Chapter 713

Chapter 713: Thunder Peak

After flying southeast from Lordamere Lake for about four days, Goergette reached the skies above a high mountain range.

This was the eastern section of the Bartol Mountains near the ocean. Flying west three or four hundred kilometers would bring one to Grim Batol, but from here, the burning darkness remained invisible.

Yet Jesse sensed the dark presence. He stared silently westward until Greed finally asked, "What’s wrong? Still thinking about Deathwing?"

Jesse answered, "No. I’m just wondering if I should fly over to ask the Red Dragon Queen whether she’s found that staff. But she probably hasn’t—she promised to tell me if she did."

"Even so," Greed said uneasily, "are you certain about returning there? Remember how you were before…"

Jesse recalled how memories of Deathwing used to tighten his nerves or send chills of fear through him.

But now, even sensing Grim Batol’s proximity stirred little discomfort. Only a trace of lingering dread remained.

When Deathwing’s image surfaced—that riverside moment—his mind drifted instead to Vereesa’s hand in his, her glances toward distant gardens where other elves might appear, her unrestrained kisses along his neck… A smile touched his lips.

"I’ve felt much better lately," Jesse said.

"I’ve noticed," Greed replied, watching mountain peaks glide beneath the gryphon’s wings. "Truth is, I’ve worried for you. Not out of pity—no one endures such terror without scars. I’m a veteran. At Aerie Peak, I’ve seen too many dwarf warriors haunted by Red Dragons or Death Knights. And you faced the black dragon lord himself… It gladdens me to see you healing."

"What about you?" Jesse asked.

"Me?" Greed glanced back. "Brawling with orcs? Crushing fire-and-stone monsters? Watching a black dragon plummet to its death? Honestly, Jesse—it’s nothing. That’s partly why I refuse the Thunderfist Lordship. This burden isn’t mine to bear."

"Now you’re being dull," Jesse retorted, bracing himself as Goergette surged upward. "We each play our part. You and Vereesa excel at your tasks; I handle mine. That’s a team’s strength. Without you both, rescuing the Red Dragon Queen alone? Impossible."

"Ha! Fair point," the dwarf chuckled.

Thick clouds parted to reveal a sudden, towering peak. Greed’s eyes widened in surprise as Goergette banked and climbed higher.

"Bundle up," Greed warned. "It’ll turn cold."

"Thunder Peak?" Jesse asked.

"Aye," Greed confirmed. "Goergette’s exceptional—bearing us both so swiftly, even near this sacred mountain. When I brought my father’s remains here on Gavita, she nearly collapsed."

Below the stone pillar jutting from the Bartol Mountains lay a town—Kusa Haven, where Dwarf Wildhammer sages studied the Shamanic path. Greed had landed there before.

This time, though, he bypassed the settlement, urging Goergette toward the summit.

The peak’s crown held uneven but serviceable flats. Goergette landed on the lowest plateau. Jesse dismounted and peered down—only clouds veiled the world below.

Stone piles dotted the area. These were no random heaps: each was deliberately stacked, adorned with feathers, ropes, warhammers, or bone-strung talismans. Some held many offerings; others, just one or two.

Greed patted Goergette, signaling her to roam. But instead of darting off, the gryphon lingered, studying the stones as Jesse did.

"A Wildhammer dwarf cemetery?" Jesse inquired.

"For dwarves and gryphons both," Greed corrected.

The dwarf wove through the monuments, eyeing ancient steps leading higher. "Up we go, Jesse."

They climbed to another plateau crowded with more stone piles—seemingly chaotic, yet ordered.

Greed was right: Wildhammer and Tauren beliefs shared echoes. This place recalled the Tauren funerals Jesse witnessed at Sun Rock Retreat’s summit.

Greed skirted several piles, stopping at a modest one near the cliff’s edge. Barely adorned, it bore only a weathered leather cap pinned by a rock.

His father’s grave.

"Dad," Greed murmured in Dwarven, drawing a cloak from his pack.

Thick and dark brown, its lightning-patterned hide resembled the cloaks of Bronzebeard nobles Jesse saw at Nethergarde. *Greed would look every inch a lord in this*, he thought.

Greed draped the cloak over the stones, weighing it down against the howling winds. Then he knelt against the mound, murmuring in Dwarven so long that his words blurred with the gale.

Jesse wondered: Should he regret never learning Dwarven? Or be grateful its meaning stayed veiled? Understanding might have silenced Greed’s rawest words.

He listened in stillness until Greed rose and approached. "The bravest dwarf warriors ascend to the sky-hall after death—reunited with ancestors, comrades, kin. Gryphon spirits bear them there."

"My father wasn’t a warrior. That hall wouldn’t take him. No gryphon awaited him either—perhaps he couldn’t even make the flight. His soul lingers here alone. If I didn’t visit… he’d grow lonely."

"Thank you, Jesse Seso, for coming. You’re true courage. My father would treasure your visit."