"You can just call me Monk. Before I retired from the order, I was a Witch Hunter," the tall human introduced himself, though Gromril had already learned this.
"That's good, friend!" Gromril took a sip of beer. "I believe you know more about Chaos's corruption of the mortal world than your predecessor."
Gromril knew that Witch Hunters came in all forms, from state-sanctioned, devout Cult of Sigmar official hunters to high-ranking mercenaries serving local nobles with the ability to deal with supernaturals.
But their common characteristics were an extreme aversion to defilement and an boundless zeal for hunting evil; otherwise, they could simply operate as ordinary mercenaries.
Of course, their motives and specific manifestations differed. The most fanatical among them would rather burn down a village than let a cultist go free.
Due to the existence of these extremists, Witch Hunters ranked very high among the most feared things in the Imperium of Man.
In the Knight Kingdom of Bretonnia, there were always jokes about Witch Hunters. Knight nobles used them to scare poor serfs who wanted to seek a living on the other side of the Grey Mountains.
A Witch Hunter was on a mission to a village believed to have heretics. On the way, he told his subordinates:
"We have two things to do. One is that everyone in this village must be burned to death, and the other is that we must paint all the sheep nearby green!"
His subordinate timidly asked, "Why do we have to paint the sheep green?"
"Good! I knew no one would object to the first thing!"
"Yes, at least I believe those big rats truly exist. Not only that, I've seen them, in the northernmost part of the Empire!" Sir Monk's voice pulled Gromril back to reality.
"North?" Gromril asked. He knew the approximate location of Skavenblight, the capital of the Skaven's underground empire, which was deep in the Withered Marshes of the southern mercenary kingdom of Tilea.
"That's right. I, and my colleagues, suspect those things are everywhere, but many who dared to report it to the higher-ups died unnatural deaths!" Sir Monk drank another glass of wine.
"Hmm, I understand." Gromril nodded. He realized he might have underestimated the extent of the Skaven's infiltration into the side of order.
"To be honest, I didn't really want to come. I'm old and tired!" Sir Monk continued. "However, I somewhat understand the importance of this place." He gestured to the floor.
"Well, I'll be honest too. Right now, the wound my father carved to write Dieter IV's name is still fresh." Gromril put on a look of deep-seated bitterness.
"Supporting your predecessor during wartime was already out of respect for the Eternal Hammer!" Gromril once again preemptively shut the human up.
"Hmm, it seems I'll have to judge a few heretics to satisfy your craving for those shiny little darlings, eh?" Sir Monk bit into a grilled pork chop. "Luckily, my Witch Hunter license wasn't turned in when I left!"
Gromril knew that professional Witch Hunters with official backing carried authorization documents detailing where and how they could perform their duties.
This permit generally included the right to search, detain, judge, execute, imprison, and prevent any behavior they deemed suspicious.
"Haha!" Gromril smiled faintly, noncommittally.
"But this must be done! To let so many rats sneak in undetected, I'm certain there are many Chaos worshippers here!" Sir Monk continued to speak to himself, seemingly itching for action.
"That's your business!" Gromril's tone remained neutral. He didn't want to waste time on such meaningless verbal sparring.
But from the moment Sir Monk sent his message, he knew what the human in front of him wanted - for his clansmen to help clear the sewers.
Faced with such a request, Gromril knew the necessity of cleaning the sewers, but he also knew he needed to secure more benefits for his clansmen.
In dwarf society, from the leader of the smallest clan to the High King of the entire Mountains Kingdom, leadership was almost entirely based on personal prestige.
If one's prestige was high enough, a command could bring clansmen from all directions, but if prestige was too low, even coercion and inducements might be useless.
Therefore, he couldn't force his clansmen to do what humans considered lowly work; he could only shift all the pressure onto Sir Monk himself.
Sir Monk probably understood Gromril's meaning. In his previous career as a Witch Hunter, he had collaborated with dwarves quite a bit. The dwarves' inherent characteristics made them the most trustworthy when Chaos was the imagined enemy.
"Friend, are you prepared for the Grey Seer, his powerful White Fur Council Guards, and the assassins of Clan Eshin?" As the dinner drew to a close, Gromril couldn't help but offer a reminder. He didn't want to see a third Helmgart lord when he passed through again in a few months.
"Ha! In Sigmar's name, I haven't seen them, especially that middle type of rat; I haven't even heard of them! That's why I hesitated for a whole night when I received the commission!" Sir Monk gripped his wine glass.
"Before this, I thought Skaven were only divided into common and black-furred ones! But we'll take it one step at a time. Have I recognized all those Chaos mutations?" He smiled. Though he was getting on in years, the boldness in his heart was still there.
"If you're really worried about me, why don't you bring me a few barrels of good wine on your way back! I used my old connections in the order to invite a few good lads and an even stronger priest."
Gromril smiled and stopped trying to persuade him. Could he really leave a few Eternal Hammer Guards to protect this Sir?
Over the next few days, Sir Monk, wielding the authority of his new appointment, swiftly arrested and judged a local minor noble and two wealthy merchants, executing them by fire in front of the temple in the center of the fortress.
Using the confiscated "Chaos provisions," Sir Monk successfully hired many dwarves. His younger Witch Hunter juniors from the order also led warriors from the provincial legion to fight alongside the dwarves.
Sir Monk knew very well that learning to fight in battle was far more effective than sharing experience verbally. The combined forces spent two days clearing the sewers of Helmgart, and all the slain rats were incinerated with flames.
When Gromril set the caravan in motion again, many dwarf warriors' pockets were bulging. However, the faint smell on them also forced Gromril to lead the way like a sheep, keeping some distance from them.
Gromril quickly passed through Axe Bite Pass, a trade route controlled at both ends by Castle Montfort and Helmgart Fortress.
As long as nothing went wrong on either side, the trade route itself was generally safe.
The closer he got to the western part of the Old World, the more the sea breeze from the Great Ocean made the climate relatively mild.
The northern section of the Grey Mountains didn't even have snow.
Gromril's little goat also moved much more briskly.
By noon on the third day, he and his caravan finally arrived at the gates of Karak-Zfirin.
This was a dwarf stronghold carved out of a granite mountain.
It was the last to be completed during the Golden Age, and thus represented the pinnacle of dwarf craftsmanship from that era.
As the caravan gradually approached, the gates of Breezehold opened.
Gromril looked into the distance and saw a group of Iron Hammer Guard escorting several high-ranking individuals out.
Gromril saw the plate armor on the leading dwarf glinting in the sunlight.
From what he had learned in the Karak-Azgaraz tavern, he knew this was one of the legendary items held by the royal family of Breezehold—the Sunrise Armor.
This legendary item, like the inherited treasure of Gromril's own clan, was made of stone, but it was crafted from a granite core excavated when Breezehold was first carved out.
Granite is an exceptionally hard crystalline rock, and because its crystallization process is slow, its crystals interweave like a Rubik's Cube.
Granite often contains other minerals, such as hornblende and mica, giving it various colors.
This armor was named 'Sunrise' because of the pale red and yellow crystals interspersed within it, which at first glance resembled the halo of the rising sun.
Gromril felt relieved when he saw the plate armor; clearly, Lord Granite Hand had come out to greet him personally, which indicated that the Lord of Weifeng Fort (Breezehold) did not intend to make things difficult for him regarding the marriage reception.
If the Lord had decided to deal with private matters first, he could have simply waited for Gromril in the throne room.
After all, caravans arrived every year, but a daughter's marriage happened only once, and even the most traditional clansmen could not fault him for that.
"Welcome, Master Gromril.
May the Ancestor Goddess forever bless you and the entire Kingdom of the Mountains!" As Gromril approached, the dwarves opposite came forward, and the middle-aged man at the forefront greeted him warmly.
"Greetings to you, Lord Rorick, in the name of my father, Thorgrim Grudgebearer!" It seemed this Lord wanted to discuss private matters later, so Gromril also used official language.
The current Lord of Weifeng Fort (Breezehold) was named Rorick, and Granite Hand was a nickname passed down through generations of Breezehold Lords, with each city lord automatically acquiring it.
Unlike the clansmen of the World's Edge Mountains, who needed to undergo Miner training, the clansmen of Breezehold were renowned throughout the Old World for their stonemasonry skills.
Generally speaking, every Lord of Weifeng Fort (Breezehold) was also an excellent stonemason.
