Extraordinary Pedigree.

Chapter 1123 [The Fifth Perfect Embryo: Vulcan] 8K+
Seventeen outer interfaces, seven hills of paradise, Paradise Mountain.

The sacred mountain of heaven rises from the center of the holy ocean, like a spine of light piercing the sky. Seven steps spiral upwards, each reflecting a different level of goodness and order.

Boundless holy water surrounds the foot of the mountain. The surface of the water is calm, yet it contains the power to purify the soul. There is no salt here, yet it nurtures life, from tiny schools of silver-scaled fish to giant holy sea creatures that slowly swim in the deep sea and whose bodies obscure the starlight.

Meanwhile, the summoned holy machine Cherubir was quietly approaching the outermost layer of Paradise Mountain—Lunia (the moon).

The first level of Paradise Mountain, which is also the lowest level, is called the Moon Realm.

The sky here is always shrouded in near-night darkness, yet it is not gloomy. Countless silver stars hang in the sky, and soft, steady light shines down, illuminating the rolling silver coastline clearly.

Starlight reflected on the holy water, making the entire bay seem to be immersed in a silvery luster like wine, flowing slowly, gentle and profound.

Lunya is the gateway to Paradise Mountain.

Portals from the material world, outer planes, and even many other realms opened at the edge of the Silver Sea. The coastline is dotted with castles and fortresses built of pure white stone, each with its own unique style, yet all adhering to Lunya's order and scale.

Trade is not excluded here. The sea elves' fleets anchor near the shore, exchanging goods and information with visitors from all realms. Order is maintained in its flow, but not in the freezing of all changes.

Markhvik Fortress stands quietly on this silvery coastline.

It was a castle that was not particularly grand, but exceptionally sturdy. The stone walls were bathed in the glow of holy water, yet still bore traces of ancient magic.

The castle's master, the wizard Malkhvik, once walked the edge of chaos and evil, and was only allowed to establish himself in Lunia by praying to the demigods and offering rare sincerity to the Avora gods.

When talking about the Void Gods, one name cannot be ignored—the Seven Fierce Clans of the Celestial Realm.

The Seven Hills Paradise is the true supreme ruling center, the Seven Fierce Council, composed of seven deities. They are not a loose alliance, but rather a structure of near-absolute order, firmly anchored on the seven holy steps of Paradise Mountain, forming a perfect correspondence system known as the "Seven-Level Council - Seven-Level Holy Steps".

The Seven Lords directly govern the Void Gods and dominate all strategic decisions of the Lawful Good faction. Whether it is the holy war against Hell, the siege of the Abyss, or the game and cooperation with outer planes such as the Mechanical Realm and Twin Heavens, the final decision-makers always come from these seven seats.

The core and undisputed leader of the Seven Martyrs Society is Zafkiel.

He was one of the founding members of the Seven Martyrs Society and the oldest symbol of order.

Zafkiel corresponds to the seventh holy tier of Mount Paradise—"Radiant Heaven"—and is regarded as the embodiment of holy light and order.

Under Zafkiel, the six councilors each have their own duties, yet they work together seamlessly, like a vast celestial machine called Order of Goodness.

The other members of the Seven Ranks were at different levels;

Bahamut the Younger is a councilor of the second level, "Mochria Golden Heaven." As one of the incarnations of the benevolent dragon god, he is both the highest representative of the dragon race among the Aetherial Gods and the embodiment of the balance between benevolence and power.

Legend has it that he is not a complete deity, but rather a fragment of the ancient dragon god Bahamut. However, this does not prevent him from leading the Holy Light Dragon Riders to fight against the evil dragon legion and protect the dragon realm.

The seats on the third level, "Via Pearl Heaven," are occupied by Yudala and other halfling deities, who call this place the Green Fields.

The councilor of the fourth layer, "Solania Silver Paradise"; Moradin, the god of forging, with great divine power—the same dwarven pantheon who gave Xia Xiu a separate page in the Book of Hatred.

