Chapter 29 - Marriage

Chatting as they walked, the group soon reached the stairs leading to the upper level of the fortress. The father and son dismounted their vehicles and entered the High King's office.

"If Grom were here, I'd give him a few pointers, but for you, perhaps it should be the other way around!"

Thorgrim sighed, reaching up to remove his Dragon Crown. Gromril also took off his Crown of Wisdom. As the office door closed, both men relaxed their previously tense bodies.

By the light of the not-so-bright candles, Gromril felt that Thorgrim's face seemed to have acquired more wrinkles. He was the number one supporter of his expedition. It could be said that his father personally oversaw how the Dwarven supplies and immigrants were transported to Sea Gate, and the pressure of this work went without saying.

"The Southlands are in ruins, and there are far more matters there than on my side. You must have returned early for something important, right?"

"The Imperium of Man!"

Gromril didn't mince words, simply uttering four words. Both of them were very busy; it could be said that the fate of half the dwarves was now jointly controlled by this father and son.

"You, or rather, we, need it in many places," Thorgrim mumbled. "This is a troublesome matter, but I have something equally important but relatively simpler to discuss with you."

"Oh? It's not about finding me a wife, is it?" Gromril quipped.

"You're half right. It's for your sister, but it can also be considered for you, since by custom, you have to come after her." Thorgrim laughed.

"Sister…" Gromril fell into a reverie. Since his transmigration, he hadn't seen his sister, Princess Nina, much. That female noble, after Dieter IV was added to the book of grudges, went to the Imperium as Thorgrim's envoy to mediate relations between the two sides and protect the interests of the Imperial dwarves. Both times she returned to report, she missed Gromril.

The cooperation between humans and dwarves predated Sigmar's founding of the nation. The close ties between the two sides could not be completely broken by one incompetent ruler. Official cooperation was restricted, but private exchanges only increased. In this complex situation, sending a relatively gentle female was very reasonable.

Due to his mother's early death and his father's busy schedule, Gromril was very close to his older siblings in his childhood. Memories of his sister flooded his mind, and the transmigrator, who was an only child in his previous life, showed a warm smile.

"Marriage is for a lifetime, and her own opinion is very important." Gromril stated his position.

"She doesn't have many thoughts, and she hasn't had much contact with those suitable marriage candidates before." Thorgrim sighed. Dwarven women have the right to choose their husbands, but due to a lack of communication, their understanding often remains on paper.

"Who are they?" Gromril's gossip fire ignited.

"There are only a few suitable ones if you count them on your fingers, and you've met two of them. Panosen of Sea Gate, Balendin of Zhufbar, Gragrim, Agrimm's son, plus the eldest son of the Norscan Dwarfs' High King."

As he mentioned the son-in-law candidates, a proud expression reappeared on Thorgrim's face. Princess Nina was known as the Pearl of Everpeak, and by Dwarven standards, her beauty surpassed even that of Sister-in-law Pamela.

"Is Prince Stringer of Breezehold not suitable?" Gromril asked curiously, as the name of his comrade-in-arms was not mentioned.

"He might be suitable if you had many sisters, but compared to adding kinship, diamonds should be set in the most conspicuous place," Thorgrim quoted a Dwarven proverb.

"Another question, I've met Balendin, but isn't he the second son of His Majesty Selunding?"

"Prince Dao Xin was a fine young man, calm and brave, but he was killed by those damned greenskins in a hunt last year. Ancestor Gods above!" Thorgrim said. Gromril was busy with the Southlands expedition at the time and was unaware of this matter.

"They all sound good. As future masters of large Karaks, they are worthy of Sister Nina," Gromril said evasively.

"I'm not young anymore, and the Kingdom of the Mountains will depend on you all in the future." Thorgrim made his point clearer.

"Tsk!" Gromril clicked his tongue. He believed Thorgrim had heard many rumors about himself and the throne of power, and he had even fanned the flames of those rumors.

"If you ask me, Gragrim won't do!" Gromril first dismissed one. Karak Kadrin was still ruled by Agrimm during the End Times, and his son's whereabouts were unknown.

"According to their Dragonbeard Clan tradition, becoming king requires taking the Slayer Oath. Who knows if he's as much of a failure in that regard as his father. For my sister's happiness, it's better not to choose him," Gromril found a more reasonable excuse.

"You're right!" Thorgrim nodded. No father wants to see his daughter become a widow, and if luck is bad, there's even a chance of a white-haired person sending off a black-haired person.

"As for Zhufbar, I don't recommend it either. You know, I'm very close to Brokk, the Guild Master of the Engineers Guild, and his son is my chief engineering consultant. If… it would be difficult."

The balance of power between clans and Guilds is the main theme of Dwarven society. Showing favor to both sides might have the opposite effect. After saying this, Gromril fell silent. He had done his best to narrow it down from four choices to two.

"The Norscan Dwarfs will return to participate in the Grudge Gathering. I'll consider it comprehensively then." Thorgrim also did not make an immediate decision.

"So, what are your thoughts on your own matters? To be frank, thanks to that runic telegraph, every decent lord has provided me with candidates." The topic circled back to Gromril himself.

"I intend to…"

"Don't bring that up to me. You should know that having excellent heirs is also very helpful for solidifying rule. Like you and Grom are to me, I believe the Ancestor Goddess would also be very pleased to see this." Seeing that Gromril still wanted to use the same old excuse, Thorgrim directly cut him off.

"Then tell me, which princesses and ladies are there?" Gromril thought it wouldn't hurt to listen.

"The third daughter of the Lagos family, but you definitely won't choose her, right? Old Lagos's burial money has almost been spent by Belegar." Thorgrim first helped Gromril rule one out.

"Then there's Arik's sister. You've met Queen Mother Mary and Arik. That princess is said to be beautiful and intelligent, a perfect match. I don't need to elaborate on the wealth and importance of Karak-Heorn."

"Indeed, Hornburg is the pillar of the Western Mountains." Gromril agreed.

"And then there are our compatriots from Norsca. You should also understand the significance of that."

The Norse dwarves have four magnificent fortresses in the Mountains of Giants: Du Long City, Thunderhold, Raven's Roost, and Eagle Peak Fortress. All of them have been managed for several millennia, starting from the Golden Age.

These four fortresses are located even further north than Kislev, truly serving as bridgeheads against Chaos. Their individual sizes are not large, but combined, their bulk still surpasses any dwarf fortress in the Old World.

"Besides those two, you actually have another choice." Seeing Gromril didn't immediately respond but instead fell into contemplation, Thorgrim stroked his beard and continued.

"Miss Katerina of the Sons of Gnar clan."

"Who is that?" Gromril was stunned by the words. He searched his memory but found no information about this dwarf noblewoman. How could she be mentioned in the same breath as the princesses of Hornburg and the Norse dwarves?

"The Sons of Gnar are the royal bloodline of Silver Spear Mountain, also a noble clan descended from the Ancestor Gods. Their strength is still decent now, though not as glorious as in the past."

Gromril recalled the history of Silver Spear Mountain; it had already fallen over four thousand years ago. Silver Spear Mountain is located in the Wolf Wilderness, east of the Badlands, surrounded by Grey Hag Mountain and Hunchback Mountain.

To seize that land, rich in iron ore, the greenskins launched the so-called "Silver Road Campaign." In that twenty-year war, only one-fifth of the dwarf caravans connecting Silver Spear Mountain to other fortresses survived the constant attacks of the greenskins in Dead Rock Pass.

"Why?" Gromril asked.

"Her mother is Belegar Ironhammer's only paternal aunt," Thorgrim said faintly.

"A claim?" Gromril also narrowed his eyes.

"Karak-Eight-Peaks, the center of the Ancestor Goddess's faith, once the wealthiest fortress in the Mountains Kingdom. Restoring the Mountains Kingdom is your goal, and it is an indispensable node if you want to connect your territory in the Southern World's Edge Mountains with the Old World," Thorgrim said unhurriedly.

"Has this matter escalated to this point?" Gromril couldn't help but shift his position and sit up straighter. He thought his desire for Eight Peaks Mountain was quite restrained.

"Not quite, but for someone with a broad perspective, it's not difficult to deduce, is it?" Thorgrim's smile was gentle, but Gromril felt the pressure. His father, an able ruler, managed to stabilize the situation and make changes during the difficult circumstances of his early election.

"But that's a weak claim, Belegar is the rightful lord of Eight Peaks Mountain, he..." Gromril suddenly realized something as he spoke.

In the game of his previous life, Belegar was able to last until the End Times thanks to the strong support of the entire Dwarf Holds. But now, with his sudden emergence, he has diverted a large amount of resources, and for Belegar himself, everything is developing for the worse.

"This world is full of surprises, who knows what might happen? Dawsin of Zhufbar is an example; it's better to be prepared. " Thorgrim's voice, in the flickering candlelight, carried a hint of sternness.

"But doing that would truly make Gromril's intentions known to all the Skaven. I don't think we should rush!" Gromril shook his head; he needed time to think.

"Hmm, you still have time. Nina's matter won't be settled until the end of next year at the earliest. Tell me your thoughts on the Imperium of Man."

