The morning sun's rays pierced a light haze over the plain as Kano stood upon the wall of his city—atop the flawless stone fortifications wrought by the hands of dwarves and orcs.
The city was still half-asleep: someone stoking a fire, someone unloading carts, someone simply sitting in the shade, inspecting a weapon. But Kano—he already felt something approaching.
And then he saw it.
In the distance, on the golden horizon, dust trembled.
At first—a thin line, like a stroke on paper.
Then—a dark mass moving in step.
Kano narrowed his eyes.
And he saw him.
At the head of the host—astride a massive war ram, sheathed in heavy golden armor—rode the king of the dwarves.
Around him—ranks of dwarven warriors bearing banners, axes, and great shields.
Behind—columns of wagons loaded with treasure, metal, tools, and… something that would change the city forever.
Kano whirled toward the nearest guard.
—"Immediately! Prepare to receive the king of the dwarves! Highest honors! Full battle readiness!"
The guard bolted. The city sprang to life like an anthill: orcs snapped their banners aloft, the dwarves already in the city fell into formation.
The gates began to open slowly, grating in the quiet, and Kano descended from the wall to stand in the square before the gate.
His mithril sword flashed in the sun, and his face was composed, but inside him a storm was raging.
"This is the very same king...
The one whose armies never retreat.
The one whose word is law to thousands.
And he's riding... to me?"
When the first dwarves passed through the gate, the square fell silent.
And when the ram's armor clanged against the cobbles and the figure of the king halted a few paces from Kano, everyone held their breath.
Kano wanted to step forward… to bow, as propriety demanded…
But the king of the dwarves raised his hand.
—"Don't, young man."
And… all watched, astonished, as the king of the dwarves dismounted from his war ram.
His beard brushed his metal belt, each step sounded like thunder, and a cloak threaded with gold slid slowly across the ground.
—"For the first time in history," he said so all could hear, "the king of the dwarves kneels... before a human."
And he knelt.
The silence that followed was louder than any shout.
Kano froze. His heart pounded like a drum before an execution.
He could not believe what he was seeing.
Selina, standing beside him, whispered in confusion:
—"What... what is happening?.."
Lianel tugged quickly at her skirt.
—"On your knee! Quickly!"
Selina gasped and dropped beside her. A heartbeat later—every orc, every dwarf, even Rudgard, even the old masters—took a knee.
At the center—Kano. Standing. Alone.
Surrounded by thousands who had bowed to him.
"I don't deserve this... I haven't done anything..."
—"Rise... please..." he whispered.
—"Your sincerity speaks louder than words," answered the king of the dwarves, rising.
—"And that is why, from this day forth, this city is a brother to the dwarven lands."
The king of the dwarves stood. His movements—slow, monumental, like a titan carved from stone.
He looked at Kano for a long, thoughtful moment—as if he were studying not merely a man, but something… older.
—"From this day forth," he proclaimed loudly, turning to everyone, "this city is a brother to the dwarven lands. We stand beside you. We are an alliance. And never, do you hear, never will we come here with war."
A whisper rippled across the square. The orcs traded glances. Even the old veterans, their helms battered, covered their mouths. No one had expected this.
Kano said nothing. Before his eyes flickered all the moments—the forests laid waste, the flight, the first night on orcish soil…
And now—a king who called him brother.
The king turned and waved his hand.
Carts rolled out from behind the dwarves' ranks. One after another. Dozens.
Some glittered with gold, others were packed with mithril ingots, still others with tools, jewels, scrolls, weapons, potions.
Each cart—worth a fortress.
—"This is our gift," the king said loudly.
—"We have not come empty-handed."
Everyone in the city froze.
The orcs were silent, as if someone had cut their voices out.
The dwarves stood in ranks, chins lifted with pride.
—"We will lay a trade route straight through this city. No tolls. No fees. No inspections."
Kano drew a deeper breath. His thoughts leapt.
"This is real trade… through an orcish city?
It will lift everyone. From the bottom—to the summit…"
The king went on:
—"Orcs and dwarves will trade freely. And anyone who dares attack this caravan declares war on the dwarven crown."
—"How… how shall we name the city?" Kano began, but Elgot cut in.
—"I already know what to call it."
—"We'll name it 'Varromhold'. If anyone didn't catch it, I'll explain: 'Varrom' because Kano became the true variable that changed the fate of these homeless orcs at the very start. And 'hold' because you not only changed this life, you chose to follow Kano as your leader and hold to him like loyal warriors."
Kano stood stunned, and the king of the dwarves only nodded in approval and went on with business.
—"And that's not all."
—"Hey! Masters!"
From the crowd stepped dwarf-smiths—shining aprons on, faces smudged with soot.
One of them—Rudgard—strode forward proudly, his armor blazing with gold and a red crystal set at the center of his chest.
—"They are the finest masters of my realm.
And I command them to forge weapons and armor for everyone who serves this city. Not the ordinary. Worthy of rulers themselves."
A low murmur rolled through the city. The orcs—who only yesterday wore patched helms and scuffed axes—stood as if spellbound. Some even… wiped their eyes. But pretended it was just dust on the wind.
Kano stood in silence. All these gifts… this respect…
He hadn't asked. He hadn't demanded. He hadn't expected.
"I… haven't done anything like this.
But if they believe in me—I must become the man they see."
And at that moment Rudgard, smiling, came a little closer, dipped his head, and whispered:
—"You thought I'd make it 'just okay'?
Then you don't know dwarves. Wait till you see what we're preparing…"
Kano gulped for air. It truly became… hard to breathe. From everything. From the pressure. From the gratitude. From the responsibility.
—"Thank you…" he whispered.
—"On behalf of everyone who lives here."
The king of the dwarves smiled and struck his chest with a fist:
—"This is only the beginning, Warlord."
By evening, the celebration was in full swing.
Dwarves unloaded the carts, orcs raised toasts, and the masters were already scouting spots for a new forge as if they were at home.
But Kano… stood apart, hands behind his back, studying the crowd intently.
"There are… so many of them.
And we have nothing worthy of such a king.
I don't even have a throne room. We have only… a heart."
—"Grimtar, come here," he called to his general.
The dark-skinned, broad-shouldered warrior came up, standing at full height.
—"Yes, Warlord."
—"Where are we going to house the king?.." Kano spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.
—"We don't have a single house that would… well, you understand."
Grimtar shook his head.
—"That's true. Even your home isn't finished yet. And it's not fit for such a guest…"
Kano fell silent. He looked over the square at people laughing, eating, embracing, sharing food with the dwarves.
—"Let the king stay in my house."
—"But you just said…"
—"The girls and I will live in a tent."
Grimtar said nothing. Then he lifted his gaze to him, and something new appeared in his eyes. Not just respect.
Recognition.
—"Order acknowledged."
He signaled to a few orcs—and they rushed at once to raise a spacious tent for Kano by the central fire.
Their movements—swift, precise, like a military operation.
—"We'll make it by nightfall," said Grimtar.
—"But why, Warlord? It's your house."
Kano didn't answer at once.
—"Because he is not just a guest.
He has given us more than we could ask for.
And if I don't set the example… then how can I be called a warlord at all?"