"Monster!" The last dwarf’s voice cracked in terror, his war hammer slipping from his grasp as it clashed with the unyielding force of Liang’s primal sword. The dwarf turned sharply on his heels, his short legs pumping furiously in a desperate attempt to escape the inevitable.
Liang’s chuckle melded with the shadows as he observed the chaotic scramble. Casually, he unfurled the tendrils of his space-void domain, an ethereal and deadly dance of energy that weaved through the air with elegant malice. It pursued the dwarf, hungry for the conclusion of this unequal chase.
With an effortless gesture, a mere flick of his wrist, Liang commanded the very essence of space to bend to his will. An invisible maelstrom unfurled, warping and curling around the fleeing dwarf, weaving an invisible yet unyielding snare of void. The space around the dwarf shrank and stretched, leaving him ensconced within an unbreakable cocoon of vacuity, a prisoner to the relentless void.
"You...!" The dwarf’s widened eyes brimmed with defiance, yet his futile struggle mirrored that of a trapped animal. Every movement was thwarted by the suffocating grip of Liang’s void essence, rendering him powerless.
Within Frostfell, where winter reigned eternal, the Celestial integration matrix wielded little sway. Here, Liang’s void essence shone forth, granting him a decisive advantage over the dwarf, despite the latter’s sixth order realm expertise.
With deliberate steps, Liang advanced towards his ensnared prey, relishing in his imminent triumph.
"What you and your companione did was not unprecedented; plunder and bloodshed are the currency of the cultivation world," Liang remarked with a hint of amusement. "But alas, you chose the wrong adversary this time."
"Enough of your babble! In this realm, power crowns the victor as sovereign and condemns the defeated to the shadows, scorned as mere brigands. Grant me an honorable end!" the dwarf bellowed with scornful pride, yearning for death’s quick release over the sting of disgrace.
"You are naught but a minnow beneath my cleaver; your desires hold no sway here," Liang replied, his voice cold as the void that was his domain.
His blade, an extension of his ruthless will, danced through the air, a silver streak poised to deliver the final, merciful blow, or at least that what the dwarf thought.
As warm blood sprayed across his visage, he remained unperturbed, attuned only to the dwarf’s anguished cries and the dull thud of severed flesh.
"Ahhhh, you vile wretch!"
Liang’s blade descended once more, severing the dwarf’s left leg with brutal precision, the dismembered limb landing several paces away. Amidst the dwarf’s agonized screams, his eyes burned crimson with fury.
"A cur like you ought to mind his bearing. Who can tell? Fortune may yet favor you with a dawn anew,"
Struggling to endure the searing pain, the dwarf’s gaze bore into Liang’s, defiance warring with desperation.
"What... do you want?" he managed to rasp, clinging to the slimmest thread of hope amidst the abyss of despair.
Liang’s smile was tinged with predatory satisfaction as he leaned in, his gaze piercing.
"Tell me, where do your kind dwell?"
The dwarf recoiled in disbelief, a bark of laughter escaping his lips.
"You... you fiend! You seek the annihilation of our people for the transgressions of a mere handful?"
Liang’s amusement flickered, replaced by a flicker of contemplation. Was he truly driven by such petty motives?
"And yet?"
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"Do not delude yourself!" the dwarf roared, his defiance unyielding.
"Nevertheless," he persisted, "I offer you a chance to life. Where are your kin hiding?"
The dwarf’s resolve wavered, uncertainty clouding his features.
"Yes, I swear upon my sword. If you cooperate, I shall grant you freedom," Liang vowed solemnly, his hand resting upon the hilt of his voidwing sword.
With his mind in turmoil, the dwarf grappled with the weight of his decision. Should he betray his kin to safeguard his own existence?
The dwarven enclaves were shrouded in mystery, concealed from prying eyes. Even if one were to uncover their whereabouts, gaining entry proved a formidable challenge. And within their sanctuaries lay formidable line of peak experts.
"Very well," he conceded, his voice barely above a whisper.
A fleeting smile touched Liang’s lips as he brushed his hand against the dwarf’s forehead, a set of coordinates flashing within his mind’s eye. Yet, as quickly as it had come, his smile faltered, and he withdrew his hand with a heavy sigh..
"Now, let me..."
In the icy silence, a dwarf’s voice was abruptly silenced as a sword plunged into his back, piercing his heart.
"I promised you freedom," Liang’s tone was firm yet tinged with remorse," You can now choose your reincarnation path."
Despite the searing pain, the dwarf made a valiant effort to speak, his breaths shallow and labored. "You..." he gasped, his gaze piercing with accusation, before succumbing to the merciless embrace of death and collapsing onto the icy ground, his life’s essence seeping into the snow.
Liang sneered with disdain, "I hate traitors the most."
His chaos rune, emblazoned on his forehead, flickered with malevolent life. It wasn’t long before runes emerged from the bodies of the four dwarves.
As the runes emerged, they spiraled in a dance macabre, drawn inexorably towards the dominating chaos rune. They were consumed by its voracious appetite, their light and power serving to only amplify the Chaos Rune power.
The Frost Dwarves were a unique breed apart from humans. Their runic tradition diverged from the norm—their singular true rune was both their origin and destiny. It granted them their powers, each dwarf embarking on a mystical journey from the same starting point. With time and relentless perseverance, a dwarf could master the very essence of runic power, although to do so was a feat few could accomplish.
Myths were woven into the bleak, ice-laden lands of Frostfell where the dwarves made their home. The tales spoke of a transformative understanding—a moment of epiphany when a dwarf would decode the enigmatic secrets of their rune. This momentous realization could catapult them into the pinnacle of power among their kind, the revered Runic Mastery Realm.
The path to such mastery was fraught with perils and enigmatic challenges. The Frost Dwarves, number barely ten million, were like scattered, precious stones strewn across the wintry expanse of Frostfell. Yet amidst the ice and the endless night, their existences glimmered with the luminous promise of untapped potential.
Not just the dwarves, but the beings that shared the frigid domain—the graceful Frost Nymphs and the stoic Snow Golems—were also etched with their own solitary true runes. Their populations mirrored the dwarves’, each sentient being embarking on the same solitary journey of discovery and power. Afflicted with the same limitation, each race could awaken only one true rune, a singularity that dictated their futures in a land governed by the jungle law.