Thorgrim, of course, knew that his young son was now grown and shouldn't be forced. He changed the subject.

"I need the Imperium's population, and I also need the Cult of Sigmar," Gromril said candidly. "Humans are not like us; if we don't provide them with a haven for their souls, they are very likely to fall into the embrace of the Chaos Gods."

"Good, no matter what, you must remain vigilant against the Pointy-ears!" Thorgrim was very satisfied with his approach. "But how do you plan to do it? Or rather, what kind of support do you need?"

The sanctions against Dieter IV were also very difficult for the Dwarf Holds. The High King had made some attempts in recent years, but with little effect. The Karak dwarves lacked understanding of human political systems and couldn't grasp the main contradictions.

"I have a plan; all I need is our intelligence network within the Imperium of Man." Gromril grinned, having formulated a plan based on his understanding of major historical events.

"Go forth, my child. This is a good opportunity to show another side of your abilities. If cunning fails, axes and warhammers are also good helpers for us."

After receiving Thorgrim's authorization, Gromril left his father's office. He chose the Rune Smith Guild as his temporary office, as he was still the Guild's Vice President, and with Master Krag's protection, his safety was also higher.

He had rehearsed how to operate it many times before. If it was simply to accelerate the historical process, it wouldn't be too difficult. However, Gromril believed that allowing Marienburg to become independent as it did originally was not in his best interest.

Firstly, it would weaken the Imperium of Man, and the Imperium had proven to be a reliable ally in the fight against Chaos. Secondly, the merchant lords of Marienburg cared only about pursuing profit.

Based on his experience from his previous life, Gromril knew that once Marienburg implemented special economic policies, flexible economic measures, and a unique economic management system, its attractiveness and development speed would inevitably accelerate greatly.

And for Gromril and indeed the entire Dwarf race, their economy was outward-oriented, and dwarf fortresses often served as trade centers. If Marienburg were to grow strong, it would be a weakening for him and his clansmen.

"Oh, the storm of the Path of Change is brewing." The customer in the tavern suddenly looked outside. If Gromril were there, he would recognize him as Pukel Te, the Scholar he had met in Bordeleaux.

"What a pity, the old fellow's power is interfering with my vision, but it doesn't matter," Pukel Te muttered to himself.

"Hey, my friend, what are you thinking about?" The tavern owner leaned out from behind the bar. In just one day, he and his regular customers seemed to have taken a liking to this human.

He was true to his name, seemingly knowledgeable about everything. Especially the hottest topic now—His Majesty Gromril's expedition in the Southlands. This human recounted it vividly, as if he had personally participated.

"Speaking of which, the expeditionary force fought against the spiders of Spiderweb Mountain..."

As Gromril mobilized the Dwarf race's network within the Imperium of Man, from Middenheim to the Besshaphen of Ostermark, news spread that Marienburg was going to obtain autonomy by bribing the Emperor.

Marienburg is located in the delta of the Reik River, where winding waters flow through cursed swamps and eventually into the Claw Sea.

The city is built on a series of sandbanks, dotted with ports and shipyards, which allowed its citizens to accumulate vast wealth through trade.

As news spread, causing a stir throughout the Imperium of Man, a group of richly dressed merchants gathered in the most splendid hall in the center of Marienburg.

These individuals were members of the City Council, all prominent grand merchants of the city.

However, they had lost their usual elegance; the hall was filled with various shouts and exclamations.

"Who leaked this news?"

"I bet it was that old geezer Mundwain!"

"A conspiracy, it must be a conspiracy!"

"Marienburg must be independent! I'm tired of these endless wars!"

"Gentlemen, quiet!"

A man with a handlebar mustache walked to the front.

He was the owner of Regjik Port, Viscount Femeer, the Speaker of the City Council, known throughout the Imperium for the "legal goods" that passed through his port year-round.

"We must come up with a solution for this matter.

Everyone present has invested considerable resources, and the sunk costs are there.

I believe none of us want to suffer losses."

His voice was very inflammatory; Marienburg had been planning independence for generations, but only now were they close to success.

These shrewd merchants did not bribe Dieter IV all at once.

When that incompetent ruler fled his territory and resided in Altdorf, he borrowed heavily from Marienburg's wealthy merchants to maintain his extravagant lifestyle.

After Gulu's Waaagh! towards Ulthuan, all that was left for Dieter IV was the ruined city of Nuln.

To rebuild the city, he had to borrow heavily again, and soon his debt to Marienburg became unmanageable.

"That pig Dietel is easy to deal with; his debt to us wouldn't be paid off even if he sold his wife!" a one-eyed man roared.

"The Imperium, 哼, only taxes and death are inevitable.

I guess some of you have successfully avoided the latter, but the former?

Those tax collectors, greedier than Norsca barbarians, want to squeeze every last bit of our profit!"

Another old man in a fur coat stood up.

He was a Kislevite.

The northern merchant's words seemed to have a hidden meaning; many rumored that the current Tsarina Katarin, who ruled the ice kingdom, was a bloodline.

"I must say, we are not ready.

The northern raiders covet everything we have.

Without the Imperium of Man's experienced veterans and battle mages, it would be wishful thinking to protect the city with just the current city guard!"

Lady Alicia stepped forward.

News of this lady's method for eternal youth was widely spread among noblewomen.

Beyond gold, she also loved art, patronizing many artists and hosting salons.

"What did I say? We should have hired some decent mercenaries from Tilea ages ago!"

"Nonsense, those money-grubbing bastards won't fight for us.

We still need to form our own citizen militias!"

"Isn't this because you short-sighted fellows insisted on saving those paltry sums?"

The Lady pointed out the council's biggest problem.

According to the original plan, they should have prepared sufficient defensive forces before independence, but now the plan was forced to accelerate, and the armed forces were not in place.

If they proceeded with independence, no one would pass up this tender, juicy piece of meat.

But similarly, if they halted the independence process, not recovering the loans made to Dietel was one issue, and the unlikelihood of encountering such a perfect opportunity again, with all the right timing, location, and human factors, was another.

"Gentlemen, perhaps I have a suggestion!"

Just as the merchant councilors were arguing without result, another person stood up.

He wore two or three accessories that shimmered with runic light, suggesting a close relationship with the Dwarf Holds.

"Boss Harvey, please speak!" Viscount Femeer gestured for the councilors to quiet down.

"I know a person who should be able to help us solve the problem." Boss Harvey rubbed his hands together.

"Tomi, Tomi Erosson!" He announced a name.

"It's him?"

"The one who's been making the biggest waves recently?"

"He has a huge supply of Cathay goods!

Those spices and silks, my goodness, can be traded directly for equal weights of gold!"

"I got some Lizardmen items from him.

You know the Slann Mage-Priests?

Their blessed items are extraordinary!"

"Tomi also has goods for Nehekhara's immortal secret methods; they say he even dared to drink with the Tomb Kings!"

The name Boss Harvey announced made the council hall erupt again; clearly, everyone had heard of Cousin Tomi's great reputation, and many even had trade dealings with him.

Indeed, this wealthy dwarf merchant was responsible for distributing the spoils of Gromril's expedition and goods from the Southlands, while also procuring and transporting the supplies he needed.

He had made a big name for himself with his fierce goods and generous spending.

"What can he provide? A Tomb Legion?

If it's Cathay firearms or dwarf weapons, those won't arrive in time." Viscount Femeer also understood Tomi's capabilities as a merchant, but security services were clearly not within his previous business scope.

"Boss Tomi has a lot of influence with his friends in the mountains and his friends beyond the mountains.

Gentlemen, we cannot be desperate and seek any remedy!

If the foreign aid we find has a bad reputation, it's like asking a fox to guard the chickens."

Boss Harvey did not respond directly, but instead elaborated on his reasons, and his words gained the approval of many.

Many merchants had experienced being extorted or betrayed by the troops they hired.

It was common for those who lived by the sword to switch between being bandits and guards.

Compared to other factions in the Old World, dwarves and knights who worshipped The Lady of the Lake were the most trustworthy and reliable.

"As for what he can provide, I'm not sure.

Why don't we invite him over for a detailed discussion?" Harvey indicated he was finished speaking.

"Send out a messenger as soon as possible!" After a brief discussion with a few of the most powerful councilors, Viscount Femeer made a decision.

"No need for such trouble, my Lord Speaker." Harvey smiled and pulled a runic telegraph from his 懷裡.

Under everyone's watchful eyes, he rhythmically activated the runes, transmitting the message in a series of flashes.

"Boss Tomi is already departing from Altdorf!" A moment later, Harvey announced.

"Meeting adjourned! Tomorrow at this time, everyone remember to be punctual..." Viscount Femeer nodded.

The travel time from various points along the Reik River to Marienburg was something even guild apprentices could memorize.

"How about we have lunch together? Tomi will arrive very soon." Harvey smiled and interrupted the Viscount.

"Buzz, buzz, buzz!"

Halfway through their meal, a sudden, strange noise reached the councilors, growing louder and louder, accompanied by the shouts of guards outside.

"Is this how you treat guests in Marienburg?"

