Late at night, inside the Fortress of the North, the Duke's Castle.

Lying on the bed, Duke opened his eyes again, and this was his eleventh failed attempt to fall asleep.

Although after sacrificing a few cute bunnies, the negative effects of witchcraft on his body have been greatly alleviated.

But it was still a slight stinging pain that disturbed his spirit, and he couldn't sleep quietly at all, and could only wake up again and again.

He casually put on his clothes and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window of the balcony to look out over the territory.

At this time, the northern fortress was still dark, but the sparse night scene and the bright moonlight still made Duke feel the peace he had not felt for a long time.

With such good weather and time, it's perfect for doing things.

Duke touched his chin and thought about it, but he couldn't sleep anyway, so he simply did something to distract him.

With this thought in his mind, a white jade slab exuding a divine aura had already appeared in his hand.

It is the Apocalypse Trigger that was awarded by the previous system.

Duke plans to use this tablet tonight to summon a magical race to his service.

And after his exploration and understanding these days, he found that the magical races that he needed most for the development of his territory were those dwarves who were said to have mastered countless advanced technologies.

In his eyes, the dwarves were all highly qualified researchers and technicians.

If you can attract a large number of dwarves to settle in your territory at once, then you are equivalent to having an initial scientific research team.

In this way, there is no worry about the lack of technology and equipment to develop, and even more of their own whimsical ideas can be turned into reality.

Thinking of the benefits of successfully attracting dwarves, he was a little excited to infiltrate his spiritual power into the stone tablet and establish a connection with it.

Suddenly, he felt himself crash headlong into a space filled with golden holy energy, and the rich energy flowed around him like a liquid.

And his weak spiritual power seemed to be wrapped and dissolved by them, until he rose to infinity heights.

............

The dwarven patriarch, Anvil, sighed as he looked at the people curled up in a ball and sleeping in the cave.

He took off the copper-colored box-shaped box he was carrying and set it aside, and tucked the quilts for his people one by one.

Then he sat in front of the fire and looked at the flickering flames in a daze, unconsciously breaking the tiny branches in front of him and throwing them into the fire.

Their ethnic group was not large, originally there were only about 600 people, and they belonged to the dwarves of the mountains.

They have lived in isolation for hundreds of years.

Although there are demonic beasts infesting the village from time to time, relying on the dwarves' strong technology and sturdy physique, they can still deal with one or two with relative ease.

However, good days are always ruined by unexpected accidents and the greed of the enemy.

Their group was accidentally discovered by a powerful mercenary group with thousands of men, and they were concerned about the equipment and ore in the village, as well as the value of the dwarves themselves.

In the end, they took advantage of the darkness to attack the village, and Anvil, as the patriarch, could only tearfully lead the remaining 300 old and weak women and children and a few young people to take advantage of the chaos to leave the residence where they had gathered for hundreds of years.

His proud beard, which he spent two hours a day grooming, was now scattered like a ball.

Thinking of the vast majority of the young dwarves who had stayed where they were to buy time, a few cloudy tears flowed from the anvil's godless eyes.

He rubbed his nose, crossed his hands, rested his chin on it, and began the prayer for the evening.

Originally, the dwarves rarely prayed, because they believed that every successful manufacture was the greatest pleasing to the gods, and that the gods would favor the best craftsmen and warriors.

But ever since he wandered with his tribe, he began to pray to the gods every day, hoping for some comfort.

It's just that he thinks tonight is a little unusual.

As soon as he closed his eyes, he felt a myriad of golden light shining on his closed eyelids.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a golden hall.

Surrounded by brilliant gems and precious minerals of various colors, they filled the hall like the most worthless gravel.

He took a tentative step forward, and the scenery in front of him changed again.

I saw countless famous heroes and virtuous kings in the history of the dwarves gathering together to drink and have fun, and the faint singing voice came from afar, full of rich ancient style.

Some of the warriors were still wrestling and dueling, letting out wild roars, and some even greeted him from afar.

Not far away, there are countless divine weapons that only exist in legends on the wall, exuding colorful treasure light and stunning coercion.

This...... This is?

His mind was a little confused, the sight in front of him felt both familiar and unfamiliar, and a ridiculous idea came to his mind.

Could it be that this is the shrine where the legendary dwarven gods live?

Legend has it that the spirits of dead warriors and virtuous kings will enjoy eternal life and boundless bliss under the throne of the dwarven gods.

Each artifact that is born will return to the shrine with the name of the maker, and become the treasure of the dwarven gods.

Legend has it that the shrine is made up of precious gems and minerals that are rare in the world, and all precious minerals are as ordinary as gravel here.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt that it was possible, and he became more and more excited, and he sorted out his appearance in a bit of a hurry, and then walked towards the gathered crowd.

But when he took the first step, the landscape around him disintegrated like a broken mirror.

A throne of countless swords, axes, and other weapons appeared in front of him.

What's more, there sits a mighty dwarf made entirely of thunder, his majestic stature among dwarves, his iconic floor-length beard, and a missing eye that declares his identity as a dwarven god.

He sat on the throne and stared deeply at the uninvited guest in front of him with the only remaining eyes full of electric light, without a word.

Anvil felt the pressure, and he shuddered and pinched his thigh with his right hand.

The familiar pain made him realize that he was not in a dream.

Then his whole body became trembling, and as soon as his legs went limp, he knelt down.

He tried his best to recall the few records of the sacred liturgy that he remembered, and prayed with his hands folded reverently.

After praying once, he prostrates vigorously and then prostrates a short distance.

Then pray again, kowtow again, and crawl forward again.

And the majestic figure, which was completely condensed by thunder, just stared silently at the dwarf who was constantly kowtowing on the ground.

No words were uttered the whole time.