On a road bordering a dense forest, a black-haired youth, carrying twin blades on his back, rode swiftly atop a sleek, jet-black steed.
The pair had been traveling at full speed for an entire day without showing any signs of fatigue.
Glancing at the dimming sky and surveying the surrounding terrain, the youth patted the horse's head and said, "Black Charcoal, let's find a water source ahead and set up camp for the night."
The black horse snorted reluctantly. Black Charcoal—the name was something the youth had given it.
Although the horse utterly disliked the name, it disliked the youth's terrifying silver needles even more.
Finding a suitable campsite near a water source, the youth dismounted, rubbing his sore thighs.
He gave Black Charcoal a pat, signaling it to graze and drink freely, not the least bit worried that it would run away—not with the Beast Control Ring it wore.
Ashura stepped into the forest, intent on hunting some wild game for dinner.
After walking for quite some time, he noticed a peculiar lack of wildlife. Having spent considerable time on the road, he had already become a seasoned hunter.
Just as he was about to venture deeper into the woods, his ears twitched slightly.
In an instant, he climbed to the top of a nearby tree, drawing a short blade in his right hand while wrapping his left arm around the trunk.
Hidden within the foliage, he slowed his breathing.
Not long after, rustling sounds echoed through the dense forest. Soon, a group of black-robed figures emerged.
They wore wide-sleeved robes and deep hoods that concealed their faces. From his high vantage point, Ashura couldn't see their features.
The leading figure halted diagonally in front of Ashura's hiding spot, gazing down at the road below before speaking in a raspy voice:
"This is the path those little dwarves must take. Set up the Ghost Lock Formation here."
"Tomorrow, follow my command. Let not a single one escape."
The black-robed men behind him responded in unison, "We obey the envoy's orders!"
Immediately, they dispersed along the road, forming a circular formation spanning ten zhang.
From their agile movements, it was clear they were no ordinary men—they were skilled warriors.
Some dug pits, others carved magical runes into the ground.
Perched in the tree, Ashura had a clear view of everything.
Although he didn't recognize the formation they were setting up, he had read enough from his grandfather's miscellaneous books to understand the basics.
All formations required preparation—engraving runes, placing energy cores, and finally, activating the formation core, which was also its weakest point.
After the time it took to burn an incense stick, the leader of the black-robed men surveyed the work and nodded approvingly.
He then took eight steps to the right and nine steps back, stopping behind a large tree.
There, he planted a small black flag into the ground.
The moment the flag touched the soil, an eerie wailing sound erupted from the previously silent area, only to vanish as quickly as it came.
The black-robed leader let out a sinister cackle before waving his hand.
In an instant, the group disappeared into the dense forest.
Ashura had initially feared that these men were pursuers from the Blackwater Clan, but after observing their actions, he realized that they were after someone else.
Even so, a strong sense of danger emanated from them.
Now, he was caught in a dilemma.
He suspected that these black-robed men hadn't gone far and were still lurking nearby. If he made even the slightest movement, he risked being discovered, bringing unnecessary trouble upon himself.
His biggest concern was his foolish horse. If Black Charcoal came looking for him after noticing his prolonged absence, he would instantly be exposed!
With his current Warrior Rank 2 strength, he had no confidence in escaping.
So, he could only pray—pray that nothing went wrong.
And so, he clung to the tree all night, nerves stretched taut.
Luckily, Black Charcoal stayed put, just as he had hoped.
But the experience of staying up in a tree, paralyzed with tension, was nothing short of torturous.
More than anything, he wanted to leave this troublesome place and make his way to Saint Gobain Academy without further delay!
Yet, the surrounding forest remained eerily silent. No chirping insects, no birdsong.
Where had those black-robed men gone?
Time dragged on until midday, and Ashura—physically and mentally exhausted—began to drift into drowsiness.
Then, suddenly—
The thunderous sound of galloping hooves echoed from the distance.
Ashura snapped wide awake, his gaze sharpening as he peered into the horizon.