The councilors stepped out of the main gate and saw a dwarf helicopter hovering ten meters above the ground, with a large group of guards pointing bows and spears at it.

A young dwarf poked his head out of the cabin door, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the trembling legs and arms of the human soldiers below. Short-lived races were always like this, fearing everything beyond their understanding.

"Boss Tomi? You came from the sky?" Even the well-traveled Viscount Femeer was stunned. The development of manned aircraft by dwarves had always been a legend in the Imperium of Man; settlements outside the Mountains didn't have the opportunity or the strength to deploy them.

"Stand aside, make way for our distinguished guest!"

"Whoosh!"

The soldiers stumbled backward as the helicopter's rotor speed slowly decreased, landing steadily on the ground. The swirling air it created blew off many merchants' hats, and Viscount Femeer showed some displeasure watching his colleagues' flustered displays.

"For us businessmen, time is as precious as gold," Cousin Tomi jumped out of the cabin. He looked a fair bit rounder, and his attire had adopted a more Imperium of Man dwarf style.

"Gentlemen, you invited me here. What good business do you have for me?" Tomi's previous words were a double entendre, but his unexpected entrance had showcased his strength, intimidating everyone who doubted his capabilities.

"Please, come in!" Viscount Femeer snapped back to attention, turning and gesturing for him to enter, though his eyes involuntarily darted towards the helicopter. Once the host and guests were seated, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, they got down to business.

"Boss, you came from Altdorf, so you must have heard the news?"

"Naturally, is it true?" Tomi feigned a perfectly timed look of surprise.

"Indeed, we are all colleagues, and the oppression of those exorbitant taxes leaves us no room to breathe."

"Uh, hmm!" The splendor of the city council almost dazzled Tomi's eyes. He secretly grumbled but still nodded.

"So you need an army to ensure your security after independence, is that it?" According to the original plan, Tomi went straight to the point. "Then you've come to the right place. For the right price, you can get far more than you imagine."

"Like what? A few artillery regiments?"

"Those flying machines?"

"Or perhaps Steam Tanks? You dwarves must still have those!"

Tomi speared a piece of steak, as if discussing a trivial matter, while the city councilors grew excited.

"It seems you're still too conservative." Tomi picked up a goblet and swirled it, leisurely admiring the wine clinging to the glass before downing it.

"True, I rarely mention my identity, after all, as a merchant, I have to let my goods do the talking. But I must say, I am His Majesty Gromril, the King of the Southern Lands's cousin, the closest kind," Tomi added, shaking his empty glass.

"This? Did you come here on His behalf?" After a moment of silence, Lady Alicia spoke up.

"You might think outliving your enemies is a good form of revenge, but for us Sons of the Mountains, that doesn't apply. Treaties written in blood are like whip marks soaked in saltwater; without reckoning, any honorable dwarf would find it hard to enjoy a drink."

Cousin Tomi indirectly answered the Lady's question. Gromril's return to the Old World had a huge impact on the Dwarf Holds, and merchants in the Imperium of Man were aware of this.

"Shameless betrayal! Despicable! Vile! That pig, even rats seem smarter compared to it!" Tomi furiously cut his steak, as if to express his anger through the action.

"So this is, uh, a way to settle grudges?" the Lady continued to ask.

"Hmm, the High King is equally furious, but considering the ancient alliance and the deep cooperation with you all, He has asked my cousin to restrain his vengeful wrath within certain limits. Otherwise, Stormhammer would have shattered those pig brains long ago!"

Hearing this, the merchants understood. The King of the Southern Lands, Gromril the Generous, was willing to support their independence because, in the dwarves' view, it was a betrayal of Dieter IV. And no one would question the fervor for revenge of Gromril, a Son of the "Grudge-Bearer" and of the Thorson line.

"With all due respect, your cousin's territory and subordinates are mostly in the Southlands. How much can he really help us?" The Kislev elder stepped forward.

"Heh, have you short-lived fellows already forgotten the great war against Chaos?" Tomi recognized his origin and scoffed.

"You…"

"His Majesty Gromril is the champion chosen by the Ancestor Gods! If it weren't for your logistics failing eight years ago, how would he have been ambushed by Gulu?" Tomi directly cut off the old man.

"As the saying goes, a cup of wine before battle, and the Black Ark turns to ash; a barrel of wine before battle, and a demigod's status becomes empty; a cart of wine before battle, and Nurgle's Daemonic Army also…"

"Sigmar above! Please, quiet down!" Viscount Femeer cried out. "Never mind that old Ruski! None of us question the Plague-Queller's valor. If you attract His attention, you have His Majesty Gromril to protect you, but we'll all be in trouble!"

"Hmph hmph!" Tomi responded with a muffled snort.

"I greatly admire the strength of the King of the Southern Lands and his demon-slaying warriors, but no matter how skilled they are in war, they can't withstand Marienburg having eight, no, seven docks."

The one-eyed man raised a new point of contention; merchants were very mindful of risk management.

"I am also an honored guest of His Majesty Thorson and the various dukes across the Mountains. The noble knights also wish to see your independence, or rather, wish for the Imperium of Man to lose their fattest purse."

The city councilors were convinced. They were fortunate to have found only one broker who brought in unimaginable external aid. The dwarves and knights had credibility, strength, and motivation; they couldn't find a reason not to believe.

"I and those lords all hope to see your sincerity in military expenses. You know, expeditions and immigration are very costly," Tomi said, peeling a large shrimp to relax. He watched the councilors' whispers, knowing he had succeeded.

Urgent messengers rushed out of Marienburg's secret door. They had to reach Breezehold and then use Breezehold's channels to cross the Grey Mountains. With their return, several signed and sealed agreements appeared before the councilors.

"What did you say? Marienburg has declared independence? How dare they? How dare he?!" Inside the Elector Counts' palace in Altdorf, William III, the Earl of Reikland, listened to the messenger's report, his face filled with shock.

To be honest, he wasn't surprised that his foolish cousin would dare to grant autonomy to the Imperium of Man's wealthiest economic center for a huge bribe. After all, during Dietel's days as a guest in Altdorf after abandoning his city, William had a thorough understanding of his character.

"But those great merchants shouldn't have, unless… convene the Reik Council!" The Elector Counts' gray beard twitched. He had passed his impulsive youth, and as a qualified lord, William knew how to use the wisdom of his subordinates.

Reikland is neither too big nor too small. Knights galloped on horseback, but it was three days later when the ten high-ranking councilors gathered in Altdorf. During these three days, various news spread throughout the Imperium of Man.

"Everyone, the most reliable source of information is that Marienburg has received security assurances from the dwarves and the lickspittles from over the Mountains. Chalen claims that protecting any human from the plundering of the Northmen is in line with the spirit of chivalry," William III said, sitting at the head of the long table.

"Those utterly immoral fellows frequently pretend to be earthly saints, making themselves a laughingstock! Their actions are like lifting a stone only to drop it on their own feet!"

"They are incompetent themselves, yet they still bite others. This will only make the world see Bretonnia's hypocritical face and recognize the dual standards of the Lady of the Lake."

"It's understandable for the Bretonnians to interfere, but why would the dwarves meddle? What good does Marienburg's independence do them?"

The councilors engaged in a fierce discussion. They failed to immediately connect Gromril's actions with the battle seven years ago. For a short-lived race like humans, seven years is enough for a new city to rise from ruins, and enough for a child to grow into a qualified warrior.

"Gromril-az Thorson, King of the Southern Lands, the youngest son of High King Thorgrim. He must be behind this," William's secretary distributed Gromril's intelligence to the councilors.

"Five or six years ago, he passed through my territory, defeated a skaven force at Helmgart Fortress, and earned the nickname Stormhammer." William looked at the old man with a wide-brimmed hat, who was sitting fourth on his right.

"Monk, it's rare for your eagle eyes to miss something! Who knows, it's only been a few years, and a dwarf Prince escorting a caravan now possesses the power to stir the entire world."

"Yes, my Lord," the retired Witch Hunter had aged considerably, and the injuries from his youth had tormented him to the point of emaciation.

"When the initial news came, I didn't even dare to think it was the same person. Now, thanks to him, Helmgart even has an extra tourist attraction, and his compatriots have erected a statue of him. But the bad thing is that there have been three incidents of flying hammers injuring people this year," Sir Monk mumbled.

"The dwarves of Breezehold seem to be gathering. Is there any news from Undermountain Hold?" William continued to ask.

"They are gathering as well. I heard from my drinking buddies that Savaak, the Lord of Undermountain Hold, might personally lead an expedition. That Gromril is hailed as the savior of Undermountain Hold. There are also unusual movements in Barren Fort at the end of the Grey Mountains. The dwarf Mountain Strongholds used to act independently, such a coordinated effort is very rare."

"The dwarves in various urban settlements should also have ideas. On my way here, I saw several blacksmith shops and inns that had closed down."

"Calculating this, he might be able to gather over two thousand dwarves, plus Bretonnia…"

After a brief exchange of intelligence, the Reik Councilors confirmed that the foreign aid Marienburg had secured was sufficient for it to defend itself after independence. With this clarified, the human high-ranking officials began to discuss countermeasures.

