Apparently, Gromorlig couldn't access his Skills, as he had explained. Despite the fact that Ted managed to bring him back to life, something was wrong with the process. The dwarf could barely lift his hammer now, and his movements were stiff and awkward.

"I can feel my body," Gromorlig said, "but it's like all my strength is gone—my Skills, too. Even my Status window is blank."

Monica frowned at this development. The blood had worked to free him from being a statue, but he wasn't at full power. This complicated matters. They needed someone strong enough to help them clear out the spider nest.

"Maybe it takes time?" Ted suggested. He looked disappointed that his plan hadn't worked out perfectly.

"No, lad." Gromorlig shook his head. "Something's missing. I can feel it. Like there's a wall between me and my power."

Sir Tristan walked over to test the dwarf's strength. He had Gromorlig try to lift various weapons from the barracks, but the dwarf could only manage the lightest ones.

"He's weaker than a normal person," Sir Tristan said. "The stone transformation must have done something to him."

"Well, this is embarrassing," Gromorlig said. "Here I am, talking big about squashing spiders, and I can barely lift my own hammer."

Monica paced back and forth. They had already used one of their three vials of blood. If they couldn't figure out how to fully restore Gromorlig's power, the other two vials might be useless as well.

"What exactly do you feel?" she asked him.

"It's like...being wrapped in thick blankets," Gromorlig said. "I know my strength is there, but I can't reach it."

Ted cleared his throat, and everyone turned to look at him.

"Well..." he started, then trailed off.

"What?" Monica asked.

"The System gave us the vials of blood. We can assume it did it on purpose, right? Same for the pickaxe. Loot chests are only random until the System needs them to be. Or maybe rewards and loot chests aren’t directly influenced by the System, but they do always give something vaguely useful. The average item changes based on who opens them, right?"

"I mean, so what?" Heidi asked. "How does this help? Are we going to find something in a loot chest that brings Gromorlig's powers back?"

"Here’s the thing," Ted said, raising his hands. "If I were the System—whether I could control, directly or indirectly, what goes in a loot chest for a reward—I wouldn’t want to give us the solution to everything on a silver platter."

Gromorlig, who had been quite boisterous moments ago, looked at Ted with sharp eyes and smiled, his pearly teeth showing through the opening in his beard.

"Yeah, now you're getting it, lad, aren’t you?"

"You think he’s right?" Monica asked. "Gromorlig?"

"Do I think so? Yeah, I do," Gromorlig said.

Monica cringed. "So we got you back and it was for nothing?"

Gromorlig didn’t actually answer. Instead, he turned to Ted, waiting for him to speak. But under everyone's gaze, Ted felt too much pressure building, and his mind went blank.

"Tell you what," Gromorlig finally said, "why don’t you get some food in me, and maybe you can think of something?"

* * *

They brought Gromorlig to the mess hall. The dwarf ate enough for three people, devouring dried meat and stale bread like he hadn't eaten in centuries—which, Monica realized, he probably hadn't.

"So," Gromorlig said between bites, "the lad here thinks the System wouldn't give you everything at once."

Ted nodded slowly. "Yeah. Like with Thraldrirlum's Dream—the pickaxe. It showed Monica a vision of how the Bridge of Thraldrirlum came to be, but we still had to figure out the song ourselves. It wasn't just ‘here’s a magic portal.’"

"Wait, wait." Gromorlig nearly choked on his food. "You have Thraldrirlum's Dream? The actual pickaxe?" His eyes went wide. "By my father's beard, where is it?"

Monica pulled it from her Inventory. The dwarf’s hands trembled as he reached for it.

"May I?" he asked with uncharacteristic reverence.

When Monica handed it over, Gromorlig cradled the pickaxe like it was made of glass. His fingers traced the runes, and he mumbled something under his breath.

"I never thought I'd see this again," he whispered.

"You know this pickaxe?" Ted asked.

"Know it? I helped build those bridges!" Gromorlig laughed. "I was there when he carved out the last pieces. Thraldrirlum knew what he was doing. But let me tell ya, everyone thought he was crazy at first."

Monica leaned forward. "You were there?"

"Of course! I was the head of defenses for the city before..." Gromorlig's smile faded. "Before this." He pointed at the stone Dwarves in the mess hall.

"Let me ask just once," Monica said. "Who did this? They refuse to tell me."

"And they did well," Gromorlig replied. "Who are you to hear the most dangerous name that can be uttered?"

Monica raised an eyebrow and replied with a question. "Do you know blacksmithing?"

"Are you joking me, lassie? My blacksmithing? Where do you think I was born—"

Monica removed a bracer and tossed it to Gromorlig across the table.

"This is...this is Divine grade," he said, taking a monocle from his pocket and examining the bracer. "Not just Divine grade. This is a Titan’s set."

"Yeah," Monica said. "I'm the Avatar of the Twin Phoenix."