The fifth level, "Moxin Platinum Heaven," is guarded by Milier. The light here is even more dazzling than in Solania, and undead creatures will be continuously burned within it.

Numerous fortresses stand on the vast plateau, where the Avian gods, who were holy warriors in their previous lives, reside.

The Heavenly City, also known as the City of Requiem, stands here, renowned for its healing fountains and healing springs that can heal wounds that are almost irreparable in the mortal world.

The seat of the sixth level, "Yova Platinum Heaven," belongs to Tyr; a powerful god, as the god of justice and judge of order, he is responsible for suppressing any extreme tendencies that may arise within the lawful camp, judging evil supplicants, and is also one of the important pillars of Heaven Mountain in its fight against Hell.

This is also where the holy city of Yeshera is located, and the holy city can be seen from every corner of Yova and from advantageous positions on the lower levels.

The city is a seven-story pyramid-shaped temple. Each of the four trapezoidal slopes connects to a massive staircase.

The Yakong gods, the masters of this place, come and go on the stairs, but the building is so enormous that every step they take is not crowded.

As for the first level, "Lunia Moon Realm," it belongs to the councilor, Karamor.

What sustains the Seven Fierce Alliance's will is the Sub-Void God Clan, which they command.

The Void Gods are not a single form of existence, but a divine race with strict hierarchies and a deep bond between form and class.

The lowest-ranking Holy Light Messenger is shaped like a pure sphere of light and is responsible for transmitting commands and maintaining the structure of the Holy Domain.

The Mastiff-Headed Divine Messenger has the form of a human body with a mastiff's head, and often serves as a guardian of order and an enforcer of the sacred domain;
The trumpeter, a divine messenger with six wings on his back, is responsible for communication, announcements, and battlefield command.

Further up, the Celestial Envoy possesses golden skin and pure white holy wings, making him the most imposing combat individual among the Void Gods.
The true core, however, is the Void God Envoy himself—an existence composed almost entirely of holy light, directly bearing the will of the Seven Fierce Societies.

Heaven Mountain is widely recognized as the most difficult to conquer among the seventeen outer planes, and also the least suitable for a direct confrontation.

The seven holy hills echo each other, and the military strength and belief system of the Void Gods are intertwined. Each layer of Heaven is not only a logistics support and a defense line, but also an extension of the belief itself. Once a full-scale conflict breaks out, the invaders will not be facing a single god, but the collective response of the entire Lawful Good faction.

Even Xia Xiu never underestimated this place.

If he really wanted to declare war on Paradise Mountain, at the very least, he would need to personally go there, and then use the "One Thought Transforms into Three" technique to simultaneously put the three [God-Given Colossi] into full combat stance, in order to barely bring the battle to a level where they could fight on equal terms.

Note that it was a close call, not a sure thing.

Behind each of the Seven Celestial Assemblies lies a pantheon spanning multiple planes and continuing through countless eras. They are not like the mechanical realm, a logically unified and centrally centralized civilization, nor are they like the Gray Wilderness, which is fragmented. Instead, they are a war system bound by ideals and fueled by faith.

There are almost no breakthroughs in fighting alone; any direct advance will be quickly amplified into a faction-level holy war.

These guys are really not easy to bully.

It was precisely in this very place that Xia Xiu sensed the aura of the fifth perfect embryo.

Moreover, his location was exceptionally delicate; he was in the fourth level of Heaven, the Silver Heaven.

That was the territory of the dwarven pantheon, the core area of ​​Moradin's forge and mountain rule.

Even more coincidentally, not long ago, he had just conquered the paradise, and his own son, the first to return, casually killed an important offspring of the dwarven pantheon on the spot.

The dwarven pantheon has already created a separate page for his hatred record, with his name clearly written down and the reasons unambiguous. He belongs to the level of "even if ten thousand years later, we will dig up old grievances to find you."

"Moradin...we really are destined to meet."

Xia Xiu muttered to himself.

