The Easiest Moment to Slack Off Before Dawn

"This is Lord Richard, a renowned warrior from Pompeii. He's here to help us fight off the bandits." Annie spun her tale effortlessly, without a single hesitation.

The Dwarf warriors all saluted him by placing a hand over their chests.

Regardless of whether the title "renowned warrior" was exaggerated, anyone who came to their aid at a time like this deserved their heartfelt gratitude. It was basic courtesy.

"Then your Battle Aura must be very profound?" Robbie, however, clung to him like a child grasping at a last straw, asking with hopeful urgency.

"I'm sorry, I haven't practiced Battle Aura," the Lord replied, his expression unchanged.

From every angle, Robbie was being excessively rude. Richard didn't know how old he was, but mentally, he was clearly too immature, almost childish.

The deaths of his father and brothers, coupled with the tribe's predicament, had probably pushed his inner world to the brink of collapse. The unvented pressure gnawed at his sanity like a file, so his strange behavior was actually quite normal.

Richard wasn't angry at all; deep down, he even felt a certain sympathy for him. This responsibility, which shouldn't have fallen on him, yet had to be borne by him, was undoubtedly a tragedy for all the Dwarves, including himself.

"If you haven't cultivated Battle Aura, how did you become a renowned warrior?" Vivid and clear disappointment spread across Robbie's face.

"By having weak peers," Richard chuckled, smiling at him.

When he first met the Dwarf tribe, to avoid irritating them or causing misunderstandings, he had only brought his shield. The exaggeratedly large Dragon Slayer greatsword had been left behind.

Hert, ever the sycophant, had painstakingly brought the weapon for the Lord, and only now did Richard have the chance to take it into his hands.

Richard saw some blood and mud on the blade. He took it and casually swung it twice, trying to shake them off.

That was a seventy-pound beast of a weapon. Wielded by his powerful arm, it instantly transformed into a black blur, too fast for the eye to follow, tracing a figure eight in the air.

The dull hum of the heavy weapon cutting through the air became continuous, and the resulting wind stirred up dry leaves on the ground, sending them swirling.

It was truly a masterpiece crafted by a Centaur blacksmith; it barely got dirty. After a few shakes, the blade was clean and gleaming.

The Dwarf warriors' eyes widened in astonishment.

They were all experts who had spent their lives working with iron. A quick glance was enough for them to estimate its weight with impressive accuracy.

Seventy or eighty pounds might not sound exaggerated; even a frail, sickly adult farmer could manage to lift it with effort.

But lifting it and swinging it in combat were two entirely different concepts. Most people's weapons weighed only five or six pounds, and even strong Dwarves rarely used anything over thirty pounds, as anything heavier made it difficult to maintain agility.

To wield a weapon of that weight with such effortless grace, as if it were light as a feather—what incredible, astounding physical power that must be.

Combat prowess wasn't limited to just one path; all roads ultimately led to Corin. In the face of such strength, Battle Aura or no Battle Aura simply didn't matter.

"Can you clear a spot for my men to rest? We've been traveling all night and fought a battle; we're quite tired," Richard said, sheathing his greatsword and yawning.

"Many of the tribe's stone houses are empty. They might be a bit short for you, but they should be fine for resting."

Richard led his men towards the area designated for High Mountain Keep. Annie walked beside him, hesitating slightly before speaking.

"Robbie isn't usually like this, he…"

"He's completely unsuitable to be a chieftain, especially at a time like this," Richard interrupted as they walked. "Good heavens, just standing there is bad for morale."

"Richard, you're too harsh. He's only forty-five this year, which is like a thirteen or fourteen-year-old human," Annie said, also feeling helpless.

"I can sympathize with his youth, but will the enemy sympathize with him?" Richard stopped and countered.

"The old chieftain was Robbie's father; he was a tough, stubborn old man," Annie said, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Tonight's rain wasn't heavy, but standing outside had still left her hair almost completely soaked.

"But I didn't expect him to have passed away."

"It seems the roof broke, and then there was a continuous night of heavy rain. What bad luck to encounter such a treasure," Richard sighed, shaking his head.

He probably understood what had happened—the old chieftain and several heirs had died in succession, making Robbie the natural first heir. But unfortunately, his age, ability, and personality were all very unsuitable for a chieftain.

Thus, this already precarious Dwarf tribe became even more so.

"Actually, Robbie is the smartest Dwarf I've ever met, but his intelligence is limited to tinkering with strange and curious things," Annie suddenly recalled the magical eagle-eye scope. "I think you two would have a lot in common."

"Provided we can win this battle," Richard rolled his eyes, heading towards the camp without looking back.

Dwarf women and children were busily serving large portions of roasted meat and mead to their allied warriors, indicating they had quite ample provisions.

Having gone all night without food or drink, Richard was genuinely hungry. He bent down to enter a house, picked up a roasted lamb rib, tore off some meat, and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing and nodding.

Races skilled with fire were indeed good at roasting meat. The rib he held expertly combined smoky and fatty flavors from the flames, offering a simple yet rich meaty aroma. It was the most satisfying thing he'd experienced all evening.

However, he only ate a little before stopping. No one could tell when the enemy might attack, so he had to remain in a state of readiness for battle. He knew from his arena fighting days that eating too much before a fight would hinder performance.

The stone house ceiling was too low; Richard could barely stand upright, while Gunther had to sit cross-legged on the ground.

This former icefield hunter was also very experienced. Like his Lord, he only ate until he was half full, then leaned against the wall, closing his eyes to rest.

"Boss, why do I feel like this stone house is shaking a bit?" Gunther didn't rest long before suddenly sitting back up, rubbing the back of his head, and looking suspiciously at the wall behind him.

"No way, the house doesn't look like it was shoddily built."

Richard was incredibly energetic; an all-nighter meant nothing to him. He was currently sitting by the entrance, excitedly teaching a few Dwarf children how to play cards, and had almost won all their candy.

The situation was dire, like fire, and no one knew if they would see the sun tomorrow. Yet, he had such a big heart, completely unaffected, as if a spring breeze were caressing him. The Dwarves who witnessed this scene felt both disdain and a grudging admiration.

After all, even if it was pretense, to pull it off to this extent meant at least half of it had to be real.