"That explains it, then," Gromorlig said. "You want to know who turned us all to stone? The same one who cursed the Nine Races. The one who made sure no one would have the courage to speak her true name."

"Machina?" Monica asked, confused.

"No, lass. Not Machina. Though she did help." Gromorlig set the bracer down carefully. "The Queen of Stone—that's what we called her afterward. She turned nine races to stone that day."

"Why?" Monica asked.

"Power," Gromorlig said. "She wanted to be the strongest. But she needed more power to fight our Gods. Esoteric magic and all. You know how these creatures work, right?"

"You haven’t answered my question," Monica said.

"You haven’t earned it," Gromorlig replied. "Everyone learns her name at some point, lass."

Suddenly, Sir Tristan’s voice came from behind.

"Nexa."

The word resonated ominously, and the temperature dropped in the room.

"Aye," Gromorlig said, displeased. "It means death. That’s who did it. If you could avoid cursing us all with her name again, that would be much appreciated."

"So, what happened?" Monica asked. "No one here seems to know the whole story."

Gromorlig set down the pickaxe.

"The war with those creatures was drawing to an end. We had lost our Gods long before that day, but we knew something was coming. Our scouts reported strange things in our mountains—no one knows where Viscera is, but she found us. We didn't realize what it was until it was too late. A worldwide ritual turned us into…well, whatever this stone is."

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Everyone went silent for a moment, then Gromorlig asked another question.

"You said Machina’s here? You’re lucky—that’s the easier one."

"Easy?" Heidi repeated.

"Trust me," Gromorlig said without much humor in his voice. "If you’re the actual Avatar of the Twin Phoenix and intend to pick up the good ol’ battle, Machina is just a warmup."

"Huh, we already risked our lives a few times, dude," Ted commented.

"Aye, I didn’t say it was going to be easy," Gromorlig countered. "I said easier. I’d consider it good if only a few of you died here."

That made the entire group recoil.

"What? You expect to face a monster of this caliber and not have losses? I mean, fair—we didn’t have Avatars back then. Maybe you can do better."

"Okay," Monica acquiesced. "What now?"

"Now?" Gromorlig rose to his feet and slapped Ted on the back. "Now, I’m going to take a nap."

* * *

"Well, at least now we know more about what happened here," Monica said after Gromorlig left to find a bed.

Sir Tristan turned to Ted, his mouth set in a hard line. "We wasted one of our three chances." His voice was cold. "That blood was priceless, and now we've used it on someone who can barely lift his own hammer."

"I thought—" Ted started.

"You thought wrong," Sir Tristan cut him off. "Look at him. He's not even a fighter anymore. We freed a fool."

"That's not fair," Heidi interjected, stepping between them. "Ted made the best choice he could with what we knew."

Sir Tristan shook his head. "Did he? Or did he just get excited about finding a fancy mural and rush into a decision without even telling us what he thought would happen? We're facing an Old God. We need fighters, not retired festival planners."

Ted stared at the floor, his shoulders hunched. The knight's words hit hard because part of him worried they were true. He really had gotten caught up in the moment.

"I really thought it would work," Ted said quietly. "He looked important, standing there in the barracks. His posture, his armor..."

"Looks can be deceiving," Sir Tristan replied. "Even if he was important back then, what good does that do us now? We need someone who can fight, not someone who can tell us stories about the good old days."

Monica stepped forward. "That's enough."

"No, it's not enough," Sir Tristan insisted. "We're running out of time. Those spiders are multiplying faster than we can kill them. We had three chances to get help, and we just threw one away. What happens when we use the second vial and that person can’t fight either? Or the third?"

"We couldn't have known," Dotty protested.

"We could have been more careful," Sir Tristan countered. "We could have looked for someone with obvious warrior markings, someone wearing battle armor instead of normal clothes.”

"And what about the mural?" he continued. "A bleeding bard? That should have been our first warning. Bards aren't warriors. They're storytellers, musicians. We needed a warrior's blood, not more songs."

"Stop it," Heidi snapped. "You're not helping."

"I'm trying to make sure we don't make the same mistake twice," Sir Tristan said. "We have two vials left. Two more chances to get this right. We can't afford another error in judgment."

* * *

As it turned out, Ted had made another mistake. He sat dejectedly on his bed, not knowing where else to go. He didn’t have the heart to face the others right now.

"Oops. I see that this room is taken."

Ted raised his eyes and saw Gromorlig standing on the threshold.

"Hey, lad. How’s it going? Were you taking a nap?"

"I tried," Ted said, "but I couldn’t really sleep."

"My body feels weird all over."

"Oh," Ted replied. "I’m sorry."

"Don’t be sorry," Gromorlig said, smiling and patting his belly. "There’s nothing to feel sorry for in Viscera."

"Oh…okay," Ted said awkwardly.

"You’re a bard, aren’t you?"

Ted nodded.

"Do you mind if I see that?" Gromorlig pointed at Ted’s mandolin. Ted offered it to him.

