Chapter 26 - Ritual

"The Ancestor God Thurni guided the earliest Ancestor Masters in using the pincers, allowing them to effortlessly forge the most powerful runic artifacts. These legendary treasures played a crucial role in the great victories our clansmen achieved!"

Gromril wanted to interrupt, but Master Krag kept talking, clutching the two halves of the pincers. He never dreamed that Gromril knew no less about this treasure than he did.

"After the Ancestor Gods departed, it was passed down through generations in the Guild. Its role in forging work is similar to our anvil of doom. But you know, engraving the same number of runes becomes more difficult the smaller the object! Imbuing such small iron pincers with great power was the result of the Ancestor Gods working together."

Gromril nodded in understanding. The anvil of doom was easier to produce and could be mass-produced, with powerful Mountain Strongholds receiving multiple pieces, while these pincers were unique.

"We found it to be a very important aid when engraving rune sets; most of the treasures from the Golden Age were forged with its help. But it was lost during the Dark Ages! Since then, the number of legendary treasures that have appeared is very few."

At this point, Krag's face twisted. How great a disgrace it was for the Ancestor's supreme treasure to be lost. That period of history was almost a blank in the Rune Smith Guild, with one Rune Master after another shaving their heads and swearing to become Slayers.

"Every generation of Guild Masters dedicated themselves to finding it, until I, one night, received a subtle hint from Thurni, organized an expedition, and stormed Karak-Azgal to reclaim its fragments."

Master Krag's expedition has been a hot topic in the taverns of the Mountains Kingdom for hundreds of years. Every clansmen speculated about what made this strong individual, comparable to the Ancestor Gods, so eager, and why he was so mysteriously secretive about everything that happened upon his return.

Master Krag refused to discuss anything about the expedition. But how he shattered Mountains with the Rune of Fury and Destruction, burying half a greenskin warband, how he effortlessly countered an ork Seer's spell, causing its head to explode, and how he wielded the warhammer in his hand to turn any warlord who dared block his path into dust, has always been sung by bards.

Gromril now understood that it was an expedition to settle grudges and wash away shame. But the reclaimed treasure was only fragments, so the articles in the Guild's book of grudges could not be crossed out. How could his master publicize it?

"Gromril, swear with me, in the name of the Ancestor Masters, to reforge it! This is the responsibility of every Rune Smith!" Krag said, but a smile appeared on Gromril's lips.

"Perhaps it won't be that much trouble. Give it to me, Master!" Gromril said, taking the pair of fragments. With a gentle tap in the system, the pincers were instantly reforged in a faint glow.

"This, this?"

Master Krag took two steps back, then rushed forward and snatched the restored pincers. He caressed the divine artifact; the energy emanating from it was unmistakable.

"How did you do it?"

His master pressed, but Gromril did not answer directly. He closed the divine artifact vault and switched to the ritual system. With the reforging of the runic pincers, the ultimate Ritual of Thurni could now be used.

"There's something even more interesting coming!"

As Gromril released the ritual, Master Krag, who had been constantly questioning him, suddenly froze.

Gromril took the opportunity to self-examine his body. He felt that the activity of the runic energy within him had increased by 20%. In actual combat, he could charge runes faster and thus strike them more frequently.

"Some clansmen say your power comes from the Old Ones. I didn't believe it before, but now it seems it's true!"

After a while, Master Krag recovered. He took out a round bead, gently wiped it, and activated the master-level rune on it. Gromril instinctively judged that this item served to block detection. And what it was meant to block was clearly not power from the mortal world.

"This is a change in the essence of life. Let alone Thurni, not even the Ancestor Goddess has such great ability!"

Master Krag said with certainty. The effect of the ultimate Ritual of Thurni applied to the entire Dwarf race, but others would find it difficult to spontaneously grasp its core.

The lowest-level apprentices were like infants on the path of runes; they couldn't perceive the change. Formal Blacksmiths were like teenagers; they would think this was the natural growth of their own power. Masters were mature rune users; they might feel this was a natural breakthrough in strength after tempering and accumulation.

But Master Krag was different. He was already an Olympic champion in the adult group. With the path of runes developed to its extreme, passively taking another step forward, he immediately realized this was a change to the essence of life.

"Essence of life?" Gromril was very interested in the transcendent realm. He should pay attention to this aspect now.

"Simply put, the first batch of Ancestors and us, apart from looking the same, were completely different internally. They were directly created by the Old Ones, with the three main gods being most prominent in certain indicators."

"Perhaps their indicators were like the Queen Spider's, but they still looked like a dwarf?"

"They were dwarves, but with power like the Queen Spider, or wisdom like a Slann." Master Krag corrected the causal relationship.

"And then?" Gromril prompted his master to say more.

"The Old Ones used the performance of that first batch of Ancestors as a reference to define the fluctuation range of our various indicators. However, a very few individuals, by chance, could break through those preset limits. I am one, and Agrimm should also be one."

"Then?"

"What you just did can be seen as directly adjusting the fluctuation range of the energy affinity indicator, which is how I determined the source of your power. Before, clansmen discussed abnormalities in fertility; it should be similar, right?"

"What, you didn't feel any change in your ability? Could it be?" With two happy events, Krag was in a good mood, so Gromril made a joke.

"Don't you have some changes every morning? Or is that little change enough to make you feel different? To have only that much ability is quite pathetic. Fortunately, you haven't married yet; it's better for one person to be pathetic than two." Master Krag easily retorted.

"Let's talk business. You should need a legendary armor containing expansion runes. Originally, I didn't have a very good method, but now with these pincers, I can try. Highland Fortress doesn't have the raw materials, and the production conditions are a bit poor, so I need to rush back to the Everpeak headquarters to handle it."

"How did you know?" Gromril was startled.

"Aurem asked me when he was working on your original armor. His iron-welded brain couldn't figure it out at all! Heh, when the news of you being able to turn into a stone statue came back, I made the connection. If you had come to me then, I might have been able to engrave one more ordinary one."

"This solves a huge problem!" Gromril exclaimed.

His rock body after becoming an Avatar of the Gods could ignore most conventional attacks, but this was a high-magic world, with all sorts of giant beasts, powerful individuals, high-powered ranged firearms, or spells, etc. Going bare-chested against them would not end well.

"What else do you need? A weapon? Logically, I could give you my own hammer, but forging that armor still requires its help."

"This…" Gromril was stunned by the words.

Rune Master Krag's hammer was his famous work, the "Hammer of the Stern," and in dwarf society, artifacts named after one's own name or title usually represented a legacy.

"Indeed! Never mind, I'll give you this, I can't just take the Rune Clamps and give you nothing in return for your visit." Rune Master Krag pointed to the round bead on the table.

"This little trinket is called the Bulwark of the Mortal World.

It was lost during the War of the Beard and later recovered by me.

It was originally used in conjunction with the shoddy goods produced by those fellows in Zhufbar, engraved with master-level concealment runes, combined with silencing runes and speed runes.

Once activated, it can create an area to hide in, and it's also very effective for keeping important conversations and work private."

"Can it really be used to prevent the prying eyes of the Chaos Gods?" Gromril looked at this artifact, manufactured by the dwarves, and was not very convinced of its efficacy.

"Not seeing the answer at first glance is very different from not being able to do it!

The information our Ancestors received from the Slann indicates that the worlds under this starry sky are as numerous as the sands of the Ganges, so where would the Chaos Gods find so much time to care about a little young'un like you!"

Rune Master Krag took a puff from his pipe.

He understood Gromril's concerns and did not exaggerate the effect of such a life-and-death matter.

"Speaking of which, when I return, I will claim that you have gained Thurni's favor, and that you and your father have jointly suppressed the rumors about the chosen of the Old Ones.

Although those powerful beings are busy with many things, if someone constantly invokes their names and the names of their adversaries, it is entirely possible that they might cast a few more glances."

Gromril expressed strong support for this.

In Spiderweb Mountain, the Old One Tepok had already warned him.

However, in the expeditionary force, there were Amazonians, a group of fanatical Old One believers, and he hadn't been able to put the brakes on it very well there.

If conditions allowed, the Old World would definitely need strict control.

"Then I'll set off and return now?" Rune Master Krag was playing with the Rune Clamps, somewhat impatient.

"Master, you can't just leave me with a mess and abandon me!" Gromril quickly stopped him.

Since they had detained the High Elves' scout here, Dawn Fortress would inevitably take action.

He didn't fear Prince Afazel, but if The Tyrion Brothers, the Shadow King, or the Jailer came, he wouldn't dare to confront them head-on.