Even if his skill was truly average, with the help of the Mountain Breaker—another inherited artifact of Breezehold, a legendary gauntlet engraved with a master-level cleaving rune—he could gain the mighty power to turn stone into mud.
Gromril exchanged pleasantries with the other high-ranking officials of Breezehold as he walked towards the fortress hall.
Breezehold did not have many underground mineral deposits, so the above-ground portion was more prominent.
Among these individuals, Gromril chatted a few more words with Rune Master Halleck the Armor-Breaker of Breezehold.
From their similar names, it was clear that he had a deep blood relationship with Lord Rorick.
This was very common in dwarf society; again, nepotism here was not a derogatory term.
Often, the ruling clan, with its resource advantages, found it easier to train high-level professionals.
Gromril didn't know much about this elder Rune Master because of the long distance; after completing his Master-level certification, he never returned to the Rune Smith Guild located at Everpeak.
Gromril's eyes darted around, searching for Prince Stringer, as he was a potential competitor for his anvil of doom.
However, it seemed that due to his insufficient status, the Prince did not appear at the gate.
Generally speaking, dwarves liked to hold grand ceremonies at night; the celebrations of the Sons of the Mountains were incomplete without alcohol to catalyze them.
Lunch was just a simple meal; after eating, Gromril went to his guest room.
Since he was staying here for the New Year and also had to welcome his elder brother's bride in addition to official duties, Gromril did not pay to stay in the largest tavern in the fortress as he had before, but accepted the room arranged for him by Lord Rorick in the upper levels of the fortress.
After seeing off the accompanying attendant, Gromril did not take a nap but quickly set to work.
Arriving at noon was the result of him deliberately controlling his time along the way, just to gain an afternoon before the official welcome ceremony.
Now Gromril needed to figure out the matter of the anvil of doom; such a treasure was of great significance to him.
On one hand, it was a symbol of a Rune Master's status, and on the other, it was a great enhancement of his own strength.
With its characteristic ability to channel the Winds of Magic to charge runes, Gromril could not only restrict enemy spellcasters but also strike runes more frequently in battle.
If he hadn't known beforehand, he would have certainly gone to the local Rune Smith Guild to consult with Halleck the Armor-Breaker.
After all, he knew the most about the anvil of doom, and as a fellow professional, there was a natural sense of closeness.
But Gromril now knew that Prince Stringer was Master Halleck's disciple, and he couldn't gauge the Master's attitude.
If he were to rush over and inquire, even with subtle hints, there was a high probability of exposing his intentions.
A Rune Master without an anvil of doom traveling thousands of miles to inquire about such an item—even a child too young to drink beer would know what he wanted!
Breezehold was the dwarf settlement furthest from the World's Edge Mountains.
In terms of direct distance to Everpeak, it might truly be no closer than the Norscan Dwarfs' central city of Kraka Drak.
In this place, Gromril had no acquaintances.
Under these circumstances, he decided to seek out his sister-in-law—if there was only one dwarf in all of Breezehold who would help him, it could only be Princess Pamela.
Gromril had been pondering all along that the number of high-ranking dwarves who understood the anvil of doom was limited, and among them, only his future sister-in-law was related to him.
Considering that as a female, she was born a follower of Mother Goddess Valaya, and had once studied in the Physician's Guild that worshipped Valaya, she would in any case be benevolent towards him as the Chosen of the Goddess.
Gromril made up his mind, put on his fake beard, and slipped out the door.
He had already arranged for Balin to find out his sister-in-law's residence beforehand, which, of course, wasn't difficult.
In dwarf society, due to the sparse population, etiquette was relatively less emphasized.
Gromril himself had a special status and would not be criticized for unmarried individuals meeting privately.
Gromril walked out, tidying his fake beard. In truth, the clansmen of Breezehold barely knew him, as the official welcoming banquet hadn't even taken place yet.
Especially since his story had been spread with embellishments, his image in the clansmen's minds was probably similar to Henrid-Dragonslayer, the gatekeeper of Zhufbar.
If Gromril were to stop a Clansman on the street now and tell him he was Gromril, the Chosen of the Goddess, the other person would likely laugh and say that Master Gromril was a warrior strong enough to arm-wrestle a giant,
and then suggest he eat more peanuts when drinking, to at least fatten himself up a bit before going out to act drunk.
Princess Pamela's boudoir was also on the upper level of the Mountain Stronghold. Gromril walked half a circle around the corridor and arrived at the door.
"Knock, knock!" He looked around, found no one, and knocked on the door.
"Elder, who are you looking for? Her Royal Highness does not see strangers!" A cautious female dwarf opened the door a crack. From her attire, Gromril judged she was his elder sister-in-law's maid.
"Just tell her an old acquaintance from the Karaz-A-Karak Physician's Guild has come to visit!" Gromril's eyes darted about as he gave a fake identity.
The maid nodded, then closed the door again, clearly going in to announce him. A moment later, she invited Gromril in.
"I'm truly sorry, the news of my impending marriage has spread with the preparations for my dowry. Many clansmen have come to cause trouble these days; it's a good thing the Chosen of the Goddess arrived with the caravan today, which has made them somewhat restrained!"
Gromril saw that this room was similar to his own in Everpeak, both being a two-room, one-living-room layout, with the attendant living in the small room near the door.
The speaking female dwarf looked up from her desk and examined Gromril. "You are...?" She searched her memory but didn't recall such an elder in the Physician's Guild.
Gromril gave a look and quickly approached. He lifted his cloak, revealing the clan's stone plate armor symbol on the lining of his robe.
"Ho... Rena! Go outside and keep watch, don't let anyone in!" Princess Pamela was also a dwarf who had seen many grand occasions. She immediately sent her maid out to stand guard.
This was indeed the case; due to the Dwarf race's small population, royal family members not in the direct line of succession usually only had one attendant, who therefore had to play multiple roles, while only the eldest son could have more staff.
"Sister-in-law, it's me, Gromril-az Thorson!" Gromril surveyed the room, then removed his hood. Although the female dwarf before him hadn't officially married into the family yet, Gromril addressed her as 'sister-in-law' to foster closeness, as he had a request for her.
"Huh?" Princess Pamela was a little stunned. She hadn't expected the Chosen of the Goddess to appear before her in such a manner.
"I came unannounced; please don't take offense, sister-in-law!" Gromril apologized. Disguising oneself with a fake beard was rare in dwarf society, as most adult males took pride in their magnificent beards.
"Oh, oh, you must be talking about the challenge!" Princess Pamela recovered and smiled. In her view, this could also be considered Gromril's respect for her charm.
"Indeed, the number of young clansmen who will challenge you tonight will not be small. I know many clansmen residing outside the Mountains have also come!" Pamela gestured for Gromril to sit in the chair opposite her desk.
Through previous understanding, Gromril knew that Karak-Zfirin didn't have many mineral deposits, so the number of clansmen living in the Mountain Stronghold wasn't very large.
But her true significance to the Mountain Kingdom was that she was the economic and political center for all dwarf settlements in the entire Kingdom of Bretonnia.
For various reasons, the dwarves generally had many complaints about the Knight lords of Bretonnia, and in the conflicts between the Imperium of Man and the Knight Kingdom, they usually leaned more towards the Imperium.
But Karak-Zfirin was an exception; facing the struggle between the two great human powers over the Grey Mountains, she had maintained neutrality for a thousand years. It was quite remarkable, considering the ancient alliance between Sigmar and Kurgan Ironbeard was still in effect.
The core reason for the change among the clansmen of Breezehold was simply that the Knight lords offered too much. These fellows, who treated peasants as less than human, collected taxes from their lands that brought tears to the eyes of those who heard and pain to the hearts of those who saw.
A significant portion of the money collected was transformed into something indispensable for Knights on their quest for military honors, prestige, higher titles, and even the Holy Grail: weapons and armor.
The dwarves were also the best smiths in the entire Old World. Except for a very few rebellious individuals who preferred the light equipment of the Wood Elves, most of this money flowed into dwarf workshops.
Breezehold and the dwarves in the human world of Bretonnia couldn't even handle all these orders; many high-end custom products had to be produced in Everpeak, which was also why the caravan had to stay in Breezehold for the New Year.
However, the dwarves of Bretonnia were not as scattered as their compatriots in the Imperium of Man; they only established their settlements within the castles of the Dukes. This was because, unlike the wealthy free farmers of the Imperium of Man, the serfs of Bretonnia could not afford dwarf products.
