A year later.
Late spring of the Imperial Year 2430.
Deep within the Grey Mountains, east of the Forest of Gloom, thick smoke billowed from hundreds of Blacksmith Shops in the city-state of Karak Gezhik, intertwining with the morning mist in the mountains, like a heavy, iron-grey veil.
This city-state, known as the "City-State Surrounded by Steel," was entirely embedded within the mountain—its outer layer comprised granite walls carved with runes, while its inner layer was a dense network of mines and forges. The clang of hammers echoed from dawn till dusk, causing the very mountain to tremble slightly.
In the dwarf tavern in the middle layer of the city-state, it was already as lively as a boiling pot.
Long tables made of oak were crowded with sweating dwarf miners and artisans—some miners had just emerged from the mines, their work pants still dusted with iron ore, yet they held pottery mugs, gulping down black mushroom spirits; some artisans had dropped their hammers and rushed to drink, their aprons still covered with uncleaned iron filings, now excitedly boasting about how sharp the battle-axes they had just forged were.
"These greenskin black mushroom spirits are ten times stronger than the ale we brew!" a Redbeard dwarf slammed his mug down with a "thwack," the liquor splattering on the table. "Last time, I challenged a High-Axe Clan boy to a drinking contest with it. I drank three jars and wasn't even drunk, but he ended up under the table first!"
Several dwarves nearby burst into laughter. A grey-bearded miner shook the green mushroom wine in his hand, the pale green liquid swirling in the cup: "What's that to you? I prefer this mushroom fungus wine; it's a bit sweet on the palate but has a strong kick. I drank too much yesterday, and my hands are still shaking when I forge today!"
"Speaking of which, this wine was transported from the Khyprian road, right? I heard that path is now occupied by a greenskin tribe called the Blackrock Clan?" someone suddenly asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
As soon as these words were spoken, the tavern instantly quieted down a few notches. Several older dwarves exchanged glances, their smiles fading slightly.
Everyone knew that five years ago in the Forest of Gloom, the greenskins were a disorganized mess. They couldn't form any significant power.
At that time, the Gezhik Council of Five had even dispatched two hundred heavily armored infantry to sweep the area to ensure the safety of trade caravans, making the greenskin tribes along the Khyprian road scatter in fear, only then managing to gain control over the trade route.
But only a few years had passed, and now a tribe called the Blackrock Clan had emerged, not only unifying the greenskins of the Forest of Gloom but also controlling the Khyprian road. It was said their military strength was more than ten times greater than the disorganized skirmishers of yesteryear.
"I went to Katushir with a caravan last week and saw those greenskins with my own eyes," a caravan guard in leather armor put down his mug, lowering his voice. "They set up a checkpoint at the entrance to the trail. They don't kill people, they just collect a toll—pay it, and you can pass. What's stranger is that after you pay, they even send a few greenskins riding large spiders to follow the caravan, discreetly escorting it. If they encounter small groups of beastmen, they directly help us deal with them!"
"What? greenskins escorting caravans? What's next, the end of the world?" The dwarves were all stunned.
In their impression, greenskins were just a bunch of barbarians who only knew how to burn, kill, and plunder. When did they become so "orderly and civilized"?
"Absolutely true!" The caravan guard thumped his chest. "I saw with my own eyes, a small caravan that didn't pay the toll tried to sneak around, but they were caught by the greenskins . They didn't kill anyone, they just plundered half of their goods and sent them back. Those who paid passed smoothly, without encountering even a single rogue."
The discussions in the tavern grew louder. Some dwarves felt that this Blackrock Clan "understood the rules of the land" and was worth dealing with; others believed that greenskins were greenskins after all, and they might turn hostile and plunder caravans any day; still others remembered the glory of sweeping away the greenskins back then and felt that another expedition should be sent to wipe the Blackrock Clan out.
Meanwhile, in the council hall deep within the Gezhik city-state, five long-bearded dwarves were gathered around a circular marble table, discussing this very matter.
The council hall was carved from a single piece of granite, its walls adorned with the banners of the five clans—the axe-shaped emblem of the High-Axe Clan, the hammer-shaped emblem of the Hardstone Clan, the tankard emblem of the Redbeard Clan, the tree emblem of the Oakwood Clan, and the ripple emblem of the Lakecairn Clan. On the stone chairs beneath the banners sat the five clan elders, each with long beards reaching their chests, some bound with copper rings, others braided, wearing iron-inlaid leather armor, and holding clan tokens symbolizing their authority.
On the stone table were two jars of black mushroom spirits and a plate of roasted nuts. Kras, the elder of the High-Axe Clan, was tapping the stone table with his finger. His beard was silver-white, braided into three strands, with small iron axes tied at the ends. His voice was deep: "Let's talk. What do you think about the Khyprian road situation?"
Harald of the Redbeard Clan spoke first. His red beard was like flames, and he held a cup of black mushroom spirits in his hand—the Redbeard Clan was responsible for the city-state's caravans and trade, prioritizing profit. "In my opinion, this Blackrock Clan cannot be allowed to stay! Greenskins are greenskins . Now they collect tolls and escort caravans, but they might be accumulating strength. Once they are strong enough, they will definitely plunder our caravans and attack our city-state! We sent troops to clear them out back then for the safety of the trade route. We cannot let a bunch of greenskins ruin our efforts now!"
