My arms had long since gone numb. Every swing of "Crag-Breaker," every parry—the impact sent back felt as if it would grind my bones into powder. I could smell nothing else but the scent of blood, so thick it turned sweet, making my throat itch. Some of it was the enemy's, and some… was my people’s.

  I couldn’t see into the distance; my vision was filled with writhing, hideous shadows. But I could hear. I could hear the warriors who had stepped out of the gate with me—I could hear their breathing vanishing, one by one.

  It wasn't a roar, not a war cry, but a short, muffled grunt squeezed from the depths of the throat at life's final moment. Every sound was like a small hammer, striking ruthlessly against my heart.

  The left wing was gone. I didn't need to look; the pressure surging from the flank, carrying the scent of death, was enough to tell me everything. Sarah… that child… I’m sorry.

  "Hag!"

  It was Gren. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed him commanding the remaining troops, forming a teetering circular array. His shield was riddled with claw marks and dents, yet he stood there like a mountain.

  In that instant, a flicker of warmth actually flashed through my heart. As long as Gren was there, as long as we were still fighting side by side…

  Then, I saw them. Those black bolts of lightning. Shadow Wolves. Their target was me. I was locked in a death-struggle with the Orc King, my flank wide open. I had made a fatal mistake.

  "Hag!" I heard Gren’s roar. I saw him. My dearest friend, my best brother—the fool who, thirty years ago, would get drunk and come bragging to me about his new beard-ring… Without a second of hesitation, he abandoned his defensive position. Like an out-of-control cannonball, he lunged in front of me.

  I didn't even have time to shout his name. I watched him look back across the chaos of the battlefield, forty feet away, giving me one last calm look—as if saying, "Leave it to me." Then, that damned giant axe slammed down.

  Time seemed to freeze in that moment. I watched Gren and his shield get smashed away like a tattered doll. I watched him hit the ground heavily, blood pouring from his mouth, and then… there was no more movement.

  Something within me shattered. It wasn't bone; it was something harder than bone, something that had supported me my entire life. The roars around me vanished; my world held nothing but a deathly silence and a killing intent colder and harder than the deepest mineral veins.

  The memory that followed was a blur of bloody red. I only remember pouring everything I had into "Crag-Breaker." At the same moment I crushed the enemy’s skull, the strength in my body was utterly drained.

  The battle-axe slipped from my hand, and I collapsed powerlessly onto one knee.

  …It’s over. Gren, I’m coming to join you.

  However, the other unscathed Minotaur King was treading with heavy steps toward me. Behind me, those who remained—my warriors—saw this.

  They didn't run. They made a choice that tore my soul apart—they abandoned their defense and instead used their own bodies to form a fragile, final wall of flesh in front of me.

  "Guildmaster!" a young warrior whose name I couldn't even recall shrieked back at me, his face a mask of tears and resolve. "Run! Live... for Captain Gren... and for us!"

  "We’ll hold him back! You have to go!" "FOR KHAGUREM—!"

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  They used their shoulders to block the charging shadow wolves for me; they used broken spears to hold their ground; they used their bodies of flesh and blood to push me back.

  "Guildmaster, forget about us! You have to live!"

  Their voices were like hammers striking my heart, one blow at a time.

  How could I go? I am the Guildmaster. How could I leave them behind?

  "No... stop..." I tried to stand, but my body felt as if it were filled with lead, refusing to obey.

  I could only kneel there, watching my warriors be crushed one by one by that massive battle-axe, all so I could live. Pain and helplessness, like poisonous serpents, gnawed my soul until it was riddled with holes.

  Soon, the last soldier fell. The Minotaur King let out a roar of victory, raised its axe, and walked toward me as I knelt on the ground.

  Fine... let it be. I closed my eyes, awaiting the descent of death.

  But the expected agony never arrived. Instead, from the direction of the right-wing wall, a sudden burst of blinding light erupted—intense enough to burn through the night.

  What was that...?