"Our Ancestors have never been afraid to face the challenges of the Pointy-ears!" Rune Master Krag lectured him for a bit, but ultimately agreed to stay and see.

Allowing his Master to compare and study the Rune Guardians, Gromril called for Guild Master Brokk to be brought in.

"Brother, is this achievement enough for Brockson to atone for his past mistakes?" Gromril didn't discuss business first, but instead started with small talk.

"No major problem, those old stubborn ones were already holding a meeting to discuss it before I left, and it won't be long before he can go back to see his mother."

"Family reunion, that's truly good, but I can't do without him in many aspects here!

In the future, the Southern World's Edge Mountains will develop, and the talent gap will also be huge!" Gromril poured Guild Master Brokk a glass of wine.

He usually didn't seek out wine himself, but having some when discussing official business was a tradition.

"Heh heh! Our Guild has plenty of talented young and middle-aged individuals, and they all greatly admire your foresight.

If you, Lord Gromril, are interested, I would be happy to act as a matchmaker."

Gromril knew that Guild Master Brokk was also a clever man; if not quite "understanding the meaning from the music," he was close enough.

He probably guessed Gromril's thoughts, and not responding directly was his way of seeing how much Gromril would offer.

"I've heard my elders say that a Lord and his Rune Master should be each other's trusted advisors.

Currently, I serve as both, and I inevitably lack someone to consult with.

If you ask me, our colleagues in the Engineers Guild are also excellent choices, but sometimes, hehe." Gromril chuckled, stopping short of finishing his sentence.

"Hmm, I imagine you didn't travel all this way just for this one thing, did you?" Guild Master Brokk pondered for a moment, deciding to hear the price first.

"It must have been quite a journey to get here, wasn't it?

I want to build a railway from here to Red Cloud Mountain and then to Quata, and in the future, it might connect to Iron Peak Fortress."

"Hiss!" Brokk gasped, shocked by Gromril's grand plan.

"We certainly have this technology; there are fortresses in the Old World that have built railways.

But they were all short-distance lines built to connect mines and facilitate the transport of extracted ore."

"I know, building it on the surface will be much less difficult and require less work, won't it?" Such mining railways already existed in Everpeak, built by widening and reinforcing existing mine tunnels.

"That may be true, but building such a long distance will cost astronomical figures!

Sleepers and rails require vast amounts of raw materials, and leveling the subgrade and track bed will require countless laborers!"

Guild Master Brokk warned excitedly.

"Think twice, Gromril, I dare say all the profits you gain from this expedition won't be enough to fill it!

Transporting raw materials from Sea Gate…"

"Of course, I will produce the sleepers and rails in the Southlands!

There is plenty of wood around, and the fortresses along the way all have iron ore.

The development of the Southlands requires a large population, and the railway project can provide job opportunities, allowing the economic system here to operate."

"By the Ancestor Gods, our clansmen only see your superficial generosity, and calling you 'the Generous' truly underestimates you.

With such foresight and vision, you are the only one who can revitalize the Mountains Kingdom!"

After hearing Gromril's introduction to the theory of work-for-relief, Guild Master Brokk exclaimed repeatedly.

Among dwarves, who generally value wealth down to the last penny, such an investment in infrastructure was unprecedented.

"I swear by Mogrim, I will cooperate with you with all my might, in all aspects!" Guild Master Brokk's prosthetic limb slammed against the stone table, making it wobble.

He was completely won over by Gromril.

In his initial understanding, Gromril's wielding of power should benefit the Engineers Guild, but now it was a boon for the entire Mountains Kingdom.

"His Majesty is becoming increasingly muddled with age, I mean King Serenthin.

When I return, I will do my best to mediate and strive to help you accomplish this matter." Brokk promised.

"His Majesty Gromril! The Pointy-ears are here to demand their people back!" Just then, Gloin's voice came from outside the door.

"Let's go out and see! Our Mountains are not a place for those Pointy-ears to come and go as they please!" Gromril slammed the table. By his reckoning, the High Elves should be here by now.

As long-lived beings, the High Elves' population was only slightly larger than the dwarves'. Furthermore, in an enclave far from Ulthuan, the density of Elven air forces was only high near Highland Fortress.

Master Krag had detained the High Elves' scouts three days ago. After being captured, the two Elves couldn't send out a message in front of a demigod. Dawn Fortress would certainly need some time to ascertain their whereabouts, and then they would have to formulate a strategy to rescue them.

"Hoh, what a creature of both elegance and power!" Gromril, accompanied by his guards and the fortress's leaders, stepped out of the gate. They saw a bird, slightly larger than a Great Eagle, hovering in mid-air, wreathed in flames.

"A Flame Phoenix, the pure King of the Skies!"

"Legend says their numbers were equal to Great Eagles during the War of the Beard!"

"Our ancestors actually slaughtered such creatures like chickens!"

Gromril heard the whispers of his clansmen. The Millennium War meant the dwarves knew almost as much about Ulthuan's Phoenixes as the Elves did.

Like Dragons, they were the Asur's most iconic beasts, especially as the powerful Dragons gradually fell into slumber. More and more High Elf powerhouses chose to ride Phoenixes into battle.

Around Asuryan's temple were many huge stone pillars. The Wind of Aqshy moved between the pillars, keeping them constantly burning with magical flames. The mark of Aqshy was not only left on the pillars; over the years, the Phoenixes dwelling within had adapted to fire magic and would use it on a whim.

Standing on the back of the Flame Phoenix was a High Elf wearing a robe, a battle helmet, and leaning on a staff. Phoenixes, due to their innate magical affinity, preferred to be ridden by spellcasters.

"dwarf! Why do you detain the Asur's warriors? I demand you release them at once, or else…" The Elf Mage, seeing the spokesman emerge, began to shout loudly.

"Come down and talk!"

Before Gromril could respond, Master Krag narrowed his eyes. The Rune Master looked at the flaunting Phoenix with great displeasure. He didn't exert much force, but his voice, amplified by Rune power, still echoed throughout the entire valley.

"Who are you?" The High Elf Mage instinctively held his staff defensively in front of him. Prince Alphazel had told him that the leader of this expedition claimed to be a fellow who had slain a demigod and possessed some kind of storm ability, so he shouldn't be underestimated.

"I am Krag!"

The old dwarf said, extending his right hand. He clenched his fist, and Rune power gathered, stirring up the dust in the canyon and causing his snow-white beard and hair to spread out and shake like a lion's mane.

"Ugh ah!"

"Clang! Clang!"

The dwarves felt nothing, but the Elf Mage and his Phoenix in mid-air cried out as if crushed by an invisible giant hand, rapidly plummeting. However, the Archmage was not entirely defenseless; a protective amulet on his body burst, buying him a moment to adjust.

"In the name of Quaysh, I forbid your magic!"

The Phoenix vigorously flapped its flame-wreathed wings, providing support for the Mage on its back. They are creatures with "magical attunement"—filled with magic, they can not only soar through the heavens with the help of the Winds of Magic but also make it easier for their riders to wield magical power.

As the Archmage rapidly chanted, a bright white finger of light formed on his staff, then shot towards Master Krag.

Gromril identified the spell from its outward characteristics—Arcane Unmaking, a term that held a place in the Guild's book of grudges. Its effect was to strip the target of their spellcasting ability for a period of time.

High Magic is an art that coordinates the use of all eight Winds of Magic, creating the most powerful spells known. Only Elves and Slann can use High Magic. When establishing the Imperial Colleges of Magic, Teclis discovered that humans were inherently unable to master multiple Winds of Magic, and therefore did not pass down this system of spells in the Old World.

High Magic is far more complex than all other magic. Being able to master it indicated that the currently disheveled Mage certainly held a place in the White Tower of Hoeth. His willingness to confront them alone, knowing Gromril's formidable abilities, was undoubtedly due to his confidence in his own strength and his Phoenix companion.

However, no dwarf felt it necessary to warn Master Krag to be careful of this hasty strike. This oldest and most powerful dwarf of the current age did not disappoint his juniors. Arcane Unmaking struck his armor, only causing a ripple of Rune fluctuations with no other effect.

"Stubborn fool!"

Krag was enraged. He no longer suppressed the Mage with his bare hands. Extending his left hand, he took the Rune Totem from the Anvil Guard behind him. With a powerful swing, the Phoenix seemed to lose its ability to float, plummeting straight down.

"Boom!"

The Flame Phoenix crashed to the ground like a broken kite, unleashing a storm of fire. In the explosion, it disintegrated into a rain of burning fragments.

"Hold your… Alas, this is big trouble!"