At the far end of the road, a caravan slowly came into view.
As the convoy drew closer, Ashura realized—it was a dwarven caravan!
There were ten heavily loaded wagons, escorted by more than twenty dwarf warriors.
Despite their short stature, the dwarves were stout and muscular, clad in leather armor, with thick beards and wielding battle-axes of identical make.
The leading dwarf carried a battle-axe nearly as tall as himself, his knotted muscles radiating immense strength.
He walked at the front, scanning the surroundings with sharp eyes, his brow furrowing slightly. But he did not halt his steps.
This was Ashura's first time seeing dwarves.
Having never ventured beyond the Kingdom of Olai, everything outside its borders felt strange and fascinating to him.
His grandfather had told him tales of dwarves—short-tempered yet honest and kind-hearted.
Dwarves were masters of smithing and had an insatiable love for alcohol.
However, they were not particularly friendly towards humans—earning a dwarf's trust was no easy feat.
Ashura quickly realized that the black-robed men's target must be these dwarven warriors.
After all, the black-robed leader had said last night: "Those little dwarves…"
Everything about those black-robed men screamed malice to Ashura.
His conscience would not allow him to watch the dwarves walk into a trap—but fear kept him from acting recklessly.
All he could do was anxiously watch, silently praying for the dwarves.
The moment the dwarven caravan fully entered the ten-zhang radius, the horses pulling the carts suddenly froze, their bodies trembling.
Sensing danger at last, the dwarven leader swiftly raised his hand, halting the convoy.
The dwarven warriors, now on high alert, gripped their battle-axes in defensive stances, their eyes scanning the surroundings with sharp vigilance.
Just then—
A raspy voice rang out:
"Hah! Finally, you damn dwarves have arrived! I've been waiting for you!"
As the voice faded, figures clad in black robes emerged from the forest, encircling the dwarven caravan.
Yet, the dwarves showed no fear.
On the contrary—their fighting spirit blazed like wildfire.
The dwarven leader stepped forward, slamming his battle-axe into the ground with a thunderous boom, his voice roaring like an earthquake:
"Who are you?! Were you the ones who attacked our village?! Are you ready to face the wrath of the dwarves?!"
His voice was so powerful that the leaves on the trees trembled and fell.
The black-robed leader scoffed, replying with contempt:
"There's no need for you to know who we are. From now on, just call me 'Master.'"
"Be good little dwarves and come with me. You're quite useful as smiths, after all."
The moment those words left his mouth—
The dwarven leader roared in fury, raising his giant battle-axe and charging straight at the black-robed men!
Dwarves were never ones for words—rage and steel were their answers.
But—
Before the dwarven leader could close the distance, scarlet chains suddenly shot up from the ground, wrapping around the dwarven warriors!
With a furious roar, the dwarven leader swung his massive axe, attempting to shatter the chains.
But these red chains were like flowing water—no matter how many he cut down, they regenerated instantly.
As the battle raged on, the dwarven warriors' movements grew sluggish, weighed down by the chains.
The black-robed leader let out a sinister laugh:
"Hahaha! Now that you're trapped in my Ghost Lock Formation, you're nothing but sheep waiting for slaughter!
"Stop resisting and accept your fate—become my blacksmith slaves!"
The dwarven warriors ignored him completely, focusing all their efforts on breaking free from the eerie crimson chains.
A flicker of irritation crossed the black-robed leader's face.
With an ominous sneer, he said:
"Since you refuse to obey… let's kill a few disobedient slaves to make an example."
With a wave of his hand, the surrounding black-robed men drew their weapons and rushed at the dwarves!
The dwarves, weighed down by the chains, struggled to fight back.
Before long, several dwarves had already been wounded—their blood staining the earth.
Yet, the dwarven leader stood undaunted—facing four black-robed men at once and still holding his ground.
Seeing this, the black-robed leader snorted coldly.
He drew a jet-black dagger from his robes—
And lunged straight for the dwarven leader!