The heavy stone door of the Council Hall slowly closed behind him. Harald Redbeard clutched the bronze pipe in his hand, his knuckles white from the effort.
The granite floor reflected the wall-mounted fire, casting his shadow long. His reddish-brown long beard hung down to his chest, swaying slightly with his hurried breathing—the back-and-forth arguments in the council just now were like a thorn in his heart, making him increasingly frustrated the more he thought about it.
"Cowardly! It's a disgrace to all dwarf kind!" Harald cursed under his breath, hurrying through the castle corridor.
His three Redbeard Clan attendants followed closely behind, not daring to speak—their Clan Chief was famously short-tempered, especially when it came to trade routes and dwarven honor; he wouldn't tolerate any ambiguity.
Tucked away in a corner of the Council Castle was an abandoned watchtower. Moss covered its stone walls, and only one rusty iron brazier was still usable.
Harald pushed open the creaking wooden door, pulled out a flint from his pocket, and with a few "clicks," lit the tobacco in his pipe.
Pungent smoke billowed from his mouth, dispersing into the damp air, somewhat calming the fire in his heart.
He leaned against the cold stone wall, watching the thick smoke rising from the distant Blacksmith Shop, his thoughts churning.
Five years ago, when Gezhik's heavy infantry flattened the greenskin tribe in Forest of Gloom, how mighty he was!
Back then, as long as a dwarf picked up an axe, there was no enemy he wouldn't dare to cut down! But now? A Blackrock Clan had occupied the Khyprian road, yet some in the council said, "Maintain the status quo," and "Investigate the details." How was that any different from being afraid of greenskins ?
"The entire city-state is feigning deafness and muteness!" Harald took a deep drag from his pipe, which hissed. "Caravans pass under the greenskins ' noses, paying tolls, and even relying on greenskins for escort—if word gets out, wouldn't other dwarven city-states laugh at Gezhik for being spineless? Especially Worgs, that stinking rock! No backbone!"
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He suddenly knocked his pipe against the brazier, and Mars flew up, making the nearby attendant flinch.
Harald turned to the closest attendant and said in a low voice, "Go, call Kadrin for me. Remember, go quietly, don't let anyone else know."
The attendant dared not delay, quickly nodded, and hurried away, disappearing at the end of the corridor.
Harald re-lit his pipe, his gaze fixed in the direction of the forest—that was the entrance to the Khyprian road, and also where the Blackrock Clan was entrenched.
He already had an idea: if the council wouldn't act, his Redbeard Clan would! As long as he destroyed the Blackrock Clan and reclaimed the Khyprian road, what more could those elders say?
It was time for the Redbeard tribe's status to rise.
Not long after, heavy footsteps sounded.
A burly Redbeard dwarf strode into the watchtower. He was half a head taller than Harald, with shoulders wide enough to push open a wooden door. He wore iron-studded leather armor, and two sharp short axes hung at his waist. This was Kadrin, the bravest guard leader of the Redbeard Clan.
"Clan Chief, you called for me?" Kadrin knelt on one knee, his right hand on his chest in salute. His reddish-brown beard was neatly groomed, with two small copper bells tied at the ends, tinkling softly with his movements.
Harald stepped forward, helped him up, and pulled out a packet of tobacco wrapped in oil paper from his pocket, handing it over: "Here, try this. I traded for it from a human caravan; it's stronger than our own tobacco."
Kadrin took the tobacco, skillfully stuffed it into his pipe, lit it, and took a puff. The pungent smoke made him frown, but he still honestly said, "Thank you, Clan Chief. You called for me, surely not just to offer me a smoke, right?"
Harald smiled and patted his shoulder—Kadrin had grown up under his watchful eye. From miner to guard, then to leader, he was not only brave but also meticulous, the most reliable fighting force of the Redbeard Clan.
He dropped his smile, his tone becoming serious: "Kadrin, the council just discussed the matter of the Khyprian road. As you know, those elders kept pushing it back and forth, with no conclusion."
Kadrin nodded. Although he hadn't attended the council, he had heard about the Blackrock Clan from the caravan guards.
As a former leader who had escorted caravans through the Khyprian road, his impression of greenskins was still "feral , savage, and easily defeated." But this Blackrock Clan seemed different.
"I don't want to wait anymore." Harald's voice was lowered but carried an undeniable resolve. "I'll give you five hundred men, fully equipped, all the most elite hands from our Redbeard Clan. Take them to Khyprian road and wipe out those entrenched greenskins , that is, the entire Blackrock Clan, in one fell swoop!"
