Strongest Among the Heavens-Chapter 535: The Dwarf Alþjófr

Dasha Pang was correct in his analysis. Through the vent above every cage was a room area to make every cage’s specified seal run. The Operating Floor as Dasha dubbed it. Machinery and magic circles powered the room and a golem protected every one of the entryways.

The golem could not detect him when he materialized. None of the golems, whether in the hallway or protecting these rooms, could only glance in confusion as he teleported around.

’This entire floor is disconnected from everything below. In fact, judging by the boot marks here, I’m guessing only the leader comes down here.’

It made sense. Dasha asked his enslaved Auctioneer about. The mid-tier thief replied that their leader’s office required a special teleportation device to actually go to, and it was a device strictly regulated. His slave said he had only gone once himself. He didn’t see a staircase or anything of that sort.

There were no staircases between the Receiving Chamber and the Operating Floor. The thieves were not aware of it, although the slave did mention that many theorized of the Operating Floor’s existence.

There was only one reason why the leader did not mention the floor’s existence. Plainly, it was because there was a staircase connecting the Operating Floor and the office. An office the leader wished to only keep open to those worthy. An office that he wished to keep out of reach in the event of an infiltration.

Dasha ran through the hallway. He ducked under the golems, who could never seem to notice him. Could never warn their leader of the arrival of the Great Sin.

The hallways were long and matched the layout of the Receiving Chamber. Dasha already figured where the staircase would be: the north. Simple deduction, really. It was where the residential area was. He suspected that the leader’s office was on top of it, or rather, two floors above it.

He was correct. He saw the staircase and ran up it. To the very end of it was a massive gate, guarded by two golden golems.

Dasha had to take them out. Luckily, he had not been running up around and doing nothing. He had been preparing. He had been making handseals. His hands came together one last time as he jumped, facing the giant golden golems, and called out his trump card:

"—!"

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Click, click, click. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

A grandfather clock swung in the back of the office. An office of pure gold, whether it was the front desk, chair, the statues praising the great thieves in the past, and more. Golden windows encasing hammers and shields, the very best of items. An impressive space with an impressive show of wealth.

The dwarf Alþjófr, as expected of his kind, was not immense in stature, but it was the natural Qi that he released that was impressive. Four golems flanked him and his office. If need be, there was an escape hatch at the gold fireplace, underneath his golden chair, and behind a golden painting on the left wall. A careful, paranoid dwarf.

This whole operation stank of paranoia and intense, genius craftmanship. Every brick of gold here was built by Alþjófr and Alþjófr alone.

The four guardian golems ones were even larger than the ones patrolling the Receiving Chamber. Rather than nine feet tall, they were twelve. Rather than grey and blue, they were golden. These were the same golden golems that were guarding the giant entrance.

BANG!

They were the same golems were blasted into the enormous office, defeated. The stationary golden golems of the office turned and charged. They saw what happened to golden guardsmen, they were shared their experiences, and they knew that there was an opponent to fight.

Dasha’s heart was no longer stopped. His footsteps were no longer sealed. He was completely and totally exposed, running into the room with a bated breath.

They were triple his speed. It was a blur that even his Qi Sense at full capacity could not detect. As always, it was not his powers but his mind that put Dasha above others. He predicted their movements. Their blocky legs and their boulder-like arms, they limited the types of attack. Add that with their infant-level logic and he knew what they would do:

Surround him and obliterate him with punches.

He was already jumping. A four foot jump to simply dodge. His hands and feet went down and slammed down on the four extended blocky arms.

The golems should have followed up with a strike that took out his head. They didn’t. The golden golems stood there frozen, the sigils on their shoulders malfunctioning. Lifting his hands and feet, Dasha revealed what he had done: he planted a magic circle. A magic circle that connected to their sigils and disabled their movements.

The dwarf could not believe it. One moment, he was seated and calm, and the next there was a battle. "You! What did you do?"

"We finally meet face to face." Dasha hopped off and appeared in front of the dwarf behind the desk. His beard pitch black and his eyes baggy, he looked overworked. His glare was worth a thousand Vikings, however. A rough, sort-of impatient man that desired isolation and control in equal measures.

Yes, Dasha already believed he had a measure of the dwarf.

"Alþjófr, the leader of the Auctioneers." Dasha showed his hands, smoke rising from the palms. No fancy black gauntlets or Seven-league Boots. No, for this operation, he forgoed them for this operation: for being able to draw out blood and to be able to imprint magic circles. It was like delivering a quick tattoo, burning into a wall or flesh.

With his gauntlets and boots, this wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. The density of those items were too much for Dasha’s own Qi to counteract. So, he had to use his own flesh. A risk because it meant he could not deliver meaningful damage to the golems if the situation got out of hand. Especially the golden golems. The enslaved courier informed Dasha of them, but even he did not anticipate their speed would be literally triple that of his.

Regardless of mismatched expectations, everything went according to plan. He defeated the golden golems not by beating them but outsmarting them.

"I don’t know who you are," Alþjófr said, "but if I’m not dead, it means you want something from me."

The dwarf Alþjófr only placed a chair for himself here. Alþjófr only desired his best thieves to enter this golden office and even they must be submissive to him. To stand and bow and to deliver, and nothing more. Dasha liked this clear establishment of hierarchy.

He peered down at Alþjófr and the low, two-foot high desk he sat behind.

"I am the Professor."

"You." Alþjófr scoffed. "I heard rumours of you. So it’s true. You rule over Old Rocco’s territory now. I almost believed you didn’t exist."

"You are right."

"What?"

"I don’t rule because I don’t exist." Slowly, Dasha began to make hand signs. The dwarf Alþjófr went on alert and slowly rose from his seat. "Everything here belongs to me," he declared.

From the distance, he could hear the golems from the Operating Floor running. Alþjófr had summoned them to protect him.

Too late. Far too late.

"Those hand signs, is what you used to...?" Alþjófr swung both arms to the side. From the encased windows, two golden hammers broke out and were caught in his hands. Panic, panic, panic. That was all this was. All he could feel from this overwhelming power from this masked man. "What in the world...? What is this...!? Who are you!?"

Alþjófr was preparing for battle. The battle was already over. The moment Dasha began forming those hand signs, nothing mattered. Nothing this mighty dwarf could do mattered. All his experience, all his powers, all his thieves.

All of it was futile in the face of true understanding.

"—!"