If things had been normal, Grondal’s strike would’ve knocked Torvalt out cold in one blow. But in his weakened state, even that was something Torvalt could endure.

Clutching his head, Torvalt shouted in frustration.

“Would it kill you to use your words?! Words! You do this every day—of course I ran away! Do you even know how old I am now?!”

“You damn brat, how dare you talk back in front of me!”

Unable to control his temper, Grondal struck Torvalt again. The surrounding dwarves rushed over to restrain him.

“Please, that’s enough!”

“We’ve got outsiders watching—this is embarrassing...”

“Let’s save the beatings for when it’s just us!”

Thanks to their intervention, Grondal, breathing heavily, stepped back.

One of the dwarves turned to Ghislain’s group with an awkward grin.

“Apologies for the scene. Our prince is quite the troublemaker...”

Everyone just nodded blankly.

Sure, Grondal’s fists flying before his words was a problem, but no one seemed to be taking Torvalt’s side either. He really did seem to be treated like a delinquent here.

Ghislain, himself a former delinquent, felt a bit awkward watching the violent father-son dynamic unfold.

‘Well, getting hit like that would mess anyone up.’

He hadn’t been abused growing up. On the contrary, he’d received nothing but love from Belinda.

And yet, he’d still turned out a troublemaker. So Torvalt’s behavior wasn’t all that surprising, really.

‘I mean... dwarf parenting is notoriously rough, after all...’

Most of them were warriors or blacksmiths, so a rough temperament was practically baked in.

Of course, dwarves dressed it up with terms like “warrior’s spirit” or “noble pride” and didn’t see any reason to change.

In that kind of atmosphere, it wasn’t hard to see why someone like Torvalt would become a rebel.

Now sporting a few fresh bruises, Torvalt retreated a bit and called out,

“Anyway! Gramdir should go to him! Isn’t it our dwarven belief that treasures must be claimed by those worthy of them?!”

At that, the other dwarves all nodded in agreement.

For them, there was a single ironclad rule: No matter how great a masterpiece they crafted, they must not become attached to it. Only by letting go could they continue to improve.

If kept nearby, affection would inevitably form—so they had to gift their works freely to those who were worthy.

None of them had ever forgotten that age-old teaching.

Emboldened by their reaction, Torvalt shouted again.

“Gramdir is a weapon, after all! A strong one must wield it! Father, you don’t even use swords! That human fought with Gramdir and used it to defeat our enemies! If he’s not worthy, then who is?!”

Fully converted to Ghislain’s side, Torvalt practically spat with passion as he continued.

“And he helped us dwarves! Are you saying that treasure is too good for someone like him?! That it’s more important than the future of Vallscrum or the lives of our people?!”

Again, the dwarves nodded.

No matter how precious the treasure, it couldn’t be more important than Vallscrum itself.

If Vallscrum had fallen, all their treasures would have been either stolen or destroyed anyway.

Grondal glared at Torvalt with a grumpy expression.

‘He’s not wrong...’

He agreed with the sentiment.

He’d just gotten heated and acted on instinct, trying to snatch Gramdir back first.

And maybe—while he was at it—test out that Astion guy in a fight too.

But no matter how right the words, who said them still made a difference.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve lecturing me, you little thief!”

Thwack!

“Gah!”

Torvalt yelped as he covered his face from the sudden blow. Grondal’s fists began raining down ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) again.

“You pathetic brat. You think I’d be moved by some thief telling me what to do?!”

If any of the other dwarves had said it, Grondal might’ve cooled down and agreed.

After all, the Julien Mercenary Corps were treasured guests and benefactors of Vallscrum. Giving them a few treasures wasn’t a big deal.

But hearing a lecture from his own good-for-nothing, disobedient son? That was unbearable.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

As Grondal’s punches flew, Torvalt scrambled backward and screamed like he was having a seizure.

“Ugh, would you please stop?! Is punching the only way you know how to communicate?!”

“Oh? Trying to run? Get back here!”

“This—this is exactly why I don’t want to live here anymore!”

“Because you keep causing trouble! You need more beatings, not fewer!”

Torvalt hated being here with his hot-tempered father. No—more accurately, living among dwarves just didn’t suit him.