Gromril realized something was amiss when Krag grabbed the Rune Totem. The Hammer of the Stern and his battle armor were of legendary quality, but that Rune Totem was absolutely beyond legendary. It was the product of a demigod's life's work; it would be strange if a mortal could withstand such a furious blow.

Detaining someone and killing someone are not the same. Gromril could imagine Tyrion, wearing the Dragon Armor of Aenarion, wielding his flaming greatsword, and riding his beloved steed Malhandir, coming to settle the score.

Then he, Gromril, would be unable to defeat the Everqueen's personal champion and bed-mate, who had cuckolded Finubar, and would have to call in the White Dwarf for rescue. After a few rounds, the second War of the Beard would erupt, and the Chaos Gods would be in the warp, eating melon seeds and enjoying the show.

"Clang! Clang!"

Just as Gromril was envisioning this dark future, a weak Phoenix cry broke through the dust. The burning fragments rapidly reassembled, air rushed towards the center of the explosion, and then, in a searing flash of light, the Phoenix was reborn!

Protected by its mount, the Elf Mage was unharmed except for being covered in dust. The reborn Phoenix was clearly somewhat weakened. It and its master huddled together, facing the watchful dwarves.

"Are you quiet now?" Master Krag blew on his beard, pursed his lips, and turned to walk back into the fortress. Dealing with such an Elf Mage was a trivial matter to him; the secrets of the Rune Guardian were still waiting to be studied!

"I warned Alphazel that the Sons of the Mountains are reclaiming their homeland, and you have no right to interfere! But he doesn't seem to understand, he insists on testing our limits!"

Gromril reiterated his stance to the Elf mage: High Elves were forbidden from entering the Southern World's Edge Mountains without an invitation, whether from the sky, land, or underground. Of course, he still promised not to actively invade the Dawn Fortress to the south.

The 'defeated Phoenix' and its master, literally, squatted on the ground, unable to maintain their pride. They nodded like pecking chickens. The mage knew in his heart that his narrow escape was thanks to the old dwarf with the beard dragging on the ground, who had held back.

The prerequisite for a Phoenix to be reborn is that the atmosphere is filled with magic. If the Winds of Magic weaken, they will also face death like all living creatures. And that elder clearly had the ability to drain the Winds of Magic nearby; the dwarves had already mastered this method of countering Phoenixes during the War of the Beard.

Watching the Flame Phoenix, no longer as elegant as when it arrived, wobbling as it carried the mage and the prisoners of war into the sky and away, Gromril finally released his grip on the runic collar. His first requirement for a monstrous beast was that it had to fly; the Phoenix met this, and could also perform magical attacks, making him briefly consider capturing it.

However, Gromril then calmed down, not because of the subsequent impact of capture, but because he knew that the Flame Phoenix was just the lowest tier among various types of Phoenixes.

Above them were Frostheart Phoenixes, Arcane Phoenixes, and even god-chosen Phoenixes like the Avatar of Asuryan. With only one chance, there was no need to waste it on such a lesser one.

The dwarves, of course, did not believe that the matter was over. They had a continuous stream of reinforcements from the nations of the Old World, so why wouldn't the High Elves have the ten kingdoms of Ulthuan? Gromril issued an order for martial law, preparing his subordinates.

The Archmage wasted no time returning to the Dawn Fortress and immediately contacted Ulthuan through communication magic. Upon receiving the report, the Phoenix King Court in Lothern Seaport became lively.

This was a magnificent place, with white marble, golden ornaments, and matching greenery. Elves were inherently an art-loving race, and Lothern, being the most important trading port, was exceptionally wealthy.

The Phoenix King Court was the political center of the High Elves, where talented individuals from the ten kingdoms would present their petitions and loyalty to Finubar, and also employ their political machinations. Long lifespans combined with frequent intermarriage meant that almost every respectable Elf had a weak claim to some kingdom, but realizing it undoubtedly required considerable skill.

Unlike the dwarves, who preferred to sit during meetings, High Elves typically stood, except for those in higher positions. On the throne in the center sat an elegant male, whose face bore no traces of time.

This was Finubar the Seafarer, an outstanding diplomat and navigator. Before becoming Phoenix King, he traveled throughout the Old World, even venturing deep into the Athel Loren Forest and the dwarves' Mountain Strongholds.

The previous Phoenix King, Bel-Hathor, had discovered that the humans of the Old World were rapidly rising. This Prince of Saphery, known as the Wise, realized that the Elves would face a new era, and they needed an enlightened king, thus strongly supporting Finubar before his death.

Finubar maintained his love for seafaring, but the internal and external troubles of Ulthuan left this not-so-powerful Elf utterly exhausted. Fortunately, he had two capable helpers.

"This is a provocation! My Lord! Those drunken, unwashed, foul-smelling scoundrels, who only dig tunnels and fiddle with their beards, dared to attack, detain, and torment the children of the Phoenix God! They must have forgotten the taste of Asur spears and arrows!"

Before his throne, a male was delivering a loud speech. He possessed a rare quality among Elves—heroism. His shoulders were broad, his waist, cinched by his armor, appeared slender, emphasizing a perfect inverted triangle. He wore a golden war helmet inlaid with rubies, with two Phoenix wings on the sides, assertive and mighty.

This was Prince Tyrion, the most renowned warrior of Ulthuan's ten kingdoms. He was a descendant of the first Phoenix King, Aenarion, and possessed much of his ancestor's spirit. Tyrion, upon his debut, saved the Everqueen from a Dark Elf attack, and later fought the Great Keeper of Secrets, N'Kari, of Slaanesh.

"I support Prince Tyrion's decision!"

Before Tyrion had finished speaking, a female Elf in military attire beside him immediately voiced her support. She was Princess Aethelflaed of Tiranoc, who had come to the Phoenix King Court to seek to inherit her father's position after his death in battle.

Undoubtedly, her initial reception was not friendly. Although the Kingdom of Tiranoc suffered heavy losses during the Great Sundering caused by Malekith, the Elves qualified and willing to become Prince of Tiranoc could still line up from the Court's gate all the way to Lothern Seaport.

The young princess was no match for the seasoned politicians; she could only flee, eyes moist with anger and humiliation. Prince Tyrion, hearing the news, found and helped her out of friendship with her deceased father, appointing her as his aide-de-camp.

The princess's passionate support received only a sparse response; High Elves were never particularly fond of war. Wouldn't it be better to appreciate art, study poetry, sing and dance, rather than actively launch an attack to a place even Phoenixes found too far?

Most Elf nobles did not express an opinion. Those who could enter the Phoenix King Court to participate in the war council were all seasoned politicians; knowing how to hide one's attitude and not take sides too early was an essential skill for long-lived races.

Finubar, seated on the throne, silently propped his forehead with his left hand. He had reigned for over two hundred and sixty years. He routinely wondered if the Elf gods had issues with his rule, as Ulthuan had suffered more invasions during his years than all his predecessors combined.

War was not an easy matter; it required lengthy preparations before, and then reparations and recovery afterward. Finubar was physically and mentally exhausted by it all. Sometimes, he would even skip war council meetings altogether.

The council members present immediately understood that their Phoenix King could not be relied upon this time. They turned their gaze instead to a male standing on the other side. In direct contrast to Prince Tyrion, his first impression was one of frailty, by Elf standards of frailty.

This Elf held a long staff, and it was clear to anyone that he had shifted his body's weight onto it. He also coughed softly from time to time, appearing to have poor lungs.

Despite this, no noble dared to underestimate him. This was Prince Teclis, the Chief Archmage of the White Tower of Hoeth, the chosen of Lileath, the Goddess of Maidens, Tyrion's brother, and also a descendant of Aenarion.

"Brother, in my opinion, it is best to recuperate for now; the Asur have other matters to attend to." He paused for breath, speaking slowly.

"Why?" Tyrion turned to stare at his brother. In his memory, this was a rare instance of Teclis directly opposing him.

The Tyrion Brothers shared a deep bond. Before Teclis made great strides in the path of magic, Tyrion had countless times used his fists, and even direct duels, to teach a lesson to anyone who dared to insult or mock him for his frail body.

During the Great Crusade against the third Everchosen, almost no Elf understood why Teclis would go to the Old World to help the short-lived races fight against the Chaos armies marching south.

Tyrion also didn't understand why his brother cared so much about the outside world, but he still stepped forward, using his influence to gather a decent force for Teclis. At the same time, he assured him that no matter how far he ventured, he would always have a home to return to.

Under such circumstances, it was rare for Teclis to openly oppose his brother in the council. Tyrion made a gesture, indicating that he needed an explanation.