Instead of sending the summoned holy machine directly into the airspace of Solania, he chose a secluded area on the edge of the Silver Sea where Lunia and Solania meet, an area almost devoid of holy light and conveniently concealed by tides and starlight, and had the machine slowly come to a stop.

Subsequently, the great spirituality unfolded silently—[the presence-weakening element] was elevated to the level of miracle.

After completing all this, Xia Xiu did not rush to take action.

He changed his form again.

The mimic unfolds, the great spirituality recedes, and his existence is broken down into extremely fine particle-level structures, which are then pieced together into a hazy yet stable humanoid outline—not dazzling, not sacred, and not even powerful.

The next instant, he was freed from the summoned holy weapon.

The particle-like figure swept across the silver sea without leaving any ripples or attracting even a sliver of holy light, silently flying towards the silver-gold mountains of Solania.

……

……

Solania, the Silver-Golden Paradise.

When Xia Xiu stepped into this level in the form of a mimic, the first thing he saw was not grandeur or majesty, but a kind of almost calm purity.

The sky shone with a blend of bright silver and pale gold, like a metal dome forged countless times, hanging silently above the mountains. There was no blazing sun, nor any shadows, only a uniform and restrained glow that illuminated the entire world in every detail.

Between the valleys, a thin mist hangs like gauze, and the air is filled with the crisp scent that remains after minerals have been repeatedly quenched by high temperatures. It is a scent that is a mixture of glacial chill and the residual warmth of a furnace, making people subconsciously straighten their backs.

On the distant hillside, massive glaciers covered the rock layers like silver armor, and beneath the ice, the luster of mineral veins could be faintly seen—mithril, star iron, holy copper, and some rare minerals whose names were even engraved in the deepest part of the dwarven ancient books. They were not uncommon here, but simply lay quietly dormant, waiting for the right blacksmith to awaken them.

At the summit of Solania, monasteries, churches, and forging sites are layered upon each other, as if faith itself has been sculpted into the form of stone and metal.

Pilgrims from all dimensions seek not just prayer here, but the essence of creation, patience, and perfecting something—here, faith is not sworn, but forged hammer blow by hammer blow.

Among these sacred sites, the most secluded and the most secure is Ilequino.

This colossal dwarven mansion is deeply embedded within the mountains of Solania, making it almost impossible for outsiders to see its entirety. The only visible features are the runestone gates that extend like the spine of the mountain range and the massive gear-like structures embedded in the rock strata.

Elekino is only open to dwarves and dwarf kibbers; outsiders are blocked from even approaching without special permission.

Those outsiders who have had the privilege of entering Eligino often become unusually silent after leaving—not out of fear, but because they have witnessed firsthand a stonework and forging technique that far surpasses ordinary comprehension.
When Moradin ignites the Soul Furnace deep within Paradise Mountain, the entire city of Ilequino trembles, a deep, rhythmic roar echoing between the stone walls.

Dwarven priests believe that the Soul Forge not only forges weapons, but also forges their souls—burning away impurities, shattering fragility, and leaving only the resilient ones.

For this reason, this level is known as the sanctuary of the blacksmiths.

If you have excellent blacksmithing and forging skills, you will earn the respect of others even if you are not a dwarf.

Vulcan is the best example.

He was not a dwarf; he was a human being.

Even among the most stubborn and traditional dwarven elders of Eliginor, very few would deny his Vulcan blacksmithing skills.

There is a story about the origin of Vulcan that is almost considered a parable in Elekino.

Long ago, a landing pod from another world crashed in the Lava Ring Mountains on the outskirts of Solania—a forbidden zone composed of active volcanoes and lava flows, with ring-shaped fiery rifts spewing scorching red lava year-round, known to the dwarves as "the wound in the heart of the mountain." The landing pod was mostly swallowed by the lava flow during its descent, but upon impact with the ground, it created a natural fire crater.

While the wildfire was still raging, the infant lay in the center of the fire pit, enveloped by the churning lava steam, neither crying nor fussing, and even letting out muffled but cheerful laughter.

