Once the Battle Bro Contract was established, an NPC could no longer terminate it of their own will, binding them permanently to their master.
“Orgod, aren’t we brothers?”
Veijander’s voice was laced with fury as he clenched his war axe tightly, glaring at Orson with unrestrained hostility.
[Your favorability with Grey Dwarves Veijander has decreased!]
[Your favorability with Grey Dwarves Veijander has decreased!]
[Warning! Grey Dwarves Veijander may attempt to break the Battle Bro Contract!]
The system notifications chimed continuously, yet Orson remained unmoved. A faint smile lingered on his lips.
“Sorry,” he said, his tone casual. “This is for your own good.”
Beneath his feet, a chaotic six-pointed star ignited with an eerie glow, and in his palm, a raging divine flame began to coalesce.
[Awakening: Judgment Flame – Charging…]
“Surrender, dwarf.”
The Crimson Lizard King, its serpentine neck twisting ominously, locked its blood-red eyes onto Veijander.
A dense black breath of annihilation condensed at the edges of its fanged maw, rapidly compressing into a terrifying sphere of destruction.
With one command from Orson, Veijander’s pitiful 10 million HP would be utterly erased—there would be no remains to bury.
“You either become a god—or you die here.”
Orson’s voice was soft, yet it carried an undeniable finality.
Veijander’s entire body trembled.
The sheer force of absolute suppression crushed down on him, suffocating in its intensity.
In Infinite Dimensions, anything was possible.
Orson’s understanding of the game went far beyond that of any other player.
He knew one universal truth—the more intelligent an NPC was, the more they feared death.
In many ways, high-intelligence NPCs were just like players—thinking, reasoning, and making choices based on their survival.
Under normal circumstances, an NPC could negotiate only within the constraints of the “Divine Laws” established by the gods.
But if a player held absolute power over them?
Then everything could be negotiated.
Veijander’s face turned deathly pale.
The war axe slipped from his fingers, clattering against the stone beneath him.
He wasn’t a fool.
Any adventurer who could wound the Elven Prince so effortlessly, and walk through molten metal unscathed, was someone far beyond his ability to resist.
Orson’s voice remained calm.
“How many Rune Sigil Stones can you fuse right now?”
Veijander gritted his teeth. His eyes were red with emotion.
“At most… two. But if you give me time, I can do three!”
[Grey Dwarves Veijander has initiated a negotiation request.]
A system prompt appeared, but Orson dismissed it without hesitation.
“You don’t get a choice,” he replied coolly. “Three Rune Sigil Stones? Let me be blunt—that’s nowhere near enough.”
“Either ascend to godhood, or die here. It’s your call.”
Orson’s voice slithered into his ears like a devil’s whisper.
A chill crept up Veijander’s spine, the realization settling in—this wasn’t a bargain, it was a deal with the devil.
A single parchment floated before him, its blood-red glow flickering ominously.
A Master-Servant Contract.
In exchange for becoming the God of Dwarves, he would sign away his freedom.
Legends of forging gods throughout history surged through his mind—their unparalleled craftsmanship, their divine mastery, their legacy of creation—all tied to Primordial Titan Lune, the first deity of smithing.
Veijander’s hands trembled.
The demonic glow of the contract reflected in his eyes.
He had no choice.
With gritted teeth, he signed his name, submitting himself to servitude.
The contract was sealed in blood.
Favorability—locked.
Orson’s gaze was piercing. “Now, fuse the first Rune Sigil Stone. Start with the repair stone—I need that fixed immediately.”
Without wasting time, Veijander grasped a pale-purple Rune Sigil Stone.
As soon as it touched his skin, the stone began to boil, transforming into a venomous purple sigil, slithering like a living serpent toward his bloodstream.
Veijander’s expression twisted in agony.
His face drained of color, his chest caving inward as his ribcage contracted violently.
A sickening crack rang out.
His bones shattered—then reformed instantly.
Boom! Boom!
His heartbeat thundered like a war drum, echoing in his ears.
Veijander’s short, stocky body suddenly began to grow, as the ancient bloodline of the dwarven thieves awakened within him.
Fragments of Titan Divinity surged into his veins.
His height increased by 20 centimeters, his muscles expanding, his bone structure warping.
Shards of bone burst through his skin, blood splattering onto the ground—yet within an instant, the wounds sealed themselves shut.
Veins bulged along his forearms, and his entire body convulsed uncontrollably, letting out a primal roar.
Above his head, his HP skyrocketed past 30 million, more than doubling his previous health.
And this was just from one Rune Sigil Stone.
At the same time, a new feature appeared in his interface—
[Rune Sigil Stone – Hardened Inlay]
Each enhancement attempt costs 5,000 gold. Success rate: 20%. Effect: Increases equipment durability, making it significantly harder to break. Requirement: Legendary-grade equipment or higher.
Orson’s voice was unwavering.
“Next, fuse the Rune Sigil Stone of Restoration.”
This was the key to increasing equipment repair success rates, and right now, Orson needed that effect more than anything.
As Veijander continued his painful transformation, Orson’s Celestial Vision remained locked onto Ashen King Odin’s movements.
In the distance, War Treants marched relentlessly, their massive footsteps shaking the land itself.
The entire secret realm trembled, as the Crimson Lizard King’s airspace drew closer to the advancing Ashen King.
Odin rode atop a colossal red-furred boar, his muscular form radiating an overwhelming presence.
In his right hand, he wielded a lightning-forged battle axe.
In his left, a flaming crimson longsword burned with intensity.
His kingly aura consumed everything in its wake.
Suddenly—Odin’s face darkened.
His expression twisted in fury as he sensed the disappearance of a Rune Sigil Stone.
His voice erupted like a volcanic explosion.
“That TRAITOR! I’ll burn him alive in the forge!”
“Filthy half-blood mongrel!”
Realizing Veijander’s betrayal, Odin—who had originally planned to watch from the sidelines—now hurried his approach.
Meanwhile, back on Orson’s side—
Veijander’s second fusion was a success!
His eyes gleamed with newfound power as he fell to one knee before Orson.
“Dwarven Grandmaster Mitchell Veijander swears his eternal loyalty!”
His voice thundered like a war horn, his eyes blazing with fanatic devotion.
Second only to one—above all else.
Orson simply nodded.