Extraordinary Pedigree.

Chapter 1074 [The Book of Hatred]

Faced with the pure white angel blocking their way, the two dwarf gods did not immediately launch a divine attack.

Although the floating warhammer [Wrath of Justice] in Belenne Truesilver's hand had begun to resonate, she did not raise it; the void beneath Dumasongyin's feet had begun to crack, but he did not take the next step.

Their spirituality was like a storm, but before it could converge on Xia Xiu, its sharp edges were smoothed out by some force.

A heavy, metallic echo, like the scraping of chains, slowly resounded.

"Squeak-"

At that very moment, a figure stepped out from the other side of the void.

It was a mechanical being draped in a rusty bronze robe, its body covered with cooling pipes and gear rings.

He had almost lost his human features; his facial structure resembled pieces pieced together after being bitten by gears. His left cheek was covered with rivets and metal weld marks, while his two eye sockets shone with the light of human eyes replaced by high-precision optical modules—calm, measuring, analyzing, like an instrument, yet like a god.

A halo-like ring structure floated behind him, but it was not a divine aura; rather, it was a mechanical crown woven from metal gears and copper-platinum neural structures. Its inner axis rotated slowly, projecting a ring of blue signal pulses with each rotation, like the whispered holy light during worship, causing the space to tremble.

Saint Brommarro, the mechanical saint, is the supreme commander of the Church of the Ohm Messiah.

At this moment, he is descending here representing the will of the machine.

"Steam returns to its source, gears harmonize..."

"Homage to you, Om Messiah, Lord of all machines..."

"With a heart forged in bronze, a body of entropy, and a toothed track to discern truth—"

"...Now that you have returned, the starry sea shall naturally fall silent."

Faced with the two crowned beings, Xia Xiu and Saint Bumaro, standing side by side, the two deities of the dwarf pantheon fell silent for a moment.

In the end, it was the dwarf mother goddess Belenne Truesilver who took the first step. She did not swing the warhammer that symbolized justice and revenge, but slowly raised her left hand.

Then, an extremely heavy scroll appeared in the void.

The book's cover was forged from star iron, its surface engraved with ever-flowing clan crests and historical threads. Mithril chains wrapped around its back, with the marks of each clan chief engraved in the rings. The pages were made from the inner skin of an ancient black dragon's spine scales, as fine as scales and as tough as a shield.

This is no ordinary thing; it is none other than the Book of Hatred, renowned throughout the heavens and myriad worlds.

This book is not a divine object, but rather the embodiment of the collective will of the entire dwarven civilization. It contains blood and hatred that have never faded throughout thousands of years.

The very existence of this book is an ancient and heavy oppression.

It records all the memories of being offended, betrayed, slaughtered, and despised since the birth of the dwarf race, and records the blood oaths of the dwarves and the wrath of their ancestors.

Its record system is strict and unalterable, with clear hierarchical structure. There are generally three types of books of hatred among the dwarves.

The Book of Clan Hatred, a version that every dwarven clan must possess, records the injustices suffered by the clan and vows of revenge, and serves as the starting point for the education of the clan's descendants.

The Book of Kingdom Hatred is compiled by the major clans every fifty years, and is personally signed by the Dwarf King to ensure that the bloodline continuity and the management of feuds among the clans are not out of balance.

The Book of Great Hatred, which only the High King of the Dwarves may possess, records the insults and blasphemy of all races since the birth of Dwarven civilization, and symbolizes the ultimate goal of the Dwarven soul.

Twice every century, representatives from the dwarven fortresses travel to the High King's Hall on Mount Everest to report on newly formed and vengeful feuds, which the High King then updates the Book of Great Feuds accordingly.

Each dwarven clan and fortress would then pull out its own Book of Hatred and periodically report to the Great Book of Hatred.

In fact, each dwarf settlement had its own little notebook, and some clans or even individuals had their own mini notebooks, which they would use to sort out the records one by one.

When negotiating with dwarves, if the other party has been recorded in the Book of Hatred, the dwarf representative has the right to immediately terminate the negotiations unless the other party provides proof of atonement.

When the High Lord of the Dwarves ascends to the throne, he must swear an oath: "To protect the Book of Great Hatred with my life, and never to add or delete any entries without authorization."

The Book of Hatred transcends geographical and clan boundaries, becoming the only common genealogy for all dwarves and reinforcing their sense of racial identity.

Even the most remote dwarven settlements regularly send messengers to the kingdom's capital to update the Book of Great Hatred and obtain copies, ensuring a spiritual connection with the main lineage.

In essence, the Book of Hatred is the genealogy of the dwarves. All dwarven members, regardless of age, must touch the pages of the Book of Hatred and recite:
"This hatred is as deep as blood, and will never be forgotten; this resentment is as vast as the sea, and will surely be avenged."

They use this to establish a spiritual connection, ensuring that hatred becomes part of the collective memory.