The following morning, when Master Blacksmith Nibe and his apprentice came to explore the fire vein deposits, they discovered this impossible child. The apprentice immediately wanted to abandon the baby—no matter how abundant Solania's resources were, they couldn't afford unnecessary consumption, especially since this was a human of unknown origin.

But Nibeh stopped him.

Because in the baby's outstretched palm, Nibe saw naturally occurring flame patterns, not branding marks, but rather like innate symbols.

At that moment, Nibe recalled the ancient prophecy passed down through generations of the tribe: "When the Son of Fire descends, the mountains will resound anew."

Without further hesitation, Nibe took the baby back to his blacksmith shop.

The furnace in that forge maintained a high temperature year-round, high enough to melt star iron. Mortals would get burned if they got close for even a moment, but the baby slept peacefully beside the furnace, as if that were his true cradle.

Later, people named the child Vulcan.

He grew up amidst fire and iron.

At the age of three, Vulcan was already able to stand beside a furnace taller than himself and pull the heavy bellows with his still-childish little hands.

The wind pressure that would normally require two adult dwarves to take turns maintaining was surprisingly compliant in his hands. The flames rose, fell, contracted, and surged with his rhythm, and the temperature was controlled within an almost demanding range, neither burning the ore nor leaving any impurities.

Who could have imagined that just three years later, the little kid they picked up would grow into a muscular giant taller than the roof of a dwarf's house, and would have learned all sorts of basic knowledge about metallurgy and forging from his adoptive father, and would begin to invent all sorts of new smelting techniques.

At the age of five, Vulcan used broken fire rocks that fell from the edge of the Molten Ring Mountains to forge his first small hammer.

The hammer wasn't particularly refined in appearance; the hammerhead even had some rough edges that weren't fully polished. But when he struck it down, the hard iron ore shattered with a clean, crisp break, without any hesitation.

By the time he was ten, Nibe had rarely demonstrated anything.

Vulcan not only fully mastered the forging techniques that Nibe had accumulated throughout his life, but also readjusted the ventilation structure of the outer furnace group of Eligino, making the fire vein guidance more stable, and increasing the purity of the volcanic steel by nearly 30%.

On that day, several dwarven elders who had previously looked down on human apprentices remained silent for a long time before the furnace for the first time.

But Nibe taught Vulcan more than just technique.

"A hammer isn't just for making weapons."

"The power that can crush the enemy should also be used to protect those who cannot strike the hammer."

Whenever Vulcan crafted a truly excellent artifact, Nibe would have him personally deliver it to the weakest family in the settlement—the dwarf family who had lost their labor and were powerless to defend themselves against the beasts of the cave.

Vulcan learned to bow his head when receiving thanks and to remain silent when being embraced, which made his character gentle, yet never weak.

This kind of personality is not common in Solania.

When he was fourteen, the power struggle at the Crucible broke out.

This is a cruel tradition within Solania that is tacitly accepted by the Moradins—when multiple dwarven clans have irreconcilable differences over the dominion over the same fire vein and the same Soul Forge, they are allowed to resolve their conflicts through a sworn war.

War must follow ancient laws, not involve foreign tribes, and not desecrate the core of the furnace, but—blood can be shed.

The Iron Furnace settlement was one of the focal points of the power struggle.

That day, Nibe was forging his first real weapon for Vulcan—a two-handed blacksmith's hammer. The hammerhead was forged from volcanic steel from the deepest part of the fire vein, the handle was nearly 1.5 meters long, and its weight was enough to make it difficult for an ordinary dwarf to swing.

Just as the forging was about to be completed, another clan's covenant chapter crossed the border.

They were clad in heavy black iron armor, runes dancing across its surface, their weapons gleaming with a consecrated, cold light—this was not banditry, but legitimate, divinely watched slaughter. The Ironforge settlement instantly descended into chaos.

Nibe shoved Vulcan into the cellar, slammed the stone door shut, and grabbed only a stubby iron sword to face the dwarven warriors who were charging into the furnace area.