"Since His Majesty ascended to the throne, there have been wars almost every year. Leaving aside the distant past, how many times has Ulthuan been invaded in the last fifty years?" Teclis's voice was carried directly to everyone's ears in the hall by the Winds of Magic.

"Sigvald, the Scion of Slaanesh, you were the one who fought against him, Princess Aethelflaed of Tiranoc. You know best how much harm his atrocities brought to the Asur." Teclis, of course, didn't want to directly confront his brother, so he pointed his spear at Tyrion's number one supporter.

"The Skaven plague thirty years ago brought many new faces here. Those rats broke through the Sea Gate and entered the Dream Sea. If it weren't for the timely assistance of the Phoenix Guard in the Temple, the consequences would have been unimaginable." Teclis then looked around the entire hall.

"Locthian, the Fallen Heart, the filthiest representative of our wicked kin, constantly harasses our fleets." He looked at the silent Phoenix King, seemingly hoping for a response.

"The most recent events, everyone is reluctant to mention them. The filthy Green Skins attacked Ulthuan, the sacred homeland of the Asur. High Prince Moranion of Yrellian died in battle, and his son, our friend Aesarion, defeated the enemy, but the Misty Kingdom is already in ruins."

Teclis recounted sorrowfully. Aesarion and The Tyrion Brothers were all high-ranking nobles and powerful individuals, and they had a good personal relationship. But since that bloody battle a few years ago, their friend had never smiled again. He was also known as "the Ruthless One" because of this.

"So, my dear brother, all those who dared to invade our home have fallen before the Asur! The Phoenix Lord protects us!" Tyrion disliked beating around the bush, and he had no intention of adjourning the meeting.

"Ulthuan is our home ground, and the vast ocean will make any foreign race wishing to set foot here suffer greatly. But if we are to actively campaign, she will also bring us inconvenience."

Teclis looked around at the attendees. He noticed that Prince Imrik of Caledor was absent. Aesarion no longer attended meetings here due to his dissatisfaction with the council's delayed support at the time.

Several other Elves qualified to stop Tyrion, such as the Everqueen and the captain of the Phoenix Guard, who represented the will of Asuryan, were also absent. The Archmage realized that he was the last line of defense.

"Then, my dear brother, how many troops do you think you will need?" He decided to try a different approach.

Tyrion fell into a brief thought upon hearing this. The dwarf expeditionary force was not small in number, and they had a fortress as a base. He really dared not say too few, otherwise, an unfavorable start would affect all aspects.

"The Dwarves are not the same as during the War of the Beard. They have a large number of cannons, flamethrowers, and even flying contraptions." Teclis seized this opportunity to gain more influence for himself.

He lightly tapped his staff, and a light screen appeared in the hall. The combat performance of the Dwarves' war machines played like a slideshow. Some of this content Teclis had witnessed firsthand during his travels in the Old World, but much of it also came from intelligence gathered by spies.

Originally, these Elves, isolated in their overseas paradise, did not care what the Dwarves and monkeys in the Old World were doing, but the last two Phoenix Kings had made some changes. They had collected a lot of information through trade partners, foreign ambassadors, and representatives from colonies.

The changes in the Dwarves caused a stir among the Elf nobles. Both races were gradually declining. The Dwarves' decline was mainly due to a decrease in population outweighing technological advancements, while the Elves were stagnating in other areas while their unmatched dragons fell into slumber.

"What are you doing? Boosting the Dwarves' morale and diminishing our own?" Tyrion, having finished his calculations, saw his brother showing a magical movie. This powerful warrior didn't care about the capabilities of cannons and organ guns.

"Brother, you may not fear these mortal firearms, but according to Alphazel's report, the leader of that expeditionary force is a strong one. A High Prince who slayed a demigod, and even defeated Kugath the Nurgle…"

If Gromril knew that such boasting came from Teclis's mouth, he would probably drink three cups to the full, but the Archmage was interrupted before he could finish.

"So what? The turtle shells the Dwarves spent generations forging will only be melted into molten iron under my Sunfang Sword!" Tyrion's hand rested on the hilt of his sword at his waist. The longsword unsheathed slightly, but the temperature in the hall immediately increased by several degrees.

Sunfang Sword was a weapon forged in Aenarion's era to slay demons. Legend has it that the flames burning on it were stolen from the sun. In addition to slashing, it also had the ability to project sword energy.

"What about this old shell?" Teclis waved his hand again, and the scene of Master Krag suppressing a Phoenix appeared on the light screen. "This is Gromril's master. The Dwarves claim he is their strongest Rune Master. Akazet is an undisputed Inner Circle of the White Tower of Hoeth, but he had little ability to fight back against him."

"Don't I still have you?" Demigods are undoubtedly the top combat power in the mortal world, and dwarf demigods are certainly not lacking in equipment matching their strength. However, Prince Tyrion was not afraid of him; he still had his own brother to fight alongside him.

"Of course, as long as you need me, my sword and I will always be by your side. But then, who would be left here?" Prince Teclis circled around before revealing his killing blow.

"Prince, you cannot go! Ulthuan still needs your protection!"

"Those Dwarves who sink in water cannot be compared to our evil kin from the north!"

"Kadai protect us! The Asur cannot endure any more disasters!"

Teclis's previous analysis of the situation and his introduction to dwarf power had a great effect. The nobles in the hall supported him one after another.

"The Great Vortex's effectiveness is weakening. Kugath has already descended into the mortal world, and N'Kari, I fear, is also stirring in the ruined palace in the Realm of Chaos." Teclis knew what worried his brother the most, and he spoke his final point.

N'Kari, a Greater Daemon of Slaanesh, roamed both the mortal and immortal realms, seeking only the most extreme sensations and the purest ecstasy. He was defeated by Aenarion during the first Chaos invasion, and for this, he swore to kill all of Aenarion's bloodline.

In fact, N'Kari came close to succeeding. At one point, he had only two targets left—The Tyrion Brothers—but unfortunately, the toughest nuts to crack are always saved for last. The Tyrion Brothers defeated him several times, earning great renown in the process, but this was not enough. Greater Daemons can resurrect in the warp, and he would return again.

"This..."

Tyrion's heart was in turmoil; the other Elves didn't quite understand. It was common knowledge that N'Kari wanted to kill Aenarion's descendants, but at present, The Tyrion Brothers were both single, making them theoretically the only targets, if The Witch King Malekith wasn't counted.

But the truth was different. The Everchild, Alarielle, the next Everqueen, was not the child of Finubar and Alarielle, but of Tyrion. They fell in love when Tyrion rescued her from Dark Elves.

The Everqueen is the mortal spokesperson for the Elven mother goddess, Isha; they are the eldest daughter of the eldest daughter of the eldest daughter of Isha. The Phoenix King, in theory, is Asuryan's chosen, but the Lord of Phoenixes does not concern himself with mortal affairs; He "directly approves" the candidates chosen by the nobles.

Traditionally, the Phoenix King is required to cohabit with the Everqueen for a year and father the Everchild. Tyrion helped his good friend Finubar out, and fortunately, Finubar didn't mind much, as he had his own family life.

"So what do you think we should do?" Tyrion threw the question back to his brother. They, as brothers, were the guardians of Ulthuan. If both were to go on an expedition to the south, the internal emptiness would indeed be a significant problem.

"How about I go negotiate?" Teclis smiled, knowing he had convinced his brother. Following a simple process, Finubar granted Teclis full authority in this matter and then adjourned the meeting; the navigator had had enough.

The Archmage opened a portal after leaving the courtyard; he needed to be quick. Ordinary Elves are easily tempted by the Prince of Pleasure through their pursuit of enjoyment, beauty, and art, but for scholars and mages, the Daemon Prince also covets their delicious souls.

"Cough, cough!"

With a painful cough, Teclis appeared in a flash of white light by the Waystone of Dawn Fortress, a construct that guides the Winds of Magic. Large-scale teleportation magic is very draining, and the stronger and more numerous the transported objects, the greater the energy cost.

Teclis raised a hand, and the raging Winds of Magic formed a howling storm. A beautiful giant bird strode out from within. This was an Arcane Phoenix, considerably larger than a Flame Phoenix, with resplendent, colorful feathers. It bowed, allowing Teclis to climb on, then flapped its wings and soared high.

"Report! Your Majesty, the Pointy-ears riding a phoenix is here again!"

Gromril-az Thorson, who was meeting with representatives from the Knight Kingdom, frowned upon hearing this. Why was that Archmage so ignorant of what was good for him? As he reached the foyer, Gromril felt something was amiss: the surrounding Winds of Magic were too active!