"Uh, indeed, of course," Gromril picked up his sister-in-law's words.
"But in my opinion, none of them are worth your worry! Your bravery and superb skill will surely win them over!" Princess Pamela poured Gromril a cup of tea.
"Hahaha, sister-in-law, it's fine for the clansmen outside to spread rumors without knowing the truth. Don't you know my true capabilities?"
Gromril laughed, recalling that Princess Pamela had often observed when his elder brother Grom taught him martial arts.
"Heh heh! I believe you've made progress!" Princess Pamela also smiled subtly. It was then that Gromril settled down to examine the appearance of his future sister-in-law. She was a complete beauty by dwarf standards—
Her short stature was quite plump, and she wore two rings on her fingers, which were so tight they created a circle at each joint, making her fingers look like a string of short sausages.
Her skin was smooth and taut, glistening in the sunlight from the Mountain Stronghold window. Her chest was so full that its outline was visible even through her wide gown.
Her fresh, vibrant complexion was very pleasing to the eye. Her face was like a peony about to bloom, her lips appearing slightly small against the fleshy backdrop of her cheeks. When she smiled, a row of shining and very delicate teeth was revealed inside.
Adding to this her status as Princess of Karak-Zfirin, one of the few large Mountain Strongholds still under the control of the Sons of the Mountains, her charm was amplified even further!
However, all of this had little effect on Gromril; his aesthetic taste remained as it was in his previous life and had not changed with his new body.
Gromril patiently listened as Princess Pamela analyzed the distinct characteristics and strengths of several potential challengers before preparing to steer the conversation towards the issues he cared about.
"That's probably about it!" Princess Pamela, like every traditional dwarf, once her mouth opened, it wouldn't close for a long time. She was quite pleased with Gromril, the Chosen of the Goddess, for taking his marriage so seriously.
Gromril was forced to listen for a long time to heroic deeds such as the 'First Blacksmith of the younger generation in the Karak-Azgal settlement' and the 'Scourge of Ungors in the mines and surrounding vast areas southwest of the Arden Forest'.
In a race like the dwarves, who respect age and experience, clansmen of his age or slightly older often hadn't yet achieved anything particularly noteworthy. Their simple nicknames seemed rather unimpressive in front of Gromril.
"Ah, Big Sister-in-law, I understand what you're saying! Don't worry, tonight I won't embarrass Big Brother or the clan!" Gromril thumped his chest loudly.
"Uh, I heard that this place was infiltrated by Gulu's Greenskins a while ago. Is that true?" Gromril decided to beat around the bush first.
"That's right. I had just returned from Everpeak not long before then, but the losses weren't too great, just a side warehouse! At that time, the military strength under that greedy Greenskin was far less powerful than when you, Little Uncle, fought him at Black Fire Pass."
Princess Pamela saw Gromril call her 'Big Sister-in-law', and she didn't decline, using 'Little Uncle' to address him.
"Valaya above, that truly is a blessing in disguise!" Gromril exclaimed a divine name, and he said it with genuine sincerity.
"To be honest with you, ever since I received the Mother Goddess's grace, I've been very anxious, unable to sleep at night!"
"What's wrong? I heard you've accomplished quite a lot on your journey! You've spread the Mother Goddess's compassion, purged the geomantic network, rescued our kinsmen in Undermountain Hold, saved the nobles of the Principality of Parravon, and just a few days ago, Rangers were spreading tales of your deeds in Helmgart!"
Princess Pamela was a little puzzled. In her opinion, such achievements were already remarkable for Gromril's age. For many dwarves who spent their entire lives in the fortress, their life's accomplishments wouldn't surpass Gromril's single journey.
"But it's still not enough! I swore an oath before the Mother Goddess to reclaim the lost Mountain Strongholds, recover the lost artifacts, and restore the glory of the Mountain Kingdoms!" Gromril repeated his initial words.
"After this journey, I've become even more aware of my own lack of strength! To be honest with you, I still shudder when I recall the sky-darkening Great Eagles and Forest Dragons I saw back at Karak-Heorn!"
Seeing Gromril's genuine expression, Princess Pamela tugged at a strand of her hair. "Is, is that so? How come I heard that with a single roar from you, the Pointy-ears in the forest fled in panic?" she mumbled softly.
"Although I don't understand much about you men's affairs, according to my brother, if you spent more time honing your Rune skills with Master Krag, your strength should increase very quickly, shouldn't it?" The dwarf woman began to try and advise her Little Uncle.
"The articles written in blood in the great book of grudges feel as if they are directly pressing on my shoulders! Those unforgettable grudges remain unavenged, and the Mother Goddess's homeland is still being desecrated…"
Gromril, like every dwarf, began his lengthy discourse, but being a Transmigrator, his eloquence was far superior to that of ordinary clansmen. After a series of parallel sentences, Princess Pamela's eyes were already brimming with tears.
"Hmph, hmph!" She wiped away her tears and took two deep breaths. "I think, perhaps Karak-Zfirin has something you might be able to use!"
Gromril secretly chuckled at her words. His Big Sister-in-law was quite perceptive, and his efforts hadn't been in vain.
However, this wasn't entirely unexpected. Any loyal Son of the Mountains, upon hearing the Ancestor Goddess's only Chosen express his distress over insufficient strength to revitalize the Mountains, would be moved.
"It wouldn't be that Hammer of Winds, would it? How could I be worthy of such a legendary treasure?" Gromril employed a classic skill from his previous life—feigning ignorance.
"No, no, it's something only you who can wield Rune magic can use. What was it called? Oh, the anvil of doom!"
Princess Pamela uttered the four words Gromril wanted to hear. Gromril didn't want to make things so complicated. But if he were to directly run up to Lord Rorek and say:
"I know you have an extra anvil of doom here. Name your price, you guys don't even use it anyway!"
Then, if the Hammerers didn't directly escort him out of the gates of Breezehold, it would be giving face to the Ancestor Goddess. dwarves value wealth, let alone treasures inherited from the Ancestor Gods. He had to find an intermediary.
"Ah, that indeed is a precious treasure. My own, no, our clan's is managed by Uncle Iron Chisel, who is a more experienced elder." Gromril directly pulled the woman in front of him into his camp.
"Hmm, I know Karak-Zfirin still has a dusty one. The Elder Council has to approve a small sum of money each year for its maintenance. It seems they say that if there isn't a Rune Master to provide energy to keep it running, the Runes inscribed on it will gradually lose their effectiveness."
Princess Pamela recalled, she wasn't particularly concerned with the affairs of these Rune Smiths. Most of her understanding came from her brother, Stringer.
"Speaking of which, how long does it usually take for a Rune Smith to become a Master?" Princess Pamela asked seemingly casually.
Gromril knew the crucial part had arrived. How he answered this question would determine whether his future Big Sister-in-law would firmly stand by his side.
"Of course, I'm not talking about your standards, the youngest Rune Master since Thurni—Stringer keeps muttering that every day since I came back!" Seeing Gromril organizing his words, his Big Sister-in-law made a joke.
"To be honest, according to our guild's internal statistics, a hundred years is considered fast," Gromril said after careful consideration.
"And this is still based on living in the World's Edge Mountains. You know, in the Mountains to the west, Master-level Rune Smiths are not numerous." What Gromril said was true; there were no Master-level Rune Smiths in Ironforge or Undermountain Hold along his journey.
"I don't know Master Armored Breaker's exact age, but, well, the immersion of Rune power will improve the user's physical condition to some extent; the stronger they are, the longer their lifespan."
Princess Pamela nodded. She had been to Everpeak and knew Master Krag's story.
Gromril knew he needed to proceed gradually. After Princess Pamela accepted that Rune Masters generally have longer lifespans, he continued his discourse.
"But there's something else I'm ashamed to mention: my colleagues often wish to hide their skills within their anvils and forging hammers. They don't pass them on to their disciples until the opportune moment—usually when they foresee themselves entering the halls of their ancestors."
Gromril took a sip of the tea on the table, a specialty drink of the Bretonnia Kingdom.
"Even now, my teacher hasn't given me any special guidance. Such behavior has led to many precious runes being lost to the sands of time. But I believe that, given the strong external threats we face now, I would be willing to change it if I had the chance."
