Over on Charles's side—
There isn't much need to dwell on the details: after finding a suitable place to make camp, they waited for daylight, then asked Theresa to cast magic—distorting light—to search the locations Willo had provided.
As it turned out, Willo's intel was highly accurate. Even if they couldn't pinpoint the exact sites, the obvious pollution, warped landscape, and signs of madness visible in the surrounding environment left little doubt that these were regions plagued by rampant demons.
This only confirmed that Willo hadn't deceived them—the intelligence she'd shared was detailed and reliable, and this Matriarch truly sought peace with all her heart.
With this wealth of clues in hand, they felt well rewarded. Next, they returned to Rockseeker Camp to report these findings to Blackstaff Tower.
It took them another five or six days to travel, slowed by rainy weather—but at last, they arrived back at Rockseeker Camp.
In the end, their delay hadn't caused too much trouble. Anno took charge of writing up her report, while Charles had a bit of personal business to attend to.
Rockseeker Camp, in a small room off the Adventurers' Guild's main hall.
Charles sat alone here, having already instructed a waiter to bring out strong spirits and platters of fragrant roast meats. There were racks of peppered lamb ribs, thick slices of leg of lamb, and a variety of beef and pork—all presented with mouth-watering aromas.
At his hip, inside a small pouch, rested his Storm Warhammer.
After the recent battles, he'd found the power of the hammerhead somewhat lacking. This warhammer, after all, could only hold two spell slots at most—barely enough to match the output of a single lower-circle spell.
In his increasingly demanding battlegrounds, its power—whether for damage or control—had begun to lag.
So, he'd been wondering if he could find an excellent dwarven runesmith to adjust the rune-work and power it up.
He wasn't particularly lacking in mana, so boosting its consumption wasn't an issue.
But as good as that idea sounded, the dwarves' famous caution and insularity made it very difficult to find one willing to tinker with a magical item for an outsider.
Legend said that it took at least a hundred years to earn a dwarf's trust, unless you'd shared some truly special experience. That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it underscored just how hard it was to get through to them.
Without trust, how could anyone expect their help?
Especially with something as prized as a Mountain Dwarf's masterpiece like the Storm Warhammer.
Fortunately, fate leaves no one helpless. Charles did have one friend among the dwarves.
Today, he'd invited him here in hope of getting help leveling up his weapon.
That friend, of course, was—
Creak—
"Wow, what smells so good? Roasts, finest wine, I can smell it all from the door!"
The room's door opened, and Charles quickly got up to welcome his guest, not even needing to see the burly figure to recognize that booming voice.
It was none other than Bruno, the dwarven warrior Charles had saved at the Tide Caverns.
The short, stout, bearded silhouette shuffled into the room. Charles smiled and ushered him in, shutting the door. "I'm glad you like it. This little banquet took me some work to put together."
By focusing on the effort rather than cost, he hoped to build goodwill.
Bruno hopped onto a stool and, seeing the giant mug of aromatic ale already poured, wasted no time lifting it in his thick fingers and downing it all at one go.
"Ahh…" He drained the glass and sighed with contentment. "Woo... Not bad. All right, out with it—what do you want?"
Dwarves, true to character, were direct and got to the point with no beating around the bush. Charles wasn't surprised, and answered straightaway: "I'd like your help finding a runesmith to modify my warhammer."
He drew the silver hammerhead from his side pouch and placed it on the table. "Is it possible?"
Bruno had already started on his second mug but paused mid-drink at Charles's words. Charles watched him, hopeful; he'd ordered the finest ale just for this.
He noticed a look of difficulty cross the dwarf's face. Bruno considered for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Charles. When it comes to a Storm Warhammer, we have very strict controls."
"There are indeed runesmiths I know back at the clan, but using their skills means fulfilling harsh conditions—and there's a lot of red tape."
His face filled with guilt. "Even if I wanted to help, you just don't meet the conditions yet."
Charles couldn't hide his disappointment. "So that's it... I understand."
Bruno looked at the feast before him, then at his ale. "So...can I still enjoy the meal?"
At that, Charles couldn't help but laugh. "Eat, eat! Even if it didn't work out, we're still friends, aren't we?"
Reassured, Bruno dug in with gusto, soon covering his chin in grease. Charles watched him eat but had little appetite himself. After a while, he asked, "So, tell me—what needs to be done to meet those conditions and get a runesmith to upgrade my Storm Warhammer?"
"Mm, that I can tell you."
Bruno replied around a mouthful of meat—a full mouth never stopped a dwarf from talking. "Best way to win over a runesmith is to become 'an old friend of the Mountain Dwarves'..."
...
Half the afternoon slipped by. Even though he hadn't solved the problem, Charles learned a lot.
Just goes to show—this isn't like a game. In games, a couple of trivial tasks would skyrocket your reputation with the dwarves, then you could do whatever you liked.
Reality: dwarves set a different, tougher bar every time. Without truly investing yourself, you'd never get what you want.
All Charles could do was sigh and return to the hostel, feeling a bit gloomy. He didn't go to his own room, but opened Anno's door instead.
Anno, busy writing her report, paused and looked back. Seeing him, she offered a warm smile. "So? How did it go? Did Bruno agree?"
Charles sighed and shook his head. "No, just as you predicted—the dwarves might export iron goods, but magical items are strictly controlled…"
He walked over and hugged her from behind, face full of frustration, clearly seeking consolation.
"It's not a problem," Anno reassured him. "After this mission, I'll submit a request to Blackstaff Tower in the guild's name—they should be able to find you a runesmith."
"Force Grey might not be close with the dwarves, but Blackstaff Tower has connections. With the right backing, your hammerhead could easily be upgraded to the highest level on the market."
She promised confidently, and Charles felt deeply moved. He bent to nuzzle her cheek. "You're the best—let me thank you with a kiss..."
"Stop that, go away..."
They bickered playfully for a while, then Charles sat down to help her draw the maps for her report.
No one knew that the destruction of Rockseeker Camp had already begun its deadly countdown.
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