"I disagree!" Worgs of the Hardstone Clan immediately retorted. His beard was dark brown, stained with some stone dust—as the elder responsible for the city-state's defenses, he was always cautious. "Currently, the Blackrock Clan collects tolls but doesn't block our caravans, and they even help us fight beastmen. This is much better than the disorganized greenskins of back then! Our caravans using the Khyprian road reduce costs by 35% compared to other routes. Just the mushroom wine alone can earn us thousands of gold coins every month! If we send troops to fight them, the trade route will be cut off, and we will be the ones to suffer the losses!"
"Worgs is right!" Horgrim of the Oakwood Clan nodded in agreement. His beard was light green, and he had wood shavings on him—the Oakwood Clan was responsible for the city-state's timber and food supply. "Moreover, the Blackrock Clan's forces are not weak, they number in the thousands.
If we send too few, we won't win; if we send too many, the city-state's defenses will be empty. What if the Chaos beasts from the mountains take the opportunity to attack? In my opinion, it's better to maintain the status quo for now, trade with them properly, and once we understand their true intentions, then make further plans."
"Maintain the status quo? Where does that leave Gezhik's reputation?" Harald glared at Horgrim. "Back then, we made the greenskins cry for their parents, and now we have to 'trade' with a greenskin tribe? If word gets out, won't other dwarf city-states laugh at us?"
"Can reputation feed us?" Worgs also became agitated, placing his mug heavily on the stone table. "If the trade route is cut off, our Blacksmith Shops will have no iron, and our miners will have no food . At that point, never mind reputation, the city-state itself will fall into chaos!"
"The relationship between dwarves and those pointy-eared folk is already very strained. If you continue like this, who will dare to do business with us in the future? This is not about reputation!"
"Brave dwarves fear no one!"
"You stinking stone!" (Equivalent to a human calling someone an idiot)
"Who are you cursing? Try cursing again!!"
"Stinking stone, stinking stone, stinking stone, stinking stone, stinking stone..."
The two dwarves started arguing, Harald and Worgs turning red in the face as they bickered. Horgrim tried to mediate from the side, while Daroth, of the Lakecairn Clan, remained silent—his beard was greyish-white, like ripples on a lake, and as the elder responsible for the city-state's water management and intelligence, he always preferred to observe before speaking.
Kras watched the arguing crowd, his brow furrowed.
He knew that Harald spoke of safety, Worgs of profit, and Horgrim of prudence, and all had valid points.
But this Blackrock Clan was indeed strange—greenskins had always believed in "WAAAGH!", emphasizing fighting, killing, and plundering. No greenskin tribe had ever adopted the "collecting tolls" and "escorting caravans" rules like the Blackrock Clan.
"Daroth, what do you think?" Kras looked at the silently observing elder of the stone-Lake Clan.
Daroth put down his stone cup and slowly began to speak, a hint of hoarseness in his voice: "The intelligence dwarf I sent has returned. According to him, the leader of this Blackrock Clan is named Kurzadh, and he is a very different kind of greenskin—he not only fights but also engages in construction.
He has built a fortress next to the Khyprian road and can even create something called 'cement' to build city walls. Moreover, his greenskins are not as chaotic as other greenskins ; instead, they have rules and divisions of labor: miners, blacksmiths, and even specialized brewers."
He paused, then continued: "More importantly, this Blackrock Clan not only trades with us but also with the humans of Katushir, and even has connections with the Chaos dwarves to the south. They don't just want to plunder; they want to turn the Khyprian road into their 'territory' and live by trade and tolls."
The hall fell silent, and all five dwarves pondered Daroth's words.
Greenskins building fortresses? Making cement? Trading with humans and Chaos dwarves? This was completely different from the greenskins they knew; they were practically two different species.
"So, what is your suggestion?" Kras asked.
"I believe we can neither directly attack nor completely ignore them," Daroth stroked his beard. "We can first send an envoy to the Blackrock Clan to talk with this Kurzadh—raising the toll is acceptable, but they must guarantee the absolute safety of our caravans; we can sell them iron materials, but not overly refined weapons; additionally, let our spies continue to monitor them to see what they truly intend to do and if they are colluding with other forces."
Harald wanted to object again but was stopped by Kras raising his hand.
Kras looked at the elders of the five clans and slowly said: "Daroth's words make sense. The situation is unclear, and rash action carries too much risk, while maintaining the status quo is too passive. Let's do as Daroth suggested: first send an envoy to talk, and then wait for more intelligence. This matter will be discussed again at the next council meeting."
The other four elders exchanged glances. Although still somewhat reluctant, they knew this was the best course of action for now.
Harald snorted, picked up his mug, and took a gulp; Worgs sighed in relief and poured himself another cup of black mushroom spirits; Horgrim and Daroth nodded, showing expressions of agreement.
The atmosphere in the council hall gradually eased. The five elders no longer argued about the Khyprian road but instead discussed mine output, new weapons from the Blacksmith Shops, and the upcoming dwarf Beer Festival.
The bottles of black mushroom spirits on the stone table gradually emptied, and the roasted nuts were almost all eaten. Only the clan banners on the wall still quietly fluttered, as if bearing witness to this discussion concerning Gezhik's future.
Meanwhile, outside the Grey Mountains, on the Khyprian road, the Blackrock Clan's Spider Riders were escorting a Gezhik caravan towards Katushir.
The dwarf guards of the caravan looked at the greenskins riding large spiders beside them, their eyes still wary, but also with a touch of helplessness—who would have thought that the greenskins they once chased and fought were now the caravans' "protectors"?
As the sun set, the Blacksmith Shops of the Gezhik city-state remained brightly lit. The clang of hammers and the laughter from the tavern intertwined, forming the most vibrant rhythm of this city-state of steel.