Translator: CinderTL
"It's precisely because it's fiery that it deserves the name 'liquor'!"
Dain retorted loudly, then pointed at his throat. "We dwarves measure the temperature of mountain fire with our throats! The way you lot drink, you wouldn't even light a spark!"
He stood up, swaying slightly but stubbornly maintaining a straight posture, as if he could still down ten more cups.
"You..." he surveyed the room, his finger jabbing in the air. "Your drinking capacity is pathetic! Compared to us dwarves, you're... you're utterly pathetic!"
His words drew bitter laughter from those around him, even Paul couldn't help but shake his head and chuckle.
Helsen whispered to Cecil beside him, "He's completely drunk."
"Indeed," Cecil replied softly. "But it's not that his tolerance is weak; he simply has no idea how potent this liquor is."
Dain remained undeterred, patting his chest and muttering in Dwarvish, his tone a mix of defiance and pride.
He stumbled back into his chair, his head tilting slightly as if he wanted to say more. But before he could finish, his eyes glazed over, his head slumped against the chair back, and a quiet snore filled the room.
The crowd exchanged glances, then burst into laughter.
"Mr. Dain," Hansel said, patting his shoulder with a smile, "it seems Dragon's Breath has truly conquered you tonight."
Dain didn't respond, only wore a satisfied smile as his snoring grew louder, already lost in slumber.
Paul beckoned, and servants approached quietly, gently lifting him from his chair. They carefully supported his heavy frame as he swayed, guiding him toward his guest room.
The candlelight in the hall still flickered, the air thick with the aroma of wine and the lingering warmth of roasted meat.
Though slightly tipsy, the others knew there was serious business to discuss. They straightened their collars and gathered at one end of the long table.
Paul took a glass of water, rinsed his mouth gently, then set it down. His gaze swept across the faces before settling on Helsen.
"Do you think," he began slowly, his voice low, "if we could use this dwarf envoy to gain entry into the Stonemason Clan's territory... should we consider taking more... direct measures?"
Helsen paused slightly, then understood Paul's meaning. He didn't answer immediately, but after a moment's thought, spoke slowly:
"Lord, with all due respect, launching a military campaign against the Stonemason Clan would likely prove more costly than beneficial."
He surveyed the room, his voice steady. "Though dwarves lack firearms, their strength far surpasses that of humans. They can easily scale steep cliffs and navigate dense forests. More importantly, consider their territory."
He paused. "It's not a city, but a mountain. Beneath the surface lies a labyrinth of interconnected tunnels, traps, and mechanisms. If human troops were to rashly enter, they'd likely become lost in an endless maze, picked off one by one."
After a moment, he added, "The information I gathered in Forgehold suggests the Stonemason Clan's territory is no less formidable than the Ironhammer Clan's. They are an equally ancient and powerful clan, masters of excavation and construction. Their underground structures might even be more extensive and hidden."
Paul frowned. "Are you saying we can't even break in?"
"Breaking in would be extremely difficult," Helsen replied, shaking his head. "And even if we did, getting out would be even harder."
He paused again, his tone becoming serious. "More importantly, Dain is an envoy from the Ironhammer Clan. If we take military action against the Stonemason Clan, we won't persuade them; we'll only enrage the Ironhammer Clan. We already have a troublesome enemy—the Orcs—and we can't afford another one just as difficult to deal with, especially since the Ironhammer Clan is located directly north of Alden Town."
He looked at Paul, his gaze firm. "Furthermore, dwarves value bloodlines and honor. If we betray our word, we'll not only lose their trust but also risk incurring the hostility of the entire dwarven race. In that case, we'll be facing far more than just two Dwarf Clans."
The faces around the candlelit table reflected a mix of emotions. Some were lost in thought, others wore grave expressions. Though the effects of the wine hadn't fully worn off, the atmosphere had lost its earlier levity.
Paul sat with his hands clasped, his gaze fixed on the tabletop as if studying a map only he could see.
"I haven't been sleeping well these past few days," he said suddenly, his voice carrying the weight of long-suppressed anxiety.
Everyone turned to him, even the officials who had been whispering quietly fell silent.
"Ever since I learned that the Orcs could march their armies through the Rocky Mountains, I haven't been able to sleep soundly," he continued, raising his head to meet their gazes. "That mountain range... was supposed to be our shield."
His voice carried a hint of weariness and unease. "The Rocky Mountains north of Aldor have protected us for centuries. We've always believed they were a gift from the heavens, a natural wall that, if we held a few key passes, would keep us safe. But now we know they weren't a wall at all—they were a door."
He paused, as if recalling reports from the front lines.
"The Orcs have passed through it. Not the small raiding parties of the past, but an entire army. They came with axes, drums of war, and the ambition to conquer."
Silence fell over the hall.
"Indeed, the Rocky Mountains are no longer safe," Old Ford sighed. Helsen remained silent, but a thoughtful look had entered his eyes.
"One Stonemason Clan has already sided with our enemies," Paul continued. "The Ironhammer Clan hasn't turned against us, but they can't control the other dwarves, and who's to say they won't become our opponents one day?"
He scanned the room, his tone growing more serious.
"I'm not advocating for immediate conflict with the dwarves. What I'm saying is—we must think long-term. Aldor must control the mountain passes that allow armies to traverse the Rocky Mountains!"
He paused, as if to deliver his final verdict: "It's not about opening them up or making them neutral. It's about keeping them under human control."
The candlelight illuminated thoughtful faces. Paul leaned back in his chair, as if finally releasing a weight from his heart. "Otherwise, we'll never be truly safe."
Old Ford cleared his throat, picked up his water glass, took a sip, and spoke slowly:
"Lord Marquis is right. The Rocky Mountains are no longer a barrier but a corridor. But if we can control them, they can be transformed from a threat back into an advantage."
"Take the Northern Three Lands, for example. They're prospering now, but their connection to us relies entirely on sea routes. Storms, pirates, supply delays... any of these could isolate them."
"If we carve a land route through the western part of the Rocky Mountains, connecting Northwest Bay to the Northern Three Lands, we could not only strengthen ties between the two regions but also quickly deploy troops for support when necessary."
The others in the hall nodded in agreement. Hansel interjected, "Indeed. While land routes may have lower carrying capacity than sea routes, they are far safer and more stable."
(End of the Chapter)
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