42: Chapter 42 The Shattered Dao Heart, the Conservative Elder's Pilgrimage

Levi's smile remained unshaken under Brunhilde's scrutinizing and threatening gaze; in fact, it grew even more sincere.

"Supervision? No, Your Excellency, you're using the wrong word."

He took half a step forward, his posture relaxed, as if the dwarf opposite him, wielding a massive hammer capable of smashing him into pulp with one blow, was just an ordinary client coming to discuss business.

"For a forging master of your extensive experience and esteemed status, what our Blackstone Territory can offer is not a cold 'supervisor' position, but a more important and constructive role."

These words stunned everyone present, including Brunhilde herself.

Her fingers, gripping the warhammer, tightened slightly, and for the first time, a clear look of confusion appeared on her granite-like face.

Levi continued unhurriedly, his voice clear and articulate, as if reading a pre-written contract: "I formally invite you, Your Excellency Brunhilde, to serve as the Chief Director of the Blackstone Territory's newly established 'Production Safety and Quality Control Department.' Your responsibilities will be to utilize your unparalleled expertise to oversee the safety of all our production processes, ensuring that every craftsman works in an absolutely safe environment; concurrently, you will be responsible for the quality inspection of all finished products, preventing any substandard 'junk' from leaving our workshops; and finally, and most importantly, you will be fully in charge of our core technology confidentiality."

A string of unfamiliar terms tumbled from Levi's mouth, leaving Brunhilde somewhat bewildered.

Production Safety?

Quality Control?

Chief Director?

She could probably understand these words individually, but combined, they formed a strange, orderly concept she had never encountered.

From a high-and-mighty enforcer and judge to a... builder and guardian?

This shift was too sudden, so much so that her mind, accustomed to solving problems with a warhammer, couldn't quite process it for a moment.

Levi's gaze swept over the ten dwarf guards behind her, who were still on high alert, and he added with a smile: "Of course, your guard unit will also be incorporated into this department, becoming the first batch of Safety Patrol Officers. I believe that with their presence, any scoundrels daring to pry into our technical secrets will be flattened into iron pancakes immediately."

These words were both an enticement and a subtle warning.

Brunhilde fell silent.

Her heavy breathing was clearly audible in the quiet hall.

She lowered her head to look at the warhammer in her hand, then looked up at Levi's calm, unruffled eyes.

Her original plan was to stay, to embed herself here like a nail, constantly monitoring Balin and this human, and to immediately impose the harshest sanctions if they made any moves that harmed dwarf interests.

But now, this human lord had voluntarily handed the power of 'sanction' back to her, in a way she couldn't understand but sounded incredibly formal.

Was he not even afraid that she would abuse this power?

Or... did he have absolute confidence that he could wield her, his sharpest hammer?

After a long while, Brunhilde hoisted the massive warhammer onto her shoulder, letting out a dull metallic clang.

"Very well. This... 'Director' position, I'll take it," she said in a stiff tone, each word seemingly squeezed through her teeth. "Now, take me to your workshop. I will inspect every corner, and any place that doesn't meet 'safety' standards, I will personally tear it down."

With that, she ignored Levi, turned directly, and strode towards the workshop area like a moving iron tower.

Her pale-faced deputy, after receiving her glance, immediately took half of the guard unit and hurried out of the venue, evidently to report back to the Deeprock Kingdom.

A tense crisis was thus resolved by Levi's few words, vanishing into thin air amidst everyone's astonishment.

He hadn't even expended a single soldier, yet he had transformed the Dwarf Kingdom's most fearsome "Iron Lady" into his factory's "Safety Production Director."

Looking at Brunhilde's decisive retreating figure, the smile on Levi's lips deepened.

He knew that an inspector accustomed to finding faults and picking flaws, once she applied this "occupational disease" to identifying safety hazards and product quality control, would become the most excellent and stringent quality inspector in the world.

And all he had to pay was a title that sounded very impressive.

Half a month later, news reached the Deeprock Kingdom, thousands of miles away.

In the Council of Elders's deliberation hall, the atmosphere was so heavy it seemed to drip with water.

