Valen silently observed his surroundings, his gaze lingering on Anakin with a mix of emotions. The future of the dwarves rested on the shoulders of this young prince. Having lived for three hundred years, Valen knew the need for younger leadership. However, their plans were thwarted by the arrival of a graceful figure wielding a massive sword. If he wasn't mistaken, this powerful woman was a Northland Warrior. With a level beta Northland Warrior behind them and a level beta Dark Priest before them, escape seemed impossible.

As they journeyed in silence, Anakin searched for any weakness or opportunity. As the son of the dwarven chieftain and the future leader of the Hammer Tribe, he refused to give up hope, regardless of the circumstances.

They arrived at the opulent estate's backyard, where two guards opened the intricately carved arched doors of a grand house. Under the warm glow of magical lamps, Anakin and Valen exchanged glances before following Stanley into the room.

Anakin's eyes widened at the luxurious interior. The plush carpet, thick as a hand, felt like sinking into a soft bed. Colorful paintings adorned the walls, depicting portraits and landscapes, exuding an air of nobility. A long, oval table made of raw wood stood at the center, surrounded by twelve intricately carved chairs.

At the head of the table sat a strikingly handsome figure in a black mage robe, a crimson war painting hanging behind him, adding to his imposing presence. But what truly drew attention were the sharp fangs protruding from his lips, revealing his identity as a vampire.

Anakin took a deep breath, experiencing a tremor of fear. This was his first encounter with the legendary and terrifying creatures of darkness. His gaze continued to wander.

To the vampire's right stood a towering figure in half-plate armor, radiating an aura of power. His hands rested on a massive sword, his expression solemn and dignified. Anakin and Valen exchanged another glance, their expressions complex. Another level beta!

The Hammer Tribe, with centuries of accumulated strength, only had three level beta warriors, one of whom had fallen in battle against the orcs. This mysterious faction possessed an astonishing number of top-tier fighters. Who were they? And with such powerful subordinates, how strong was the vampire lord himself?

The two dwarves, standing about 1.5 blades tall, possessed incredibly developed muscles that resembled poured steel, filling out their armor. Their gray armor, adorned with unique dwarven dark patterns, reflected a golden sheen that conveyed an air of invincibility.

The older dwarf on the left wore a horned helmet, his gray-black eyes radiating wisdom. The younger dwarf on the right wore no helmet, his face etched with vigilance. Both dwarves sported thick black beards, the older one even braided into two small braids.

These were indeed true dwarves, their appearance closely resembling the image he had in mind, except for their even more impressive strength. Despite their short stature, Morgen had no doubt about their formidable power.

Having reached level beta minus himself, Morgen could clearly see their attributes. Although simple, they surprised him. One was a dwarven prince, and the other a master blacksmith, described by the system as having the potential to become a legendary blacksmith.

The possibility of crafting artifacts was simply astounding. Even as a master blacksmith, he could create weapons for legendary figures with sufficient materials. Judging from their attributes, these two held significant positions within the dwarven tribe.

Morgen rose and offered a friendly smile. "Guests from the Bronzehammer Tribe, I am Ilo, the president of the Dark Covenant. Welcome."

Despite their lingering vigilance, the two dwarves responded with respect. Valen pounded his fist against his chest and declared in a solemn tone, "Valen Hammer." Anakin followed suit, revealing his true name, "Anakin Hammer."

"Lord Ilo, please inform us of your intentions. I believe no one would treat friends as captives," Valen said before Morgen could respond.

Morgen studied Valen, intrigued by this dwarf's spirit. He gestured for them to take a seat, taking his time to reply. He sipped his warm tea from a carved white cup and spoke slowly, his gaze piercing. "Lord Valen, I believe we can cooperate. I require a mithril vein."

The dwarves' expressions shifted, exchanging a look. Anakin suppressed his anger, "Damn human merchants! I knew these greedy bastards were unreliable."

Valen's face turned red with fury. "Lord Ilo, how did you learn about the dwarven mithril vein? We've mined it for decades, but only sold a few ores. I demand to know who betrayed us."

A glimmer of hope remained within him, hoping the information they possessed was limited.

Morgen smirked, acknowledging the old dwarf's intelligence. He decided to be blunt. "There's no need to probe, Lord Valen. Your dwarven companion and the human merchant are already in my hands. The dwarven tribe has been occupied by orcs, and you seek the aid of the Crimson Mage Tower to drive them out in exchange for a complete mithril vein. Trust me, I know everything."

This revelation shattered Valen's hopes and ignited his fury towards his own people. How could that idiot be so careless as to be captured while discussing such matters?

"No, you damned thief! Looter! The dwarven vein belongs to the dwarves! You get nothing!" Anakin's anger erupted. He had assumed it was the humans who betrayed them, but the reality of their information being overheard enraged him further.