Gromril didn't elaborate, trusting that his sister-in-law's demonstrated wisdom would allow her to understand his meaning. In Pamela's view, Gromril's 'chance' referred to becoming the leader of the Rune Smith Guild.
This wouldn't be difficult for him; after all, Gromril is the disciple of the current Guild Master, the Guild's headquarters are in Everpeak, and the Drazklad Clan has ruled there for generations.
"Alright, if I get the chance, I'll speak to my father about it." Princess Pamela let out a sigh of relief.
"I am truly grateful to you. I have brought a considerable amount of betrothal gold, so I won't make things difficult for you." Gromril seized the opportunity and made his assurance.
After a few more casual words, Gromril bid farewell and left his sister-in-law's boudoir. He needed to adjust his state to face the evening's challenges.
At dusk, Gromril, led by several Iron Hammer Guards, arrived at the fortress's great hall. Compared to lunchtime, it was clearly decorated now, with a festive atmosphere.
"Welcome, esteemed Chosen of the Goddess, Master Gromril the Generous!" Lord Rorick was in high spirits. He had no reason not to be happy; the New Year was just a few days away, and his daughter's marriage would be officially settled today.
"I won't mince words; those of you who are well-informed probably already know!" The middle-aged dwarf stroked his long beard with one hand and held a tankard of beer with the other.
He was very pleased with the packed hall below, which showcased his and Karak-Zfirin's strong influence in the surrounding regions, making him feel proud in front of merchants from various places.
"Hahaha!"
"Congratulations!"
The dwarves, both on and off the stage, cheered. Even if they had some dissatisfaction about the Princess marrying far away, they wouldn't express it to Lord Rorick at this juncture. The representative of the culprit—Gromril—was still sitting to his lower left, wasn't he?
"My daughter, Pamela, will be marrying into the Drazklad Clan of Karaz-A-Karak, to His Majesty Thorgrim, King of the Mountains' eldest son, Grom Thorson!" Lord Rorick amplified his voice, which echoed throughout the entire hall.
"Hooray!"
"Congratulations!"
The clansmen present grew even more excited. With the Lord leading the way, everyone drank a toast together. He then gave a few more ceremonial remarks before sitting down, signaling that it was Gromril's turn to speak.
Gromril tugged at his tunic and stood up. "Ah, everyone, I am Gromril-az Thorson. It's my first time here, so please forgive any unintentional breaches of etiquette!"
Gromril did not list his string of titles, not even the most classic and widely celebrated Chosen of the Goddess. After all, his current identity was that of the groom Grom's younger brother.
Gromril's humble attitude earned him a good deal of goodwill from the audience.
"Welcome, esteemed Chosen of the Goddess!"
"Praise your skill and generosity!"
Many dwarves below cheered. Although the evening was a grand banquet, attended by more than just the local leadership from noon, the dwarves present all held some status.
Most of them were elders of various clans in Breezehold, managers of merchant guilds, blacksmiths' guilds, and so on. In short, the middle management had all come.
Given the Dwarf race's social tradition of respecting age and experience, it was not difficult to deduce that they were all clansmen of the Longbeard level. Their increasing age, in addition to making them respect Gromril, the Chosen of the Goddess, even more, also meant that most of them were already married. Even those who weren't had surely withdrawn from the competition for Princess Pamela's affection.
The scattered murmurs from the few young'uns who qualified to attend because their ancestors or fathers were part of the dwarf leadership within Breezehold's sphere of influence were drowned out by the loud voices of their elders.
"As you all know, why I am here!" Gromril generally disliked shouting loudly, as it was somewhat taxing on his throat. Currently, Gromril had not discovered any throat lozenges in this world.
The Dwarf race's custom of excessive drinking naturally irritates the mucous membranes of the throat, and coupled with loud speaking, many elderly clansmen have somewhat hoarse voices. However, at this moment, he tried his best to raise his volume to appear more imposing.
"My elder brother, Prince Grom, and Princess Pamela have entered into an engagement. I will represent him in accepting the trials from our elders and clansmen here, to prove that my elder brother, our family, and the clan I come from are capable of protecting the Princess of Karak-Zfirin!"
Gromril's powerful declaration once again drew a round of applause and cheers. However, it was time to finish the meal before the challengers would make their move.
As the banquet neared its end, Gromril saw seven or eight young young'uns stand up simultaneously. Several of them, from their physical features, were those his sister-in-law had specifically mentioned that afternoon.
"I am from the Golden Hammer clan…"
"I am from the Ler-Angrund settlement…"
After a chaotic round of self-introductions and interruptions, they condensed their demands into a single sentence.
"I challenge you!"
Looking at the young'uns before him, Gromril smiled calmly. He believed this group posed no significant threat. In terms of strength, he had his invincible Stormhammer; in terms of skill, his title of Rune Master was enough to overwhelm them.
Just as Gromril was subtly flexing his knees and wrists, preparing to teach these young'uns a lesson about being dwarves one by one, two Iron Hammer Guards suddenly ran in from outside the hall.
They waved to Lord Rorick at the entrance, and Gromril noticed the middle-aged dwarf frowning deeply. Clearly, he was very displeased that his good event was being interrupted, especially with so many esteemed guests present.
The Lord waved his hand, signaling to the two guards not to disturb him unless it was a matter of utmost importance, but it was clear the situation was serious. The two dwarves pushed their way through the boisterous clansmen and squeezed to the front of the stage.
Lord Rorick had no choice; he had to hand over the hosting duties for the bride-welcoming challenges to his cousin, Master Halleck, then turned and left the stage to deal with the urgent situation.
At the request of the challengers, all participants in this challenge used standard armor and wooden training weapons. On one hand, they were wary of the Gromril clan's financial power, and on the other, it was to avoid hurting feelings.
Gromril, of course, had no objection to this; as long as it wasn't a group fight, he could completely take care of a young'un and then manually retrieve his hammer.
Since Helmgart Fortress was not far from Breezehold, many Imperial dwarves there had marital ties with those in Breezehold. Gromril had also stayed a few extra days waiting for Sir Monk to take office, so his title, "Stormhammer," had already spread throughout Breezehold.
The first challenger had clearly paid attention to Gromril's tactical characteristics. Facing the flying hammer skill, he chose to quickly close in after Master Halleck gave the order, hoping to prevent Gromril from throwing the flying hammer.
Forcing spellcasters, archers, and Rune Smiths of similar skill into close-quarters combat, which they were relatively unsuited for, was a common counter-tactic, but it was useless against Gromril.
He watched the young'un opposite him jump around, even doing a roll on the ground to get in front of him, and before he could even swing the battle-axe in his hand, he was hit directly in the face by a Stormhammer, falling straight down.
Although he used a wooden hammer, with the skill's bonus and the close distance, Gromril saw that the young'un's nose bridge was broken, and his unconscious face was covered in blood.
"Next time, I'll aim for the chest!" Gromril muttered to himself.
"May the Ancestor Goddess bless you!" Gromril waited for Master Halleck to declare the victor, then stepped forward two paces and placed his hand on the young'un's head.
He once again chose the healing option from the Valaya Ritual. A green light appeared on the young'un's body, and in the blink of an eye, his injuries were healed.
Gromril felt that his prestige had risen another level, and he now had a decent force at his disposal. Considering that he would need to organize an expeditionary force—or, more accurately, an army—later, he believed it was time to let his clansmen know that his relationship with the Ancestor Goddess was solid.
Such a miracle, as expected, attracted every clansmen in the hall.
"Praise the Mother Goddess!"
"Valaya above, willing to pray for the challenger, he is truly merciful!"
"The Ancestor Gods have returned to us; the Golden Age of the Mountains will come again!"
The cheers of the clansmen were enough to lift the ceiling of the stone hall. Although Gromril's title as the Chosen of the Goddess was already known to everyone in the Mountains, witnessing divine grace firsthand still made every dwarf incredibly excited.
Gromril saw his Revival Points begin to surge again. Healing a single injured person didn't cost much, but Karak-Zfirin was currently a fertile ground for spreading faith.
Gromril looked at the numbers in the system. In Karak-Heorn, he had depleted his accumulated points to heal those injured in the Twilight Sisters' raid. Afterward, he spent five hundred points to cast the 'Energetic' effect on Empress Dowager Mary.
Since then, he had gained some points from battles along the way, but because Skarsnik before Undermountain Hold was not yet the future Eight Peaks Mountain general, and Helmgart was a fortress belonging to humans, his points had just barely surpassed the two thousand mark.
