At the very heart of the giant dwarven village, Chief Igris sat across from Max, his immense frame resting on a stone-carved seat that seemed almost too small to contain his bulk.

Around them, the other villagers had gathered, their eyes sharp and curious, their expressions solemn. The air felt heavy with expectation, the kind that lingered when truths were about to be revealed.

"Before we go on the quest to get the catalyst, I need to tell you about our village," Chief Igris said at last, his voice carrying a gravity that silenced even the murmurs of the crowd. "You see, our village is only one among many scattered throughout the violet wasteland. Each one is home to our kin, the giant dwarves, who live as we do, forging strength and guarding the fragments of ancient knowledge. We live in harmony most of the time, bound by blood and tradition, but peace does not erase the shadow of conflict. When power comes into question, conflict is inevitable."

Max raised his brows faintly, puzzled. He did not see why this was relevant. To him, this sounded like an ordinary matter, nothing worth gathering the entire village over. Yet the seriousness in Chief Igris's voice told him otherwise. So he remained silent, waiting.

Chief Igris leaned forward slightly, his massive arms resting on his knees, his gaze never leaving Max's face. "I will not keep you in darkness," he said. "We trained you not out of kindness, nor out of pity, nor even out of duty to the seven lords. We trained you because we want something in return. Understand that every time geniuses from other worlds enter this closed domain, every time youths like you set foot in this land, our tribe is given a chance. That chance comes in the form of a contest that has lasted for as long as our people can remember."

He paused, letting the silence sink into the ground like the steady pounding of a hammer on metal. The villagers stirred slightly, their massive heads bowing, as though the very words carried a weight they too could feel.

"Our people are divided into villages," Chief Igris continued, "but we are not separate. Together we are the Giant Dwarven Tribe, a race bound by the forge of our ancestors. And yet we do not stand united under one leader. To choose the one who will lead us, to choose the Tribal Lord, we hold a trial. That trial requires the strength of outsiders like you. Each village chooses a champion from among the outsiders they have trained, and through those champions, we compete. The village whose champion proves the strongest earns the right to rule over all the others. That is the way it has always been. That is the law of our tribe."

Max's frown deepened as he listened. He began to understand where this was going. His hands tightened into fists, but he said nothing.

Chief Igris's expression softened slightly, though the firmness in his tone remained. "So you see, Max, when we trained you, it was not only for your sake. We forged your body not simply so you could walk the path of the Seven Divine Veins. We did it because your strength will represent us. When the time comes, you will stand not only for yourself but for our village. If you succeed, we rise. If you fail, we remain in shadow, ruled by another. That is why I pushed you harder than any other. That is why I gave you no mercy."

The giant dwarves around them shifted uneasily, their massive forms swaying as their deep breaths filled the square. They knew the truth of these words well. For them, this trial was not a choice but a tradition older than memory.

Max sat in silence for a long moment, his mind weighing the revelation. Honestly, he didn't mind any of this as long as he could grow stronger. To achieve strength he was willing to do anything.

"The title of Tribal Lord can only be given to the village chief of a respective village," Chief Igris said, his voice carrying across the square as all the gathered giant dwarves listened in silence. "There are tens of such villages scattered across the violet wasteland, and each one desires the same thing. To rise above the others. To become the ruling force that guides the tribe for the next cycle. But how is it decided who among the chiefs is worthy of the title? That is where the catalyst comes into play."

His expression darkened slightly, though his tone never faltered. "Holy Nectar. That is the name of the catalyst, at least as we giant dwarves know it. A substance older than even our people, brimming with such dense and pure energy that it can tear through the barriers of the mortal body. Without it, the Seven Divine Veins will never open, no matter how strong one may become. To us, the Holy Nectar is both a treasure and a curse. For it exists, but in a place where no dwarf may ever reach."

Max leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with interest as Chief Igris continued.

"The Holy Nectar can only be found in one area of the violet wasteland," Chief Igris said, his voice sinking lower, as if even speaking the name carried danger. "The den of the Devouring Ants. These creatures are unlike anything you have faced. They are not simply beasts. They are predators born with one purpose, and that is to hunt and devour us. Their bodies are covered in carapaces harder than forged steel, their jaws can split boulders with ease, and their swarms can strip a creature to the bone in moments. Even if an entire squad of giant dwarves were to face a single Devouring Ant, the result would never change. We would not be victors. We would be prey. To them, we are nothing more than food. They are our natural predators."

The crowd of giant dwarves shifted uneasily, the mention of their natural predators stirring an old fear that no amount of strength could erase. Chief Igris did not pause. His words cut through their unease like the steady rhythm of a hammer striking iron.

"In such a scenario," he continued, "our tribe had to adapt. Every year, when the secret domain opens and geniuses from other worlds are brought into this land, we train them to their limits. We temper them. We push their bodies beyond what they believe possible, until they are strong enough to step into the den where we cannot go. Each village sends its chosen representative into the Devouring Ants' lair, and there, amidst death and terror, they fight not only for their own survival but for the glory of the village they represent. The one who emerges with the largest amount of Holy Nectar decides the fate of the tribe. The village whose representative succeeds earns the right for its chief to be named the Tribal Lord."

Chief Igris's gaze lingered on Max, unblinking, heavy as stone. "That is the truth of why you were trained. Not only for your path, but for ours. You are to walk into the den of the Devouring Ants and bring back the Holy Nectar. For you, it will be the key to opening your first Divine Vein. For us, it will be the key to ruling the tribe."

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