"No, Lord Valen, your cooperation with the Crimson Mage Tower is solely to save your people. Cooperate with me, and I can achieve the same." Morgen's gaze held immense pressure. The time for negotiation had come.

Valen, refusing to trust a vampire, firmly shook his head. "No, Lord Ilo, the dwarves do not need to cooperate with outsiders."

Morgen scoffed, "Then why are you in Green City? Sightseeing? Lord Valen, you should consider yourselves fortunate to have the opportunity to cooperate with us. I only require the mithril vein and have no interest in your other riches."

"We have no need. The dwarves can choose their own partners. Lord Ilo, I believe there will be no opportunity for cooperation." Valen remained unyielding. While the dwarves were orc captives, the orcs only sought to enslave them for forging equipment. Although they would face torture, annihilation was not an immediate threat.

The mithril vein was their only bargaining chip, and without a suitable partner, they would never surrender it, even in death. Furthermore, the vampire's notorious reputation in Gloria made trust impossible. Sharing information about the vein with a vampire could bring even greater danger to the dwarven tribe, a risk he refused to take.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Morgen initially failed to realize the dwarves' resistance stemmed from his vampire identity. By the time he understood, it was too late. "Valen, you dwarves have no choice but me..."

"Lord Ilo, if there is no choice, then we choose not to choose..."

"Trust me, the Dark Covenant and the dwarves can cooperate..."

"Lord Ilo, you expect dwarves to trust vampires? Hahaha..."

"This Prince Anakin must be very important to your tribe..."

"Lord Ilo, if you threaten a dwarf with death, then you clearly do not understand dwarves. Death is an honor to us..."

"..."

For the next hour, Morgen experienced firsthand the stubbornness of dwarves. These individuals were as immovable as rocks. No amount of reasoning or threats could persuade them to reveal the location of their tribe, let alone the mithril vein. They completely dismissed Morgen's cooperation proposals, their trust non-existent.

Exasperated, Morgen ordered the dwarves to be taken away and confined. "These damned dwarves! Their brains must be filled with pig fodder," he cursed inwardly after they left.

He was beyond frustrated. Reasoning with these dwarves was more difficult than reasoning with pigs.

Observing Morgen's rare defeat, Betty spoke with amusement, "To think you would encounter a problem you cannot solve… How intriguing."

Morgen shot a glare at the Northland Valkyrie. He had been thoroughly angered by the two dwarves. Neither reasoning nor threats could sway these muscle-headed creatures.

They had completely disrupted his plans. He had anticipated numerous challenges in acquiring the mithril vein, but never expected the problem to arise at the very first step – gaining the dwarves' trust.

This was a major headache. And to make matters worse, aside from these dwarves, Laurent had no knowledge of the dwarven tribe's location.

According to the Dark Covenant's intelligence, only these three dwarves had come to Green City. If they refused to talk, he was truly stuck.

Damn it, it was as if he had set out to slay a dragon, only to discover that the biggest obstacle was not knowing where the dragon resided.

Stanley interjected, his eyes gleaming with anticipation, "My lord, allow me to handle this."

Morgen raised an eyebrow, "Do you have a solution?"

"The dungeons of the Evening Bell Church house hundreds of torture devices. I believe no one can keep secrets in the face of such instruments..." As a true evil being, Stanley had no qualms about torture. He had even dismembered and sacrificed people to evil gods.

Grot, however, interrupted him, his tone peculiar, "My lord, torture devices are unlikely to pry open the mouths of dwarves. Their unique physical structure grants them high resistance to pain, and their stubborn nature makes them fearless in the face of torture. I have never heard of anyone successfully extracting information from a dwarf through such means." He glanced at Stanley, who opened his mouth to speak but ultimately nodded at Morgen, acknowledging the truth in Grot's words.

"There is a saying among the bards of Gloria: 'Only a dragon's breath can change the pride of elves and the stubbornness of dwarves.'"

A dragon's breath? Morgen was taken aback, then his expression darkened. Damn it, so they had to be dead?

"Is there no way to make them talk? Are there any spells that can control the soul?" Morgen was annoyed. He had prepared to confront an army of tens of thousands of orcs, yet he was now stuck with two dwarven captives.

Having dealt with the seemingly invincible Dark Covenant, he refused to believe that two dwarves could render him helpless.

Stanley shook his head, "My lord, dwarves have a natural resistance to soul and mind magic. Ordinary mind spells are ineffective against them." He paused, his expression turning strange, "Unless you can have a transcendent mage cast the spell."

I... Morgen had the urge to simply eliminate those two stubborn rocks. How the hell was he supposed to play this game?

