Chapter 776

Chapter 776

Wanna Come With Us? (1)

Had he been in his usual state, Grondal would’ve knocked Torvalt out with a single blow. But his weakened strike was something even Torvalt could withstand.

Grabbing his head, Torvalt yelled out.

“Can’t you just talk for once?! Use your words! I ran away because you keep doing this every day! Do you know how old I am now?!”

“You little brat! How dare you talk back to me!”

Unable to control his temper, Grondal struck Torvalt again. The surrounding dwarves quickly rushed in and held him back.

“Please stop it already!”

“We’ve got outsiders watching, this is embarrassing…”

“Let’s save the beatings for when it’s just us!”

With the other dwarves stopping him, the seething Grondal stepped back, fuming.

One of the dwarves gave Ghislain’s group an awkward smile and said,

“Forgive us for the shameful display. Our prince is quite the troublemaker…”

Everyone nodded blankly, too stunned to speak.

Grondal lashing out with his fists before words was one thing, but what stood out more was that no one seemed to side with Torvalt. He truly seemed to be treated as a menace here.

Ghislain, a former troublemaker(?) himself, watched the violent father-son exchange with an awkward expression.

‘Yeah… getting hit like that, it’s no wonder he turned out like this.’

He himself hadn’t been a victim of domestic violence. On the contrary, Belinda had raised him with nothing but love.

And yet he still turned out to be a handful. So, he figured someone like Torvalt had every reason to act out.

‘Well… dwarf parenting is known to be rough…’

Most of them were warriors or blacksmiths, so it was natural for their tempers to be harsh.

Of course, dwarves liked to dress that up with words like “warrior’s spirit” or “coolness” and saw no need to change.

In an environment like that, it made perfect sense for a rebel like Torvalt to emerge.

Having taken a few hits from Grondal, Torvalt slyly stepped back and shouted,

“Anyway, Gramdyr should be given to him! Isn’t it our belief that only the worthy should claim a treasure?!”

At his words, all the other dwarves nodded in agreement.

As artisans, they held one ironclad principle. No matter how magnificent a masterpiece they created, they mustn’t grow attached to it. Only then could they continue to improve.

If they kept it close, their hearts would be swayed. So, their creations had to be given freely to someone truly worthy.

No dwarf had ever forgotten that age-old teaching passed down through generations.

Emboldened by the dwarves’ response, Torvalt raised his voice once more.

“Gramdyr is a weapon, after all! It must be wielded by the strong! Father, you don’t even use swords, do you? That human fought splendidly with Gramdyr against his enemies! If he’s not worthy, then who else deserves to wield it?!”

Having already become one of Ghislain’s followers, Torvalt spat as he continued his rant.

“And he’s the one who helped us dwarves! Are you saying that treasure is too precious for someone like him? That the treasure is more important than the future of Valskrum and the lives of our people?!”

Once again, the dwarves all nodded in agreement.

No matter how rare the treasure was, nothing could be more important than Valskrum itself.

If Valskrum were to fall, all the treasures would be either stolen or destroyed anyway.

Grondal glared at Torvalt with a disgruntled expression.

‘He’s not wrong.’

Even he had to admit that.

It was just that his temper flared so easily that he acted first, trying to snatch Gramdyr without a second thought.

Part of him had also wanted to test that guy Astion in a duel, for good measure.

Still, even if the words were right, who said them made all the difference.

“You little thief, trying to lecture me?!”

Whack!

“Argh!”

Caught off guard, Torvalt covered his face as Grondal’s fist flew at him again without hesitation.

“You pathetic brat. Did you think I’d be moved or something, just because you’re flapping your gums like that?”

If another dwarf had said it, Grondal would’ve calmed down and agreed.

Julien’s Mercenary Corps was a cherished guest and benefactor of Valskrum. Handing over a few treasures to them wasn’t difficult.

But he just couldn’t stomach being lectured by his own no-good troublemaker of a son.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

With Grondal’s fists flying, Torvalt scrambled backward, shouting as if in a panic.

“Would you please stop hitting me?! Is there really no way to talk to you other than with your fists?!”

“Oh? You’re dodging now? Come here!”

“This is exactly why I don’t want to be here, because all you know is violence!”

“That’s because all you ever do is cause trouble! You need more beatings!”

Torvalt hated being here with his hot-tempered father. No, more accurately, he felt that living among dwarves just wasn’t for him.

