Translator: CinderTL
Balash slowly turned, his expression hardening into an unnatural severity.
He didn't answer immediately, instead fixing Helsen with a sharp, piercing gaze, as if trying to discern any hidden motives behind the question.
After a moment, he spoke in a low, resolute voice:
"If the Stonemason Clan merely suffers a defeat on the battlefield—assuming you humans are even capable of such a feat—we will not intervene."
He paused, his tone suddenly intensifying:
"But if you dare to trespass into the dwarves' Core Territory, defile our homes, or harm our tribesmen..." His gaze turned as cold as a blade. "Then you will face not just the Stonemason Clan, but the combined fury of all thirteen Dwarf Clans."
He spoke slowly and deliberately, each word striking like a hammer blow against an anvil:
"That would be war! A war you cannot possibly endure! Human, I trust your lord will heed my warning with the utmost seriousness!"
With that, he seemed to have no further words, turning abruptly and striding deeper into the hall.
Helsen watched Balash's retreating figure, knowing his words had left an indelible mark.
He immediately hurried after him, adding earnestly:
"Mr. Balash, Marquis Grayman has no desire to wage war against the dwarves. We hope to resolve this through communication, provided we can reach the leaders of the Stonemason Clan."
Balash stopped and glanced back at him, his expression no longer as furious as before, now tinged with thoughtfulness and caution.
After a brief silence, he finally said, "I will... consider this. But not now."
With that, he gestured to the guards at the gate. "Arrange lodging for him. Let him rest first."
Helsen nodded slightly, refraining from pressing further. He knew he had said all he needed to say; the rest depended on the dwarves' internal deliberations.
Night had fallen outside the window. Deep within Forgehold, in a stone chamber, Balash convened a meeting with several clan Elders.
The hall was dimly lit, the central brazier casting flickering shadows across their solemn faces.
"He says they don't want war," Balash began, "but they want to meet with the Stonemason Clan and want us to act as intermediaries."
An elderly dwarf frowned, his voice low and skeptical. "Meet with the Stonemason Clan? Why should we wade into human affairs?"
He paused, his tone growing wary. "Who knows what ulterior motives they might have?"
Another elder dwarf spoke slowly, his voice tinged with contemplation:
"If what he says is true—that the Stonemason Clan has broken their neutrality and aided the Orcs in invading human lands—then their desire to enter the Rocky Mountains isn't without reason."
He swept his gaze across the other elders. "We cannot deny that the Stonemason Clan acted improperly first. If they truly opened the passage, they have no right to complain when others come knocking."
His words stirred a low murmur of debate in the hall. Another elder, his beard and hair as white as snow, scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain:
"This is merely the humans' side of the story. How can we be sure they're not using this as a pretext to infiltrate the mountains and uncover the secrets of the Dwarf Clans?"
"Humans have never been content with their current territory. They've already seized the Northern Three Lands, and even the Forest Orcs have pledged allegiance to them. Now they demand entry into the mountains—who knows what they'll want next?"
"But what if the Stonemason Clan truly committed such an act?" the first elder retorted, refusing to back down. "Should we allow them to drag all Dwarf Clans into conflict with humanity?"
The hall erupted into heated argument.
Balash sat on the main seat, listening to the opposing factions without betraying any emotion. He knew this was no simple decision.
Just as Helsen was embarking on his mission to the Ironhammer Clan, Abal led the main Orc force back to the Grassland.
Weary from war and seething with anger after their defeat, this army had once swept through the Aldor Kingdom like a storm, only to be driven back by the humans. Now, they were regrouping and preparing to strike again.
Meanwhile, Andrew's Grasslands Expeditionary Force had seized control of five key water sources in the western Grasslands.
These strategic locations, scattered across the vast plains, were the lifelines of the Orc Clans. Since their capture, the Expeditionary Force had garrisoned each site and established rudimentary supply lines.
But intelligence soon arrived: a massive wave of Orc cavalry was advancing rapidly from the east, their numbers sufficient to overwhelm any isolated stronghold.
Faced with this dire situation, Andrew made a swift decision: abandon four of the water sources and concentrate all his forces at Blackwater Lake, the westernmost stronghold.
Blackwater Lake was the Expeditionary Force's earliest stronghold and also its most heavily fortified. A fortress and watchtowers built of brick and stone stood along the lake's shore, and its proximity to the Northern Three Lands made it easy to receive supplies and reinforcements from the rear.
When the order to withdraw was issued, many officers expressed confusion. They argued that the troops should be divided to hold their ground, preventing the Orcs from easily regaining the initiative.
But Andrew convened no war council and offered no further explanation. He simply issued the order and, afterward, briefly explained his reasoning:
"This war won't end with a single battle. Our mission isn't to conquer territory, but to maintain our presence. We must make Abal understand that whatever he plans to do, he must always divert resources to deal with us."
Thus, in the final days before the Orc army arrived, the garrisons of the four strongholds withdrew in an orderly fashion. All movable supplies were retrieved, while facilities that couldn't be taken were burned or destroyed. When the Orc cavalry arrived, they found only scorched earth and empty ground.
At Blackwater Lake, the Expeditionary Force had completed its regrouping, establishing a new defensive line anchored by the lake and its fortifications.
When the Grasslands Expeditionary Force first entered the Western Grasslands, many local tribes fiercely resisted.
These tribes had roamed the grasslands for generations, never accepting foreign rule except for the White Wolf Clan's Chieftain's Tent. They viewed the Expeditionary Force as invaders and even organized attacks of varying scales.
But their resistance was swiftly crushed. The Orc army, well-equipped and highly organized, faced little real threat from the scattered, poorly coordinated tribal warriors.
At this time, the Chieftain's Tent remained south of the Rocky Mountains, and Abal had not yet returned. The power vacuum in the Western Grasslands left these small tribes isolated and vulnerable. They lacked both a unified leader and the strength to resist the Expeditionary Force's advance.
To survive on the grasslands, they had no choice but to accept the Expeditionary Force's rule, especially after their water sources were seized.
Initially, they feared this would be a crushing oppression, but they soon discovered that human governance differed drastically from the Orc Warchief Tent's methods.
(End of the Chapter)
---
📖Read (FF) on Pa.treon@CinderTL - c944. [+1]
🔑Early Access at $5.
✍Translated (6) Series, (4.1K+) Chapters, (5.8M+) Words.