The next moment, the heavy warhammer fell, piercing Nibe's chest. Blood splattered onto the still-warm anvil, making a piercing sound.

Vulcan witnessed this scene through a crack in the cellar.

In that instant, something dormant within him was ignited.

He burst from the cellar, hoisting the still-warm blacksmith's hammer, flames hissing at its tip. His roar echoed through the furnace hall, carrying an almost primal pressure that momentarily halted the charging battle.

His first enemy mocked him, saying he was just a boy without a beard.

The next moment, the hammer swept out horizontally.

The battle axe shattered, armor collapsed, and the sound of bones breaking was clearly audible in the firelight. Vulcan did not stop; he charged through the battle like a blazing furnace.

The chains tried to entangle his legs, but he stomped down, snapping the chains in two.

The shield formation attempted to encircle them, but he launched a frontal attack, sending the shields and their wielders flying.
A clan warrior attempted a flank attack, but Vulcan hurled his hammer with a backhand, the hammerhead striking precisely and shattering the warrior's helmet.

In this war, Vulcan displayed terrifying physical prowess.

That night's war ended in a near-barbaric manner.

When the last Oathbound Chapter warrior was smashed into the wreckage of the Forge by Vulcan's hammer, the Forge area no longer resembled a forging sanctuary, but rather a battlefield repeatedly ravaged by the elements. Broken heavy armor, shattered runic weapons, molten iron still warm, and blood mingled together, filling the air with the scorching heat and the mingled smells of metal and death.

The Oath Party scattered and fled.

The surviving dwarves later privately tallied that more than a hundred dwarven warriors actually died that night under the Vulcan hammer—and that was only the number from the frontal battles, not including those who were buried alive in the shockwaves and collapses.

Vulcan knelt on the cracked ground, holding Nibe in his arms.

The firelight from the furnace illuminated the adoptive father's aged yet serene face. His life was slowly slipping away, his breath so faint that it almost blended into the surrounding heat.

Nibe laboriously raised his hand, his rough palm gently landing on Vulcan's head, as if to pass something to him one last time.

“Vulcan…”

His voice was intermittent, yet exceptionally clear.

"Run...you have to run fast..."

Vulcan was stunned.

Nibe's gaze passed over him, looking at the eternally bright silver sky above Solania, and for the first time, fear appeared in his eyes—not fear of death.

“Moradin…He has noticed you…”

Nibeh wanted to say much more than that.

He wanted to tell Vulcan that this sudden Oath War was not just a clan conflict; he wanted to tell him why those clans that had no grudge against the Ironforge settlement had suddenly joined forces to attack; he wanted to tell him why the Judges had not appeared, and why the Soul Forge had not issued any warnings.

But he no longer had time.

As a dwarven blacksmith, he knew all too well what this meant—when a being not entirely controlled by the pantheon displays power sufficient to shake the established order, the gaze of the chief gods will fall upon it.

The furnace was still burning as Nibe died in Vulcan's arms.

Flames were churning in Vulcan's eyes, but he did not lose control.

From that moment on, he truly realized for the first time that the cruelty of Solania did not come from enemies, but from the order itself.

He began to replay in his mind everything that had happened during this time—the sudden outbreak of the Oath War, the deliberate targeting of the Ironforge settlement by other clans, the silence of the Inquisitors, and the feeling of being pushed toward destruction by an invisible hand.

Vulcan finally understood.

This is not a coincidence; it is the way the world operates, as Moradin believed.

After his adoptive father's death, Vulcan inherited Nibe's blacksmith shop and his ideals. Instead of continuing to be involved in the Oath Wars, he began to leave the core of Elekino and wander among the various dwarven settlements of Solania.

He carried weapons and tools, along with the skills and beliefs left behind by Nibe, and proposed the same idea to every settlement—to end the Oath Wars, change the cruel customs tacitly approved by the gods, share forging techniques, and replace internal strife with unity.

He was not met with applause.

