Warriors will die if they charge.

The third treasure vault was a basement much narrower than the previous palace. The dim light from the burning torches illuminated the orderly arranged treasures, which were far fewer in number than those in the second treasure vault.

"Heroes, the game is about to end. Please take my praise with you and go find the next treasure."

Marcus squinted, observing the clock hanging on the wall, and spoke for the first time to the referees and rule-makers:

"What do you mean by 'soon'? Emma, ​​if we leave this treasure trove, will we and the stray dogs return to the cave we came from, or will we be separated and sent away?"

The clock didn't respond; it just ticked mechanically, showing 59 minutes remaining.

"Alright, let's see what good stuff the devils have hidden. Even if we can't take it, it might still broaden the dwarves' horizons." Bardin smiled nonchalantly as he walked to the spot where the armor was displayed and saw a steel-gray meteorite armor.

He stared at the crimson runes, so detailed that they covered every single piece of iron, and fell silent.

"Karazu Razka, the Hearthfire Guardian Balez the Dragon Slayer, once wore this armor to face the breath of the legendary red dragon Bloodhowl, beheading it with his battle axe and bathing in its blood to become a legend."

"Do you want to take it, Bardeen?" Marcus asked, standing nearby.

"I want to, but I can't take them, or I'll fall into deeper sins..." Bardin wiped the tears from his face and praised the rest of the armor and protective gear in a surprised tone.

"Mirror Shield, I've heard of this in the mountains before. It's said to be made of a very rare material that can reflect most magical attacks."

"The Crown of Domination? I've heard this thing can control the power of wild beasts. The devil has so many treasures, I really want to steal them all, hahaha~"

Bardin laughed, seemingly unconcerned by all the false temptations, until he reached the section of books displayed on wooden shelves.

Within the crystal frame, he found a book written in Dwarven language, titled "Relics of the Dark Ages of the Dwarves." His earlier laughter turned into a deathly silence.

He reached out, but instead of picking up the book directly, he tapped it lightly with his knuckles through the crystal frame, as if to confirm that it wasn't an illusion.

Then, he gently opened the edge of the crystal frame, as if afraid of disturbing something sleeping, and took out the book.

With his back to Marcus, who was examining a twenty-sided die, his voice was desolate yet resolute:

"Tough guy, I have to take it."

"Um?"

Marcus put down the dice and saw Bardeen stuff an ancient book into his backpack.

The dwarf's sudden change of attitude surprised him:

"Why? Bardeen, you must know that taking things from the devil always comes at a price. The things in this treasure trove are far more valuable than a bride's weight in gold."

Bardin's face flushed red. The ancient texts that recorded the millennia-long suffering of his race were far more so than he had imagined.

He gritted his teeth, his voice like a hard rock being squeezed into the deepest part of the sea:

"This book records the dwarves' thousand-year-old wish... I must take it with me, tough guy."

Marcus stepped forward and roared at Bardin in a low voice.

"You're just a damn wandering knight-errant in human lands, not the savior of the dwarves!"

Bardin smiled with difficulty, his trembling hands taking out the books from his backpack. He lowered his head, staring at the familiar symbols and characters, a tear falling onto his fingers as he stroked the book cover.

"Marcus, I used to be a tough guy too, and I swore to be a tough guy like Barez the Dragon Slayer, but I made a mistake, cough cough."

The immense pressure caused Bardin to cough a few times, his voice choked with emotion: "You're right, I don't know where the wooden crate will drift to, but breaking an oath and the shame are more unbearable than death."

"What's written in the book?"

Bardin raised his head and met Marcus's calm gaze: "The Dark Age Relics of the Dwarves, everything I've been searching for."

In the basement, only the crackling of sparks from the burning torches remained. Marcus couldn't help but speak:

"But you're just a..."

"I am a dwarf, Marcus."

His stubbornness, under the devil's temptation, turned into a hard rock. Marcus sighed deeply: "Take only this thing, nothing else, or you'll be crushed by it!"

"Okay." Bardin hugged the book that recorded the race's long-cherished wish tightly, sweat dripping from his forehead, soaking his hair and beard, but he had no intention of letting go. This was his path to redemption.

Seeing this, Marcus walked to where the shields and armor were placed, glanced at the twenty-sided die that symbolized winning every bet, and decisively picked up an old fan-shaped shield hanging on the wall.

"A tough guy?"

The immense pressure made even the physically gifted Marcus feel his insides screaming, and he slowly raised his shield:

"We have to prepare for the worst. I'm the captain of the rye beer crew. Your trust is my burden. If stray dogs stand in your way of finding redemption, I'll kill them. Remember, dwarf, next time you do something stupid, tell me first."

Bardin laughed heartily, tears streaming down his face: "Fine, trust is a burden, and I've entrusted it to you."

-

Emma's announcement that the game was about to end allowed the tense stray dog ​​to catch its breath, while Duncan, who had been on edge all the way through the abandoned palace, collapsed to the ground.

The firelight shone on his thin face, and he felt very sleepy, wanting to take a nap.

Oha eagerly scrambled toward the glass counter where the scroll was placed. He shook off the cumbersome battle axe, but the heaviness in his body did not disappear, and his left leg was still dragging on the ground.

"Why? Emma, ​​didn't you say there would be one chance to let go!"

The clock did not respond, only ticking quietly, which, along with the sparks rising from the burning torch, made the atmosphere in the basement even more oppressive.

Letting go once...

Oha suddenly remembered how he had thrown the heavy gold on the ground in the tunnel to escape as quickly as possible. He grabbed his left foot, went to the clock, and clasped his hands together in supplication:

"That wasn't my choice; I was forced into it. Not just the gold, but that broken axe too! It's all Kelly's fault. Give me a chance, God of Gold!"

He knelt down and begged, but the devil's rules were so cruel that they were unwilling to respond to a devout believer.

Oha was being driven mad. He returned to the glass case containing various contract scrolls, looking to his left at the ownership of a rare gemstone mine and to his right at a contract of a giant merchant guild. Fear and greed were mixed together in his eyes, hard to separate.

Gold, gold, gold...

A contract for the possession of a giant mountain of gold was placed in front of the orc. Looking at the scroll inlaid with gold threads, he was instantly transported back to the past.

Back then, he was a skinny half-orc. Every day, urged on by the foreman's whip, he would carry a flax sack and plunge into the clear Yanor Lake, diving five meters into the water, carrying a heavy bag of gravel on his shoulder, and struggling to float up from the water.

He wasn't sure if he could retrieve the gold sands, but if he did, he could get two pieces of black bread and a palm-sized piece of smoked meat from the foreman.

If not, upon returning home, he would be whipped by his disabled adoptive father and suffer from hunger and cold, lying on a thatched hut unable to fall asleep for a long time.

gold.

Yes, gold. Whether it was the gold prospectors struggling to survive by Lake Yanor or the adventurers who later pretended to be dead and disguised themselves as tough guys with their burly physiques, it was all for gold.

Greed overcame fear, and the golden light, which was of the same origin as the gods, occupied Ohha's mind. He slowly put the mountain of gold into his leather backpack.

The contract, far exceeding the weight of a single person, crushed everything for the orc.

The obsidian collar turned red, Emma's curse reappeared, and molten lava flowed upstream, covering Ohha's face. Molten iron meandered and flowed, forming countless delicate little flowers on the surface—the moon bell flowers of Lake Arnor.

He obtained what he had always dreamed of, a golden death mask that even kings could not possess.