"We cannot sit idly by and watch Marienburg declare independence. I believe the other Elector Counts share my opinion," William III directly stated his view. His words were met with agreement, but the councilors discussed for a long time without coming up with a solution.

"My Lord, we cannot stop it! Not to mention whether Marienburg's foreign aid will fight us, not to mention whether our brothers can win. We have no reason to send troops. Dieter IV is the Emperor, and Marienburg's independence is his decree!"

The Reik Marshal was pushed forward. He was a loyal and unyielding old soldier. The words he spoke were as sharp as the sword at his waist.

"Hmph!"

William III sat down. The Marshal's words were spot on. As the Elector Counts of Reikland, he didn't even have the right to interfere. Let alone William, even the Elector Counts of Nordland couldn't directly intervene in Marienburg.

During the Great Crusade, several great merchants met with Emperor Magnus and, by providing huge military funds, obtained authorization for the city council to manage Marienburg.

"Dietel, Emperor, decree," William muttered through gritted teeth, his young'un twitching. "You've hit the nail on the head, Howard! Perhaps this is the turning point."

"Meeting adjourned. I need to think!"

As the courtiers left one by one, William felt anger and ambition burning in his chest. Where did they come from? His cousin's reckless and perverse behavior? The prosperity of the territory brought about by the diligent efforts of recent lords? Or the extraordinary power of the mages from the College of Magic?

"The eastern barbarians of Stirland have held the imperial throne for three generations. It's time for Reikland to produce another Human Emperor, my little William."

A voice startled the Elector Counts. He found the speaker with a cold gaze; it was a white-haired old man, Heisenberg, the Chair Minister of the Reik Council, an elder who had served in the council since his father's time.

"What do you think?"

"Your father often said that to lead an ox, you must lead it by the nose. You should first see the whole ox clearly, then find where its nose is," the old man slowly offered his advice.

"I need intelligence, from all sides, at all costs!" William's voice echoed throughout the council chamber.

"Truly thunderous methods! Your Stormhammer lives up to its name, and your tactics are as swift and ruthless as a hammer!"

In the clan's training ground, Gromril pulled his elder brother Grom up from the ground. He had returned early from Mountain Lake Fortress to reunite with him. The two brothers, who hadn't seen each other for a long time, chatted for a long time, and finally Grom couldn't resist wanting to test Gromril's current strength.

"I'd say it's more likely that your sister-in-law is taking up too much of your energy," Gromril chuckled mischievously.

"Haha, sounds like you have an idea. But I have to say it's official business, official business!" Grom patted his backside. He looked at his younger brother, and from this candidate for the first warrior of the Mountains who had slain a demigod, he could still vaguely see traces of the little follower he once was.

"Oh, by the way, your eldest niece still doesn't have a name, and Pamela and I both hope you'll name her!"

"Me?" Gromril frowned.

"Of course, the Ancestor Chosen's golden words are the best blessing in the mortal world," Grom laughed loudly.

"Valana?" Gromril chose a common adaptation of Valaya. "May the Ancestor Goddess bless her."

"Valana Gnotir, that sounds really good!" Grom naturally had no objection. Gnotir meant 'daughter of Grom,' as dwarf surnames were appended to the father's name.

"Your Majesties, urgent news!" The two brothers had just raised their wine glasses and hadn't even had a chance to wet their throats when they were interrupted by a rushing clerk.

"The first batch of military funds from Marienburg has just arrived, and the Council of Merchants hopes you will dispatch troops as soon as possible!"

"Great! The Chaos brats in the north are much more fun to fight than green mushrooms! When do we leave? My warhammer is already thirsty for battle!"

Grom slammed his beer mug. After receiving the news, he strongly supported his brother's revenge plan, bringing a contingent back early to rendezvous and prepare to lend a hand. Settling grudges, eliminating Chaos, and gaining a large sum of gold—there was no more perfect plan than one that achieved three goals at once.

"No need to rush, my brother." Gromril grinned. "If you drop your wallet, wouldn't you try to pick it up?"

"Wallet?" Grom mumbled. "Are you saying? But wasn't it thrown away on purpose?" He reacted, a city lord capable of understanding Gromril's metaphor.

"Uh-uh, the hand that threw away the wallet went crazy and wouldn't listen."

"Hand? Isn't that pig a head?"

"Alright, that metaphor isn't appropriate, but there's no rush!" Gromril shook his head.

The speed at which humans transmitted messages was a little slower than he had imagined. Griffons had left too deep an impression on him, leading him to believe that humans possessed an air force. These powerful and noble beasts were revered as symbols in the Imperium of Man, second only to Sigmar's divine hammer.

Yet, even in recent years, with the help of Jade Wizards, humans had been attempting artificial domestication, but still only the wealthiest and most powerful Imperial nobles had the opportunity to ride a griffon. The vast majority of information was still spread by riders on horseback.

The two brothers walked out hand in hand, and every member of the Drazklad Clan had a joyous glow on their face. Three Dwarf Kings from one clan—such a grand occasion had not been seen since the time of the Ancestor Gods.

"Urgent report!"

Another messenger ran over. He saw Grom and exchanged a questioning look with Gromril.

"Speak. There are no outsiders here."

"The Elector Count of Reikland, William, has convened an Electoral Council to impeach Dieter IV!" The messenger's news, though brief, was explosive.

"I knew it, he wouldn't be able to resist!" Gromril mumbled. "Prepare for departure, immediately! To aid our friends in Marienburg!" He raised his voice and roared.

The King of the Southern Lands' command was instantly carried out. In just the time it took for a meal, a few hundred dwarf elites had assembled.

The clansmen were all eager for battle, but Gromril seemed in no hurry to leave the fortress. He led the contingent on a half-circle around the central hall before departing. Through his deliberate actions, every resident of Everpeak caught a glimpse of the grand army.

"In these past few years, the Kings of the Old World haven't been idle either. We've jointly rectified the geomantic network. From here to Breezehold, everything is under our control. A forced march would take the fastest..."

"No rush, we'll take our time," Gromril reassured his elder brother.

"My King, why are we in a hurry to depart but not in a hurry to march?" Gotrek, carrying the battle standard, slowed his pace slightly to walk alongside Gromril's Anvil.

"War is a means, serving politics. Every Clansman's life is precious; it's best if no blood is shed. The hard battles are still ahead!" Gromril smiled, gazing towards Black Fire Pass, calculating how long it would take for news of his army's deployment to reach the Elector Counts.

In the rebuilt Nuln, everything was going as Gromril had predicted. The news of his army's deployment was like the last straw that broke the camel's back, completely igniting the anger of the Electors.

Dieter IV's family had held the imperial throne for three generations, over fifty years, and their family's power was vast and deeply entrenched. Therefore, when William III proposed impeachment, many holders of electoral rights were watching, wanting to know if Marienburg could truly raise enough strength to defend itself and support independence.

"We can't wait any longer! If we let those greedy fellows recover, the Imperium will lose its most brilliant jewel!" In the city's largest tavern, William slammed the table.

"You're right, Southerner! That pig must be kicked off the throne." A rough voice chimed in. The speaker wore a white wolf fur coat, clearly the Elector Count of Middenland.

Middenland was the most powerful province in the northern Imperium, influencing surrounding regions. It was also the center of faith for Ulric, the White Wolf God, where the Grand Temple of Ulric and His sacred fire were located.

"But why should we elect you to succeed, and not me, Prince of Carroburg, Guardian of the Drakwald Forest, Elector Count Leopold of the Bildhofen family?"

William III looked at the man sitting opposite him, the Winter Wolf's fury coursing through his veins. The Cult of Ulric was one of the oldest faiths in the Imperium, second only to the Cult of Sigmar in power and influence.

"The problem of Marienburg is difficult to solve with just anger and warhammers. We don't want a land of ruins." William III carefully chose his words, but unfortunately, the other Electors were not so easily convinced.

Soon, two more Electors joined the competition. If no successor could be found, or if the successor failed to change the current situation, what was the point of this impeachment?

"As the Elector Count of Reikland, Prince of Altdorf, and Earl of the West March, I pledge that if I fail to reclaim Marienburg, I will automatically abdicate!" After a long debate, William brought out his trump card.

"There must be a time limit!" After a brief silence, the Elector Count of Middenland said.

"One year!"

"I agree!"

"The Cult of Sigmar agrees!"

"Talabecland agrees!"

With the guarantee, one hand after another was raised. The authorities all recognized the extreme urgency of the matter.

"Alright, I hope we don't have to gather here again in a year. It's quite a hassle to travel," Leopold shrugged, seeing that the votes had already passed the halfway mark.

After reaching a consensus, the Electors filed out, escorted by guards in various uniforms, and headed straight for the Imperial Palace.

"I regret to inform you that you have been impeached. And I, William III, will assume the position of Emperor of the Imperium and bring Marienburg back!"

"As expected, it wasn't as enjoyable as I imagined!"

William III sat in the carriage returning to Altdorf. The first order of business for the newly appointed Emperor was to relocate the capital. This wasn't a major issue; for those with voting rights, it simply meant a change of meeting place.