Amidst a chorus of praise, the fellow who had been knocked out by a Stormhammer rubbed his cheek and sat up. He was puzzled by receiving a Bash yet being completely unharmed, but he quickly understood what had happened from the shouts of the surrounding clansmen.
The surrounding clansmen clamored to ask him about the feeling of receiving divine grace. This young'un was clever; although he was defeated in one move, he still seized this opportunity to raise his own status.
He cupped his hands to Gromril, praised the Mother Goddess a few times, then jumped off the platform to spread the Mother Goddess's grace among the enthusiastic clansmen.
Gromril struck while the iron was hot, adding a few words to fuel the excitement. After his skill cooldown ended, he signaled Master Halleck that the next challenger could enter the arena.
Master Halleck called out twice, but the remaining local dwarf young talents began to show some hesitation. Losing to the Chosen of the Ancestor Goddess, Master Stormhammer Gromril, was not shameful, but being unable to even take one move would be very embarrassing.
Seeing these young'uns like defeated quails, the middle-aged and older clansmen, who had witnessed divine grace and held Gromril in even higher esteem, began to laugh and scold them.
"Hahaha, spineless fellows! No wonder Princess Pamela wants to marry into Everpeak!"
"They were so boisterous just now, and now they're going to disgrace the clan!"
"Their ancestors in the Mother Goddess's hall must be blushing!"
Young dwarves are always hot-blooded. Finally, the second challenger jumped onto the stage.
"Hmph! Throwing a hammer from afar to hit people doesn't make one a hero! Let me, Gorehorn Hammer, show what a true warrior is before the Mother Goddess!"
This young dwarf wielded a one-handed warhammer and a shield. Although his words were loud, his body was very honest after stepping onto the stage.
Compared to his human friends who only knew a general outline, his dwarf clansmen knew more details about Gromril's story.
After being saved from death by the Mother Goddess, Gromril also received extra tutelage from the original creator of dwarf script, learning two lost master-level runes.
With those two runes, he was successfully recognized as a Rune Master. Afterward, he affixed one of them to his warhammer; the power of the master-level throwing rune allowed him to recall thrown weapons.
Considering that Gromril was currently using a training wooden hammer, which wouldn't return after being thrown, the dwarf opposite him did not advance, maintaining a distance of ten meters, protecting himself with his shield, and moving back and forth with small steps.
His combat experience was quite rich, and his calculations were clear. In his view, Gromril, being of higher status, was the one in a hurry. If he maintained a defensive stance, Gromril would certainly have to take the initiative to attack.
Otherwise, if the Chosen of the Goddess and some Gorehorn Hammer stalemated on stage for a long time, afraid to act, it would certainly be Gromril who lost face. And if Gromril didn't use the flying hammer for close-quarters combat, he wouldn't be defeated in one move at least. But if he insisted on throwing, under focused defense, it was very likely to be blocked. At that point, even if Gromril was as mighty as the legends said, empty-handed, he would be nothing more than a griffon without claws!
"Heh! Still underestimated the power of my skill!" Gromril thought to himself, but his hand was not slow, and a Stormhammer was sent out.
The young'un reacted too slowly and was struck on the shield. Although the damage might not have been enough, the stun effect still made him fall to the ground.
Gromril advanced quickly while his opponent was still stunned.
When young'un regained consciousness, he found a hammer pressed against his forehead.
"This Stormhammer technique is truly extraordinary, you are superior, I surrender!" This clansmen was very open, not trying to make a fuss or argue; he simply jumped off the stage.
"Stormhammer!"
"Stormhammer Gromril!"
Watching Gromril defeat two challengers consecutively with flying hammers, the clansmen erupted in cheers.
Although throwing weapons were not a mainstream combat style among the Dwarf race, as long as they were effective, it was perfectly acceptable.
Perhaps the two young men who first came up for the martial contest were well-known warriors among their peers locally; their quick defeat made other challengers hesitant.
After much deferral, a finely dressed young'un was pushed forward.
"Greetings to you, Master Gromril the Generous! My name is Stringer!" He chose another epithet to address Gromril.
Gromril observed the young clansmen before him, whose black beard was about as long as his own, and wondered silently.
This young Rune Smith had a decent appearance, but by dwarf standards, his physique seemed a bit thin.
"I have no doubts about your strength, or your brother's," his voice sounded somewhat weak, and his words were not particularly firm.
Such a timid display drew boos from the crowd.
It was well known that during a marriage challenge, the bride's kin were usually the ones expected to put in a real effort.
"But out of respect for tradition, I shall humbly request to learn from you the art of rune carving!" Stringer seemed rather unenthusiastic, as if he had already conceded defeat.
Before Gromril could inquire about the specific rules of the contest, Lord Rorek re-emerged from the small room behind them.
"How is the challenge progressing?" The dwarf Lord seemed preoccupied.
"Master Gromril just defeated the little fellow from the Golden Hammer clan and a young man from down the Mountains with two flying hammers.
Now, Stringer is about to represent our clan in the final spar with him!" Master Halleck reported the situation to his Lord.
"Stringer? Can his small frame withstand Master Gromril's Stormhammer? Get down quickly! Don't injure yourself, we have more important matters now!" Lord Rorek mumbled a few words.
Prince Stringer, hearing this, felt as if he had been granted a great pardon, and he immediately stepped down.
"Why are you so useless now? The qualities of our clan ancestors were not like this!" Seeing his disciple not even exchange a few pleasantries, Master Halleck also began to grumbling.
Although everyone basically agreed that Stringer was no match for Gromril, uttering a few strong words when his father signaled the end of the challenge would have been a way to show his spirit.
"Since everyone has no objections, the marriage challenge will end here!" It seemed the matter was significant, as Lord Rorek directly announced the dismissal of guests and clearing of the hall.
The banquet had already concluded, and the guests present were generally understanding.
After offering their blessings to Lord Rorek for gaining a good son-in-law, they filed out.
"You few, stay behind, we're going to the back for a meeting!" Gromril was also about to turn and leave; in his opinion, there was no need for him to interfere in the local affairs of Breezehold, but he was still called back by the dwarf Lord.
A few more members of the fortress management than at noon gathered in the Lord's small conference room.
Each person was served a cup of beer, but Gromril indicated he needed a cup of tea.
"It's like this, our human friends in Bretonnia have encountered a bit of trouble!" Lord Rorek sat at the head of the table, stroking his beard.
"Are the Norsca barbarians from the north going to harass the Dukedom of Couronne with their longships again? They're all humans, how can there be such a big difference?" An old dwarf mumbled.
"If you ask me, it's probably an internal matter! Charlon, that Knight King, organized a long-distance expedition at the command of their goddess, which left their country incredibly vulnerable!"
Another dwarf, dressed as a soldier, interrupted him.
Gromril learned from those around him that this was Divas-Melthone, the Champion of Karak-Zfirin.
He had clearly drunk a bit too much at the previous banquet, and now his speech was not very clear.
"It must be, the horned things from the forest are out again! Kill all the greenskins, *hic*, he really dares to dream!" Melthone, even drunk, continued to ramble.
"You're pretty close, but it's not Beastmen, it's Vampires!" Lord Rorek raised his voice to quell the noise in the conference room.
"Those persistent, desecrating creatures, according to our friends, are harassing them from the sea."
"Vampire Pirates?" Gromril mumbled.
These fellows, controlling various sea creatures and large cannons, were indeed formidable foes, but compared to Vampires on land, the Dwarf race had far fewer grievances related to them, as pirates and the Sons of the Mountains rarely clashed.
Gromril knew that in the Warhammer World, Vampires had a long history, their origins tracing back to Nehekhara thousands of years ago.
After first defeating Lord of the Undead Nagash, Lamashza, the ruler of the Lahmia city-state, driven by a desire for Lord of the Undead's power of eternal life, transported Arkhan the Black—Lord of the Undead's strongest and most loyal servant—to her city-state.
In Lahmia, Arkhan was awakened and imprisoned, forced to teach the local nobles Lord of the Undead's magic.
During this process, he somehow became involved with Lamashza's queen, Neferata.
Thereafter, after a series of melodramas and magic experiments without safety precautions, they successfully developed a new version of the elixir of immortality.
Subsequently, Neferata became the world's first Vampire, and distributed the elixir to Lahmia's high officials, transforming them into Vampire progenitors.