Therefore, when the Dwarf Mother Goddess revealed the Book of Hatred, Xia Xiu knew why she had come.

His pure white eyes, still bearing the marks of his apostlehood, reflected the Book of Hatred held aloft by the Dwarf Mother Goddess.

That was a solemn inscription etched deep in the soul of the tribe. The moment his gaze fell upon it, the pages seemed to sense his presence and turned on their own, one page after another, until finally, with a heavy, dull "thud," they stopped at that chapter.

Immediately, the entire void trembled.

An ancient, weathered voice, imbued with a sense of judgment, echoed like thunder through the space, each word like a hammer blow striking the ears of countless fleets and deities:

-

Article 78449 - Hatred is not yet repaid

Charges filed against: Lupercal Abraham
His crimes: During the Abelio blockade, he personally killed the weakened Clangedin Silverbeard, causing the Moradin line to be severed and the Anvil King line to be permanently broken.

Witness: Krangdin Silverbeard (Hate Mark activated)
Oath: By the bones of our ancestors, if this hatred is not avenged, the Dwarf Clan will never forget it. The blood feud of Silverbeard's lineage will be washed away with blood and avenged with death.

Status: Pending execution

-

The pages began to tremble violently, like the booming of war drums. A resonance of hatred was awakened, and blazing silver divine flames ignited along the edges of the dragon skin. It was not an illusion, but a real will to vengeance, proclaiming its legitimacy in this crystalline space.

Then, the void shattered like a mirror, and a phantom relief appeared on the pages of the dragon-skin book:
That's Krangdin Silverbeard.

He was bathed in the flames and steel of his portrait, his face scorched and broken by fire yet still smiling, before being beheaded by the First Son wielding a golden greatsword.

The dwarven war god's head, still grinning, flew into the air, its silver beard billowing like a waterfall. This fleeting image, without uttering a word, caused countless soldiers in the dwarven fleet to lower their heads and grit their teeth.

The silence was broken by the clang of silver armor.

Belonne Truesilver slowly closed the pages of the Book of Hatred. The faint metallic clanging sound was amplified infinitely in the void, and the whole world held its breath, waiting for her last finger to weigh down the scales of judgment.

She held the heavy book aloft with both hands, raising it to her chest—an ancient, sacred, and solemn gesture, as if she were conducting a trial for clan revenge.

The cover, forged from mithril and star iron, gleamed coldly under the starlight, while the chains sealing the spine hummed softly in her slightly trembling hands, like the dwarven ancestral spirit awakening from its coffin, responding to this unfinished blood debt.

Belenne's gaze burned, her eyes no longer merely reflecting calm or pity, but an emotion so profound it nearly crushed the entire fortress—an obsession unique to dwarves, like steel forged from an anvil, unbreakable even after a thousand hammer blows, yet at this moment, it was cracked by the irreversible pain of losing her son and the shame of her bloodline being severed. "The Lord of the Stars..."

His tone was steady, yet he couldn't hide the slight, almost imperceptible tremor in his voice.

She raised her left hand, pointing to the pages of the Book of Hatred, which were not yet fully closed. The words on the page—Rupercar Abraham—were branded into the void, radiating a fiery silver flame of vengeance.

Behind that name lies the extermination of a clan's bloodline, the hatred of her personally protected descendants being brutally murdered.

"Hand over the real culprit, and let blood be the punishment for bloodshed."

Her voice suddenly sharpened, yet it was also deep and resonant, as if suppressed with all her might, each word striking the heart: "As long as you hand over this person, the hatred of my clan will end here."

She had considered taking direct action.

But standing before her was not an ordinary deity, but the fourth sword-wielder of Heaven, the Golden Tyrant, the Lord of the Courtyard, and the Lord of the Stars, whom even the gods of the Star Realm feared...

The dwarven pantheon, though renowned for its tenacity and honor, understands that even the deepest hatred, if victory is impossible, can only be tempered with a semblance of dignity. Her willingness to offer this choice is not a compromise, but rather a dwarven act of calm—exchanging a true culprit for the stability and dignity of the entire pantheon.

A brief but eerie silence fell over the air.

Xia Xiu did not answer immediately. He simply stood there quietly, his white robes fluttering without wind, and beneath the sky, his divine aura and the silhouette of the apostle intertwined to create an unfathomable balance.

The [Lever of Heaven] in his hand spun slowly, the silver rod at his fingertips like a scale measuring fate, leaving an arc of light, like the Milky Way hanging upside down in the sky.

His gaze swept across the name on that page of the book, his expression remaining calm.

There was no denial, nor any hesitation.

Then, he gently stopped what he was doing, lowered his silver staff to his side, and spoke with a voice as calm as water flowing over stone or ice melting, almost devoid of any emotional fluctuation.

What if I don't pay?

There was no threat, no anger, not even an explanation, yet it was sharper than a blade.

