Translator: CinderTL
Imar was consumed by rage. He snatched up the battle axe beside his seat and charged down the steps.
The axe blade gleamed coldly in the firelight, his eyes burning crimson as he lunged forward, ready to cleave Helsen in two.
"You reckless fool! I'll grant your wish! Your blood will be a sacrifice to our ancestors' stone monument!"
At that moment, Finance Overseer Thorin suddenly stepped forward, blocking the Clan Chief's path to Helsen.
"Clan Chief, you mustn't kill him!" he roared with all his might. "Killing him would fall right into this human's trap!"
Imar roared back, "Get out of my way! This arrogant human dares demand our clan kneel in submission! He doesn't deserve to live!"
Thorin refused to yield, meeting the Clan Chief's gaze directly. "Can't you see? This cunning human isn't negotiating—he's begging for death! He's deliberately provoking you, just so you'll kill him. Then Aldor will have the perfect excuse to utterly destroy us! He's using his own life to tighten the noose around our necks!"
The stone chamber fell into deathly silence.
Imar stood frozen, battle axe raised, his arm still trembling, but his advance halted.
He glared at Helsen, the loathsome human who stood ramrod straight, his expression calm, even bearing a hint of contemptuous amusement, like a martyr prepared to die.
Imar slowly lowered his battleaxe. "You mean... he wants to die?"
"Yes," Thorin nodded. "He doesn't care if he lives or dies. What he cares about is whether the Stonemason Clan will become eternal enemies of humanity because of him. If you so much as lay a finger on him, Aldor will claim we murdered their envoy and rejected peace. Then the explosives won't just destroy our tunnels—they'll destroy every village we have."
Imar slowly stepped back, his face draining from rage to ashen gray.
So the human had never intended to leave alive, willing to die to drag the Stonemason Clan into the abyss.
"Treacherous, despicable humans!" Imar muttered, a chill creeping into his voice. "They even turn themselves into bait for their traps!"
He looked at Helsen, the dwarf Clan Chief's gaze complex, a mixture of fury and a fearful respect.
"Lock him up," Imar finally ordered, his voice weary. "In the deepest dungeon. No one is to contact him. I want him alive."
Guards stepped forward to escort Helsen away. Before leaving the stone chamber, Helsen turned to glance at Imar, saying nothing.
That single look pierced the dwarf Clan Chief's heart like a dagger.
Thorin murmured, "Clan Chief, we can't wait any longer. Either we surrender, or... we find another way out."
"Is there another way?" Imar asked, his voice tinged with despair. "I sent word to the orcs for aid, but not even a messenger has returned from the Grassland. Abal, that bastard."
Faced with utter desperation, the dwarf Clan Chief lost his last shred of respect for the Orc Chieftain.
The embers of the fire dimmed, casting distorted, flickering shadows across the rocky walls.
Thorin watched the silent Clan Chief intently before speaking softly, "There is one path. We can seek aid from other clans—the Ironbeard Clan of Anvil Valley, the Stonefist Clan of Deepwell Ridge, even the Greyrock Tribe far in the southern vein... They might not want war with humans, but if we appeal to them based on our shared dwarf blood and promise long-term access to our mines and ironware, some might answer our call."
Imar's head snapped up, his gaze piercing Thorin like a blade.
"What did you say?" His voice was low and menacing, yet the fury within him erupted like a volcanic eruption. "Ask for help from those cowardly, selfish clans who hide underground, gnawing on rocks?"
He slammed his fist against the armrest of his throne. "Do you remember what I was like in my youth? After my father died, the usurper drove me from Anvil Hall, forcing me to wander among the clans, begging for aid. I went to the Ironbeard Clan's forge hall, and they made me stand outside all night before deigning to offer me a bowl of cold soup! I visited the Stonefist Clan's ancestral hall, where they mocked me before the entire clan, calling me a rootless bastard who couldn't even hold onto a battleaxe, let alone lead a clan!"
His voice rose with each word, his eyes burning with the humiliation of the past. "In the end, it was the orcs who helped me. Abal sent his armies to help me reclaim this place and behead the usurper! And what did my blood kin do? They didn't dare utter a single word! Now? Now they'd gladly see me die at the hands of humans, just so they can carve up my mines!"
He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "I'd rather be shot dead by a human musket than beg for mercy from those cowards. Imar may lose, may die, but he will never kneel again."
Thorin lowered his head, his iron staff tapping lightly against the ground. He fell silent, knowing that Imar's hatred wasn't a fleeting anger, but a scar etched into his very bones. The brother clans who had stood by idly during his downfall had long been branded as traitors in his eyes.
"Then Mogdin's methods are our only option..." Imar muttered to himself.
Three days later, an Alden vanguard squad of thirty soldiers was advancing along the Stone Ridge Path toward the dwarf heartlands.
They had just detonated a side tunnel and were preparing to survey the terrain when the ground beneath their feet began to tremble erratically.
"Earthquake?" a Combat Engineer frowned.
Before he could finish speaking, the rocky slope ahead suddenly bulged, sending loose stones tumbling down. In the next instant, a massive, gray-white creature erupted from the earth—a monstrous being that arched upward, its maw gaping to reveal circular rows of serrated teeth as it silently lunged at the nearest soldier.
"Mother of God! What is that thing?!"
"Heavenly Father, have mercy!"
Some screamed, some fell, and most turned and fled. Before the squad leader could issue an order, the entire unit had disintegrated into chaos, abandoning their explosives crates and surveying instruments in a frantic retreat.
The monster slowly rose to its full height atop the ridge, viscous fluid dripping from its body like a living mountain. It made no attempt to pursue, instead shaking its bulk and emitting a low-frequency hum.
When the news reached Mountain Throat Fortress, Derrick's face turned ashen.
"You're saying... a giant, burrowing worm?" he demanded, glaring at the scout. "Are you sure it wasn't a hallucination? Could it have been a rockslide?"
"Sir, that thing... it was absolutely real," the scout's voice trembled. "It... it moved like a snake, but more like... a mountain itself had come to life."
The following dawn, Derrick personally led a reinforced squad toward the Stone Ridge Path, the site of the incident. The group included two musket platoons, a Combat Engineer team, and two light mountain cannons—Alden's most elite mobile firepower. The cannon barrels, specially forged by the Alden Town Arsenal, could fire both Bursting Shells and Grapeshot.
Derrick scoffed at the notion of "underground monsters." He trusted only what he could see with his own eyes. If it truly was a living creature, it would be vulnerable to artillery fire. If it was merely a hallucination born of the soldiers' fear, then his presence at the front lines was even more crucial to steady their morale.
The mountain path was treacherous, the cannon carriages pulled by mule teams that struggled to navigate the rocky terrain. Along the way, they spotted equipment abandoned by the vanguard squad during their panicked retreat two days prior: overturned surveying frames, scattered crates of explosives, a mud-caked military cap. The air hung thick with an indescribable stench, like rusted iron mixed with rotting earth.
(End of the Chapter)
---
📖Read (FF) on Pa.treon@CinderTL - c1000.💥 [+2]
🔑Read upto Ch955, for FREE visit the pinned post on my p@treon to learn how!🎉
💥Translated (6) Series, (4.6K+) Chapters, (6.7M+) Words.