"Bring me my anvil of doom, and summon my master. Also, Henrid, get me some guards with better eyesight!" Gromril issued a series of commands. Only after these were in place did he stride out the main gate.

"Just as I expected!" Looking at the Arcane Phoenix in mid-air, Gromril-az Thorson was very pleased with his foresight.

"Is that Prince Teclis? Gromril-az Thorson, Lord of the Southern World's Edge Mountains, has long admired your name!" Out of respect, the young Dwarf King immediately introduced himself.

"Hiss!"

"Clang, clang!"

Upon hearing Teclis's name, the sound of armor and weapons clashing came from the surrounding warriors; they all involuntarily tensed their bodies. The Great Holy War was only a little over a hundred years ago, and most of this generation of dwarves had experienced it, with some participants from those days still in the expeditionary force.

Many heroes emerged from those bloody battles, and Teclis was undoubtedly one of the most brilliant. Even the dwarves would praise him when recalling how he used the Fires of a Thousand Suns to single-handedly clear half the city wall of Kislev of the Chaos army.

"Indeed!" Teclis appeared very generous, gracefully guiding his phoenix to land on the ground.

"The main gate is not the place for discussion. How about we go inside?" Gromril-az Thorson made a welcoming gesture. Teclis coming alone meant that Ulthuan had already given its answer.

"Poof!"

Teclis waved his hand, and the Arcane Phoenix dissipated in a whirlwind. As he approached, Gromril-az Thorson closely observed the legendary Archmage.

He wore a long robe, white with blue, and a blue cloak draped over his back, his expression calm and composed. On his head rested the Crown of Saphery, the Kingdom of Saphery being a land of magic where the White Tower of Hoeth stood. This powerful war-helm was passed down through generations of Supreme Archmages.

At Teclis's waist hung the Sword of Teclis—every mage from the White Tower of Hoeth forged their own magic sword, which embodied their understanding of magic.

He held a long staff, and Gromril-az Thorson could feel the immense divine power within it. This was Lileath's Staff of Moonlight, containing the powerful divine energy of Isha's eternally youthful daughter, and it was also a symbol of Teclis as Lileath's chosen champion.

Under the strict encirclement of Gromril-az Thorson's guard, the master and apprentice, along with Teclis, entered the conference room. As soon as they entered, Gromril-az Thorson activated the newly acquired World's Edge Barrier.

"Oh!"

The Archmage narrowed his eyes. He realized that his goddess's attention had been cut off, which was a very rare occurrence.

Although Teclis was extremely talented in the path of magic, he was not favored by Hoeth, the Lord of Wisdom, due to his overly frail physique. Lileath, however, saw his potential and gave him her staff to help him maintain his health, thereby gaining the powerful mage's loyalty.

Gromril-az Thorson knew that Teclis's personal visit was certainly not just to act as a messenger; otherwise, the Archmage stationed at Dawn Fortress could have come. Teclis indeed had concerns, and after a quick exchange of opinions on non-aggression, both sides fell into a brief silence.

"Your visit this time, it carries the will of that one, doesn't it?" Gromril-az Thorson slowly said, stroking his beard.

"This conflict can be resolved peacefully, which is the result of my strong mediation. The Royal Court's council wanted to launch an expedition immediately, and His Majesty Finubar is also very dissatisfied with what happened to his nephew!"

Teclis did not respond directly; instead, he subtly claimed credit for himself. He gently tapped his staff, and the naked bust of Lileath at the top finally lit up.

"This is our sincerity. She is very pleased with your plans and ideas for immigration from Bretonnia, and therefore has a deal she wishes to discuss with you."

"How so?" Gromril poured a drink for Teclis and his Master. Master Krag wasn't interested in politics; he was only there to protect his disciple. He had heard of the title of Archmage, and as strong individuals, they recognized the Archmage's well-deserved fame.

"What mortals seek is power, what the gods seek is faith."

Teclis, like most Elves, was skilled in diplomatic rhetoric. He took a sip of the liquid in his cup, and the words he spoke were equally understated.

"I think I understand!"

Gromril stroked the beard on his chest, thinking, this was truly an unexpected boon. He had originally considered the Knight Kingdom only because the Emperor of the Empire was still on the book of grudges.

Lileath, as an Elf god, had very diverse domains. Gromril knew of dreams, maidens, and the moon, but undoubtedly none of these were particularly strong. She was the daughter of Isha and Asuryan, a generation younger than the other Elf gods, and by the time it was her turn to ascend, only these scattered remnants were left.

Her need to operate a 'Lady of the Lake' avatar among humans was precisely proof that her divine power as an Elf god was not strong enough. One must remember that at that time, Elves viewed humans as mere monkeys, let alone their gods.

The Lost Plateau could roughly be divided into the lands of two duchies. Assuming the Bretonnian people's willingness to migrate was strong enough, and the population density of the two areas was equalized, the original Knight Kingdom's population would decrease by one-sixth.

In this scenario, if Gromril were to restrict the faith of the immigrants, the Lady of the Lake's divine power would also decrease. Considering that the vast majority of Lileath's divine power came from her avatar, this would be a significant weakening for her.

But conversely, if Gromril did not restrict her faith, with the reproductive speed of humans as short-lived beings, twenty years would be enough to restore the population density to its original scale. At that time, Lileath's divine power could potentially increase by two-tenths.

Gromril was certain that Lileath did not know his true backer or source of power was the Old Ones. If she viewed him as a normal Chosen, then promoting the doctrines of his worshipped god was natural. Having understood this, he knew he would hold the initiative in the negotiations.

"We are both spokespeople for gods, so let's be frank, what can you offer? Don't tell me peace; the Sons of the Mountains do not fear war, never have!"

Gromril licked his lips, showing a tough side. He hoped to extract a good deal from Lileath. The High Elves' history was even longer than the dwarves', and they also possessed abundant treasures.

"Cough, cough!" Teclis couldn't help but clench his staff. By Elf standards, he was now in his prime. As a spellcaster, he wasn't as powerful as he would be during the End Times when he would unseal the Great Vortex and create the Incarnates of the Winds of Magic.

This was not a fair negotiation; his opponent was a mystery to the Archmage. He had some understanding of the Kingdom of the Mountains through humans who traded with the dwarves, but there was little valuable information about the old man and the young man before him. Master Krag simply lived in seclusion, while information about Gromril was a chaotic mix of truth and falsehood.

Relatively speaking, Gromril understood Teclis much better. He could even summarize Lileath's ultimate plan for rebuilding the new world to Teclis, highlighting the key points.

"Bretonnia is the divine realm of the Lady of the Lake. Without her approval, your plan to migrate people is like a mirage!" The Elves' nature was proud, especially when facing dwarves, and Teclis instinctively chose to threaten.

"I don't deny that. Every Knight in Bretonnia is, in principle, subject to her command. But there's far more than just Knights there." Gromril smiled; the information he had gathered during his previous travels and inspections was proving useful.

"Do you mean to rely on peasants? Those pathetic people with burning sticks who can't even defeat the skaven?" In Teclis's view, the only valuable asset in the Knight Kingdom was its Knights.

"Peasants aren't out of the question either. As a blood descendant of Aenarion yourself, you should know that bloodline isn't nearly as important in this world. With reliable equipment, sufficient training, and nutrition, they can also become qualified warriors, and I happen to have such a force under my command."

Gromril took a scroll from a drawer. It was the battle record of the Sons of the Sea Legion; through the crucible of iron and blood, they had already become a powerful army.

"If you insist that training peasants is difficult, Bretonnia also has a large number of Ranger Knights and Knight Squires. I can say that most of them are qualified Knights."

"Why?" Teclis's understanding of the "monkeys" was limited to what he needed. Bretonnia's internal conflicts were not within the Archmage's scope of consideration.

"Hahaha, it has been over a thousand years since the time of the founding King Gilles, and Bretonnia's land has long been fully developed. You don't know how high the standards for obtaining a fief are now; even from the perspective of long-lived races, it's a bit excessive."

There was no such thing as family planning in this world, and nobles could enjoy divine magic, a medical method unknown in Gromril's previous life. Their unrestrained reproduction made obtaining fiefs fiercely competitive.

The so-called Knightly Errantry Wars, in addition to allowing a small number of lucky individuals to acquire fiefs, also served to reduce social instability through war and death. Giving these people an option to buy land with money, in addition to fighting monsters, would unleash their enthusiasm, and furthermore, the lords might tacitly approve or secretly support it.

"Still the same old saying, don't threaten me with war. Isn't Gulu's Waaagh! enough for you to lick your wounds? Our axes are sharper than the greenskins', and our armor is much sturdier than theirs."