Strictly speaking, any Vampire could be resurrected through the correct ritual.
Of course, they generally had to be powerful enough to have Dependents willing to resurrect them, and worthy of being resurrected.
This situation led to a wide disparity in the strength of Vampires.
"Now their domestic forces are very weak, and the harassment from those sea Vampires has already left the Dukedom of Bordeleaux overwhelmed.
But that's not all; some Black Guard of the Morrian cult and some Grail Maidens, well, the spellcasters who serve the Lady of the Lake,"
Lord Rorek continued to state the situation; he had originally intended to directly refer to the Lady of the Lake, but considering Gromril, the dwarf Mother Goddess's chosen one, was present, he changed his wording at the last minute.
"They report to their lords that the desecrators lurking in the local forests and valleys of Bretonnia are going to cooperate with those from the sea!"
Hearing Lord Rorek's words, the high-ranking officials of Breezehold present frowned. It was well-known that Bretonnia harbored many Vampires, and some Vampires and their kin resided in Blackstone Stronghold, north of Breezehold.
The successive Lords of Karak-Zfirin had fought against the undead entrenched there, partly because these creatures desecrated lands that originally belonged to the Sons of the Mountains.
On the other hand, a more practical reason was that they blocked the only path to retaking the Kint Mine. That area held vast reserves of pig iron, which would be an excellent supplement to Karak-Zfirin's relatively barren mines.
Over nearly a thousand years of conflict, Blackstone Stronghold changed hands multiple times. The dwarves of Breezehold found that each time the Vampires were defeated, they could quickly raise another undead army from the Bretonnian kingdom at the foot of the Mountains. The Lady of the Lake's faith did not extend to the peasants.
This was not something the Rune Smiths could solve by cleansing the fortress's corruption and pollution with Hearth and Home Runes. Even ambushing or using focused ranged fire to kill the leading Vampires would, at most, only slow down the process.
When the dwarves used Blackstone Stronghold as a bridgehead to continue fighting the Greenskin warbands or Beastmen warherds occupying the Kint Mine, the Vampires would harass their overextended supply lines. Given the dwarves' marching speed, they were destined to be exhausted in the face of Vampires who lacked no air support.
Such wars had led to many entries concerning Vampires in Breezehold's book of grudges, and some Lords had even perished by the sharp blades and magic of those immortals. Because of this, the local dwarves had both experience and willingness to fight the Vampires.
"Should we support them?"
"Many Knights have gone on expeditions, our workshops lack orders, and our clansmen are idle!"
"We just had a big battle with Gudu at the beginning of the year, otherwise..."
The classic dwarf meeting scene once again unfolded in this place, with everyone expressing their opinions and shouting. Lord Rorek himself participated in the discussion, while Gromril, as an outsider, simply drank tea.
"My kinsmen, we must reach a conclusion quickly!" Two hours later, the tea in Gromril's cup had lost its flavor, but the local dwarf leadership had yet to reach a consensus.
From his observation, this wasn't due to Lord Rorek's poor control over his territory, but rather that he himself had no clear idea whether to send troops to help or not.
"The envoy who came for aid, that Regent Lord from the Duchy of Bordeleaux, is still waiting in the reception room!" Lord Rorek himself was a bit tired; he had been busy all day with the welcome at noon and the challenge banquet in the evening.
Upon hearing the words Bordeleaux, Gromril's spirits lifted. This was one of the wealthier duchies among Bretonnia's various states. Most of Bordeleaux's land was arable, and coastal areas also had some pastures.
Her coastline was not too long, but she possessed a rare good harbor for all of Bretonnia, and her location was not too far north, experiencing relatively fewer impacts from the Norscans. Therefore, the city of Bordeleaux became an important trade center for Bretonnia.
Gromril had not forgotten his hidden objective for this long journey, which was to seek possible external assistance, preferably the kind that could compensate for the dwarf troops' lack of impact force and pursuit capabilities.
"What conditions did that envoy from Bordeleaux offer?" Gromril suddenly blurted out. Since entering, he had been quietly drinking tea, and his sudden Opening attracted the attention of the clansmen present.
"Uh, the usual, I suppose? They'll pay our military expenses, potential compensation, and a full reward after a victory." Lord Rorek said.
Gromril's words seemed to represent his attitude, and in the subsequent discussion, the clansmen's direction began to lean towards sending troops to support. Often, making a decision only requires a small push.
When the hatred for the Vampires and the problem of the workshops' furnaces going out due to the main patron group going on expeditions outweighed the war-weariness from the early-year battle, the clansmen of Karak-Zfirin made the decision to provide support.
Lord Rorek decided to set the date for the troop deployment three days later. It wasn't too late to start the war after everyone had celebrated the New Year.
Regarding the concept of the New Year, the timing was basically the same throughout the Old World. This was because Sigmar, the first Human Emperor, deeply understood the importance of a unified calendar.
To reduce the difficulty of the work, and to ensure mutual understanding of the passage of time between the dwarves in the Mountains and the Imperium of Man, strengthening the relationship between the two races, he basically copied the calendar that the dwarves had used for thousands of years and had proven its accuracy, only changing some of the holidays.
Gilles, the first Knight King of Bretonnia, divided the duchies and unified the calendar nearly a thousand years after Sigmar. In this process, he undoubtedly copied Sigmar's work, of course, also changing some of the holidays.
However, the definition of the New Year was the same, and departing after the New Year also provided enough time to assemble forces.
After Lord Rorek sent someone to reply to the Regent of Bordeleaux, he signaled for the meeting to adjourn. Before leaving, he arranged to meet Gromril again this afternoon. Yes, this afternoon; the military council after this banquet had already gone past midnight.
Gromril, of course, had no objection to this. Having passed the challenge, the process with his sister-in-law's family was basically complete. In principle, he could now take his people and leave after the dowry was handed over; the only reason he wasn't doing so was to wait for the caravan to return together.
Travel fatigue and a hangover meant Gromril woke up after lunch.
"Cousin, I heard that you might want to lead troops to support the mounted Humans?" Balin asked as he brought coffee.
"No? Wait, where did you hear that?" Gromril was momentarily stunned. Although this matter was exactly what he wanted, he shouldn't have shown it too much in the previous meeting.
"Just now, a lady calling herself Lena delivered the message. She was truly gentle!" Balin's eyes seemed to have a certain glow again.
"Lena?" Gromril mumbled, turning his mind to recall the sister-in-law's maid who had opened the door and kept watch for him yesterday.
"Good heavens, this Lord Rorek is really eager to exploit me!" Gromril thought to himself. However, connecting this with his formidable reputation—Breezehold was the furthest from Everpeak, and his stories were spread most fantastically—
and combining it with his performance last night, hammering one young talent after another, it was normal for Lord Rorek to want to leverage his 'peerless warrior' power.
"Has she left?" Gromril asked.
"She left after delivering the message. I wanted to keep her for coffee..." Balin grumbled.
Gromril nodded. This timely message gave him the upper hand in the upcoming meeting.
After eating, Gromril decided to explore Breezehold and take in the sights. His timing with Lord Rorick wasn't ideal, preventing him from gathering information at local pubs.
Around three o'clock, accompanied by several Eternal Hammer Guards, he arrived at the Lord's office.
"Good afternoon, esteemed Chosen of the Goddess!" The guard at the door ushered Gromril in. Gromril noticed that the walls of the room were carved with many reliefs, all depicting stories of Breezehold's ancestors fighting powerful enemies.
Karak-Zfirin was one of the main strongholds contested by both Elves and dwarves during the War of the Beard, for no other reason than its proximity to the vast ocean.
The Battle of Three Towers, which secured the dwarves' victory—where High King Gotrek Starbreaker slew Phoenix King Caledor II—also took place nearby in Alessia.
Gromril noticed there was still an empty space on the wall, reserved for future Lords to record their great achievements.
"Hahahaha!" Lord Rorick's laughter brought Gromril back from his contemplation of the magnificent history.
"Perhaps, my slaying of those half-dead fellows could also earn a spot here! It's a pity, that Gulu saw my Mountain Stronghold and people were strong enough, so he didn't dare to confront us head-on, otherwise he would have been a worthy opponent!" Lord Rorick seemed very confident in his own strength.
"Hahahaha, of course!" Gromril echoed, sitting opposite him.