He wore the Emperor's crown and toyed with the ghal-maraz, the divine hammer symbolizing imperial power. The runes engraved on the hammer made William feel invigorated, as if he had returned to his twenties.

"The Stirland fellows really wasted this treasure. I feel like I could easily smash a Great Horned Beast's head right now!" William swung the ghal-maraz through the air.

This dwarf two-handed warhammer was a bit short for humans to wield with both hands, but not very agile when swung with one. However, the powerful runic energy on it concealed all its shortcomings; it was one of the most renowned weapons in the Old World.

"Your Majesty, we have news!"

Political struggles were no less taxing than swinging a hammer at people, and William III was no longer young. Just as he was about to close his eyes for a rest, a voice came from outside the carriage.

"The dwarves, or rather, His Majesty Gromril himself, have developed a device that can transmit messages remotely. There's a Rune Smith in the settlement ahead who can contact Ironforge, and the lord of Ironforge has a way to contact Gromril!"

The Grand Chancellor, Heisenberg, brought William the news he wanted. After successfully impeaching Dieter IV, William's focus shifted to renewing his one-year Emperor trial, and he and his advisors unanimously believed Gromril was a key driver.

The new Emperor arrived with a large retinue at the small town below the Mountains, heading straight for the dwarf smithy. Under the influence of a generous amount of gold coins, the Rune Smith grumbled and began to tap the runes.

"I'll receive the message myself!" Seeing the anvil of doom flash, Gromril thought for a moment and then personally climbed onto the base, taking out his telegram book to communicate.

"Have you made contact?" William paced in the low-ceilinged workshop.

"Karak Ankor is contacting the King of the Southern Lands." The Rune Smith wasn't quite clear on the situation; how had news of His Majesty Gromril's expedition just reached his ears, only for an Emperor to appear before him?

"Oh? Contact made! The great Ancestor Chosen, leading his army, has just passed through Black Fire Pass. What would you like to tell him?"

"Hm, I, William III, the supreme Emperor, the elected monarch, guardian of the Imperium of Man, Elector Counts of Reikland, Prince of Altdorf, wielder of ghal-maraz, wish to…"

"Too long, can't remember, can't finish typing!" The Rune Smith interrupted William III's title, forcing the new Emperor to cough twice to alleviate the awkwardness.

"Just say, the new Emperor wishes to meet him."

"He reacted quite quickly. I thought it would take him until he reached Hornburg to figure things out!" Gromril looked at the message with a hint of approval.

"Meet at Ironforge!" Gromril chose his own territory; dwarf fortresses offered excellent security.

"Let's go, to Ironforge!" William III walked out of the workshop. Several Reiksguard Knights received the order, unfolded a map to determine the direction, and the contingent quickly set off.

"Tell the brothers not to rush; the initiative is on our side." Gromril smiled again, deciding to temper the new Emperor's eagerness first.

William III waited anxiously at Ironforge for two days. It was only at noon on the third day that he saw a troop approaching from the east from his guest room window.

"This military bearing is indeed extraordinary!" The Reiksguard Marshal observed from a window carved into the rock face. Gromril's troops were fully rested, showing no signs of fatigue from a long march.

At the very front of the procession, a sturdy dwarf carried a large axe strapped to his back, holding a large banner in his hand. Behind him was a golden mass; those familiar with the Dwarf Holds knew that the Ancestor Chosen was an anomaly, preferring to ride a small ram rather than traverse the land on foot.

"Ironforge has gathered about two hundred men for him, all of whom I see are elites and veterans." This human general, through his good drinking capacity, had infiltrated the dwarf ranks, and he recounted the information he had gathered.

"Please arrange our meeting!" Gromril exchanged a few pleasantries with Lord Borok. The round trip of the merchant convoy back then had made Gromril and the lords along the way friends.

That evening, Gromril met William III, with whom he had long communicated in spirit, in the lord's private reception room. Both understood that the negotiation content was best kept private, so neither brought attendants.

But soon, the two high-ranking figures realized that without someone to set the stage or lead the way, the conversation would fall into a stalemate. The King of the Southern Lands and the Emperor stared at each other across the table, falling into a long silence.

"You know what I want to discuss, don't you?" As the initiator of the meeting, William was forced to break the deadlock first.

"Of course, Your Imperial Majesty, the Acting Emperor."

"Acting?"

"Is that not so? Or are the Elector Counts of Middenland and Grand Theogonist of the White Wolf Church lying?" Gromril revealed a mischievous smile.

The head of the White Wolf Church is called Grand Theogonist. The church has enormous influence in the Imperium of Man. Sigmar himself was once a worshipper of the White Wolf God, and Grand Theogonist thus gained an electoral vote.

"Sigmar above!"

William III bit his lip, his hand moving to the ghal-maraz at his waist. He had not expected that old wolf from Middenland to reveal information from the Elector Counts' meeting just to increase his chances of failure, putting him at a complete disadvantage.

"Then let's get straight to the point!" The seasoned politician instantly adjusted his mindset. "Tell me, what do you want?"

"The Sons of the Mountains value their word."

"Then you shouldn't be here!" William III stroked his beard. Gromril's presence here also indicated something about his attitude.

"Alright, compared to Marienburg, our relationship with the Emperor is deeper, dating back to the chieftain era before Sigmar. Therefore, I am willing to come here to see the new Emperor's attitude towards future bilateral relations."

"Bilateral relations require mutual effort from both sides."

"Then perhaps His Majesty Leopold would be more to our liking. In this chaotic age where Chaos is rising, a Wolf Emperor should be welcomed." Gromril pushed back against William's resistance.

The people of Middenland are stubborn, proud, hot-tempered, and fond of drinking. These similar traits have given them an extraordinary relationship with the dwarves. Their capital, Middenheim, also has the largest dwarf settlement in the Imperium of Man.

Gromril had once thought of cooperating with Leopold. During the End Times, Middenheim fought to the very last moment, and the White Wolf God of War even personally intervened in the mortal world; they were trustworthy. However, Leopold's conservative stubbornness ultimately made Gromril give up on him. There is still time now; development should be accelerated.

"Forget it, you name your price first," William III shrugged. "But I must warn you, I reserve the right to conquer by force. As for whether you want to fight against ghal-maraz for those merchants, you can weigh that yourself."

"My demands aren't high, just three points." William's reaction was within Gromril's expectations, and he didn't intend to push the Human Emperor too hard, as he would need to cooperate with his sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons in the future.

"The first point is simple: Marienburg promised me a large sum in military expenses. Not protecting it is fine, but you should compensate me for everything beyond the bereavement payments." Gromril's first demand was very dwarf-like, but he wasn't driven by a craving for gold.

Previously, to build momentum, half of Bretonnia and the Old World Mountains had been mobilized. He needed to give his supporters an explanation, otherwise, such an opportunity would be hard to come by again.

"Those parasites really are rich!" William couldn't help but click his tongue when he saw the amount, but he wasn't worried. As long as he controlled Marienburg, he could extract even more from those merchants.

"I agree! Continue."

"The second point isn't difficult either: abolish all persecutions against my clansmen during that idiot Dietel's reign and reaffirm the terms of the Ancient Alliance."

"This is what I should do. Our two races have been each other's most reliable allies since ancient times, from the Battle of Black Fire Pass to the Great Holy War. Those laws that violated the alliance did not receive widespread popular support when they were first promulgated."

William III shifted his posture, relaxing. Gromril's two demands so far were quite moderate, not the millions of gold coins he had imagined.

"Perhaps this King of the Southern Lands truly lives up to the nickname 'The Generous'!" the Human Emperor thought to himself.

"The third point is to support my development of the Southlands, specifically, a package of mutually beneficial agreements." Gromril pushed a document across.

"Looks good." William nodded in agreement after flipping through it. "Is that all? As long as I agree, you and your troops will withdraw to Everpeak?"

"You can trust the promise of the Sons of the Mountains. Of course, as the Emperor of the Empire, protecting Marienburg from ravagers after reclaiming her is also within your responsibilities, isn't it?"

Gromril also had to consider his reputation, which was a more precious asset than gold anywhere. But if the need was proven non-existent, then terminating the service seemed understandable.

"That is inevitable. Why would we reclaim her only to let the Northmen do as they please with her!" William understood Gromril's meaning. "This point can also be written into the treaty."

"It can be said that reaching these consensuses is beneficial for both of us, and even for this world." As the treaty was drafted and signed, Gromril revealed a satisfied smile.

The Schliestein family of Reikland, right up to the last Deathclaw pendant, had always been reliable allies. He didn't intend to fleece them completely at once; maintaining a good relationship would help with many things.

"By the way, I heard that the Cult of Sigmar suppresses cults of the Lord of the Undead. My Ancestor Goddess has revealed to me that I must find and destroy them, lest Nagash return to the mortal world." Seeing William III eager to leave, Gromril casually brought it up.

"It seems there are some. I'm not entirely sure, but my family and the Arch-Lector have always had a good relationship. Out of gratitude to you, I am willing to do my best to facilitate this matter."