Teclis was about to speak, but Gromril cut him off. "However, personally speaking, improving the lives of my clansmen in the present world is also a very important matter. If, hehe, I'm not entirely unwilling to make some concessions."

"Such as?" Teclis's grip on his staff relaxed. He understood that as Lileath's spokesperson, he was at a disadvantage. "Before, I represented the Phoenix King Court, but now what I can represent is very limited."

The Archmage gestured for Gromril to state his conditions, but at the same time, he pointed out his and her bottom line. The Kingdom of Saphery and the White Tower were under the influence of Hoeth, the Lord of Wisdom. To use Hoeth's public benefit for Lileath's private gain, with the Magisterial Council's constraint, Teclis couldn't do too much.

"If you want me not to restrict the immigrants' faith, there are at least three requirements. The first is to issue a divine oracle to help me promote it. That's easy for her, isn't it?"

Gromril also knew that the Lady of the Lake had immense influence over Bretonnia. With her endorsement, immigration would undoubtedly be smoother and of higher quality.

"I can agree to this on His behalf. Continue," Teclis nodded.

"The second point is also simple. I am the master of this land and a chosen one of the gods. If you want to spread your faith here, you'll have to make it worth my while, right? Buy me off?" Gromril crossed his legs and made a gesture of counting gold coins, trying to imitate the expression of his clansmen when they saw a treasure vault.

"You mud-footed peasants, you can't get rid of your stench of copper!" Teclis muttered, which prompted Master Krag to raise his hammer. However, this perfectly aligned with other races' consistent perception of dwarfs. Teclis had probably anticipated solving the problem by offering a gift before he even arrived.

"How many gold coins do you want?" The Archmage's tense back relaxed. His intelligence reports said that Gromril, in front of him, was nicknamed "the Generous." At the time, he had looked at him differently, but now, well, it seemed he was nothing special.

"Hahaha, my esteemed Prince, when our strength and influence reach this level, what value do ordinary gold coins still hold?" Gromril burst out laughing. How could he be bought off with money? The vaults of the Everpeak were full of shiny little darlings.

"Then what do you want?" Teclis frowned.

"Treasures! I'm not used to your gear, and you can't even lift our products. But there must still be relics from the War of the Beard, right?" The Dwarf King once again showed his avaricious expression.

In that century-long war, both sides had many high-ranking casualties. Warrior King Caledor II was slain, and the phoenix crown is still preserved in the Everpeak. On the dwarf side, Gotrek Starbreaker's son and brother also died on the battlefield.

"Hmm…" Teclis adjusted his sitting posture. The two rounds of supplies transported from the Old World were both scarce strategic materials. Karak-Zorn's soft furnishings hadn't caught up yet, and the stone chair made the Elf uncomfortable.

"The White Tower's vault contains a battle standard. An army fighting under that banner will give their opponents the illusion that they appear much taller."

"Carved with mixed dragon blood?" Master Krag, who had been silent, suddenly interjected.

"My God above!" Teclis turned away, not wanting to answer. Compared to Krag, who always brought up sensitive topics, Gromril sounded as sweet as a choir member.

"The Banner of the Dragon Scourge. That was the work of Jason Travick, a Rune Master who took the Slayer's Oath. His fortress was destroyed by a wicked dragon, and when forced to evacuate, he swore to spend the rest of his life killing as many dragons as he could," Krag explained to Gromril.

"A dragon-slaying squad from an epic?" Gromril's eyes lit up. In the early stages of the War of the Beard, the dwarfs suffered from a lack of air superiority and could only passively defend. At this crucial moment, Master Travick formed a special operations unit.

The members of the squad were all powerful warriors dedicated to slaying dragons. Some, like Travick, had their homes and families harmed by dragons, while others simply wanted to make a name for themselves by slaying dragons.

These powerful warriors gathered, cooperating seamlessly across different professions, and relying on advantageous terrain like mountain outposts, geomantic networks, and fortress firing ports to fight across the land, confronting dragons. Their most famous achievement was the "Dragon's Rest," where an entire contingent of Caledor's Dragon Princes were sniped one after another.

Master Travick collected the heart blood and hide of every slain dragon, mixing them to create a battle standard imbued with a master-level fear rune as the squad's emblem.

Regrettably, after a certain mission, the squad disappeared without a trace. Their courage and deeds were remembered by their clansmen, and their stories are still sung in taverns to this day.

"A lost treasure, not bad. But my faith in the Ancestor Gods is very devout! To make me go against my ancestors' decision…" Gromril patted his chest and made a praying gesture.

"Greedy…" Teclis was disgusted by Gromril's clumsy acting, but he still refrained from uttering insulting terms like "dwarf" to provoke Krag again.

"Heh heh, if you ask me, many of the treasures you have clearly documented, even if I gave them to you, you wouldn't dare to use them, would you?" The Archmage looked at the book of grudges on the table and suddenly had an idea. He was, without a doubt, also a highly intelligent Elf.

"Uh…" This time it was Gromril's turn to be speechless. Indeed, he couldn't very well demand those well-known treasures that were clearly taken as war spoils by the Elves.

He could reluctantly cook up a story, of course, but if the Elves sent witnesses to speak, his secret dealings with the Pointy-ears would almost certainly lead to him being branded a dwarf traitor and his reputation ruined.

"Then you tell me what you want!" Gromril simply conceded a step.

"What kind of item do you want?" The Archmage was also calculating which of the past war spoils he could obtain at a relatively low cost.

"A necklace, a cloak, or something else whose size can be adjusted." Gromril had considered this question before. In his plan, future battles would mostly be resolved by throwing the Stormhammer from a distance and striking runes. If close combat was necessary, it would definitely be by activating the Avatar of the Gods.

"Adjustable size?" Teclis looked at Gromril with a suspicious expression; he didn't quite understand the origin of the dwarf's request. "How about this?" He gently flicked his staff, and a coronet appeared in the mirror image.

It was a crescent-shaped circlet, with a base that was not a closed circle, allowing for a certain range of deformation. The top was shaped like the character 'mountain' (Mountain), with three protruding rune slots, though the leftmost one was not engraved.

In Gromril's opinion, this item had a touch of Elven aesthetic, likely a product from the golden age when the two races were on good terms. dwarfs didn't like such products now, but he was a pragmatist and wasn't particularly fond of things that strained the neck.

"A master-level wisdom rune and a rune of resolve; it's quite good for a coronet," Master Krag commented. dwarf rune products still had the same old problem: the smaller the size, the harder it was to engrave runes.

"Then that's the one!" Hearing his master's praise, Gromril naturally had no objection. He was now ruling his own land and was in need of a crown.

"Continue, what other demands do you have?" Teclis also breathed a sigh of relief. These two items were within his capabilities. If Gromril had demanded the battle axe of the High Prince or the crown of Hornburg, which the Elves also considered important war spoils, it would have been difficult for him.

"And finally, His clergy shall not interfere with my administration and judiciary."

Gromril had been thinking about this point since the day he decided to bring in people from the Knight Kingdom. He had several solutions, but none were perfect.

Gromril had thought about popularizing compulsory education, spreading advanced ideas, and so on, but this is a world where gods can manifest before people. If The Lady of the Lake truly wanted to cause trouble, she could simply sprinkle some foot-washing water in public and create a few Grail Knights, and no amount of his propaganda would be effective.

Fortunately, the problem wouldn't erupt so quickly. There should be a honeymoon period between him and Lileath as a buffer. Historically, Dieter IV wouldn't be in power for many more years. At that time, it would be natural to introduce the Cult of Sigmar through immigrants from the Empire to create a balance.

All Gromril could do was seize administrative power through his trusted people. He was fortunate that no Grail dwarves had appeared yet. However, Gromril suddenly realized he needed a supervisory body to ensure that no Grail dwarves would appear.

Teclis's staff glowed, clearly indicating he was communicating with Lileath. Gromril wasn't worried that this Elf Goddess wouldn't agree; she was a clever goddess with ideas, but the more ideas she had, the more likely she was to be targeted by Tzeentch.

"She agrees. Her divine personnel will not interfere with your administration and judiciary. However, if your people intend to act against the church or her divine personnel, you or your representative should notify her chief follower stationed here."

Not long after, Lileath gave her reply. Gromril had no objection to this; gods always required some necessary respect.

"Then let's implement it as soon as possible." Gromril stood up to see him off. At this level, signing and swearing were unlikely to be binding and would only make things seem petty.