  I instinctively opened my eyes, looking toward the source of that light. And then, I saw... the most incomprehensible sight of my life. The sky, at some point, had been dyed crimson.

  Burning meteors, trailing long tails of flame like the wrath of a god, rained down from the torn night sky in a dense, merciless torrent!

  BOOM————!!! A series of world-shaking explosions instantly drowned out every other sound on the battlefield! The earth shook violently, and the searing airwaves even slammed into me.

  The arrogant Minotaur King, along with all the monsters around it, didn't even have time to react before they were utterly consumed by this unreasonable firestorm from the heavens.

  When the flames of the last meteor faded, there was nothing in front of me but a massive, smoking crater. I knelt there, staring blankly at the scene, my mind a complete void.

  By the Forge and Anvil... what the hell was that?

  Flames surged across the wilderness; dust rolled in the gale. But deep within that chaos, a purer light slowly rose.

  At first, I thought it was just an illusion reflected by the flames, a delusion brought on by blood and ash.

  But as I looked again, the silhouette grew clearer.

  It was the body of a dwarf.

  A rounded and heavy belly, thick shoulders, a white beard falling like a snowy waterfall, brown hair flying in the hot wind. That kind of physique—I had seen it a thousand times in the mines and taverns. It was our most ordinary form.

  Not a statue, not a phantom—it was living flesh and blood, yet it had broken free from the shackles of the earth.

  The heavy footsteps of dwarven generations, the tethering of stone and soil—all of it was washed clean by the light in this moment.

  He was uplifted by gold, like the dawning sun rising from behind the mountains, leaving the battlefield inch by inch, transcending everything we knew.

  My chest tightened, my breath grew ragged, and my tears fell, burning like molten copper. In this moment, I didn't just see him; I saw the blood and souls of all my fallen brothers being gathered by this light.

  Then, the wings unfurled.

  One pair, white feathers like first snow, brushing against the night wind; Another pair, the radiance growing stronger, so bright that no one on the walls dared look directly at it; The third pair—when they opened, the entire night sky seemed to be sliced apart. The darkness retreated, and the stars trembled.

  The moment all six wings unfurled, the earth stood still. The sound of the wind seemed to stop, the cries of battle faded, leaving only the sound of feathers brushing together, clear as a mysterious tolling bell.

  "...Six wings..." I whispered, my voice trembling so much it didn't sound like mine.

  In ancient legends, only the messengers closest to the gods possessed such symbols. And yet, they grew upon the back of a dwarf.

  And the heavens were torn open then as well. A golden halo slowly manifested, like the doorway to the celestial realm. Light surged within it like tides hitting a reef.

  Following this came countless winged and armored silhouettes. They stepped out of the light-gate, descending in ranks. Gold and white armor reflected the firelight; holy spears and swords intersected like a galaxy of stars.

  They did not shout, yet they carried the authority of thunder. I saw two higher-ranking angels, their wings far exceeding the norm, standing side by side with that child, as if guarding him from the encroachment of darkness.

  The dwarves and warriors on the wall all came to a halt. Some sobbed, some knelt in prostration, and some simply looked up, letting hot tears and ash fall together.

  And me— The iron in my heart finally trembled in this moment.

  Gren, do you see this? We haven't been abandoned.

  The blood of dwarves, the cries of dwarves—they were all answered tonight.

  I raised my head, my voice hoarse yet steady: "This child... is no ordinary dwarf."

  My chest expanded with the light; an ancient power roared within it. I did not bow my head out of weakness. I bowed because tonight, I witnessed that dwarves have not been cast aside.

  The deaths of my comrades were not in vain. Our blood has earned the response of a God.

  Hag Ironmane has always been the pillar of Khagurem's strength, but even pillars can crack under the weight of loss. In this special interlude, we see the battle through his eyes—the pain of losing his best friend, the desperation of his soldiers, and the overwhelming awe of witnessing Yggdrasil's ascension.

  If you were moved by Hag’s perspective, please follow, favorite, and leave a comment on Royal Road. The legends are true: the dwarves are seen.