William III agreed readily. He hadn't expected Gromril to be so lenient; his biggest problem was practically solved. As for the Dwarf King's motives, he chose to believe them, after all, no one would suspect a dwarf blessed by a god of wanting to learn necromancy.

"Then I wish you good luck, Your Majesty!"

Subsequently, this agreement was spread throughout the Old World via runic telegraphs and messengers. Now it was called the "Ironforge Treaty," but many years later it would acquire a new, more widely known name.

"I'm increasingly convinced of your extraordinary origins." On the way back to Everpeak, Grom entered Gromril's tent in the evening. "That human, you held him in your palm, then gently released him, and he still has to be grateful to you."

"Why are you suddenly bringing this up?" Gromril sighed. He knew the changes in him were too great, and it would be impossible to explain away those not-so-"Dwarfish" behaviors to his closest relatives with simple excuses.

"We, and this world, are under a great threat. The Ancestor Gods have chosen me." Gromril poured a beer for his elder brother and himself.

"Is that rumor true?" Grom asked next.

"It's true. Father and Master have informed everyone who knows, hoping they won't spread it." Grom, as part of the dwarf ruling class, knew something about the Old Ones' affairs.

"Anything you need me for, just say the word. Pamela thinks the same." Having received Gromril's affirmative answer, Grom seemed relieved. He gave Gromril a fierce hug, drained his beer, and walked out.

Gromril watched Grom's retreating back; his elder brother seemed to be a little more stooped. He could well understand his elder brother's thoughts: a younger brother he had watched grow up suddenly becoming a "golden carp in a pond, transforming into a dragon when the wind and clouds gather"—anyone would be greatly impacted.

After the treaty was promulgated, the previously restless dwarf armies of the Grey Mountains and the knight armies immediately ceased their activities. It arrived in Marienburg almost simultaneously with the new Emperor's edict, giving the big merchants no room to react.

Lacking a regular army and without a backup plan, the city council found it difficult to mount effective resistance. William III easily took control of the city and swiftly punished several leading big merchants who had colluded during the independence process.

After confiscating their assets for treason, he reshuffled the council and strengthened his control over this trade hub. And it goes without saying that during this time, Boss Harvey's and Tomi's trading companies quietly rose to prominence.

"My dearest cousin, others only say that your Stormhammer is invincible, but only I truly understand that your wisdom is as unparalleled as your warhammer." In Karak-Drazh, Gromril met his cousin.

"You get the top credit for making this happen! If Marienburg hadn't come to me, I wouldn't have known how much trouble it would have been!" Patting Tomi's shoulder, Gromril felt a ripple of flesh.

"With your help, William the Eagle King instantly made a name for himself!"

"Eagle King?" Gromril chuckled at the straightforward nickname.

"From his ascension to solving the Marienburg issue, he didn't even take a month, let alone the promised year. It was as swift as an eagle catching a rabbit."

"After learning that nickname, the Imperium's compatriots started referring to you as 'the Hunter,'" Tomi said, a mischievous grin on his face once more.

"The Hunter, huh, still so plain," Gromril chuckled, shaking his head. Dwarves were always like that; they were proud and liked to outdo each other in every aspect, and verbal sparring was a major battlefield.

"The closed-door meeting you arranged didn't achieve the desired effect. The process of establishing the Ironforge Treaty is being spread in all sorts of strange ways outside, and I suspect other Elector Counts are fanning the flames," Tomi's Imperium intelligence network was almost fully established.

"Humans have short lifespans, and their power transitions quickly. Wilhelm is already over fifty."

"Report! High Lector Kasimir VII of Nuln wishes to see you!" A guard knocked and entered, interrupting their conversation.

"Invite him in quickly!" Gromril stood up. If the Imperium of Man was the Dwarves' most loyal ally, then the Cult of Sigmar could be said to be the most fervent. The first Human Emperor, Sigmar, swore that his Human subjects would never refuse a dwarf's request in times of need, and as his followers, the Church enshrined this in their fundamental doctrine.

"Greetings to you, esteemed Dwarf King. May the Twin-Tailed Comet forever guide us." Soon, a strong, bald old man walked in. He placed his left hand on his chest, extended his right arm forward, hands level with his head, fists clenched, with his index and middle fingers extended to form a 'V' shape.

This gesture was very similar to the 'V' sign from Gromril's previous life, but here the 'V' hand salute represented the Twin-Tailed Comet. Legend has it that Sigmar's birth was foretold by a comet with two tails, which also became another important symbol of the Church besides the ghal-maraz.

"Welcome, follower of Heldens Hammer." Gromril stood and returned the salute. Heldens Hammer was the nickname the Dwarves gave to Sigmar, meaning 'Hero's Hammer.'

Although Sigmar's followers were highly respected in the Mountains, Gromril's return of the salute was more due to his status as High Lector. This position wasn't something you could just recruit openly like in a game; it was limited to two, serving as the Pope's right-hand men, stationed in Nuln and Talabecland respectively, each holding one electoral vote.

"Forgive my abrupt arrival!"

"Not at all, the gates of the Mountain fortress are always open to you!"

The two exchanged pleasantries while observing each other. Gromril noticed that the old man was full of vigor. He wore a breastplate over his ceremonial robe, a circlet on his bald head, and a warhammer glowing with runic light hung at his waist. This was a replica of ghal-maraz, but it was considered a fine piece among epic weapons.

"I've come to visit you for two matters. The first is about your immigration plan. For your Southlands territory, we hope to build churches there to spread the faith of the God-Emperor and prevent his subjects from falling into the hands of Chaos."

"I agree, and I will provide you with convenience in all aspects. However, as you may have heard, the Lady of the Lake has also been granted permission to spread her faith among the immigrants." Gromril agreed readily; with these bald men, he didn't need extra pleasantries.

"I promise you, we will try not to make things difficult for you." Kasimir nodded; he didn't make a full commitment but gave a clear stance.

"The second matter is Nagash's evil tomes. Two of them are suppressed in the Altdorf Inquisition. The Curia has discussed the message you conveyed through His Majesty Wilhelm, and we all wish to believe in your abilities." After gaining permission to preach, Miskal began to speak of the other matter.

"But we must still remind you, the Lord of the Undead's magic is immense. The God-Emperor himself suffered considerable injuries to defeat him, so you must not underestimate him."

"I am fully confident." Gromril smiled. He intended to trade the Nine Books of Nagash with Emperor Settra for artifact fragments, and once they were inside the Great Pyramid of Khemri, they would naturally be safe.

"Then, when do you plan to return? I will personally escort them and deliver them into your hands, and then follow you to the Southlands to preach. All dark cultists in this world crave those nine evil tomes." Kasimir VII believed the Dwarf King before him.

"It should be after the New Year. My fleet welcomes you and your fellow clergy." A sincere smile appeared on Gromril's face. He had a major battle awaiting him on this return journey, and this High Lector was a truly strong individual. Sigmar's fire of justice burned brightly within him, and the Warrior Priests who followed him would be no weaklings.

After seeing Kasimir VII off, Gromril hummed a tune and returned to the Everpeak. He had gained so much from this short trip. Afterward, he remained in the deepest part of the Guild with Master Krag, forging his own armor. By the time the Eternal Hammer Guard knocked on the workshop door, it was already time for the Grudge Gathering to commence.

"Is there anything else I need to do?" Gromril asked his father, observing the festive and busy atmosphere along the way in the fortress.

"Heh heh, our Rune Smith Guild Vice President finally deigned to come out, did he? What you need to do now is take a bath and then groom your beard," Thorgrim muttered, shaking his head. "This time is for finding you a daughter-in-law. How will it work if you look like this?"

Returning to the clan hall, Gromril tidied his appearance while listening to Gotrek's report on the visitors. During the days he was busy forging, almost every participant, after meeting the High King, would make their second request to visit him.

"Tsk, I'll have to see them anyway, so what's one more moment?" After tidying up, Gromril quickly headed to the grand throne room on the highest floor.

"Looks like I arrived just in time!" The platform where the throne of power was placed was lined with chairs, and currently, only a third of the seats were occupied.

"Over here!" Grom waved. "Hmm, your seat isn't here." Seeing Gromril about to sit next to him, his elder brother stopped him.

"You should sit in the first row, King of the Southern Lands chosen by the Ancestor Gods!" Grom smiled, pointing to a chair diagonally in front of him, almost directly facing the throne of power.

"Bang!" Gromril moved in response, but before he could even sit down, he took a heavy punch to the chest. This blow made his body, which had undergone six upgrades and enhancements, black out for a moment, almost unable to withstand it.

"young'un, truly a hero in his youth!" As Gromril calmed his surging blood, a hearty voice rang out. "Throughout the Mountains, only a handful of brave men can take a punch like that from me without relying on legendary armor!"

"You are?" Gromril turned to his right. The puncher had an orange-red beard, but its color didn't appear natural. Even more striking, however, was his shiny bald head; this was a bald strongman.

"Agrimm, King of Karak Kadrin."

Gromril's gaze fell on the horned helmet with an orange crest placed on the chair; it seemed this was the source of Agrimm's sky-high hair crest.