"Speaking of which, are you interested in a spar?" Gromril suddenly had an idea as he walked into the hall. He wanted to test the gap between himself and a sub-top-tier combatant.

"Haha, my brother might be willing, but I don't have that hobby." Teclis refused the invitation and departed on a Phoenix.

"Phew, this Archmage still has a good demeanor. I hope we won't have to face each other in battle in the future."

The Dwarf King tugged at his beard and muttered. Teclis was a key manipulator during the End Times; resurrecting Nagash, unsealing the Great Vortex, and stealing the White Wolf God's holy fire were all his masterpieces.

If Gromril couldn't solve the problem in advance and the world dragged on until then, he would inevitably have to "persuade" this Archmage, and it would basically have to be done with his fists.

Temporarily resolving the Elf threat, Gromril's strength and influence appeared even greater in the eyes of the representatives from various fortresses and guilds who had accompanied the expedition. This greatly boosted their confidence in investing in the Southern World's Edge Mountains.

Previously, most expeditionary forces that successfully reclaimed lost territories were forced to withdraw within a short period due to external pressure, lack of logistical support, and other reasons. Those who provided subsequent support to them naturally lost everything.

The Lady of the Lake acted quickly. As one of the few gods who knew about the End Times and was willing to fight it, she urgently sought to increase her divine power. The Fay Enchantress and the prophetesses stationed in the Grail Churches of various duchies simultaneously conveyed her decree regarding the immigration and development of the Southlands.

The Lady of the Lake's divine oracle greatly encouraged the Bretonnians' enthusiasm for immigration, dispelling their various concerns and causing previously ambiguous lords to no longer obstruct it.

For gentry without land, immigration was like a godsend, but for the lords, it meant an outflow of population and wealth. A considerable number of short-sighted fellows preferred to let conflicts escalate rather than endure temporary losses.

This increased the pressure on Constantine and Cousin Tomi. The personnel originally planned for propaganda were directly reassigned to vetting. Those with poor character or reputation were rejected; those whose families lacked the funds to buy land and subsequent construction expenses were rejected; and those who couldn't bring enough farmers were also rejected.

While Bretonnia was still in full swing with preparations, Master Krag also sent a message back to the dwarves. With him at Highland Fortress, they could communicate directly with Everpeak, bypassing Red Cloud Mountain and Iron Peak Fortress.

In addition to being the Chosen of the Goddess and the War God's Messenger, Gromril gained another title: the Thurni Chosen, personally recognized by Master Krag, the Rune Demigod. Rune practitioners, upon learning that the sudden increase in their power was due to Gromril's efforts, greatly supported him. Seeing this, the clansmen simply merged his nicknames into "Ancestor Chosen."

Sea Gate activated two previously mothballed Dreadnoughts due to the surge in armed escort services. dwarf fleets were laden with wealth, and the lives of the clansmen were even more precious; it was best not to take risks if they could be avoided.

The Old Ones' modifications to the system revitalized Gromril's plan. The increase in fertility further promoted the clansmen's enthusiasm for migration. Undoubtedly, population was the accelerator of all development and progress.

The Ritual of Toolni also incidentally solved Gromril's problem of lacking Rune Smiths. Not only did the number of clansmen with Rune talent increase, but the establishment of his Chosen status led to a sharp increase in those willing to apprentice under him.

Practicing the Rune Way was very expensive. Most apprentices needed the clan's support, and after completing their studies, they, of course, had to give back to the clan. Therefore, they were not very willing to come to the Southlands before.

President Brokk and Master Krag left; they both had their own matters to attend to. With President Brokk's help, Gromril realized that even if he was only building railways, not high-speed rail of later generations, he still needed to spend a lot of manpower and resources on surveying.

Not all slopes could be solved with a "zigzag railway." Before the survey team resolved the route issues, Gromril had to find some work for the early arriving clansmen.

"The center of the Lost Plateau needs a new fortress!" Gromril spread out the map, pondering. The distance from Spiderweb Mountain to Highland Fortress was too far; these two fortresses were at the northern and southern ends of the plateau respectively.

Firstly, human immigrants would also need a political and economic center for easier management. Secondly, the eastern side of the plateau, the Cursed Jungle, was not entirely peaceful. According to information provided by the Slann, everything from Greenskins to Vampires were active there, requiring a strong fortress to defend against them.

The lord's instructions were quickly carried out. With the help of helicopters and knights, the site for the new city was quickly determined. Altman also communicated with the railway surveyors to ensure that this new city would be an important transportation hub.

"Calling this strategic point 'Lost Plateau' directly in the game is too casual in reality." Gromril thought it was very necessary to give the new city a catchy name, especially since this might be the only new fortress he would build in his entire transmigration journey.

"Demonbane Fortress is good!" He patted his head. The fortress site was not far from the battlefield where he defeated Nurgle's Daemonic Army, and the fortress itself served a military purpose. Calling it Demonbane Fortress was quite grand.

"Notify everyone, our clansmen here shouldn't be idle either. Let's get to work on production and construction!"

Due to grandfather's influence, I have to ask for leave tomorrow. I hope the school hasn't been corrupted.

With the threat from the High Elves now removed, Gromril no longer needed to maintain a large standing army. He kept his personal guard and necessary patrol units, as was customary. Due to a lack of population, dwarf society primarily relied on temporary conscription for major wars.

Since the geomantic network in the Southern World's Edge Mountains was destroyed in the Great Earthquake, Gromril also didn't need to maintain Ironbreakers to ensure underground safety. Instead, he opted for the relatively economical Ranger units, working with Knights and helicopters for three-dimensional surveillance.

Highland Fortress's manpower and resources were freed up, but the first batch of migrating humans was still en route. Bordeleaux's fleet consisted of conventional wooden sailing ships, and even with manann's blessing, they couldn't sail against currents and winds like Sea Gate's steam ironclads.

Once within Nehekhara, the sailing ships even required steamships for towing as they had to travel upstream. However, Gromril understood that Constantine had profited considerably from various shipping, exploration, and immigration ventures. He was already preparing to install steam engines on some ships, which meant the Marine Engineers Guild received a large order.

Gromril planned to take his men into the rainforest. The most challenging aspect of the expedition was the logistics of supply transport. High transportation losses led to soaring costs. Gromril's previous force was around a thousand strong, and they could reduce their demand for food by hunting locally.

The dwarves' highly filling stone bread and nutritious, long-lasting alcoholic beverages also alleviated some pressure. But it was clear that with the arrival of immigrants, he would need to find alternative food sources to sustain tens of thousands of people before the first harvest.

Gromril turned his gaze to the rainforest on the east. The construction agreement he signed with the fifth-generation Slann Otlax was a good time to fulfill. Accompanied by a Skink Priest and its war-band, Gromril and his guard trudged through the jungle.

Undoubtedly, Lizardmen were a race adapted to jungle terrain. These cold-blooded creatures could move agilely in the shadows of ancient trees using their large, sharp claws. They didn't even need to build roads, while the dwarves' iron boots constantly slipped on the wet ground.

Gromril wiped a bead of sweat. The humidity in the rainforest was too high, and the lining of his armor clung uncomfortably to his body. dwarves didn't like this environment. Listening to his subordinates' complaints, he felt even more grateful for the starli boots given to him by his master. These legendary boots had accompanied him through many battles, saving him a lot of energy.

The Skinks' sharp and strange cries also irritated Gromril. He hadn't expected there to be a race in the world that was as talkative as the dwarves. Gromril still couldn't understand what they were saying. The Skink language conveyed ideas through changes in sound, tone, and variations in the colors of their crests and scales.

Fortunately, these difficult days didn't last too long. A few days later, the dwarves saw the long-awaited sunlight. A wide river appeared before them, and on an alluvial island in the center of the river was a temple city.

Gromril gazed from afar. Based on its scale, he judged that this White Bone Temple was a Sacred Temple-City—a third-tier capital. Cities of this rank were located on smaller nodes of the geomantic web.

The pyramid standing in the city center was surrounded by streets and other peripheral settlements like spokes of a wheel, with the river in front serving as the outermost natural moat.

"Woo ah woo rua!" The Skink Priest's voice rang in his ears again.

"It asks you not to rush, it needs to go in and report," the Amazonians translated.

"Can't the Venerable Otlax sense our arrival?" Gromril asked. Even for a fifth-generation Slann, this range should still be within the scope of its telepathy.

"The Slann have gone back to meditating. They are accustomed to interpreting the Great Plan," the Amazonian leader reminded him. Gromril, of course, knew they had such a hobby. If he remembered correctly, during the End Times, a Slann didn't even wake up when a skaven stabbed it.