In Solania at that time, the various dwarven clans had long since become suspicious of each other through their protracted power struggles and forging competition. The right to use the mines, furnaces, and soul furnaces was all won with blood, and no one was willing to relinquish it easily.

Karon, the leader of the western Obsidian clan, was one of the most radical among them.

In the clan council, Kalon publicly mocked Vulcan as just "a kid who survived by sheer luck," and declared that if the Ironforge faction continued to advocate for unity, the Obsidian Clan would not hesitate to eliminate this destabilizing factor themselves.

Faced with the threat, Vulcan did not choose war.

He proposed a forging competition.

"We each forge a shield."

"Determine the right to speak through real tests, not through corpses."

Kalon readily agreed, having absolute confidence in the skills of the Obsidian Clan.

On the day of the competition, leaders of several clans in Solania were present to watch.

Charon chose the hardest obsidian, supplemented with rare metals and defensive runes, to create a heavy and magnificent shield; while Vulcan only chose the most ordinary volcanic steel, added heat-resistant fibers he discovered during the forging process, and designed a multi-layered cushioning structure inside the shield.

The first test was with magma.

When the shields were simultaneously immersed in the molten liquid, they were taken out an hour later. Kalon's obsidian shield had developed fine cracks, while Vulcan's shield was intact, its surface reflecting a crimson light.

The second round is actual combat with weapons.

Sharp battle axes and longswords fell, leaving deep gashes on Charon's shield, while Vulcan's shield rendered all attacks useless.

At that moment, the dwarves watching fell silent.

Kalon finally bowed his head, and what followed was a growing number of clans making their own choices.

In the heart of Solania, inside a dormant volcano, Vulcan established a new forging hub—the Holy City of Flames.

He gathered the best blacksmiths from various clans here, established a blacksmith council, and formulated unified skill standards and defense systems, attempting to reshape the future of the dwarves in a different way.

High above in the silvery sky, Moradin's gaze silently observed all of this.

From the perspective of the supreme god, Vulcan's actions were not rebellious, nor even dangerous. The young Vulcan was unaware that what he was doing was merely a phased change that was permitted to occur.

With the help of God, a new technological revolution was driven: more efficient furnace structures, more rational material ratios, and more sophisticated defense designs.

These achievements have been recorded and absorbed by the true core of the dwarven pantheon.

When sharing came to an end, when Vulcan generously revealed everything he possessed without reservation, when he was no longer a tool but began to try to define direction, the will of the heavens finally responded.

Divine punishment descended without any warning.

The sky seemed to droop in an instant, the silver light was tinged with a blinding dark yellow, and the smell of sulfur filled the earth like a tearing wound in the lungs.

The next moment, a torrent of hot, viscous sulfur rain poured down, the entire sky was burning and melting, the flames carrying a corrosive divine power that covered everything in the Holy City of Flames.

The stone arch collapsed, the rails melted, and the still-warm castings twisted into bizarre shapes in the high temperature.

Vulcan stood on the central forging platform, not trying to escape.

He looked up and saw that most of the dwarves who had once followed him were looking at him with sorrow and guilt.

...In fact, they know everything.

The only person who stood up for him was Caron.

The once proudest and most stubborn leader of the Obsidian Clan dropped his weapon and frantically kowtowed on the scorching ground, pleading with the heavens in a hoarse voice for Moradin to rescind his punishment and spare Vulcan…

His response was utter contempt.

A purer divine fire descended from the sky and engulfed Kalon.

The flames weren't violent, but cold and precise, like executing a pre-written judgment. Kalon's figure twisted in the fire, yet he still reached out towards Vulcan, as if trying to grasp something, but in the end, only a burning silhouette remained.

Vulcan saw all of this.

In a world of sulfur, flames, and collapse, he felt his body being torn apart and burned, and his consciousness being pushed to the edge of its limit.

That was the first time he understood the meaning of the word "divine punishment" so clearly—not punishing mistakes, but erasing the superfluous.