"Taste this, Duke's special! The best wine in Bretonnia." The middle-aged dwarf took out an elaborately decorated bottle of wine and filled the beer mug in front of Gromril.
"Clang!"
After clinking glasses, both took a sip. "This stuff, it's a bit light in flavor, but drinking it during the day gives your mouth some taste and doesn't really hinder anything!" As if worried Gromril might think he wasn't following tradition, the Lord specifically explained.
Next, the two dwarves exchanged pleasantries, and Gromril presented the gift list he had prepared. Lord Rorick quickly glanced at it, nodded, and put it into a drawer.
Both parties in the marriage were prominent noble families in the Sons of the Mountains, so they naturally wouldn't subject Princess Pamela to a public weighing ceremony or other such elaborate wedding rituals.
"Speaking of which, what are your thoughts on supporting the humans of Bretonnia?" Lord Rorick cautiously began.
"Personally, I have no prejudice against the knightly lords! After all, the heavy nine-tenths tax doesn't fall on me, and it's not my turn to drink the Grail water." Gromril, having anticipated the Lord's thoughts, played it safe.
"You don't know, the Rangers reported that the Vampires in Blackstone Stronghold are restless, probably wanting to cooperate with those floating corpses in the water. I must prevent them from desecrating the tombs of our ancestors!" Lord Rorick, seeing this, made his meaning clearer.
"Oh? That truly must be guarded against! Gazul above, their evil deeds must be punished!" Gromril acted like a proper holy man.
Gazul is revered as the Lord of the Underworld, the protector of dwarf dead. Legend says he is on par with the three Ancestor Gods, but slightly less powerful.
"However, I think Clan Leader Flameblade is an excellent general and a powerful warrior. His battle-axe, which seems to burn with the wrath of the venerable Grimnir, is famous throughout the Sons of the Mountains!" Gromril praised Breezehold's champion.
"Hahahaha, I will certainly convey your praise for him, Stormhammer!" Lord Rorick naturally couldn't speak ill of his right-hand man, so he simply responded, but then changed the subject.
"There are rarely any living corpses in the World's Edge Mountains, so it's normal for you not to know. Every single one of them is a spellcaster, capable of wielding death magic and their own unique Vampire magic!"
"Blood Dragon Family Vampires, those fellows don't use magic, just like Khorne worshippers." Gromril muttered to himself, but there was no need to argue about it.
"If there isn't a user of extraordinary power to suppress them, they will continuously summon an army of the dead. Although their quality is poor, if their numbers are sufficient, they can still cause us trouble."
Lord Rorick took a sip of wine and continued, Gromril nodded, indicating he understood.
"Those walking corpses are different from rats and greenskins; they feel no fear, and thus will not flee. We can't make them retreat without a fight like we do with living creatures!"
Lord Rorick knew Gromril had never seen the undead before, so he deliberately elaborated. These were valuable experiences accumulated by Breezehold's ancestors at the cost of their lives.
"Strin…" Gromril was about to say Master Halleck, but then reconsidered, thinking he might accompany the Lord himself, so he instead mentioned Stringer's name.
"He won't do!" Lord Rorick interrupted Gromril without a second thought. "He's still far from it! Our Sons of the Mountains have long lifespans, but we still can't compare to Vampires who gain endless life through evil magic!"
Although Lord Rorick cut him off, Gromril no longer demurred and instead stated his request. "My becoming a Rune Master was purely due to the Ancestor Goddess forcing my growth; my accumulation in various aspects is still insufficient!"
"I understand. You have come a long way, and after only a few days of rest, you will have to travel again, which is bound to be tiring. I will try to allocate more troops to you!" Lord Rorick understood Gromril's unspoken meaning.
Gromril suppressed the urge to mention the anvil of doom. Bringing it up now would inevitably seem like a threat. After he and Lord Rorick finalized the details of sending troops, he left the office and headed to the mess hall.
Gromril stood in the corridor, stroking his beard. New Year's Eve was still two days away, and he had nothing to do at the moment. He was wondering whether to report the results to his sister-in-law first or to meet with the Bretonnian envoy to learn about the Vampires.
Gromril thought about it and decided that the anvil of doom was more important. If he missed this opportunity brought by the sudden conflict, it would be hard to say later.
As for the war, from Karak-Zfirin to the Duchy of Bordeleaux, he still needed to pass through territory along the Grey Mountains, the relatively narrow Duchy of Montfort, and the entire Duchy of Bastonne. He still had plenty of time.
Thinking of this, Gromril turned and went to Princess Pamela's chambers again. This time, he entered openly and honorably. Yesterday, he still needed to add "future" before sister-in-law, but today those two words had already been removed.
After Gromril passed the challenge and presented the gift list, it could be said that Pamela had already stepped out of her own door, and was just short of stepping into Gromril's home at Everpeak.
"So, Uncle, are you really going to lead troops to support the Bretonnia Knights?" After Gromril's report, Princess Pamela was also in a good mood; her marriage, after a year, was finally officially settled.
"Indeed, Lord Rorek has spoken to that extent, and I cannot refuse!" Gromril nodded.
"I wish you a triumphant victory! I believe that under the Mother Goddess's gaze, nothing can withstand your Stormhammer." Although as a bride-to-be she was not present herself, the challenge from the previous night was naturally being watched closely from the shadows.
Now, Pamela had great confidence in Gromril's strength. In her opinion, it was perfectly reasonable for the Mother Goddess's grace to coincidentally boost his combat power, and this was indeed close to the truth.
"Regarding the anvil of doom, I still need to trouble you to put in more effort! Putting everything else aside, I'm not confident in dealing with those undead, and we largely rely on the power of such treasures to counter spellcasters!" Gromril stopped being polite and immediately got down to business.
Princess Pamela must have talked a lot with Prince Stringer after the banquet yesterday. She verified the truth of Gromril's previous words and thus became much more enthusiastic.
"I can't give you a guarantee, but I have a good feeling about it now!" Princess Pamela felt it was inappropriate to directly promise Gromril on such an important matter. This was the first major issue they faced after meeting, and its success or failure would greatly impact their future brother-in-law relationship.
In any dwarf society, brotherly relationships are crucial. Coupled with the potential future cooperation between a Lord and a Rune Master as vital pillars, Princess Pamela was very attentive to Gromril's affairs.
After Gromril revealed his maximum price, he took his leave. He needed to go back to his room to rest. Tomorrow night was New Year's Eve, and given his status, he was destined to be drunk into oblivion. The night after tomorrow… sigh, best not to mention it, he would be worrying about the war again.
After Gromril left, Pamela sought out her brother, Prince Stringer. The two of them went together to Lord Rorek and his wife's chambers.
"Father, I want to go to Karaz-A-Karak to escort my sister to her marriage!" Prince Stringer got straight to the point.
"And then, and then study there for ten or twenty years?" Lord Rorek exhaled a smoke ring, his brows furrowed.
"I told you, no! You need to stay here, stay in Karak-Zfirin, the place you, I, and our clan ancestors fought for and developed! Learn how to take over from me and become a qualified Lord." His attitude remained firm.
"Then why can Sister…" Stringer was interrupted before he could finish.
"I've said it many times! She's a girl, she'll eventually marry out, but you're different, you're going to inherit the clan and the Mountain Stronghold! We've ruled here for generations!" Lord Rorek tapped his left armguard, 'Mountain Smasher,' with his pipe.
"You are still in your prime!"
"You still have a lot to learn! Before, you were only busy learning the art of runes. Do you know how to arrange troops? Do you understand how to handle conflicts between clans?" The dwarf Lord began to ramble.
"Pamela, don't instigate your brother!" Seeing that Princess Pamela was about to speak again, Lord Rorek preemptively cut her off.
"Becoming a Rune Lord is a good thing, but you shouldn't, what's that saying? 'Give up eating for fear of choking!' No one dictates that the Lord of Breezehold must be a Rune Master. It's true that you need to practice your stonemasonry skills well!"
"Father, if you truly think that way, I have another suggestion." Pamela spoke up.
"Speak!"
"That anvil of doom, I mean the sealed one, Master Gromril wants it!"
"What?" Hearing this, Lord Rorek couldn't help but be enraged.
"You haven't even married out yet, and you're already helping others eye our ancestral treasure? What's more, your brother will need to use it in the future!"
"At this rate, Stringer won't be able to use it!" Pamela smiled faintly; her calculations were also good. With two matters combined, she hoped at least one would succeed.