"This beauty was made in Viscera," Gromorlig said after inspecting it. "Fancy stuff. A bit worn down, though."

"Yeah. I was kinda hoping to find a blacksmith here who could fix it."

"A blacksmith here?" Gromorlig let out a belching laugh. "Statues aren’t exactly working metal, lad. Why don’t you play something for me?"

Ted was surprised when Gromorlig thrust the mandolin back into his hands.

"What?"

"Play it. That’s what it’s for. Come on. Let me hear something."

"Okay." Ted played a few notes, but he choked—he was too nervous to play in front of Gromorlig.

"You’re still young," Gromorlig said in a more serious tone.

Ted stopped playing and looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know what bards do, lad?"

"No, dude. I have no idea. Like, they play songs to help in battle?"

"Is that so?" Gromorlig smirked. He patted Ted’s shoulder so hard that Ted almost fell off the bed. "Come here. Follow me."

Gromorlig led Ted to the dining hall where the young man had found the mural depicting a bleeding bard.

"What do you see?" Gromorlig asked.

"A bleeding bard helping other warriors."

"Lad, do me a favor, alright?" Gromorlig said.

Ted frowned.

"Use your damn eyes. What do you see?" the dwarf insisted, pushing Ted closer to the mural.

"I see—" Ted was about to say something ordinary when Gromorlig started humming a song. He wasn’t singing, just humming.

Turning back to the mural, Ted blinked a few times.

"A battle," he finally said. "They’re fighting, and—" He stopped. Then he noticed something. The entire mural showed dwarves coordinating in an unusual formation. The blood didn’t just spatter them randomly; it seemed to form a pattern, anchoring each dwarf in precisely the right position.

"The bard is guiding the fight."

Gromorlig stopped humming and laughed. "There you go."

"I still don’t really understand," Ted admitted.

"The blood," Gromorlig said. "It was your idea, right?"

Ted nodded.

"You also mentioned Thraldrirlum’s pickaxe. Whose idea was it to sing that song for the bridge?"

Ted opened his mouth, but Gromorlig raised a hand.

"Yes, lad. That’s what I’m hinting at. You’re good. You have a quick brain in that little noggin of yours. But we still can’t do anything if you don’t have your Skills."

The dwarf locked eyes with Ted.

"Dwarves believe in things being earned," Gromorlig said. "Elves believe in fate and all that crap. But when your people dig tunnels for a living, you start believing in sturdy pillars and doing your job properly—otherwise you’ll die under tons of dirt."

He went silent for a moment, and Ted’s eyes went wide.

"You can actually help," Ted realized.

"If you deserve it," Gromorlig smirked. "Gather the others. I wanna see you all fight."

* * *

Gromorlig sat on a broken pillar to watch, humming the same tune as before.

"This is ridiculous," Sir Tristan muttered. "We're wasting time putting on a show."

"Just trust me on this," Ted said. "I think he knows something."

They got into position. Sir Tristan went first with his shield raised, and they quickly dispatched a group of four Corrupted Spider Constructs that Dotty had tracked down. The spiders were weaker than the evolved ones. Monica killed two, Heidi burned one to death, and Dotty finished off the last one.

"Not bad," Gromorlig said when it was over, still humming.

"I leveled up!" Dotty said, startling everyone. "And I got to pick a new Skill! It’s two Level 50 Skills!"

Dotty shared the Skill choices with the others, including Gromorlig.

* * *

*Ding*

You have earned a Level 50 Cornerstone Skill!

*Ding*

Two Skills have become available for your choice!

*Ding*

Skill Available – Shadow Step

*Ding*

Skill Available – Void Slash

Clearly, one could guess the functions from their names. Shadow Step was a Movement Skill, and Void Slash was an Offensive Skill.

It was Monica who first gave an opinion.

"You should probably pick Shadow Step. You need mobility. You’ve already got Magic Rend for offense."

"Void Slash sounds great, though, dude," Ted chimed in.

Shadow Step seemed bland compared to Void Slash. Dotty looked between Monica and Ted, torn between the two options.

"Both sound amazing," she said. "But..."

"But nothing," Monica interrupted. "Think about the spider nest. Which will help you survive better—more damage or a way to escape when those wires come at you?"

Gromorlig's humming grew louder. Ted noticed the dwarf watching them intently, as though the discussion mattered more than the Skills themselves.

"The mobility would help you stay alive," Sir Tristan added, unexpectedly. "And survival should be your priority."

Dotty’s fingers tightened around Twilight's Edge. "But if I can't deal enough damage..."

"The choice can wait," Gromorlig said. "The lass can take her time. Your teamwork isn’t too bad, and if you’re really after Machina, I suppose I could tell you a little secret about Viscera."

Everyone perked up.

"I told you I was organizing our festival, but I also mentioned I was responsible for Viscera’s defenses. Now, one of you has the perfect Class, actually, to do the nasty deed to all those spiders."

"Who?" Monica asked.

Gromorlig pointed right to the center of their group.