"Since the time of King Barag, this helmet has been worn by every Slayer King!" Seeing Gromril's surprised expression, Agrimm mumbled.

"The northern winds howling through the Mountains are spreading your deeds, and I have always looked to you as an example," Gromril returned a bow. Agrimm was his elder and the recognized greatest warrior of the Mountain Kingdom, deserving of his respect.

"By the way, do you know an Ogre named Ironhead Aykhatam?" After exchanging a few customary dwarf compliments, Agrimm suddenly brought up an old acquaintance.

"I do, what about him?" Gromril still remembered that fellow; his contribution was instrumental in the Night Goblins warlord, the future Eight Peaks Mountain general Skarsnik, being slain in Undermountain Hold back then.

"The Ogre Tyrant Roaring Fart Hole Konga-Kin Eater, who was entrenched in Peak Pass, plundered our caravan. I led a group of brothers to deal with them. Just as I was about to chop off that fellow's head, Aihe Tanmu ambushed him from behind, hoping to trade his miserable life for it."

Agrimm licked his lips, a bloody battle that most ordinary lords would brag about for decades seemed insignificant. Decent Ogres all had nicknames; although the longest title in this world belonged to Settra, Ogre nicknames had a wider range and more meanings.

"He stole my kill, but his Iron Head was a decent consolation prize," Agrimm whistled, "However, that fellow knelt and said he knew you, and that you promised to cooperate with him again, so I spared him this once."

As they spoke, one participant after another entered the throne room. Gromril noticed that the seating arrangement was divided by fortresses, guilds, and clans, which were the constituent parts of dwarf society.

Gromril saw many familiar faces; Lord Arik of Hornburg, Lord Savaak of Undermountain Hold, and others also attended. Everyone, whether he knew them or not, gave him a deep bow.

Gromril returned each bow, making them feel as if they were basking in a spring breeze, but Agrimm paid little attention to these formalities. The Slayer King sat down, placed his helmet on his lap, and feigned sleep.

"Clang, clang, clang!"

Amidst a neat synchronized footsteps, Thorgrim, surrounded by the Eternal Hammer, ascended the steps. He sat on the throne of power, opening the great book of grudges and placing it on the stand before him.

"Representatives of the Mountain Kingdom, welcome. I am pleased to inform you that over the past fifty years, many entries have been crossed out of the Dammaz Kron, some of which were ancient grudges that had persisted for millennia."

Thorgrim's voice was filled with fighting spirit; he had reason to be happy, as this was the first time since the Dark Ages. Thunderous applause erupted in the throne room. The clansmen praised the Ancestor Gods, the leadership of the High King, and Gromril, who had reclaimed the Southlands.

"The Ancestor Gods have awakened, our ancestral lands in the South have been reclaimed, and more fresh blood has joined our ranks. Just recently, that pig Dietel also rolled off his throne, and the Mountains' most loyal ally has returned to our side." Thorgrim continued his opening remarks, and the participants' voices grew louder.

"Ancestor Chosen!"

"King of the Southern Lands!"

"Restorer!"

"Stormhammer!"

"Generous One!"

The newly invented rune telegraph and traditional taverns and bards spread Gromril and his deeds throughout the Old World. The dwarves knew who brought about these changes, and what excited them even more was that Gromril was still young; he had plenty of time to continue advancing.

The representatives of these organizations knew more news than ordinary clansmen. Perhaps the young High Prince would have the opportunity to cross the boundaries of mortality, leading the Mountains as a demigod or even a true god.

Gromril sat upright, as a junior, it was never wrong to appear humble. Thorgrim, on the other hand, smiled broadly, what father wouldn't be proud to see the hall filled with praise for his son?

"Let's begin, everyone. We will follow tradition, reporting the old grudges settled in these fifty years and any new grudges deemed worthy of adding to the great book of grudges." Thorgrim motioned for Agrimm to start.

"Karak Kadrin, no new additions. But we have slain the Dragon of Black Peak and killed the Chaos Champion Plaquius the Unscarred. Grimnir's followers will bring death to enemies and glory to themselves!"

The Slayer King brought more good news. With the Axe of Dargo in hand, Agrimm could resolve almost every threat in this world. Even during the End Times, empowered by the Wind of Fire, he managed to chip Archaon's Slayer of Kings sword and leave a mark on the first Everchosen's Morkai armor.

After Agrimm, one by one, the leaders stood up in order. Their reports were largely similar, with Greenskins and Skaven being the absolute protagonists. Just as Gromril was dozing off, a name awakened him.

"Belegar Ironhammer of the Angrund Clan."

Gromril looked in the direction of the voice and saw a young dwarf standing up from the front row of the clan section. Hearing this clan name, almost all participants reacted the same way as Gromril.

"Is that really Belegar?" Gromril mumbled. At the beginning of his transmigration, they had met once. At that time, Lord Belegar was hiding behind his older brother Domga, a very normal young man.

Now, the last bloodline of the Angrund Clan bore the grudges and oaths of his ancestors, fighting against the overwhelming tide of Greenskins in the Mountains of the Badlands. Physical and mental exhaustion made him look much older, and a scar on his cheek seemed to tell his story.

"My people have retaken Karak Dorn, but the situation is not good. The resources of Thunder Mountain are almost depleted, and communication with the outside world is often cut off." Belegar's voice was a bit hoarse, which should be a sequela of the battle cries from the battlefields and tunnels.

Karak Dorn was a small fortress on the outskirts of Eight Peaks Mountain. Its original chieftain, Gorat, had led his clan to abandon their homeland and join Gromril's expeditionary force.

"I tried to infiltrate Eight Peaks Mountain with small units, but the geomantic network is severely damaged, and on the surface, Goblins move faster than rangers on their four-legged beasts."

Belegar spoke of his predicament. This was his first time attending a Grudge Gathering, and seeing a hall full of dignitaries, this self-proclaimed rightful lord of Eight Peaks Mountain tried to secure some resources for himself.

Belegar Ironhammer spoke passionately for a long time, but found that no one responded to him. In fact, he had already met with many leaders before the official meeting, and since he hadn't received much support, he brought it up at the Grudge Gathering.

Gromril had been busy in the guild workshop forging armor, but he also wanted to avoid Belegar after hearing of his arrival.

Logically, all dwarves should support the Angrund Clan in reclaiming their ancestral lands. But emotionally, these stubborn fellows had achieved "phased success" countless times, or, to be blunt, failed.

Every organization in the Dwarf Holds had been approached by them at least once, and the once-great clan itself was now reduced to a single heir. Most dwarves understood that Belegar couldn't reclaim Eight Peaks Mountain, and they were unwilling to throw precious manpower and resources into this bottomless pit.

"Hmm, I understand. Let's discuss it later."

Thorgrim looked around from his throne, and finding no one to take up the topic, he skipped it directly. Belegar slumped down, the scars on his face twisting, clearly trying his best to endure something.

He was just starting out now, not yet the true master of Eight Peaks Mountain who would later maneuver between Queek and Skarsnik, whose combat skills were second only to Agrimm, and whose underground combat abilities were unmatched among the Dwarf Holds. His political performance was even more immature than his military one.

Before sitting down, Belegar looked in Gromril's direction, and the King of the Southern Lands was forced to look away. With immense prestige and being chosen by the Ancestor Gods, his attitude could already sway the Mountains, and in this hall, he was considered the person who should most support Belegar.

"There's no escaping it. How can I delay it further? To buy more development time for the Southlands, and also to increase the chances of reclaiming Eight Peaks Mountain." Gromril fell into deep thought.

Watching Gromril's reaction, Belegar, now seated, was also thinking. He recalled how the previous night, a clan leader who had once belonged to Eight Peaks Mountain had secretly snuck into his inn and told him that Thorgrim was in contact with his aunt.

At that moment, Belegar had a strange feeling that it might not be a bad thing. He had never seen the grandeur of the legendary Golden Age fortresses, and his obsession with them came from the name of the Angrund Clan and the cries around him: "The throne of Eight Peaks Mountain belongs to you, it's your right!"

This young dwarf had some idea in his heart whether he could reclaim Eight Peaks Mountain. Although he had awakened the spirits of four Ancestor Gods, his own abilities were not stronger than his ancestors', he didn't have more power than them, and the enemies he faced were not weaker than them.

After witnessing the brutality of the battlefield and experiencing the loss of loved ones, this last bloodline of the Angrund Clan wavered a little. Beyond tangible help, what he more urgently needed was some spiritual support, and Gromril, who held the ultimate interpretive power of faith, was his only straw to grasp.

The Grudge Gathering was a long process. After all organizations had completed their reports, Thorgrim presided over the discussion. He eventually compiled several major grudges, cut his finger, and wrote them in blood into the great book of grudges.

After the main session ended, it was time for private networking. Agrimm stood up and left; he had important business to attend to on this trip. Gromril's success had inspired the Slayer King, and he planned to send troops to Red Eye Mountain again.

Gromril was stopped. He chatted with one person after another, listening to their praises while offering them blessings. Only after finally breaking free did he have time to find the person he had arranged to meet.