And so, Vulcan died.

This was his first death.

But the flames did not completely take him away.

In the final moments before his consciousness sank into darkness, he heard another voice, not from the heavens, but from the depths of the flames, from the very core of his blood and soul. His body crumbled in the flames, only to be reassembled in an even deeper heat, as something older and stronger than the dwarf's body was being awakened.

As the flames subsided, Vulcan opened his eyes amidst the ruins.

He was reborn in the flames, awakened his own sovereign avatar, and for the first time truly understood the talent hidden in his life—the Undying.

The name of the Undead Vulcan quickly became a whispered but unspoken shadow in the Silver Paradise of Solania.

He didn't get a moment's respite after crawling out of the flames for the first time.

Beneath the silver sky, Moradin's will, like the constantly running bellows of a furnace, repeatedly fueled the flames of his pursuit.

The temple bells echoed through the mountain ridges, the monastery runes were lit, and the vows were renewed on the anvil.

Vulcan began to roam.

He no longer lingered in any settlement, nor did he keep the furnace burning. He only appeared briefly when the night was deepest and the silver light was weakest. He hid in abandoned mine tunnels, lurked at the bottom of collapsed old furnaces, and even concealed himself above the still slowly flowing lava dome—a forbidden zone that ordinary dwarves would never dare to set foot in, yet which became his safest refuge.

The landscape of Solania was rediscovered beneath his feet: the heat veins hidden beneath the silver glaciers, the cavities beneath the branches of the sacred river, and the ancient workshops sealed by divine magic yet not completely collapsed. Like a piece of steel repeatedly forged but refusing to take shape, he wandered endlessly in this layer of paradise, trying to find a crack unseen by the divine eyes.

But Moradin's pursuit never stopped.

The hunters forged by the gods came following the unusual fluctuations of the flames, while the dwarven Oath Army, draped in holy symbols, advanced along the mine. The Judgment weapons forged in the Soul Forge were specifically designed to target blasphemous attributes such as "regeneration," "reignition," and "immortality."

Vulcan fought again and again, and fell again and again.

Once, he was pierced through the heart by a divine spear in a glacial rift, his body was frozen and shattered, and his consciousness dissipated in the extreme cold; another time, he was suppressed by dozens of Oath Warriors at the source of the Holy River, his soul was nailed into a sealing array, and his body was thrown into a purification furnace; yet another time, he didn't even have time to resist, just as he stood up from the flames of rebirth, he was crushed into charred remains by the divine pressure that descended from the sky.

Every death is a complete and merciless erasure.

But each time, before the flames have cooled and before the lingering heat of divine punishment still echoes in the air, Vulcan returns once more.

Sometimes his flesh and blood would re-form deep within the lava, sometimes he would open his eyes in ashes that were thought to have been "purified," and sometimes his figure would slowly rise from the distorted heat after the hunter had turned and left.

The process of rebirth was more painful than the last. The flames were no longer just a warm bed, but more like a trial of his will. Yet his eyes grew calmer and calmer, as if death itself could no longer give him any new fear.

On the silvery land of the fourth heaven, Vulcan left countless unseen traces;

The furnace fire was rekindled and then quickly extinguished; the defensive structure was modified but not completed in time; the scattered refugees rescued during the escape; and the craftsmen abandoned by the pantheon.

He never stayed long, but he always left something behind—a tool to keep out the cold night, a temporary shelter...

He was killed many times.

So much so that even his Oathbrooks began whispering amongst themselves, wondering if they were on a mission that would never end.

Vulcan himself gradually realized that as long as he remained in Solania, as long as he was still within Moradin's sight, death would only come again and again.

He is immortal, but not invincible; he can be reborn, but he cannot change God's patience.

So, as he rose from the flames once more, Vulcan looked up at the higher heavens and at the ancient mountain path that led to even more distant realms.

What doesn't kill him will only make him stronger.

In his struggle against Moradin, Vulcan will advance relentlessly, like Sisyphus.

(End of this chapter)