Translator: CinderTL
Deep within the cliffs of the eastern Rocky Mountains, dwarf scouts lay hidden in rocky crevices, observing the human fortress under construction below.
Their calloused fingers gripped a protruding rock, their sharp eyes fixed on the rising gray-white structure at the mountain's base.
"They're pouring stone! How dare humans build a fortress on dwarven territory? This is an insult, a desecration!"
Anger flared across the scout's face. The dwarves had always considered the entire Rocky Mountains their domain. In the past, they had even secretly allowed small bands of orc raiders to attack human settlements that dared approach the mountains during winter.
The dwarves created a buffer zone: the orcs obtained winter supplies, and each side got what they needed.
News of the fortress swiftly reached the Stonemason Clan's mountain hall. In the vast chamber, firelight flickered across stone pillars carved with ancient runes.
General Mogdin Ironanvil, upon hearing the report, flew into a rage, slamming his fist down and shattering the stone table beside him.
"They dare build walls on our borders without our permission?!" he roared. "This is an insult to our honor!"
He turned to face Clan Chief Imar. "Chief, we must strike now! While that fortress is still unfinished, while their... that thing they call a cannon isn't yet mounted! We'll obliterate it with rolling stones and burning oil! Otherwise, the humans will think they can trample even the rocks of the Rocky Mountains!"
Imar sat regally on his obsidian throne, his beard braided with iron rings, his expression cold and resolute. He was well aware of the humans' intentions; their envoy, Helsen, was currently being held captive. It seemed they were preparing to take forceful measures, or at least issue a stern warning.
Hearing Mogdin's roar, the orc guard standing in the corner of the hall frowned slightly. The towering, muscular warrior was a "gift" from Abal to Imar.
He leaned in and whispered to Imar, "Honored Chief, you must tread carefully. Human walls have never fallen to brute force alone."
He recalled the disastrous fate of the Abal Army during their invasion of Aldor—siege engines shattered by invisible metal projectiles, warriors falling like wheat before volleys of muskets.
But Imar had already made up his mind. He rose slowly, a spark of ambition flickering in his eyes.
"Mogdin," he said gravely, "you're right. Humans have been oppressing us dwarves since ancient times. Now they dare to build a fortress at the foot of our mountains. If we don't retaliate, how can we defend the Rocky Mountains, our last stronghold?"
The dwarves of the Rocky Mountains, regardless of their clan, had always harbored negative feelings toward the humans to the south. According to their ancient myths passed down through generations, the dwarves' ancestors once lived on the flatlands. Then, humans suddenly appeared from some unknown place.
Some claimed the humans migrated from the far north—a land even beyond the Grassland and the endless ice plains. In any case, a fierce war erupted between the dwarves and humans. The dwarves ultimately lost, losing their territories on the plains and being forced to retreat deep into the Rocky Mountains, where they stubbornly established new roots.
Every dwarf grew up hearing these stories, which is why they preferred dealing with the even more barbaric orcs of the northern Grassland to having anything to do with the humans to the south.
Imar raised his voice, addressing the orc guard, "Let the Orc Chieftain see that the Stonemason Clan is no weak ally! We can not only carve mountains and dig tunnels, but also shatter the humans' laughable walls!"
He waved his hand and commanded, "Mogdin, I order you to lead a thousand warriors to war! Destroy that unsightly castle and hang the heads of the humans on the mountain gate as a warning!"
Mogdin raised his battleaxe high and roared his acceptance of the command.
The orc guard's mouth twitched. He wanted to offer another word of caution, but he couldn't fully explain the humans' strength without describing the orc army's crushing defeat—a humiliation that would shame the Orc Chieftain.
In the end, he said nothing, merely taking a silent step back.
When the dwarf general Mogdin Ironanvil received Clan Chief Imar's war order, his eyes showed no hesitation, only the burning fire of battle lust.
In Mogdin's mind, the Clan Chief's command was not merely a response to provocation, but a war to reclaim the Stonemason Clan's honor.
He had grown weary of witnessing Imar's obsequious demeanor toward Abal—his humble tone and subservient posture, as if the Stonemason Clan were not allies of the orcs, but their vassals. Whenever the Orc Chieftain made a demand, Imar almost always yielded.
Mogdin felt deeply humiliated by this. "We are the children of Stonefather, the forgers of the mountain ridges!" he had once roared privately to his subordinates. "We are not slaves to the orc army, nor their pack mules to haul them over the mountains!"
Though the Stonemason Clan had long been reduced to a tool of Abal's invasion—it was they who opened the Rocky Mountain passes, allowing the orcish armies to strike deep into the kingdom's heartland—Mogdin stubbornly refused to acknowledge this reality.
Now, an opportunity had arisen.
"If we can personally destroy the humans' fortress," he declared to the dwarf warriors he had gathered from the north, explaining the significance of their mission, "if we can build our triumphal arch from their Graystone, the Orc Chieftain will understand that the Stonemason Clan doesn't survive by clinging to the orcs, but rather that we make their victories possible."
Mogdin already knew of the Abal Army's crushing defeat beneath the human city walls. The cannons roared, the walls stood like iron ramparts, and orc warriors fell like stalks of wheat.
Yet now the humans were constructing a new fortress at the foot of the mountains—the perfect opportunity to demonstrate the dwarves' martial prowess. Though few in number, they were far stronger on their own territory than the orcs who had been routed by the humans.
"The orcs fear the humans' walls, but we dare to attack them," Mogdin said, donning his black iron chainmail and helmet etched with War Markings. "I will send that orc guard back with a report: the Stonemason Clan boasts warriors so mighty, they can accomplish what even the orcs cannot."
He believed that a single victory would transform the Stonemason Clan from a weak tribe cowering under Abal's shadow into an equal power capable of negotiating with the Chieftain's Tent. The Stonemason Clan would reclaim its rightful place as the masters of the mountains.
Two days later, on a gloomy morning, just as the first wisps of dawn mist were torn apart by the mountain wind, a company of dwarf warriors emerged from the valley.
Mogdin Ironanvil, clad in obsidian-trimmed battle armor and wielding a double-headed warhammer, strode proudly at the head of the column.
Behind him, three thousand Stonemason Clan warriors marched in perfect formation. Their armor, forged from mountain iron ore, was heavy and menacing. Their footsteps struck the earth like the blows of stone chisels. Armed with long axes and heavy shields, their beards braided with iron rings and faces painted with ancient War Markings, their eyes burned with fiery resolve as they fixed their gaze on the unfinished gray-white fortress.
The Northwest Legion's Combat Engineers froze in shock, while the sentries on the watchtowers frantically rang the bronze alarm bells.
Mogdin surveyed the "Graystone Fortress" with a cold gaze—the walls were still incomplete, the artillery platforms were still being erected, and the wooden scaffolding remained in place. A cold smile curled at the corner of his lips.
(End of the Chapter)
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