Sure, he liked crafting like a proper dwarf. But he could never adjust to their rough, rigid social atmosphere.

So he’d left. His plan was to make money in a trade city and then move elsewhere.

Stealing Gramdir had just been a way to piss Grondal off.

Grondal, held back by the other dwarves, pounded on his chest in frustration.

“Damn it! How did I end up with such a pathetic son?!”

He knew he had a foul temper. But still, he thought his son was too soft.

That’s why he’d been even harsher. But the more he did, the more rebellious and troublesome the boy became—it was maddening.

Ghislain and the Julien Mercenary Corps awkwardly watched the scene unfold. It wasn’t their place to step into a family matter.

Instead, Ghislain kept glancing back and forth between Grondal and Torvalt, trying to jog his memory.

‘The dwarf king from the dream...’

They both had beards and similar features, so it was hard to tell. And in the dream, the figure had been far away and a little blurry.

After a moment of deliberation, Ghislain shook his head.

‘Torvalt’s not it.’

Unlike Ereneth, he had neither the talent nor the interest in combat. There was no way someone like that could’ve made such an impact in the Great War.

In fact, the dwarf king from the dream had wielded a massive halberd—the same kind Grondal used now.

‘Hmph... so maybe Grondal wasn’t destined to die here after all?’

Maybe even without Ghislain’s intervention, Grondal would’ve survived.

And perhaps he would’ve led the remaining dwarves into the Great War.

It wasn’t an impossible thought. If Rahmod had fully destroyed the Elven Forest, then both prophets wouldn’t have come here.

In other words, perhaps only Iralniel had died in the original timeline.

So what was Torvalt’s role in that past?

‘Was he really just a thief?’

Honestly, that was the only thing that came to mind.

Still, being Grondal’s son, maybe he had been entrusted with something important. After all, stealing Gramdir like that wasn’t a feat just anyone could pull off.

Now, Grondal and Torvalt were glaring at each other, both fuming.

Ghislain fell into brief thought.

For some reason, he kept feeling drawn to Torvalt. So he spoke honestly.

“Want to come with us?”

“...?”

Torvalt stared at Ghislain, stunned. The others were just as surprised.

Shrugging his shoulders, Ghislain continued.

“You don’t really seem to fit in here, and everyone just looks down on you. I’m saying, why not come along with us for a bit? Traveling the world has a lot to offer—you’d gain more than you’d expect. So? What do you think?”

When Ghislain turned to Grondal with the question, Grondal nodded enthusiastically and shouted,

“Good! Take that brat with you! I’ll give you whatever you want—just haul him around and knock some sense into him!”

He knew that Ereneth had joined the Julien Mercenary Corps with Iralniel’s permission.

Iralniel was an exceptionally wise elf—on a whole different level than Grondal when it came to wisdom.

If someone like Iralniel had approved, then the Julien Mercenary Corps had to be trustworthy.

In fact, Grondal himself held the Julien Mercenary Corps in very high regard. Their strength was one thing, but their character was equally commendable.

If Torvalt joined up with people like that, maybe he’d finally get his act together.

‘The outside world is dangerous... but I can’t let him keep living so pathetically.’

Grondal’s treatment of his son had been rough, yes—but it came from love. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have gotten angry.

For the sake of his beloved son, Grondal was now willing to risk sending him out into the world to stand on his own.

Because he was reaching the limit of what he could teach him alone.

The other dwarves assumed Torvalt would accept the offer without hesitation. He’d always hated being in Vallscrum.

Especially Ereneth—she could understand Torvalt, if only a little. After all, she too had hated being confined to the Elven Forest.

“......”

Torvalt looked around in silence.

Vallscrum had always been a place he longed to leave.

This time, he’d made up his mind to leave for good. He’d even gone so far as to steal Gramdir.

But after seeing the Julien Mercenary Corps fight... something inside him shifted.

‘I want to go with them.’

He’d watched the battle in secret, and that thought had welled up from the bottom of his heart.

He wanted to go on an adventure with them. The desire burned so intensely that his chest pounded.

And he’d felt something else—something strange.

‘I feel like... that’s where I belong.’

Torvalt had felt it—without a doubt.

