectedly calm, even carrying a hint of helpless weariness, yet possessing an undeniable composure:
“Gerson,” he called the dwarf by name, his voice heavy, “I understand your anger. I also understand your worries.”

His gaze swept over Iseramar, who stood on the high platform, watching with a mocking smile and cold indifference, before returning to Gerson.

“But look at all this before us.” He raised his hand slightly, gesturing to the tomb shrouded in elven magic. “We are trapped here, surrounded by illusions and fraught with danger. Giving her what she needs is a contract, and it is also the most ‘reasonable’ and most direct choice for us to leave this place of trouble at present.”

He emphasized the word "reasonable," making it sound like he was stating a helpless reality.

“I have no other choice.” Su Li looked into Ge Sen’s eyes, her tone resolute. “This is the only way out right now. We must leave here.”

To Gerson and all the dwarves, these words sounded like a cold compromise and betrayal, a cowardly bowing to the elves for survival. This calm, almost ruthless "rational analysis" completely extinguished the last embers of hope in Gerson's heart.

The light in the dwarf engineer's eyes was completely extinguished, replaced by a deathly, disheartened despair and utter rage. He stared at Su Li one last time, his gaze cold and unfamiliar, as if looking at a dead man.

There was no more arguing, no more shouting.

Gerson Grayrock whirled around, and facing the dwarven warriors behind him, let out a low, suppressed growl, like that of a wounded beast:
"let's go!"

He no longer looked at Su Li, nor at the elves on the high platform. Shouldering his battle axe, filled with grief and resolute determination, he turned and walked without looking back towards the other side of the tomb's hall, attempting to distance himself from the impending act of blasphemy that he considered unforgivable. The dwarven warriors followed closely behind, their steps heavy, like a funeral procession heading towards its end.

The alliance is now defunct in name only.

Only Yseramar Vil the Starspeaker wore a mocking smile, watching the dwarves' pathetic, powerless rage with amusement, as if her entire race was once again superior to the dwarves, continuing the hatred and rivalry between the two races since the War of the Longbeard.

(End of this chapter)