"What?" Kadrin suddenly looked up, his pipe nearly falling from his hand.
He had thought the Clan Chief only wanted him to scout, not to directly start a war! "Clan Chief, this... this is too risky!"
Kadrin's face instantly turned grim.
He had just heard from the caravan guards last month that the Blackrock Clan wasn't feral greenskins , but a large tribe with a unified leader, nearly three thousand greenskins , and they had even built a fortress next to the Khyprian road.
More importantly, those greenskins could blacksmith, brew alcohol, and even build walls with something called "cement." They were nothing like the feral skirmishers who only knew how to loot.
"For feral greenskins , I could flatten them with fifty men! But the Blackrock Clan is different. They have a boss, rules, and a fortress!" Kadrin was a bit troubled. "Five hundred elite men, but the greenskins outnumber us six to one, and they have a fortress to rely on. I... I really don't have confidence!"
Harald's face darkened. He stared into Kadrin's eyes, his voice tinged with disappointment: "Kadrin, have you forgotten our Redbeard Clan's oath? dwarves fear no enemy! When you led twenty guards to reclaim the caravan from the ratmen, why didn't you say you had no confidence?"
Kadrin's face flushed red.
He certainly remembered that battle—twenty dwarves against over three hundred ratmen. He had chopped off the claws of nearly a hundred ratmen, was covered in wounds, but still managed to escort the caravan back.
That was his most glorious moment, and also why Harald valued him most.
"But Clan Chief, greenskins are not like ratmen..." Kadrin tried to explain, but Harald cut him off.
"There's no difference!" Harald suddenly raised his voice, pointing at the Blacksmith Shop outside the watchtower, "Look at those Blacksmith Shops; they're forging axes and armor every day so that when they encounter an enemy, they can pick up their weapons and fight! Our Redbeard Clan lives off trade routes, and the Khyprian road is our lifeblood! Now greenskins have seized our lifeblood, and you tell me you have no confidence?"
Kadrin fell silent.
He saw the anger in Harald's eyes and remembered the honor of the dwarven clans—ever since he could remember, his elders had told him that dwarves could lose, could die, but must not be afraid! No matter how strong the Blackrock Clan was, they were still greenskins ; no matter how few they were, they were elite dwarven warriors!
He suddenly clenched his fist, throwing his pipe into the brazier, and the flames shot up with a "whoosh."
Kadrin looked up, the hesitation in his eyes vanishing without a trace, replaced by the unique fervor and resolve of a dwarf.
He knelt on one knee, his right hand again on his chest, his voice booming: "Clan Chief, I was wrong! dwarves fear no enemy! I am willing to lead five hundred men to the Khyprian road, kill all the greenskins of the Blackrock Clan, and reclaim the trade route! If I fail, I will die there and never return to disgrace the Redbeard Clan!"
Harald finally smiled. He stepped forward, helped Kadrin up, and clapped him firmly on the shoulder: "Good boy! This is a true warrior of my Redbeard Clan!" He pulled out a heavy money bag from his pocket and thrust it into Kadrin's hand, "Here are five hundred gold coins. Take them to buy ale for the men, and prepare well for three days. Three days from now, set out at dawn, and don't let anyone from other clans know."
"Yes!" Kadrin took the money bag and nodded heavily.
The gold coins in the money bag were heavy, but they were far less weighty than the responsibility in his heart—this was not just a battle, but for the honor of the Redbeard Clan, for the dignity of the Gezhik dwarves.
Kadrin turned and strode out of the watchtower, his reddish-brown beard fluttering behind him like a burning flame.
Harald watched his retreating figure, the smile on his face gradually disappearing, replaced by a trace of solemnity.
He knew this secret campaign was extremely risky, but he had no choice—he couldn't let the Redbeard Clan's trade routes be destroyed by greenskins , nor could he let dwarven honor be tarnished.
He picked up his pipe again, lit the tobacco, and looked in the direction of the distant Khyprian road, muttering softly: "Rock... Blackrock Clan..."
On the cold stone wall, the moss glowed green in the torchlight, like silent eyes, witnessing this secret agreement that was about to change the dynamics of the Khyprian road.
The clang of the Blacksmith Shop still echoed, and the laughter from the tavern was faintly audible. The Gezhik city-state seemed calm, yet an undercurrent was already surging towards Forest of Gloom.
And at this moment, in the Blackrock Clan's fortress, Rock was holding the iron axe Guzhana had just forged, weighing it in his hand.