Translator: CinderTL
In the prison cell, the last flickering embers of the torch cast a final, wavering shadow across the stone wall.
Helsen sat in the dark corner, his thoughts swirling like an underground current, slowly coalescing into form.
He recalled the conversation he'd had with Marquis Grayman in his study before their departure.
Paul Grayman had stood before a massive map, his finger tracing the outline of the Rocky Mountains as he said in a low voice, "We Aldorians have always believed this mountain range to be a natural barrier bestowed upon us by the Lord of Light. As long as this colossal wall stands, the savage orcs of the Grassland cannot invade our civilized garden. Yet the orcs still breached our defenses, traversing mountain paths unknown to us and pouncing upon the heart of the kingdom like wolves. At that moment, I realized—this mountain range is not a wall unless it belongs entirely to us."
He remembered the Marquis's gaze as he turned: "Helsen, as long as these mountain paths capable of supporting large-scale military passage remain outside our control, Aldor will never sleep soundly."
At the time, Helsen had asked, "But those neutral clans have never been our enemies. Must we resort to force against them as well?"
The Marquis didn't answer directly. "I don't want enemies," he said. "I want control. Whoever controls the mountain passes controls the fate of the North. The Stonemason Clan has sided with the orcs, allowing Abal to strike at our heartland at any moment. Yet when we retaliate, we must detour around the massive mountain range that spans east to west."
Helsen knew the Stonemason Clan might be willing to negotiate peace, but as long as they held those secret mountain passes and maintained their alliance with the orcs, even if they bowed their heads now, they could still become a fulcrum for future aggression. Should circumstances change, they could once again open the gates of Aldor to Abal's forces from the Grassland.
Helsen slowly closed his eyes, feeling he had finally grasped the crucial point.
For Aldor, the most advantageous outcome wasn't restoring peace with the dwarves, but seizing complete control of the Rocky Mountains' passage.
And now, the Alden army possessed a means to destroy the dwarves' tunnels. Judging by Imar's anxious tone, the human forces had already penetrated deep into the mountain's heart, driving the Stonemason Clan into retreat. One final push, and this entire stretch of the Rocky Mountains would fall into Aldor's hands.
In this situation, if he were to broker "peace," it would mean Aldor voluntarily relinquishing this once-in-a-millennium opportunity for victory.
The undiscovered mountain paths would remain hidden deep within the mountains, and one day, a massive army could still emerge from the mountain's belly, striking directly at Aldor's heartland.
In the darkness, Helsen slowly straightened his back.
He couldn't allow Imar any breathing room. The Aldorian army might halt its advance due to diplomatic progress.
This was highly likely. According to his nephew, the military and political officials in Alden Town privately complained that Lord Marquis was too lenient on certain issues. Although the Marquis often boasted—such as expressing his ambition to control the Rocky Mountains to Helsen—his actual actions often told a different story.
If peace were restored, the Stonemason Clan would repair the remaining tunnels, reorganize their defenses, and might even secretly reestablish contact with the orcs. Aldor's northern territory would once again be exposed to unknown threats. What use was such a peace?
But if he further provoked Imar, the enraged dwarf Clan Chief might execute him on the spot.
Helsen weighed his options. His sacrifice would serve as a key. The murder of a formal envoy would undoubtedly force Marquis Grayman into an untenable position.
The Alden army would then act without restraint, razing every Stonemason Clan stronghold and seizing control of all mountain passes under the guise of vengeance.
The Rocky Mountains would no longer serve as a corridor for orcish incursions into the south but would instead become a springboard for Aldor's northern campaigns.
As for himself... he might die in these subterranean depths, his final choice unknown to the world.
Yet the Helsen Family would not be forgotten. A messenger who died for the kingdom's interests would have his name etched into the memorial monument in Alden Town, and the Helsen Family would gain unprecedented prestige and protection in political circles.
He gently stroked the family crest concealed within his sleeve, his resolve hardening.
The next morning dawned.
Imar sat on his throne, impatiently drumming his fingers on the armrest.
The great doors swung open, and Helsen was brought in, his hands and feet shackled. Despite his captivity, he stood ramrod straight, his face showing none of the gauntness of a prisoner but rather a chilling serenity.
Imar's voice boomed, "Human, you've had a night to consider. Have you decided to write the letter?"
Helsen stood in the hall, offering neither bow nor lowered gaze. He met the dwarf Clan Chief's eyes directly, a faint smile curving his lips as if he had heard an absurd request.
"You want peace?" he said slowly, his voice low but each word clear. "Do you think you still have the right to talk about peace?"
Imar's brow furrowed, a flicker of anger crossing his face.
Helsen continued, "Aldor will never accept a truce proposed by the defeated. What we demand is not negotiation, but surrender—complete and unconditional surrender."
He took a half-step forward, his tone turning icy. "There is only one condition for peace: the Stonemason Clan must submit completely to the Aldor Kingdom. Not the loose vassalage you currently maintain with the orcs, but formal incorporation into the kingdom's territory. You must surrender all tunnel maps, accept administrative officials appointed by Alden Town, swear allegiance to Marquis Grayman, and conscript soldiers and pay taxes just like any other subject of the kingdom. From now on, the Rocky Mountains will no longer be the dwarves' private domain, but Aldor's northern fortress."
Silence fell over the hall as his words hung in the air.
Imar shot to his feet, his eyes wide with shock, as if struck by a heavy hammer to the chest. His face flushed crimson, his beard trembling with rage. He never imagined this prisoner would dare speak such words.
"What... what did you say?" His voice was low and hoarse, almost squeezed out between his teeth. "Let... let humans rule over us? Surrender the mountain paths our ancestors carved for millennia? Pay taxes and serve like serfs?"
He slammed his palm against the throne's armrest, the force of his roar shaking the torches. "How dare you speak such words before me?! You're nothing but a prisoner! A dead man who'll rot in the earth by tomorrow!"
Helsen stood motionless, not even blinking.
"You can kill me," he said calmly. "But killing me will only bring the Alden army here faster and with greater fury. They'll say—Sir Helsen, a peaceful envoy, was brutally murdered by the dwarves at the negotiating table. Then your clan and this very hall will be blasted into rubble. My name will be etched on Alden Town's hero wall. And your tribesmen will forever bear the stain of killing an envoy."
Imar glared at him, his chest heaving violently, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.
He wanted to lunge forward and strangle this human with his own hands, but the prisoner's words had already pinned him to a dead end.
TL/N: Damn bro, this guy's got guts!
(End of the Chapter)
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