The intelligence brought back by Brunhilde's deputy was like a red-hot branding iron, searing the hearts of every dwarf elder.

Assembly lines, standardization, a thousand muskets produced daily... these revolutionary concepts completely shattered their forging faith, passed down for ten thousand years.

And the "Iron Lady" Brunhilde not only failed to punish the traitor but chose to remain in human territory, serving as an unheard-of "Director"—which, in their eyes, was tantamount to a disguised surrender and betrayal!

"Utter disgrace!"

A roar echoed through the hall, shaking dust from the rocks on the dome.

Seated at the head of the Council of Elders was an aged dwarf whose beard was braided into twelve magnificent plaits, reaching his knees.

He looked decrepit, but his eyes, sunken in wrinkles, shone like the core flame deep within a forge.

He was the Grand Elder of the Deeprock Kingdom, a living forging legend, Odin.

"A human, a mere stripling, who used some opportunistic tricks to steal our dwarf rune patterns, dares to call it 'technology'? And he even deluded our inspector!" Odin's voice contained uncontrollable fury. "And you, you are actually here discussing the feasibility of such 'technology'? This is the greatest blasphemy against the Spirit of the Mountains!"

He slammed the armrest, and the entire stone hall trembled.

"Balin, that traitor, must be brought back and subjected to the harshest judgment at the foot of the Holy Mountain! That human named Levi must pay a blood price for his arrogance and ignorance!"

"But, Grand Elder..." a relatively younger elder cautiously began, "Brunhilde mentioned in her letter the potential of that standardized production... perhaps..."

"Enough!" Odin rose abruptly, and a majestic aura, like a towering mountain, burst forth from his aged body.

That was not Battle Qi, but a grandmaster's aura, cultivated over centuries immersed in the Way of Forging, fused with fire and steel.

Under this aura, the temperature of the entire hall seemed to rise by several degrees, and the other elders bowed their heads, not daring to meet his gaze.

"Honor is hammered out, stroke by stroke, with a hammer! It is carved out, stroke by stroke, with effort! It is not replicated by some damned 'assembly line'!" Odin's gaze swept over every dwarf present. "Since Brunhilde's hammer has dulled, then I, myself, will make a trip to that filthy black land."

He walked to the center of the hall, where an ancient, massive warhammer was enshrined, its hammerhead a dark red, as if still retaining the residual warmth of volcanic lava.

"I will, in front of everyone, use the most traditional and sacred 'Forging Duel' to let that traitor Balin know what true craftsmanship is! And let that ignorant human lord understand that the thousands of years of dwarf honor cannot be defiled!"

Odin extended his calloused hand and grasped the legendary warhammer—"heart of molten fire."

The hammer hummed softly, achieving perfect resonance with his heartbeat.

He was not just going for a duel, but a pilgrimage.

A pilgrimage to uphold the traditions and honor of the dwarf race.

Seven days later, in front of the Blackstone Territory's castle.

When Elder Odin arrived, escorted by several dwarf grandmasters whose auras were as profound as deep pools and towering mountains, the very air of the Blackstone Territory seemed to solidify.

The grandmaster's aura he inadvertently exuded caused every craftsman near him to feel a suffocating sensation from their very soul, as if their tools would melt at any moment, and their proud craftsmanship was mere child's scribbling before this living legend.

He didn't even glance at Levi, who had come to greet him; his eyes, burning with fire, pierced through the crowd and locked onto the pale-faced, trembling Balin.

"Traitor, do you still have the face to pick up a hammer?"

Odin's voice was not loud, but it was like an invisible heavy hammer, striking Balin's chest, making him involuntarily retreat two steps.

His former idol now loomed like an insurmountable mountain, suffocating him.

"I, Odin, hereby challenge you to a Sacred Duel!" Odin raised the "heart of molten fire" in his hand. "We each have one day to forge a weapon. Afterward, Brunhilde will judge its superiority! The loser will be forever stripped of the right to wield a forging hammer!"

This was the oldest and most severe form of judgment among the dwarf race.