A short while later, the Skink Priest ran back, leading the dwarves into the city. "Why is this White Bone Temple named so?" Gromril asked, looking at the stone buildings. They were neither white nor made of bone.

"Before the Venerable Otlax reclaimed her, this Sacred Temple-City was once occupied by Vampires from the north. Flesh rots faster in the rainforest, so their desecrated servants were primarily skeletons. By Itzi, the Terradons, looking down from the sky, once thought it was an ocean of white bones."

The Amazonians translated. Gromril knew Itzi; that should be the Old One who created a series of dragons like Tyrannosaurus and Triceratops. He was very important in the Lizardmen's faith.

After passing through the outer Lizardmen living areas and smaller temples, the causeway extended into the city, becoming a wide ceremonial path. Along the way stood beautifully carved stone pillars. The scenes and symbols carved on the stone pavement depicted various Lizardmen events, myths, and important rituals.

Towering obelisks stood by the roadside, used to align the city's axis with celestial bodies. When temple-cities were chosen, they corresponded to stars in the sky, and the more important the star, the higher its position in the geomantic web.

The Lizardmen pyramids were different from those of Nehekhara. These were stepped structures, with Inca-style steep ascending stairs on each side of the exterior. Gromril strode up, seeing the Slann's bloated body on the observatory at the very top.

It was only here that the Saurus finally appeared. These strong warriors possessed thick scales that could rival ordinary armor. These scales made the dwarves sigh inwardly; a great market for armor was about to be closed off.

However, their weapons were also lacking. The Lizardmen had little forging capability, and even the elite guarding the core wielded long spears with obsidian tips and clubs fashioned from stone.

"Respected Slann, the Sons of the Mountains have arrived as promised!" Gromril said with a slight bow.

"Very good, very good," the Slann was very pleased with Gromril's efficiency.

"Come this way!" Its hovering palanquin turned, and Gromril followed behind, walking to the center of the observatory. Here was a set of obsidian rotating disks inscribed with hieroglyphs.

"Rise!"

The Slann slightly raised its hand, and with a creaking sound, the disk set adjusted its position. As they rotated to an angle, Gromril saw a geomantic path coalesce in the air.

"By the Ancestor Gods!"

Feeling the surging power within, Gromril praised it sincerely.

"You think it's strong? But this is just a ruin of what it once was. The energy it can summon is but a drop in the ocean. In the beginning of the world, when the geomantic web was complete, the First Generation could even correct stellar orbits with its help."

"Our ancestors charted the stars precisely for your sake, adjusting the distance between this planet and its sun to ensure that your newly created races could survive at an appropriate temperature."

The Slann explained to Gromril, knowing that the primary reason the dragons of Ulthuan fell into slumber was similar: the world was placed in an orbit suitable for younger races, and this climate was not conducive to dragon activity.

"The Geomantic Web allows us to draw the entire planet's power from the earth. The Winds of Magic exist in all things, but the earth's reserves are the most abundant."

Gromril thought of the talent called "Bound Wind Earth." Many spellcasters had mastered the technique of inserting their staves or arcane conduits into the earth to reduce the chance of spell failure.

"You need us to repair this set of things. Do you have blueprints?" Gromril didn't understand architecture or design, but he knew that even the master builders of Everpeak wouldn't figure it out quickly. Such high-level artifacts would be difficult even for the Ancestor Gods.

"Look!" The Slann raised an eyelid. It could also use Teclis's mirror spell. Gromril saw a constantly rotating, floating Geomantic Core, a prism-like object on a tall tower where many energy lines converged.

"Are you sure?" Gromril walked around the light screen. "Is this a Geomantic Spire or a Geomantic Core? Although I haven't been there, I estimate this thing would only be found in Itza or Hexoatl, right?"

The time traveler named the birthplaces of two Lizardmen legendary lords from his past life's game. Itza was the first of all cities, the place where the Old Ones first descended. Venerable Kroq-Gar resided there in life, and his mummy was interred there after death.

Hexoatl was the City of the Sun, crucial to the Geomantic Web, and also the northernmost Temple-City. Located at the border of Lustria and Naggaroth, it was the Lizardmen's first line of defense against northern invaders. The most active and powerful second-generation Slann, Mazdamundi, ruled over it.

"Is it difficult?" The Slann shook its head. It tapped again, and a relatively simpler Geomantic sequence structure appeared.

"This is the Geomantic Bridge-Tower that was once built on these ruins. Compared to the previous one, it can only better converge the Geomantic power, preventing it from dissipating and disappearing," Gromril explained as he watched the Slann.

"This looks feasible to me!" Gromril calculated the workload. Building such a bridge-tower required a combination of strength, knowledge, and skill. Since the Lizardmen were designed for specific roles, the lack of versatile individuals indeed made it difficult.

"I need relevant knowledge. Regarding the celestial phenomena, if the original ruins are there, I might not need it, but you must provide information about the earth veins; otherwise, building it will just be a hollow shell." Gromril made his assessment after a brief inspection.

"Alright! Then I'll continue my meditation. If you need anything, tell the Skinks. I hope to see the bridge-tower repaired when I awaken."

Otlax was very straightforward. It didn't have much in the way of relevant traditions itself; the youngest generations had never participated in the construction of the Geomantic Web. Since it had chosen to seek help from the dwarves, this fifth-generation Slann naturally wouldn't begrudge the necessary resources.

Two Saurus brought several sets of golden plates. Gromril gently caressed them. The Slann knew that ordinary people wouldn't understand the Lizardmen's writing, so it projected the contents directly into Gromril's mind.

"Wonderful, wonderful!"

The Dwarf King grinned. Knowledge about the Geomantic Web was considered top secret even when the Old Ones still resided in this world. At that time, the Lizardmen, as the Old Ones' firstborn, were the most powerful of all races, and their knowledge was beyond the reach of the Ancestor Gods.

But the wheels of history rolled on. What was once in the Slann's hall now flew into common dwarf homes. Now, he had so easily obtained a detailed document, and even if it was just a basic version, it was still incredibly precious.

dwarves' Rune Magic could be likened to extracting water in a desert through condensation: stable, but slow. A normal wizard casting spells was like drawing water vapor from the air, greatly affected by changes in the Winds of Magic reserves on the battlefield.

The Slann's Geomantic Web was like an underground river, and the buildings that guided and converged it were like wells. If Gromril could open his own interface on the Geomantic Web, the energy he would gain from it would be immeasurable.

However, for now, he still had to complete the Slann's task. Gromril's guards put down their tools and began surveying and measuring the site. Gromril himself had no architectural skills, so he planned to tour the White Bone Temple.

Everything about Lizardmen society was mysterious to any outsider; these cold-blooded creatures would unceremoniously kill any unwelcome visitor. And in these past few millennia, the number of welcome ones could be counted on one hand.

Gromril saw the Lizardmen's livestock pens, where Skinks managed everything like human herders. Insects could feed the Skinks, but the strong Saurus were carnivorous, and besides hunting, farming was also within their consideration.

Matching this was an underground meat storage hall, keeping the meat away from the wrath of Xhotl and in a relatively fresh state. Gromril waved his hand, adding an item to his order.

What attracted him even more was yet to come: the Lizardmen actually knew how to brew fruit wine, with an entire production line for planting, pressing, and brewing. For the dwarves, this was truly great news, even if the fruit wine's alcohol content was generally low.

Gromril's clansmen, who loved their drink, could go without meat but not without alcohol. The liquor previously shipped from the Old World not only incurred high freight costs but also suffered a large amount of unplanned spoilage.

"What is this again?" Gromril asked, looking at a patch of seedlings in front of him.

"They say these are herbs. Certain types of jungle berries can be used to treat external wounds and other skin conditions. Over there are mysterious ferns and jungle lotuses, all excellent medicinal plant resources."

The Amazonian translator answered her Boss's question. Gromril nodded repeatedly. These unique Southlands medicines should find a good market when sold in the Old World. Both their actual efficacy and their rarity would attract many buyers.

"Hmm!"

Gromril turned halfway, suddenly catching a tempting, strange, yet somewhat familiar scent. He took a deep breath but still couldn't identify it.

"Come on, let's go over there and see!" Gromril followed the aroma towards the outskirts of the city.

"Holy crap!" As Gromril quickly approached and looked at the stall in front of him, he couldn't help but blurt out his past life's national swear word.

The shop, run by Skinks, was filled with spices, from star anise and cinnamon to pepper, chili, and even cloves and cardamom.

"Are they setting up a 'One Belt, One Road' here?" Gromril picked up a handful and sniffed it under his nose.