The Fierce Old Dwarf

Wali lay lazily in a secluded corner of Heavenly Armament Valley, staring blankly at the mountain peaks in the distance, ten thousand meters high and blanketed in thick snow. Wali was one of Heavenly Armament Valley's greatest dwarven forging masters, but with age catching up to him, he could no longer swing a heavy hammer.

Lying on the quiet grassy slope, drinking mellow barley ale, watching the snowy mountains in the distance and the giant roc birds gliding past their summits—this was one of old and frail Wali's few remaining pleasures. Though, given his status and renown, plenty of dwarven girls were willing to lie in his bed, Wali knew that he could no longer manage it.

Even his marrow seemed to exude the stench of death. Wali knew that the flame of his life was about to go out.

But Wali, his companions of similar age, and all those forebears who had already died—how unwilling they were to accept it.

There were now three hundred thousand dwarven households within Heavenly Armament Valley. Dwarves, whose natural lifespan neared five hundred years, were no less fertile than humans. Heavenly Armament Valley was peaceful, with not the slightest risk of foreign invasion, and its food, drink, and daily provisions were all first-rate. Thus, those three hundred thousand dwarven households had a total population of at least thirty million. That was an enormous number. In the dwarves' homeland on the Western Continent, many small kingdoms and duchies did not even have that many people.

Thirty million dwarves—among dwarven clans, this was one of the greatest tribes.

Ever since the first household of dwarven slaves had been sold into the Blood Qin Empire, slave traders from the Western Continent had continuously sent dwarves here for a thousand years. After a millennium of multiplying, Heavenly