Balin's lips trembled. He looked at the legendary warhammer in Odin's hand, then at his own hands, stained with ink from drawing blueprints, and the last flicker of light in his eyes extinguished.

How could he possibly defeat... Grand Elder Odin?

Just as he was about to despairingly kneel and accept his punishment, a gentle but undeniable voice stepped in front of him.

"Grand Elder, I accept this duel on behalf of my Chief Technical Officer."

Levi stepped forward, a polite smile on his face, completely shielding Balin behind him.

Odin's brows furrowed into a knot, and he glanced at him disdainfully: "You? A weak human without even Battle Qi, do you presume to meddle in a dwarf's Sacred Duel?"

"I certainly do not presume," Levi admitted frankly. "But I think the rules of the duel could perhaps be more interesting."

He looked around, his gaze sweeping over the craftsmen who were awestruck by Odin's aura and filled with reverence, and said clearly: "Forging just one weapon is a bit too petty. How about this: what we compete on is, within one day, providing the most effective armament for a squad of ten. What do you say?"

Odin paused, then let out a low sneer.

Arming a squad?

What absurd rules were these?

Forging was an art, an embodiment of the soul; when did it become piecework labor?

This was clearly this human boy trying to take a shortcut, attempting to compensate for the vast difference in quality with quantity.

"Hmph, a boring trick," Odin said arrogantly. "But fine, I'll let you lose even more thoroughly, and let you see with your own eyes how vulnerable your ridiculous theories are in the face of true works of art!"

To maintain his grandmaster's dignity, he arrogantly agreed.

The duel officially began on a makeshift arena outside the castle.

The arena was divided into two halves.

On one side, Elder Odin personally opened the forge. Each swing of his "heart of molten fire" created a dazzling shower of sparks, as if he were conducting a dance of flames.

He started from the most basic steps of material selection, smelting, and forging; every step was filled with a sacred sense of ritual, displaying his grandmaster-level skill to the fullest, captivating the surrounding dwarf craftsmen.

On the other side, it was a completely different scene.

Fifty human craftsmen, under Balin's command, worked busily and orderly.

There was no clanging of hammers, only the monotonous noise of parts colliding and bolts being tightened.

They were like emotionless worker ants, taking pre-fabricated barrels, stocks, and trigger assemblies from crates and performing repetitive, mechanical assembly on long tables.

Time passed minute by minute.

At sunset, the evening glow painted the western sky red.

"Buzz—!"

A clear hum echoed throughout the arena, and on Odin's side, a towering magical radiance erupted.

He held up his creation high: a battle-axe, entirely dark, with complex flame runes carved into its blade!

Destructive magical light flowed from its blade; merely looking at it caused a stinging sensation on the skin.

A perfect masterpiece!

Odin's face revealed a proud, contemptuous smile.

He turned his head to look at Levi's side, ready to enjoy the expressions of despair they would show upon seeing this divine weapon.

However, what he saw were ten Blackstone Territory guards, already silently lined up.

Each of them held a crude-looking musket with a gleaming bayonet attached to the muzzle, and their waist belts were filled with pre-packaged ammunition wrapped in oiled paper.

No works of art, no magical radiance, only cold, standardized... killing tools.

Levi didn't even glance at Odin's awe-inspiring battle-axe; he simply calmly raised his hand, pointed at the heavily armored target cart reinforced with thick steel plates and hardwood a hundred meters away, and gently waved it down.

"Ready—fire!"

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The first row of five soldiers knelt, the second row of five soldiers stood and fired, and ten muskets simultaneously spewed fire and thick smoke!

Amidst the deafening gunshots, the sturdy target cart violently shook, and ten deep bullet craters instantly appeared on its thick steel plate.

Before the smoke could clear, the soldiers had already completed their reloading actions.

"Second round, fire!"

Another ten explosions!

"Third round, fire!"

In just over a dozen breaths, thirty lead bullets, like a torrential downpour, accurately poured onto the same target.

When the gunpowder smoke finally dispersed, everyone's gaze turned to the pitiful target cart.

Silence.

Dead silence...