"Master Ironbrow, I've heard so much about you. It must have been a tough journey!" Gromril greeted the dwarf who had been waiting for a long time in the reception room.

"It was indeed not easy. To fight our way out of the Badlands, my anvil was hammered red-hot. But it is a great honor to come to Everpeak to meet the Lord of the Mountains, especially since you and the esteemed Master Krag are also here."

The speaker looked up. His most prominent feature was his unusually thick eyebrows. Thorek was also very strict at work and had a habit of frowning, which became the source of his nickname.

Thorek Ironbrow, Rune Master of Iron Peak Fortress. Like all Rune Masters, he was highly skilled and powerful, but unlike others, Ironbrow was more active.

He was willing to go to the battlefield to help the army and also willing to organize expeditions deep into lost fortresses to find lost techniques. Gromril's artifact vault system in the original game also belonged to him.

"Yes, we've known each other by reputation for a long time, and only today do I finally get to meet you!" Gromril sighed with emotion. The colleague in front of him could be said to be the catalyst for his transmigration. However, Ironbrow thought Gromril was referring to the fact that the two sides had maintained communication ever since the Southlands were reclaimed.

"To make a long story short, what are your thoughts on opening up a passage between Red Cloud Mountain and Iron Peak Fortress?" Ironbrow brought up the topic he cared about most. There were many reasons why he risked this journey, but this was the most crucial one.

"Establishing a connection with your land is an important task in the second phase of my territory's development. I swear by the Ancestor Gods, once the Southern World's Edge Mountains achieve full food self-sufficiency, I will begin to implement it." Gromril smiled and gave his promise.

"This, this is truly wonderful!" Ironbrow's eyebrows relaxed. "Ever since Dragon Cliff Stronghold last fell, Karak-Azul has been fighting alone for over a thousand years! From King Kazador onwards, every axe in Iron Peak Fortress is willing to serve in connecting the Southlands!"

Karak-Dragon Cliff Stronghold was destroyed by a giant dragon three thousand years ago. It took fifteen hundred years for a Dragon Slayer to emerge, slay it, rebuild Dragon Cliff Stronghold, and declare himself King.

But good times didn't last. Without the deterrence of the giant dragon, the greenskins attacked again. Since the original defenses had been completely destroyed, Dragon Cliff Stronghold had no natural defenses, and the dwarves were forced to abandon the city.

"This might be a long process; we must proceed cautiously." Gromril muttered, and then he suddenly thought of Belegar again. Iron Peak Fortress, being closest to Eight Peaks Mountain, had always been a major supporter of the Angrund Clan's recovery plan. But if they shifted their forces south, Belegar would have even less strength.

Ironbrow left in a hurry; he was rushing to meet Master Krag. No Rune Master didn't want guidance from that demigod, even if that guidance was mixed with criticism and complaints.

"Belegar Ironhammer wants to see you!" As Ironbrow left, Gotrek slipped in. The young strongman's face was beaming with barely concealed pride; the title of King of the Southern Lands' standard-bearer was enough to bring glory to his family.

"Let him in!" Gromril sighed.

"After a few years, Master, your demeanor is even grander than before!" Belegar Ironhammer looked at Gromril, searching his memory for the young'un he once knew. Years of campaigning and wielding power had greatly changed Gromril's temperament.

"Indeed, you've grown a lot too. I heard about Domga, I'm sorry." Gromril offered him a cup of wine, remembering Prince Domga's enthusiastic invitation to him back then.

"I've come to you again about Eight Peaks Mountain," Belegar said without much ceremony. "You tell me, can I, can I succeed?"

"You can! The lost fortress will eventually be reclaimed, and the entries in the book of grudges will be crossed out. This is the revelation of the Ancestor Gods!" Gromril responded with conviction, looking into Belegar's eyes.

"But I must say, if you continue with your current methods, success will probably be delayed until the day our entire clan gives up drinking," Gromril's tone shifted.

"Hey!" Belegar exclaimed. "Then what do you mean?"

"You know better than anyone how vast and difficult the Eight Peaks Mountain fortress is to conquer. A force of a thousand men rushing in wouldn't even be able to defend the intersections. Countless previous failures have proven this point. You need to accumulate strength," Gromril offered his sincere advice.

"I know," Belegar sighed.

"You know?" Gromril retorted.

"The Angrund Clan has shed blood, but there have still been some gains," Belegar took a big gulp of wine.

"But it's difficult to do. Don't look at how many people have gathered around me now; if I don't march on Eight Peaks Mountain, they might disperse even faster."

Gromril narrowed his eyes, realizing his previous thoughts had been a bit naive. Indeed, Belegar, as the last bloodline of the Angrund Clan, had gathered a decent army, but except for a very few clansmen, all other participants had their own pursuits.

Some wanted a share of the wealth of the once most prosperous fortress; some wanted to participate in a great expedition to gain renown; others hoped to erase the regrets of their predecessors; and of course, there was the indispensable wish of the clans scattered in foreign lands to return home.

"Can I interpret that as you being pressured by your subordinates' demands to launch one assault after another on Eight Peaks Mountain?" Gromril asked.

"If I don't retake Eight Peaks Mountain but instead find a place to recuperate, what's the difference for those warriors following me compared to staying in their original fortresses or settlements?"

Belegar shrugged; he was too young and lacked sufficient experience to handle these issues. Gromril thought of Belegar's faction's negative effect in the game – a 50% increase in troop upkeep before retaking Eight Peaks Mountain. It seemed this rightful lord of Eight Peaks Mountain was alleviating it by increasing wages.

"I think I understand. So, have you found a good place to go? Thunder Mountain isn't a very good place to settle," Gromril nodded and refilled Belegar's cup.

"I still need your guidance and that of the Ancestor Gods!" Belegar sat back down, looking at Gromril sincerely.

"Alright, I'll consult Them now."

"Then, do I need to withdraw?"

"Not at all." Gromril stood up, taking this opportunity to let Belegar witness his abilities.

After making two simple gestures, he activated the Grimnir ritual, and Belegar Ironhammer, feeling his suddenly increased strength, choked on his beer.

He hadn't expected the Ancestor Chosen's relationship with the Gods to have reached such a point, where divine grace manifested directly without even needing sacrifices or prayers.

To avoid disturbing Gromril, who was communicating with the Gods, Belegar struggled to suppress his cough, his face turning red with exertion. Gromril subtly raised his eyelids, taking it all in, while also pondering where to send Belegar. "I've got it!"

"Cough cough! Belegar of the Angrund Clan!" Gromril raised his voice.

"Here, here!" Belegar tumbled off his chair onto the floor.

"Listen! They support you in reclaiming your homeland, but believe you should first accumulate strength before making further plans! The mountains between Iron Peak Fortress and Red Cloud Mountain are rich in resources; you should find a lost Mountain Stronghold there to settle, and King Kazador and I will also support you."

Gromril's mind raced, immediately applying what he and Thorek Ironbrow had just discussed. Belegar, wielding the Hammer of the Angrund Clan and the Shield of Defiance, and protected by Ancestor Spirits, was powerful enough among dwarf lords to be highly praised. He was more than capable of serving as a vanguard.

"Good! In the name of King Ruin, I will surely follow the guidance of the divine oracle!" Belegar bowed, promising. Gromril's few words had strengthened his belief in a long-term struggle and clarified the direction of his current efforts.

"Mm, I will spread the divine oracle I just received. Don't disappoint the Ancestor Gods!" Gromril smiled. With the endorsement of the Gods, Belegar temporarily changing his objective should not result in too many losses; it was a win-win choice.

A few days later, Gromril called Ironbrow and Belegar together. Looking at the signed agreement, Gromril suddenly felt a strange sense of accomplishment. In his previous life's game, all the dwarf legendary lords except for the White Dwarf were now gathered at Everpeak. Was this not also a grand occasion?

"Urgent report!"

Just as Gromril was still enjoying the prosperity of Everpeak, Rogov pulled him out of the banquet hall.

"What, what's going on?"

"Pirates! Our fleet has been hijacked!"

"By the Goblins!" Gromril cursed loudly, instantly sobering up. "Send word, prepare to muster!" The land route connection was still on paper; the sea route was still the lifeline of the Southlands, and there was no room for error.

"Latest intelligence! That was Bordeleaux's fleet transporting immigrants. According to the last message from the manann priest, they were attacked by an unspeakable construct."

Gromril's troops quickly moved out of Everpeak. On the way to Sea Gate, a messenger reported.

"The telegram was unclear, there were no survivors, but according to reliable intelligence, the last thing those poor souls saw was a pedestal formed by a large number of rotten shipwrecks, with a castle, including its foundation and cliff, on top of it."

"The Bloody Raider? Count Noctilus, I've noted this debt. The scoundrel who desecrates the dead should be wiped from the face of the world."

After reading the letter, Gromril slowly tore it to pieces. He sat on his little lamb, contemplating a countermeasure. This time, unlike Bordeleaux, he was the attacker, but dealing with undead who weren't afraid of drowning at sea required careful planning.

"Perhaps, I could do it this way?" Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck him.