Sure, like any dwarf, he loved making things. But the rigid, rough atmosphere of dwarf society was unbearable for him.

That was why he left home. His plan had been to earn some money in a trade city and eventually move somewhere else.

Stealing Gramdyr had just been a way to tick Grondal off.

Still held back by the other dwarves, Grondal pounded on his chest in frustration.

“Argh! How can such a pathetic brat be my son?!”

He could admit his own temper was foul, but his son’s weakness drove him crazy.

That’s why he’d been even harsher with him. But the more he did that, the more Torvalt rebelled and caused trouble, and it was driving him to his wit’s end.

Ghislain and Julien’s Mercenary Corps watched the whole thing awkwardly. It wasn’t their place to get involved in another family’s affairs.

Instead, Ghislain glanced back and forth between Grondal and Torvalt several times, digging through his memory.

‘The face of the dwarf king in the dream...’

Both had beards and looked similar, so it was hard to be certain. In the dream, the figure had been quite far away and somewhat blurred.

After pondering for a moment, Ghislain shook his head.

‘It’s probably not Torvalt.’

Unlike Ereneth, Torvalt had neither talent nor interest in combat. Someone like that couldn’t possibly have displayed such power during the Great War.

In fact, the dwarf king fighting in the dream had wielded a massive halberd—the same kind Grondal used now.

‘Hmm... then maybe Grondal wasn’t fated to die here after all?’

Even if Ghislain hadn’t intervened, perhaps Grondal would have survived.

And maybe he would have led the remaining dwarves and joined the Great War.

It wasn’t out of the question. If Rahmod had completely destroyed the Elven Forest, there wouldn’t have been two Prophets sent here.

Which meant that in the original timeline, only Ilaniel might have died.

Then what was Torvalt’s role in that past?

‘Was he just a thief?’

Honestly, that was the only possibility that came to mind.

Still, being Grondal’s son, perhaps he had been given an important task. After all, sneaking away with Gramdyr had taken some serious skill.

Grondal and Torvalt were still glaring at each other, both fuming.

Ghislain fell into thought for a moment.

Strangely, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to Torvalt. So he spoke his mind plainly.

“Hey, wanna come with us?”

“...?”

Torvalt looked at Ghislain with a startled expression. The others were just as surprised.

Shrugging, Ghislain continued.

“From the looks of it, you’re not fitting in here and everyone just looks down on you. So I figured, why not come along for a little trip with us? You’ll learn a lot by seeing the outside world. What do you think?”

When Ghislain looked over at Grondal for his opinion, Grondal immediately nodded and shouted,

“Yeah! Take that brat with you! I’ll give you whatever you want—just take him along and knock some sense into him!”

He knew that Ereneth had joined Julien’s Mercenary Corps with Ilaniel’s permission.

And Ilaniel was an exceptionally wise elf. At least when it came to wisdom, she was in a completely different league than him.

If she gave her approval, that meant Julien’s Mercenary Corps could be trusted.

Grondal himself held the mercenary band in high regard. Their skill was undeniable, but their character was even more impressive.

If Torvalt traveled with them, he was bound to straighten out eventually.

‘The outside world may be dangerous... but I can’t just leave him to live such a pathetic life.’

He may have treated his son roughly, but beneath that was genuine affection. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have gotten angry in the first place.

For the sake of his beloved son, Grondal had decided to let him become independent, even if it meant facing danger.

He no longer believed he could guide Torvalt with just his own strength.

The other dwarves also assumed Torvalt would accept the offer without hesitation. After all, he truly loathed being in Valskrum.

Ereneth, in particular, could understand Torvalt to some degree. She too had hated being confined to the Elven Forest.

“……”

Torvalt silently looked around at the people surrounding him.

Valskrum had always been a place he wanted to escape.

This time, he had made up his mind to leave for good and had even stolen Gramdyr to do so.

But after seeing Julien’s Mercenary Corps in action, his thoughts began to change.

‘I want to be with them.’

He had sincerely felt that while secretly watching them fight.

He wanted to go on adventures with them. The desire burned so strongly it made his heart race.

And he had felt something strange, too.

‘I feel like… I belong there.’

Torvalt was certain of it.

It wasn’t just a fleeting feeling brought on by admiration.

