Translator: CinderTL
The fire crackled in the hearth of the great hall, casting long shadows of Paul and Earl Duke across the walls.
A massive map lay spread across the long table, its wax contours depicting the rugged mountains and narrow passes of the northern territory.
Paul leaned forward, his fingertip tracing the treacherous ravines.
"Even without Crystal Glare's support, Northwest Bay remains determined to continue fighting the orcs until the Chieftain's Tent is completely eliminated."
"Marquis Grayman!" Hal Duke's gaze toward Paul was filled with both admiration and shame.
"Ha ha, don't make me sound so noble!" Paul waved his hand dismissively, revealing his true motive for continuing the war: the orcs' growing power had become a severe threat to Northwest Bay's economic interests.
Earl Duke remained silent for a long moment. As commander of the Watchers Legion, defending against the orcs was his sworn duty, a mission entrusted to him by the kingdom.
Yet now, Paul, far to the northwest, was bearing the brunt of the war alone.
A deep sense of shame pierced his heart like a cold blade.
After a moment, he slowly unbuckled his sword from his waist and gently laid it on the table. The hilt was still wrapped in battle-worn leather, torn during recent combat.
"Marquis Grayman!" he said, his voice deep and resolute. "Defending against the orcs is the Watchers' sworn duty, our very purpose. Now that you have stepped forward, for us to remain cowering within the kingdom's borders would be a betrayal of that oath."
He raised his head to look at Paul, his gaze burning like a blazing torch. "I will dispatch an elite force from the Watchers Legion to join your campaign. They will follow your command and strategic direction. Furthermore, should supplies run short, the Yellow Earth will provide assistance."
Paul met his gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Under these circumstances, I won't refuse. I accept your troops and thank you for your support."
Paul's finger moved from the Grassland to tap the eastern section of the Rocky Mountains. "Our immediate priority is to deal with the Stonemason Clan."
Hal Duke's head snapped up. "Those dwarves? Of course! They're the ones colluding with the orcs."
Paul nodded. "My envoy, Helsen, along with Dain, a mediator from the Ironhammer Clan, entered their territory and never returned."
Paul sighed, staring at the mountain range. "The Stonemason guards claimed they couldn't enter, then led them into the mountains, and we haven't heard from them since. We don't even know if they're alive or dead."
Hal Duke slammed his fist on the table, his fury erupting. "Damn Stonemason Dwarves! How did the orcs breach the Rocky Mountains when Watchers Fortress fell? It was them! Those foolish dwarves opened the mountain gates, allowing Abal's army to pour through the mountain passes!"
His eyes burned crimson, his voice trembling. "They doomed Aldor! They doomed humanity!"
Paul didn't interrupt his rage, waiting for him to calm slightly before gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "I understand your hatred. But anger won't lead us into the mountains."
He looked Duke directly in the eye. "What I need is someone who can guide us into the mountains—even if it's just a hunter familiar with the outer mountain trails, a herbalist, or a shepherd who once stumbled upon a dwarf path. No matter how vigilant the Stonemason Clan is, they can't seal every mountain path. As a clan within a small race, their numbers are limited, while the Rocky Mountains are vast."
"Now, the Yellow Earth is your fief. The villages, border towns, and nomadic camps at the foot of the mountains fall under your jurisdiction. I ask you—without alerting the dwarves—to discreetly inquire among the common folk for any knowledge of hidden paths leading to their territory."
Duke took a deep breath, suppressing his anger. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded. "What you say isn't without merit. There have been legends passed down through generations, tales of hunters in the eastern foothills of the Rocky Mountains claiming to have seen the shadow of a 'stone gate.' There's also the story of someone trapped by a landslide who escaped through a 'non-human-made' ravine."
He looked up at Paul. "I'll dispatch agents to investigate discreetly, questioning people one by one. If we find any leads, I'll immediately notify Alden Town."
Paul gave a slight nod. "Excellent. We're not in a rush to start a war, but we must find the gate first."
The firelight flickered across the sand table. Paul was about to speak when Duke preempted him. "If your legion wishes to continue garrisoning the Yellow Earth, I have no objections. This land has been granted to me, so I have the right to decide who can station troops within my territory."
A faint glint flashed in Paul's eyes, but he showed no surprise.
He had already planned to formally request permission to station troops after securing military cooperation. The Yellow Earth, bordering the Rocky Mountains, was the only springboard for advancing into Stonemason Clan territory, and the Northwest Legion couldn't afford to retreat. Duke's proactive offer saved him the trouble of carefully phrasing his request.
"In that case," Paul replied calmly, "I will order the main force of the legion to continue garrisoning your territory, establishing a fortified camp near the eastern pass of the Rocky Mountains."
He traced his finger across a valley on the map—a natural chokepoint where the mountains met the plains, surrounded on three sides by towering peaks, with only an ancient trail leading to the edge of the Dwarf Territory.
"We will fortify this location, construct a fortress, reinforce its defenses, and build an outpost named Mountain Throat Fortress. All known entrances to the mountain depths will be sealed. Not even a bird may fly through without my express authorization."
Earl Duke studied the proposed site and nodded. "The terrain is easily defended and well-supplied with water, making it ideal for long-term garrisoning. I will order local authorities to cooperate, providing timber, stone, and labor as needed."
"No need to conscript civilian labor," Paul said. "I've brought engineering battalions and mobile workshops. The fortress will be built by our own forces. We require no resources from the local populace—only passage and tacit consent."
Earl Duke chuckled. "Are you afraid I'll run to Crystal Glare and complain behind your back? Rest assured, from this day forward, the soldiers of Alden Town in the Yellow Earth are no longer guests, but our shields."
The two men exchanged a look, needing no further words.
Within days of reaching the agreement, Alden Town's supply convoy began rolling eastward, a long procession snaking across the plains toward the northern border of Yellow Earth.
The wagons were laden with coarse burlap sacks sealed with a grayish-white powder: cement.
The local populace had never seen such a material. Accustomed to building walls with rammed earth and foundations with stone, constructing a fortress typically took months. But when they witnessed the Northwest Engineers at work, they were astonished.
The engineers mixed cement with sand, gravel, and water to create a slurry, which they poured into pre-assembled wooden molds. Within half a day, the walls began to take shape. Overnight, the slurry hardened into rock-like solidity, becoming incredibly strong.
They even embedded iron reinforcement grids within the walls, making the structure far more resilient to impact than traditional stone masonry.
In the narrow throat of a valley in the eastern Rocky Mountains, a star-shaped fortress was rising at an astonishing pace. Its foundations were deeply buried, the walls three meters thick, with gun emplacements at each corner and a central watchtower soaring fifteen meters high, commanding a panoramic view of the entire pass.
They called it the Mountain Throat Fortress.
(End of the Chapter)
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