It wasn’t just a longing to join them. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

It was an inexplicable pull. A certainty that he was meant to be one of them.

It wasn’t just a hunch—it was something more powerful, like fate or a calling.

And Ghislain’s invitation had confirmed that what he felt was real.

But...

Torvalt shook his head.

“No. I’m staying here.”

This time, it was Grondal and the other dwarves who looked shocked.

Torvalt was the one who’d always gone on about leaving Vallscrum. He’d run away multiple times.

So they’d assumed he’d leap at the opportunity.

Instead, he’d rejected it.

With a serious expression, Torvalt looked straight at Grondal.

“Father.”

“...What?”

“I want to become strong. Like you.”

“...!!!”

Grondal stared at him in disbelief.

This was the same son who always ran away from anything to do with being a warrior. No matter how much he beat him, he’d never listened.

And now that same son was saying that?

Grondal stammered.

“W-what are you saying?”

“Exactly what I said. I want to become the strongest dwarf—just like you.”

Torvalt hadn’t just watched the Julien Mercenary Corps fight.

He’d also seen, for the first time, how powerful and incredible his father truly was.

He’d always heard people call Grondal the strongest dwarf—but it was just talk. He’d never seen him in action.

The only things he remembered from childhood were him drinking too much, being lazy, and throwing punches around.

But to protect the dwarves, Grondal had fought with his life on the line.

That wasn’t just admirable—it was worthy of being called Vallscrum’s guardian.

Even against the mighty prophets, he didn’t back down. In fact, one-on-one, he was arguably stronger than them.

He’d never imagined that his drunk, abusive father could look so damn cool.

Watching that fight, Torvalt found a new dream.

‘I want to be strong. Like my father.’

He didn’t want to drift aimlessly anymore.

He wanted to commit to a goal and accomplish something real.

To be the guardian of Vallscrum.

That had become his new dream.

And the one who could lead him there was closer than anyone—his father.

Grondal, barely able to believe what he was hearing, stammered out,

“Y-you really mean it? You want to become a warrior now?”

“Yes. I’ve realized how much time I’ve wasted. I’m not going to run away anymore.”

Torvalt had always hated fighting. He’d feared the life of a rough warrior and tried to avoid it at all costs.

He had a strong artistic nature—he liked imagining and crafting things.

All dwarves had a bit of that in them. But due to his lineage, Torvalt was expected to focus more on the path of a warrior.

He’d always avoided it because he hated it—but now he understood that some things in life had to be done, even if they weren’t easy.

Just like his father Grondal, who risked his life fighting to protect others.

Watching Torvalt speak with such conviction, Ghislain let out a quiet murmur of admiration.

‘He’s changed.’

The air around him had shifted.

He now carried the heavy sense of resolve that only came from someone who’d cast off their doubts.

And in that moment, Ghislain felt something strange.

‘Huh?’

He glanced around instinctively.

It wasn’t just Torvalt’s transformation he’d sensed. It was something more fundamental—something deeper that had changed.

But he couldn’t quite explain what.

Grondal beamed, grabbing Torvalt’s shoulders.

“Well said! That’s the spirit! You’ve finally come to your senses! That’s how you carry your responsibility!”

True to his bold and straightforward nature, Grondal completely forgot about scolding Torvalt just moments ago and burst out laughing.

The mere fact that his troublesome son had changed his heart filled him with joy.

The other dwarves smiled warmly too. Unlike humans, they didn’t question his sincerity or say they’d “wait and see.”

To them, the mere fact that he’d made up his mind was enough to trust him.

The once-tense atmosphere instantly lightened.

Torvalt turned to Ghislain with a smile.

“Thanks for the offer. I really do want to go with the Julien Mercenary Corps... but I can’t run from what I need to do.”

“No, it’s a good decision. Everyone goes through a wandering phase. What matters is that you’ve found your path now.”

The two of them smiled and shook hands.

Torvalt felt a bit of regret—but he truly believed he’d made the right choice.

This was his path—his fate. He had finally found his true direction.

He was sure of it—

Thump.

A snap echoed inside Torvalt’s mind.

‘This feeling...’

The certainty he’d felt just moments ago when looking at the Julien Mercenary Corps...

...was slowly beginning to fade.