It was a powerful pull without a clear reason—a deep sense that he would become a part of Julien’s Mercenary Corps.

It felt like fate or destiny—a conviction so firm it could only be called absolute.

And with Ghislain’s offer just now, that feeling was proven to be real.

But…

Torvalt shook his head.

“No. I’ll stay here.”

Grondal and the other dwarves were the ones surprised now.

Torvalt had always complained about wanting to leave Valskrum, to the point of attempting to run away multiple times.

So they had expected him to leave gladly—yet he refused?

With a suddenly solemn expression, Torvalt looked straight at Grondal.

“Father.”

“...What?”

“I want to become strong. Just like you.”

“...!!!”

Grondal stared at Torvalt with a blank look on his face.

This was the same son who had always run away from the idea of being a warrior. No matter how much he was scolded or beaten—he never listened.

And now, those very words had come out of his mouth?

Grondal stammered in disbelief.

“W-What are you talking about?”

“Exactly what I said. I want to become the strongest dwarf, just like you.”

Torvalt hadn’t just watched Julien’s Mercenary Corps fight.

This time, he’d also come to realize how powerful and magnificent his father truly was.

He had only ever heard people say Grondal was the mightiest dwarf. He had never actually seen him fight before.

All he’d seen since childhood was a father who drank too much, messed around, and carelessly threw punches.

But witnessing his father fight to protect the dwarves, risking his own life—there was no better way to describe him than as the guardian of Valskrum.

Even when facing the powerful Prophet, he wasn’t overwhelmed. In fact, one-on-one, he had even seemed slightly superior.

He had never imagined his drunkard, abusive father could look so… cool.

Watching that battle, Torvalt found a new dream budding within him.

‘I want to be strong, like Father.’

He no longer wanted to drift aimlessly.

He wanted to dedicate himself to one goal—achieve something meaningful.

To become the guardian of Valskrum.

That had become his new dream.

And the one who would guide him toward that dream… was standing right beside him.

His father.

Grondal stammered, disbelief painted across his face.

“A-Are you serious? You really want to become a warrior now?”

“Yes. I’ve realized just how much time I’ve wasted. I won’t run away in fear anymore.”

Torvalt had always hated fighting. He feared and avoided the rough life of a warrior.

He had a strong artistic temperament—he loved imagining and creating things.

All dwarves had that side to them. But due to his status, Torvalt had been expected to devote himself to warrior training.

He’d run from it out of dislike, but now he understood that he couldn’t do that forever.

He’d come to realize that sometimes, you have to do what you don’t want to.

Just like his father, who fought his enemies, risking his life.

Seeing Torvalt speak so boldly, Ghislain couldn’t help but let out a soft breath of admiration.

‘He’s changed.’

The aura surrounding him had shifted. There was now a weighty sense of resolve—one only found in those who had shed their inner turmoil.

At that moment, Ghislain felt something strange.

‘Huh?’

Unconsciously, he looked around.

It wasn’t just that Torvalt had changed. He sensed something even deeper—something fundamental had shifted.

But he couldn’t explain exactly what had changed.

Grondal beamed brightly and clasped Torvalt’s shoulder.

“You’ve made the right choice! Damn right you have! You’ve finally come to your senses! That’s what I’m talking about! That’s what it means to take responsibility!”

True to his bold and straightforward nature, Grondal had already forgotten how he was scolding Torvalt just minutes ago, now laughing heartily.

Just the fact that his troublesome son had changed his mind filled him with joy.

The other dwarves also smiled warmly. Unlike humans, they didn’t question Torvalt’s sincerity or say they’d “wait and see.”

Just that single decision to try was enough for them to trust and support him.

The once-tense atmosphere became cheerful in an instant.

Smiling, Torvalt turned to Ghislain and said,

“Thanks for the offer. I really do want to join Julien’s Mercenary Corps… but I don’t want to run from what I’m supposed to do.”

“No, it’s a good decision. Everyone goes through a period of wandering. What matters is that you’ve found your path now.”

The two smiled and shook hands.

Torvalt genuinely felt regret, but he believed his decision was the right one.

He believed this was his path—his destiny. That he’d finally found the right direction.

He was sure of it…

Thud.

Something in his mind felt like it snapped.

‘This… this feeling…’

The conviction he’d felt just moments ago while watching Julien’s Mercenary Corps…

Was starting to fade—bit by bit.