Chapter 8: Exchange

With the help of the residents, the passage into the valley was opened in just one day. Once the way was clear, the resident took the bull-headed singer’s totem pole, which Li Mingxing had promised him at the outset, and simply ran off with it.

Li Mingxing was not so rash. He first sent his elite thieves inside to scout, and only when he was sure the dangers had been cleared did he step into the valley himself.

Upon entering, he immediately saw the so-called Pillar of the Fire God, spoken of by the harpy. It was, in fact, a massive vein of ore, glowing with a deep red that stretched from the ground all the way to the top. Li Mingxing reckoned that anyone could dig up treasures here with little effort.

Beside the ore, there grew some crimson grass, and judging by its abundance, this must be the herb prized by the witch. Near the Pillar of the Fire God stood several tents made of animal hides, still exuding the scent of cowhide—a clear sign these were the chambers of the bull-people.

Yet what drew Li Mingxing’s attention most was not this, but the three-meter-tall totem standing before the Fire God’s pillar. The totem pole was adorned with countless blue and red patterns, and atop it rested a massive bull’s head.

As Li Mingxing approached, the bull’s head suddenly opened its eyes and stared at him, startling him into stepping back a few paces.

This only made Li Mingxing value the totem more. He believed it was akin to the stone tablet in the goblin cave—a key to controlling this wild outpost. Determined to recruit powerful bull-headed guardians, he forced himself to press forward, despite his fear.

Twice he tried, but was forced back by the totem, and none of his men knew what it was.

Just as Li Mingxing hesitated, a voice came from behind him. “This is the Ancestor’s Pillar of the surface bull-men tribe. It boosts their morale and makes them fearless of injury. Even in death, their souls enter the pillar—it is their greatest dream.”

Turning around, Li Mingxing saw a woman walking toward him. Wrapped in a black robe, she was dressed as a witch from the treehouse. But her movements and the occasional snake slipping from her hood revealed her true identity: Medusa.

Standing before him, the witch spoke calmly. “You’ve done well this time. I’ve come to deliver what I promised you. Here is the method for crafting elastic attack bullets, in exchange for the bodies of bull-headed guardians. The bodies of bull-headed singers and warriors will be exchanged for two more harpies.”

“As for the remaining seven bull-man slaves, their bodies can be traded for +1 grade weapons or equipment. If you want mithril, I can get that too.”

She glanced at the Ancestor’s Pillar. “I want this as well. Name your price—so long as it’s not outrageous, I’ll find a way to agree.”

Li Mingxing looked at the pillar and asked, “What’s the highest price you can offer?”

The witch was silent for a moment, then sighed. “I know you’re not one to haggle. So tell me: what do you want most? A powerful army, a territory to call home, or great strength?”

Faced with these choices, Li Mingxing hesitated. He wanted all three, but understood what was within reach.

He answered firmly, “I want a powerful army that obeys my commands.”

The witch nodded. “Those leopards you have are interesting, but not truly strong in my eyes. Thirty miles north from here lies a dwarf clan who owe me a favor. Take this and you may ask them for thirty of their strongest warriors.”

“Dwarves?” Li Mingxing was surprised.

“A clan of gray dwarves. I once saved them from the surface, so they agreed to supply me with troops and forge armor. I haven’t called upon them for years, so you can have their entire quota.” The witch explained.

Li Mingxing readily agreed, thinking that dwarves were a major race in Western fantasy and would surely provide some third-tier units.

Once he agreed, the witch waved her hand, and more than a dozen residents rushed out, digging up the Ancestor’s Pillar and hauling it away.

Watching them depart, Li Mingxing asked, “What about those tents?”

“They’re useless to me—take them if you wish.” The witch was generous.

Yet even if Li Mingxing was interested, he didn’t have the means to take everything. The only laborer he had was the resident champion who had just joined his ranks, now carrying ten battle axes, looking like a small mountain of axes.

The Gothic armor and other items found in the bull-men’s camp were piled on tent cloth, dragged by several battle leopards, inching forward.

To preserve his fighting strength, Li Mingxing left Yin Haitao to guard the camp, and set off with three harpies toward the dwarf clan thirty miles away, hoping to recruit thirty soldiers to help deal with the loot.

Upon reaching the location the witch described, Li Mingxing was stunned. This was no small clan as she’d said—there were over a hundred caves, each large enough for ten people.

No sooner had Li Mingxing and the harpies arrived than a patrol of five gray dwarves spotted them. All wore scaled-down Gothic armor; the two in front carried axes and shields, the three behind wielded muskets.

These weren’t rusty semi-automatics like those found among goblins—the barrels were as thick as small cannons, and powder and lead hung at their waists.

Seeing them, Li Mingxing couldn’t help but muse, “I wonder how powerful these guns are.”

The dwarves’ ears were keen; they turned to him. “You can try for yourself.”

They raised their muskets, but ultimately did not fire. Upon hearing Li Mingxing was sent by the witch and wanted thirty soldiers from the clan, they led him to a nearby clearing.

There, Li Mingxing met an old dwarf, gray as if he’d just climbed from a coal heap. The old dwarf shouted, “Are you the one bringing news from Prophet Yamira? You are the prophet’s friend, therefore ours. Whatever you need, we will provide. I’ll call my children now, and you can take them with you.”

Without waiting for Li Mingxing’s response, the old dwarf began recounting the story of the Black Storm Clan—how, with the witch’s help, they had followed their former chief from the surface to underground, and how new troop types had emerged in recent years.

After much explanation, he finally persuaded Li Mingxing to take thirty of their latest units: Dwarf Cannon Wrath and Dwarf Demolisher.

To ensure these units would display their full power, the old dwarf even gifted Li Mingxing five Dwarf Forgemasters, so he could craft weapons and equipment himself.

Looking at these dwarves, who matched the regular army in strength and discipline, Li Mingxing grew uneasy. Why would the old dwarf send them away as if ridding himself of a plague god? And if they were so formidable, why had the witch not recruited any troops from them for years?

Troubled, Li Mingxing called for a Dwarf Demolisher and ordered him to test his strength.

Without hesitation, the Demolisher took his black iron hammer and smashed the tunnel, collapsing it instantly.

The Dwarf Cannon Wrath’s attack similarly astounded Li Mingxing. Though nominally a ranged unit, their maximum range was only thirty meters, but their destructive power was terrifying—indiscriminately wreaking havoc.

But their most dangerous trait was their ability to devastate the environment. Above ground, this merely left holes; underground, such damage could bury everyone alive.

After witnessing their abilities, Li Mingxing resolved to use these dwarves as laborers for now, and not unleash their terrifying power until he returned to the surface.