The Lord of the Stars refused.

Opposite her, the divine radiance on Belénne True Silver's face trembled violently, and her originally gentle and solemn silver crown trembled slightly with suppressed tremors.

She had thought that even if Hugh Abraham was unreasonable, he would at least try to mediate, or at least make excuses and try to negotiate. But he simply asked a question and completely shattered any possibility of reconciliation.

Xia Xiu's nonchalant response was like a hammer blow to the face of a god.

Almost the instant the words fell, the dwarf war god Dumasongyin, who was already furious, finally couldn't hold back anymore.

"You arrogant bastard, who do you think you're talking to?!"

The sound was like a volcanic eruption, shaking the void, and what emerged in the space was an rage forged from rock strata.

His body, carved from gray stone, suddenly burst forth with light and flame. As his divine power surged, he transformed into a roaring shockwave, responding to the blasphemous provocation in the name of the Warhammer God.

He gripped the heavy Titan Pickaxe tightly in his right hand. This weapon, formed from solidified magma, glowed with a fiery red-hot liquid under the infusion of divine power, its blade pointing furiously at Xia Xiu's heart.

It was as if an entire mountain had risen from the ground and was crushing down on him.

Facing the wrathful god's thunderous attack, Xia Xiu's expression remained completely unchanged. He stood motionless, his silver hair fluttering, his eyes half-closed, not even glancing at the approaching enemy, as if he were utterly unworthy of attention.

However, some people have already taken action.

A mechanical clicking sound echoed from the void; it was Saint Bromalo.

The mechanical saint, covered in copper pipes, gears, and rune panels, resembled a mobile clock temple. Driven by high-energy jumps, he appeared directly in front of Dumasongyin.

Without uttering a single wasted word, the mechanical saint's prosthetic left arm ejected layers of armored skeletons, which, along with the expulsion of compressed gas, formed an exceptionally thick and scorching mechanical arm, as hot as an industrial furnace.

[Gear Orthodox Prosthetic Modification - Titan Ape Arm!]

--boom!

A deafening metallic clang erupted in the vacuum, and the overflowing shockwave directly pierced through the crystal energy field hundreds of meters away. The forged surface of the pickaxe, flowing with lava, slammed violently onto the armored surface of Brommaro's mechanical arm, but only left a ring of cracks, which were quickly healed in the next second under the drive of the prosthetic body's self-repair program.

Meanwhile, the silver-bronze prosthetic arm firmly gripped the handle of the pickaxe, remaining completely still.

Saint Brommano raised his lowered head slightly, his high-precision optical prosthetic eye gleaming with a cold blue light as he stared at the angry dwarf god.

He spoke, his voice like the turning of gears, mechanically synthesized, yet carrying an undeniable air of authority:
"The Lord of all affairs is not to be offended; if there is a next time, I will surely use my spear to execute you here."

The next moment, he raised his other mechanical arm, and several intersecting golden spiral marks appeared in his palm, which were the structural language representing neutrality and divine ethics.

The spiral seal shone brightly, and an invisible shockwave suddenly blasted out, violently knocking Dumasongyin's giant body back dozens of feet!
The dwarven deity possessed immense divine power, but under the prosthetic body filled with computational cores, it appeared to be briefly out of balance.

Duma Songyin, who had been knocked back, finally managed to regain his footing, but judging from the stone skin that cracked on his shoulder and the echo from the pickaxe, the blow had not been pleasant.

The magma condensed and regenerated in his hands, divine power surged, but he did not step forward again.

Because his mother goddess, Belénne Truesilver, has spoken again.

She stood in the void, holding the Book of Hatred, her eyes like molten silver, staring intently at Xia Xiu opposite her. Her voice was no longer as firm as a hammer, but rather as tense as a drawn bow, suppressing the edge of an impending volcanic eruption.

"Hugh Abraham—!"

She uttered the name, almost from the depths of her throat, as if each syllable was burning.

"Do you really want to make an enemy of the entire dwarven pantheon? You should know that the price you pay for stirring up this hatred is not something you alone can bear!"

As soon as the words fell, all the dwarven fleets hovering in Abelio's orbit seemed to echo the word "enemy." Thousands of dwarven warriors shared the Mother Goddess's emotions through the sacred link. They rose one after another, drew their weapons from in front of the shrine, and prayers and anger intertwined. Hatred began to spread among the fleets, growing like wildfire.

But what responded to her was neither anger nor explanation; instead, the white figure that had been standing still finally tilted its head.

"What you're saying... makes it sound like you have no intention of being my enemy."

His tone remained steady, but the chill in it seemed to lower the temperature of the entire starry sky.

"Do you believe it or not..."

"If you dare to lay a hand on me, all the dwarves present, including you and that hot-tempered fellow—"

His gaze swept over Dumasongyin, who had been forced back and was now seething with rage in the distance.

"We'll all die here."