"What do you mean? Are you so superstitious about everything in Karaz-A-Karak? Then don't ever come back to your maiden home!" Lord Rorek felt offended. His children seemed to have complaints about everything in Breezehold, although he himself knew the prosperity of the Everpeak was simply a fact.
"Can't Rune Smiths be produced in the Grey Mountains? Then how were our Rune Masters and those of Karak Norn trained generation after generation? Did they all go to the Everpeak for advanced studies? Master Halleck told me a few days ago that you are very impetuous and need to settle down!"
Lord Rorek was indeed the co-ruler of Dwarves for hundreds of miles around. He single-handedly suppressed his two children with ease.
"No, I don't mean that. I mean, if Stringer becomes a Rune Master after Cousin Sunrek, then that sealed anvil of doom still won't be his to use!" Princess Pamela seemed to have grown bolder, perhaps because she was already married out.
"What are you talking about now? Your brother's talent is evident throughout the Grey Mountains. If Gromril-az Thorson hadn't emerged out of nowhere, he would be the most talented young man in the Mountains Kingdom!" It was clear that Lord Rorek was still very proud of his son.
"Yes, but to master Master-level runes, someone has to teach him, right? Or are you expecting Father Stringer to create them himself?" Pamela continued.
"Indeed, as far as I know, only Master Krag the Grim has achieved that in the entire Mountains Kingdom right now!" Stringer echoed his sister.
"I won't even mention organizing exploration teams to search for lost Mountain Strongholds. You won't even let my brother go to the Everpeak, let alone those dungeons infested with Chaos creations?" Pamela blocked her father's next words.
"So what? Won't Master Halleck teach him? Stringer is his apprentice!" Lord Rorek's words sounded somewhat hollow, as if he too had realized something.
"Cousin Sunrek!" Princess Pamela uttered the name once again. Master Halleck was already older than the Lord, and Lord Rorek had married relatively late while waiting for a suitable match, so Sunrek was about fifty years older than Pamela and her brother.
Lord Rorek closed his mouth. He picked up his pipe and took a deep drag. "Go on, he's not here!" The middle-aged dwarf even closed his eyes.
"Stringer, if he doesn't go to the Everpeak, whether and when he can become a Rune Master is up to Uncle Halleck. If he's determined to prioritize training Cousin Sunrek, then we have no recourse!" Pamela, seeing that she was about to leave Breezehold, decided to speak her mind plainly.
Lord Rorek puffed on his pipe, pondering his daughter's words. Competition between Guilds and clans was a constant in any dwarf society.
In Karak-Zfirin, due to the relative scarcity of mineral resources, dwarves here more often chose to work as artisans to make a living.
Therefore, Guilds, both large and small, held significant sway here. However, thanks to the efforts of successive Granite Hands—in addition to personally serving as the head of the most important Stonemasons' Guild—they also placed members of their own clan in leadership positions within other Guilds.
Relying on these Guild leaders with clan backgrounds to convey messages on behalf of the Lord of Breezehold, their commands were rarely questioned.
Not only that, but the Lords of Breezehold would also wisely maintain surveillance and oversight of the Guild leaders, ensuring they acted with integrity and performed their duties.
But the problem was that intelligent beings always had selfish motives, even loyal dwarves. Lord Rorek knew that many individuals did not wish for Prince Stringer to become a Rune Lord, as during his reign, the clan would suppress the Guilds even more.
"As long as Cousin Sanrek becomes a Rune Master before Stringer, won't that anvil of doom naturally fall under his control? If you intend to let this happen, I think it would be better to give the anvil of doom to Master Gromril; he is willing to pay a matching fee."
Princess Pamela avoided using the word "sell" to lessen the impact on her father.
"Is that truly the case?" Lord Rorek did not respond directly. He exhaled a smoke ring, looking at his son.
"Basically, yes. It's almost impossible for me to become a Rune Master on my own, unless, unless the Ancestor Gods also favor me!" Stringer still had some thoughts about Gromril receiving divine grace.
Lord Rorek fell into a brief contemplation. He did not doubt Master Halleck's loyalty, but he also knew that if both father and son were Rune Masters, and controlled the anvil of doom, Stringer's future influence would be weakened.
"After I became a Rune Smith, I asked my Master to teach me deeper knowledge, and as you know, he always put me off, saying I still needed more time to mature!" Seeing his father waver, Stringer decisively pressed on.
"Hmph! You two go back first. I need to look into this!" The dwarf Lord, already nearing old age, still did not immediately believe his children's one-sided accounts. He gestured for them to leave.
"Sister, why would you give that anvil of doom to someone else?" Stringer asked immediately after they left the room. Princess Pamela had arrived in a hurry and hadn't discussed it with him beforehand.
"Becoming a Rune Master is more important than owning an anvil of doom! If you can do it, we have plenty of ways to get you one. If you stay here, constantly suppressed by Cousin Sanrek, even if you had one, it wouldn't be your turn to use it!"
Princess Pamela had, after all, studied at Everpeak. While the knowledge she gained was secondary, the main benefit was the broadened perspective she gained along the way. She understood the concept of "wealth needing to flow" better than most clansmen.
"Where, where else are there anvils of doom?" Stringer, like every normal dwarf, loved wealth, even if it didn't yet belong to him.
"Let's just talk about the closest one, the one belonging to the Drazklad Clan. Their Rune Master, Master Iron Chisel, is of our grandfather's generation, already four hundred years old."
"I understand. If worst comes to worst, we can always buy it back!" Stringer nodded. As the person involved, he actually knew best. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been so eager to go to Everpeak to study, rather than staying as a Prince; it was just hard to let go for a while.
"If this works out, you'll also have someone to look out for you in the Rune Smith Guild at Everpeak! Giving you a portion of that money for your studies is also a good idea!" Princess Pamela continued to comfort her younger brother.
Although she had completed the process here and married out, Pamela knew that her status in her husband's family would also be influenced by her natal family's strength and the support they gave her. She did not want to sour her relationship with her brother.
Gromril was unaware of everything that had transpired in Lord Rorek's room. After entrusting the matter of the anvil of doom to his sister-in-law, he completely let go. In an unfamiliar place, acting rashly on his own might even have a counterproductive effect.
Early the next morning, Gromril awoke to find the entire Breezehold filled with a festive atmosphere. Although New Year celebrations were relatively less rare for long-lived dwarves, and this year was not a particularly good one strictly speaking, the necessary festivities still had to be held.
After Gromril finished breakfast, he received an invitation from Lord Rorek, who hoped Gromril could preside over the midday sacrifice to the Ancestor Gods, in place of the local priest. This request was reasonable, and Gromril readily agreed.
Arranged by a messenger, Gromril arrived at the temple in the center of the citadel an hour early. However, he was not led to prepare the altar, but rather escorted into a secret room.
"Greetings, esteemed Chosen of the Goddess!"
Gromril found that the one waiting inside was none other than Rorek, the Lord of Breezehold. He noticed that the dwarf Lord before him did not look well; it seemed he had pulled another all-nighter.
Even known for their tenacity and endurance, two consecutive nights of poor rest were not easy for an elderly dwarf. Rorek was even older than Thorgrim!
"I have understood the request you conveyed through Pamela. In principle, I am willing to hand over that treasure to you."
Upon hearing this, Gromril's heart swelled with joy, but he controlled his expression well; his experiences on this journey had allowed him to grow. He understood that the dwarf Lord before him likely had additional conditions.
"I hope that when you preside over the ritual, you can report to the Mother Goddess. That way, my pressure will be lessened." Lord Rorek's voice carried a hint of weakness. The results of his overnight investigation and the regret of giving up an ancestral item had left his spirit as weary as his body.
Gromril stroked his beard. In fact, obtaining the anvil of doom through bestowing divine grace or falsely conveying an oracle was originally his last resort. Knowing of the End Times' existence, he understood he could not delay.
But as long as he had a choice, he still did not want to do this, as it might diminish the Mother Goddess's credibility, and consequently, his own prestige would suffer.
"I understand your difficulties, but in fact, the Ancestor Goddess has not, and cannot, instruct me to seize the ancestral property of my own kin. She merely asks me to revitalize our Mountains, and hopes this process can be as swift as possible!"
Lord Rorek revealed his hand upfront, which put Gromril in a relatively advantageous position.