Translator: CinderTL
Deep in the Rocky Mountains, the Ironhammer Clan and the Stonemason Clan, though separated by vast distances to the east and west, had maintained ties for generations.
The current Clan Chief of the Stonemason Clan, Imar, was Balash's cousin and childhood companion.
Based on this personal connection, Balash ultimately decided to send an envoy to the Aldor Kingdom to mediate between humans and the Stonemason Clan—if Imar had indeed colluded with the Orcs.
The envoy was Dain Ironfist, an experienced dwarf warrior and one of Balash's most trusted subordinates. Dain held a friendly attitude toward humans and readily accepted this mission.
Dain was tasked with personally witnessing and assessing the current situation, seeking any possible peaceful solutions. He bore a dual mission: to convey the Ironhammer Clan's stance to the humans and to persuade the Stonemason Clan to reconsider their choices and avoid a dangerous path.
"The Ironhammer Clan generally prefers to stay out of external conflicts," Dain murmured during a break in the banquet. "But this time is different. The Stonemason Clan is our kin through marriage, and we don't want them to clash with their human neighbors."
Paul nodded in understanding. "Your arrival is precisely to convince us that peace is still possible."
As the wine took effect, the candlelight flickered, and Dain's cheeks flushed crimson.
His voice grew louder than before, his movements more unrestrained. Though "Dragon's Breath" was potent, its fiery intensity suited the dwarves' temperament perfectly. He was now completely immersed in the intoxicating pleasure of the drink.
Paul watched him, a hint of amusement in his eyes, but his tone remained cautious.
"Of course, you could personally escort us to the Stonemason Clan, but I can't be overly optimistic. Mr. Imar's attitude remains uncertain. I fear that even your presence might not sway them to open their doors."
Dain laughed heartily at this, slamming his palm on the table so hard that the silver goblets jumped.
"Lord Grayman, you underestimate the bonds of kinship among us dwarves!" he declared, his voice booming with drunken bravado. "Imar is a Clan Chief, but he's also Lord Balash's cousin, my kinsman!"
He paused, tapping his chest with a finger, his voice firm.
"As long as I stand before the Stonemason Clan's gates and announce, 'Dain of the Ironhammer Clan has come to visit,' they won't refuse me, not a chance!"
He raised his head, his eyes blazing with a touch of intoxication, yet radiating an undeniable confidence.
"Do you think we dwarves are only good for forging iron and guarding mountains? No, we understand rules better and value bloodlines more. An envoy from the Ironhammer Clan, bearing sincerity, will never be turned away."
Paul smiled faintly, offering no rebuttal. He could see that Dain's words weren't entirely driven by pride; he truly possessed this confidence.
"Then I'll rely on your tongue and your heart," Paul said, raising his glass. "Let's finish this Dragon's Breath."
Dain roared with laughter, raised his glass, and drained it in one gulp, then wiped the wine from his beard.
The banquet continued, the atmosphere growing more relaxed with each passing drink.
Old Ford and Hansel sat at one side of the long table, slowly chewing roasted mushrooms while subtly observing the dwarf envoy's reactions.
"Mr. Dain," Old Ford began gently, "what do you think of this 'Dragon's Breath' wine? Is there anything similar in the Dwarf Territory?"
Hearing this, Dain set down his goblet, his eyes gleaming, a few drops of wine still clinging to his beard.
"I've never tasted anything like it!" he declared, thumping his chest with a booming laugh. "Dwarves have their own strong spirits, of course—ale, Firethroat Wine, Black Iron Brew... but this 'Dragon's Breath' truly burns through the throat and ignites the soul!"
As he spoke, he gestured dramatically, mimicking the rising flames of a fire.
"Magnificent!" he repeated, drawing laughter from the surrounding guests.
Hansel smiled faintly, raised his goblet in a toast to Dain, then changed the subject.
"Since you enjoyed it so much, we wouldn't dream of letting you leave empty-handed. We'll prepare several jars of this 'Dragon's Breath' for you to take back to the Ironhammer Clan. And you're always welcome to return to Alden Town to select more in person."
Dain blinked in surprise, then repeatedly expressed his gratitude. "Thank you, thank you! If we had spirits this potent in our territory, the feasts at Forgehold would be even more boisterous."
Hansel seized the opportunity to add, "In fact, it's not just the wine. We Aldorians have many things that might prove valuable to dwarves—ironwork, cloth, medicinal herbs, even... paper and ink."
He paused, then said gently, "We're also willing to trade these goods for your minerals, metal products, and crafts... If both sides are willing, the door to trade can be opened."
Dain's smile faded slightly as he gently set down his wine cup, his expression becoming hesitant.
"Lord Hansel," he said sincerely, though with a hint of awkwardness, "I certainly wish to see our two races become closer. But... trade isn't something I can decide. That's the responsibility of the Clan Chief and the Elders."
He added, "As you know, we rarely interact with outsiders."
Lord Hansel nodded understandingly, his tone still gentle. "I understand. I only hope you'll convey our sincerity to your Clan Chief and the Elders. Tell them that humans are willing to trade with dwarves on terms of equality and mutual respect."
Dain fell silent for a moment, then nodded solemnly. "I will. I'll tell them that the lord and officials of Alden Town have brought not only wine, but also sincerity."
Dain raised his goblet, swirling the wine gently. His gaze held a complex mix of hope and doubt. "May they listen," he murmured.
Dain was now completely consumed by the fiery embrace of Dragon's Breath.
Never one to be reserved, he had completely shed his inhibitions under the influence of alcohol. Gone was the diplomatic facade he had worn upon entering the hall. In its place stood a quintessential dwarf—proud, boisterous, and utterly blunt.
He raised his silver goblet, tilted his head back, and drained it in one long swallow. As the fiery liquid rolled down his throat, his eyes lit up.
"This wine!" he roared, slapping the table. "This is true dwarven wine!"
The officials seated on either side of him merely took a tiny sip before setting down their goblets, their faces flushed. Some even began to cough.
Dain narrowed his eyes, watching their cautious demeanor. He burst into laughter. "You humans... you drink wine like it's medicine!"
He slammed his fist on the table, his beard quivering. "A tiny sip at a time? Afraid of burning your tongues?"
Old Ford shook his head with a wry smile. "This isn't ordinary wine, Dain. This is Dragon's Breath."
(End of the Chapter)
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