Translator: CinderTL
Alden Town, in the lord's office.
On the map, a red arrow traced a path from Watchers Fortress, bypassing the Yellow Earth, and disappearing into the towering peaks of the northern Rocky Mountains.
"Confirmed," Paul announced upon his return, his tone calm but tinged with gravity. "Abal didn't pass through Watchers Fortress. He retreated from Dwarf Territory to the Grassland."
Hansel Abbott, seated nearby, frowned. "The reclusive dwarves have always maintained neutrality. Why would they allow orcs passage now?"
"Perhaps they were forced," Catherine replied coolly from her position by the window. "Regardless, they've sided with our enemies."
Silence fell over the room. The dwarves were an enigmatic race, having had minimal formal contact with humans for centuries. Their territory, nestled deep within the Rocky Mountains, was notoriously difficult to access, let alone negotiate with.
"We must send an envoy," Paul finally said. "If they're willing to reconsider their position, they could become valuable allies against the orcs. If not, we must at least make them understand that siding with our enemies comes at a price."
Paul surveyed the room. "We need an envoy to the Dwarf Territory."
Silence fell over the room.
"Lord Marquis," Hansel sighed, "the problem is... no one knows how to find the dwarves."
Paul knew this all too well. His reconnaissance teams had scoured the vast Rocky Mountains, getting hopelessly lost without ever spotting a single dwarf.
Ford, the chief steward, spoke up. "Governor Stanford of the Northern Three Lands once had contact with the dwarves. Perhaps we should consult him?"
Paul shook his head. "Useless. After returning north, Stanford tried to reestablish contact, but they turned him away. Now they seem to be snubbing even the Forest Orcs."
Seeing the continued silence, Paul reluctantly said, "In that case, let's announce that we're seeking an envoy to the Dwarf Territory. Perhaps someone knows the way."
The news spread quickly, and to Paul's surprise, the situation soon took an unexpected turn.
Just two days later, Viscount Helsen appeared in Paul's office, his expression resolute.
"My family once aided the dwarves," Helsen explained. "In return, they gifted us a token said to grant passage to their territory."
Helsen pulled a bone flute from his pocket. "Lord Marquis, I believe I should give this a try."
Paul raised an eyebrow. "I've never heard you mention this before."
"I always thought it was just a family legend," Helsen said, stepping closer. "But now it seems worth testing to see if it's true."
Paul took the flute from the Viscount's hand. Ancient runes were carved into its surface, giving it an air of profound mystery.
"If this is real," Paul mused, examining it closely, "then it could be the key to unlocking the Dwarf World."
Years ago, the dwarf "prince" Imar had likely intended to offer Paul such a key, on the condition that he help him reclaim his position as Clan Chief. Unfortunately, Paul's power at the time had been insufficient to offer any meaningful assistance.
Helsen's gaze was resolute. "Let me go. I want to do something for Alden."
The Helsen Family was one of Emden's vassal lords, formerly subservient to the Kent Family. After the Usurper's War, the Kent Family, stripped of Maltz, was utterly destroyed. Paul became the new lord of Emden, and the former vassals had no choice but to pledge allegiance to Grayman instead.
The Viscount had long yearned for an opportunity to prove himself.
Paul remained silent for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. You will represent me in the Dwarf Territory. But remember, this is no ordinary diplomatic mission. You are dealing with a people who have been isolated for a thousand years, a race we know almost nothing about."
Helsen bowed deeply. "I understand."
When the Viscount returned to his residence in Alden Town, his heart was filled with both anticipation and anxiety. The importance of this mission was undeniable, not only for Alden but for his family's future as well.
He retrieved the Dwarf Bone Flute and carefully traced the runes etched into its surface.
"Uncle," his nephew Orlando entered the room, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you really going?"
Orlando had passed the Alden Town civil service exam a few years prior and now served in the Council of Administration.
"Yes," Helsen replied, nodding. "This is an opportunity for our family, and for Alden itself."
Orlando paused, then said, "Please be careful."
Helsen clapped his nephew on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll return with good news."
Helsen set out, accompanied by ten guards and servants. They journeyed north through Northview Town and into the rugged western foothills of the Rocky Mountains.
The terrain was treacherous, with dense forests and howling mountain winds that seemed to whisper ancient secrets across the land. Legend had it that years ago, the legendary explorer Captain Stanford and his companions had returned to Aldor through this very pass.
Carrying all the supplies they could manage, they pressed onward, following the seemingly traversable routes. As they climbed higher, the air grew thin and frigid, and the soft earth beneath their feet hardened into unforgiving rock.
"Lord Helsen," one of the servants said, pointing to a mist-shrouded valley nestled between towering peaks, "Blackstone Valley lies ahead. Perhaps we should try our luck there."
Helsen nodded and led his group onward. As they entered the valley, they found it completely shrouded in thick fog.
Helsen retrieved the bone flute hanging from his chest.
The bone flute, crafted from the bones of an unknown beast and etched with intricate runes, felt both solid and warm in Helsen's hand. According to family elders, it had been given to their ancestor as a token of gratitude after he rescued a dwarf during a mountain expedition.
Before parting ways, the dwarf had said, "If you or your descendants ever need assistance, blow this flute within these mountains."
Helsen took a deep breath, pressed the flute to his lips, and gently blew.
The first note was deep and resonant, echoing through the valley. The second rose in a clear, piercing tone, like wind whistling through rock crevices. The third pulsed with the steady, rhythmic power of a heartbeat.
After a moment of silence, a faint tremor rippled through the mountain walls.
To Helsen and his companions' astonishment, a group of figures materialized from the thick mist shrouding the valley.
Could it really be this easy? They found it hard to believe.
Could they be mountain bandits or robbers? Their hearts leaped into their throats.
The newcomers were short in stature but powerfully built, with thick beards, heavy leather armor, and iron boots. They carried battleaxes and shortswords.
Without a doubt, these were the legendary dwarves!
The leader of the dwarves was a stocky figure with a thick, bristling beard and eyes as sharp as a hawk's. A beautifully carved bronze key hung at his waist.
"Outlander," the dwarf spoke in slightly stilted human language, "how did you come to possess this Bone Flute?"
Helsen stepped forward and respectfully held up the flute. "You may call me Helsen, from Northwest Bay in the south. My ancestors once aided a dwarf friend in this land, and he gifted this flute to us as a token of gratitude."
The leader extended his hand, and Helsen immediately surrendered the flute. The dwarf leader examined it carefully, then nodded.
"As the bearer of the Oathkeeper's Flute, you are a guest of the Ironhammer Clan. What brings you here?"
Helsen took a deep breath and said somewhat awkwardly, "I wish to meet with your Clan Chief."
The dwarves exchanged glances, their expressions betraying their hesitation about Helsen's request.
After a moment of silence, the leader nodded.
"Very well. Come with us—but you alone!"
TL/N: Well, if they try anything funny, Paul should just flatten the Rocky Mountains. I think he has the firepower to do that.
(End of the Chapter)
---
📖Read (FF) on Pa.treon@CinderTL - c942. [+1]
🔑Early Access at $5.
✍Translated (6) Series, (3.6K+) Chapters, (5.1M+) Words.