He took a few deep breaths, calming his anger. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke in a deep voice, "Take them back to Dawn City and let Emmy figure it out. Also, send Saintess Niro of the Dawn Church."

As if remembering something, he added with a fierce tone, "Send those two dwarves to the blacksmith shop and make them forge 100, no, 200 weapons every day! No food if they fail to meet the quota. I want them to experience the taste of labor reform. Aren't dwarves master blacksmiths? Let them forge to their heart's content!"

Stanley nodded in agreement.

Morgen still felt a sense of unwillingness. These bastards had completely disrupted his plans. He took another deep breath and began to rethink his approach.

After a long period of contemplation, his eyes regained their confidence. "Although these two dwarves haven't spoken, we can at least confirm one thing from their attitude."

"What is it?" Stanley and Grot asked in unison, even Betty looked at him with curiosity, surprised by his quick recovery.

"The mithril vein is real." Morgen recalled the expressions of the two dwarves, his tone increasingly certain. "So, even though we haven't reached an agreement, this wave isn't a loss."

You can make a big profit, but I definitely won't lose.

"At the very least, we can confirm the authenticity of this matter, which is a sufficient gain. Next, we need to verify it. Stanley, take notes."

Stanley immediately assumed a solemn expression, "Yes, my lord."

"Inform Harrison to dispatch bats to patrol the border areas and search for traces of the dwarven tribe, especially focusing on the Far Mountain Shamans within the Barren Wasteland."

Morgen's eyes lit up as he spoke, "According to Laurent, their transactions always occurred near the border, so we can determine that the dwarves' location must be relatively close. They use horses for transportation and likely lack flying mounts, or at least not in large numbers. This limits their range of activity to a certain area."

Laurent had previously disclosed the transaction locations. Retrieve the border map immediately, and we will narrow down the approximate area for a comprehensive search.

Furthermore, instruct Harrison to strictly investigate any traces of orc troop movements. Any signs of large-scale orc troop deployments must be recorded.

Morgen gradually sorted out his thoughts. Even if the dwarves remained silent, it was still possible to locate their tribe, albeit through a more troublesome method. However, with the allure of the mithril vein, he was willing to endure any hardship.

"Additionally, I will have Laurent assist the Dark Covenant in trying to contact other dwarves at the border. We can also issue a mission at the Mercenary Guild to investigate orc troop movements, trying to make the mission appear as normal as possible."

Morgen paused, having finally satisfied his train of thought.

The others in the room looked at him with admiration, their eyes filled with appreciation. While they might have eventually come up with these solutions given time, Morgen's ability to swiftly adjust after setbacks demonstrated his strong heart and wisdom.

"To summarize: first, conduct a search around the transaction locations near the border. Second, search for traces of orc troop movements and follow their trail. Third, dispatch personnel to the border to locate other dwarves and gather more useful information. Fourth, issue a mission at the Mercenary Guild to investigate large-scale orc activities."

Morgen scanned the three with his deep black eyes and spoke slowly, "The matter of the mithril vein is of great importance. Although the dwarves haven't spoken, it's worth paying a certain price to search for it. If we can truly obtain this vein, the benefits for Dawn City will be immeasurable. I believe none of you would refuse to have your weapons and equipment made entirely of precious mithril."

These words lit up their eyes. If they could truly find a mithril vein, their equipment would undoubtedly rise by several levels. Their enthusiasm surged instantly.

"Yes, my lord." Grot and Stanley bowed in unison, and even Betty stood up to show her respect. Although Morgen's combat strength was still weak compared to the Northland Valkyrie, his wisdom earned her admiration.

If she were in his position, she would have likely simply eliminated those two stubborn dwarves, leaving the rest to fate.

With Morgen's orders issued, the three – the Dark Covenant, the Crimson Mage Tower, and even the distant Dawn City in the Far Mountain Range – began to operate at full capacity under his will.

Nearly a year later, magic bats once again flew towards the border, and second-generation blood descendants donned their armor and set out. Laurent, accompanied by twenty level alpha plus Dark Covenant warriors, headed to the border to search for traces of the dwarves. The Green City Mercenary Guild released a mission to explore orc troop movements in the Barren Wasteland, the high reward attracting countless mercenaries to the area.

All these actions were driven by the pursuit of the mithril vein, a treasure even more precious than a dragon's hoard.

Anakin, Valen, and the previously captured dwarf, these three unyielding dwarves, were indeed sent by Morgen to the blacksmith shop in Dawn City. Now, these three indomitable dwarves toiled day and night to forge weapons for Dawn City, all for the sake of a decent meal.

Morgen felt much more at ease, a sense of satisfaction washing over him whenever he saw the weapons they produced.