Ryan furrowed his brow; his war hammer had also shattered, and he needed a new weapon. His half-sword, the Avenger Goddess, often proved ineffective against heavily armored foes. He needed a new war hammer.
"That would be the work of Master Rune Lord Clark the Stern from Karaz-a-Karak," Deron pushed the blueprint back to Ryan and Anglron. "If anyone can make it, he can."
"Could we ask him to forge weapons for us?" Anglron's hope was rekindled; he was in dire need of a suitable weapon.
"It's difficult. Clark the Stern is a dwarven rune lord, president of the Dwarven Rune Craftsmen Guild. He's over a thousand years old and hasn't left the mountain in over five hundred years," the dwarven engineer Dugan Ironhand commented as he sipped his mushroom soup, his speech slightly slurred. "He's stubborn to an unbearable degree. Do you have something that could lure him down from his mountain?"
"Wouldn't this blueprint suffice?" Ryan pointed at the blueprint on the table. "We're willing to share the technology for crafting this weapon with our dwarven friends at no cost."
"Oh! That might just give us a 30% chance," Deron-Feinson smiled, pleased. The dwarven craftsmen had already resolved to demand that Ryan share the blueprint, and he had been worrying over how to broach the topic. Ryan, however, had brought it up proactively. "But that's still not enough, Lord Ryan, friend of the dwarves. You must understand, dwarven craftsmanship requires more than just raw materials."
What he meant was, dwarves expected to be paid for their work.
Ryan and Anglron exchanged glances, thankful they had come prepared.
"Ding~" Anglron grabbed a large cloth bag and placed it on the table.
Inside were two hundred golden oath coins!
"Is this enough?" Anglron tentatively asked.
"…Mr. Anglron, where did you get so many oath coins?" Deron and Dugan both gasped.
"Found them. While Ryan was campaigning, I cleaned up the Gray Mountains," Anglron said as he pulled out several green-skin warlord heads.
"…Mr. Anglron, had you been there back then, the Eight Peaks Mountain might not have fallen," Dugan seemed to recall something sad, drinking his Bagman beer messily: "You brothers are extraordinary. Lord Ryan killed the Chosen Tyrant Eigel, shocking the Old World, and you slew green-skin warlords with ease. I keep wondering who your father was."
"Hehe~ With this many oath coins, that should suffice, right?" Anglron dodged the dwarf's inquiry, focusing solely on his axe.
"That's enough. With so many, Master Clark will surely come down from the mountain. Everyone knows how stubborn Master Clark is; he wouldn't leave his mountain without substantial reason. But his stubbornness will make him come down immediately after seeing these," Deron continued the conversation, picking up where Anglron left off. "Well done, Mr. Anglron. Rest assured, if Master Clark gets involved, the weapon you want will surely be well-crafted."
"Excellent!" Anglron finally nodded in satisfaction. "Then please send him the message."
After concluding their discussion, everyone relaxed and continued drinking. Anglron, who preferred Kislev spirits and dwarven dark beer, found the Bagman beer particularly to his taste. He even bought several barrels to take home and savor slowly, having amassed a stunning fortune from his continuous raids on green-skin fortresses, sometimes making Ryan wonder if Anglron was wealthier than himself.
"Earnings never come as fast as looting," Anglron had said. "If you need money, just ask me, brother."
Ryan, less particular about his drinks, whether it be beer, wine, or wood elf fruit wine, could appreciate them all.
Amelia seemed a bit overwhelmed. The young maid, just over twenty, took a small sip and her delicate face crinkled up; the Bagman beer was refreshing but strong, and clearly not to her taste.
"Amelia, can't handle it?" Ryan chuckled, taking Amelia's small hand. "If you can't drink it, you don't have to."
"Um~ Sorry, I can't really handle it." Amelia was dressed in a shimmering transparent princess dress over her knees and a goose-yellow chiffon blouse, her golden hair beautifully tied in a princess hair accessory. She was initially thrilled to be out alone with Ryan but now found herself struggling with the beer and dwarven food.
"It's okay, Miss Amelia," Ryan began, but Deron laughed heartily. "You're not used to it, I'll ask the bartender to pour some butterbeer instead, and
tell him to go easy on the salt in the food."
"No need, it's alright," Ryan shook his head, taking Amelia's hand and pulling out a bottle of wood elf fruit wine and wood elf jam bread. "Here, Amelia, have this instead."
"Thank you, Ryan!" Amelia was delighted, eating gracefully and maintaining her noble etiquette, which seemed rather out of place in a dwarven pub. Dugan, observing this, laughed: "Elf stuff? Reminds me of a story from the history books, back before the Battle of Long Beards—that's what you humans call it, we dwarves prefer 'The War of Vengeance.' Back then, when elves and dwarves were still allies, an elven ambassador brought a barrel of the finest elf wine to the Eternal Peak as a gift to the High King, symbolizing their friendship, while the High King in return gave the ambassador the finest dwarven dark beer."
"And then?" Ryan asked with interest.
"The experience was quite painful for both parties," Dugan snorted. "The so-called fine wine the elves brewed tasted like flavorless acid water to us. The High King's act of chopping the wine barrel open with an axe displeased the elven ambassador, who then, while pinching his nose to suppress his disgust, forced himself to down this acid water."
"Similarly, the dark beer we brewed was unbearable for the elves; the ambassador only drank half before spitting it out and eventually forced himself to finish it. Later, someone saw that elf vomiting for half a day in the courtyard behind the guest room. Oh, right, I remember now, that ambassador was the son of the first Phoenix King, later the Witch King Malekith who led to the schism among the elves."
"Ha ha ha ha~" Everyone in the dwarven pub roared with laughter. "So, it's you human friends who can understand us!"
Ryan and the others also laughed heartily. Indeed, whether it was dwarven food or elf wine, humans could accept and enjoy both, unlike the dwarves and elves.
"Speaking of which, Mr. Dugan, you've mentioned Eight Peaks Mountain several times. I recall your clan name and your brother's name are quite similar? Could you tell us your story?" Ryan inquired, genuinely interested in Dugan's and his accompanying dwarves' tale.
"Yes, our clan name is Anglronde, indeed similar to Mr. Anglron's name," Dugan thought for a moment, seeing no reason to hide anything. "Since Lord Ryan wishes to know, I'll tell you our story."
"Thank you very much! Mr. Dugan," Amelia clutched Ryan's hand, her cheeks flushed with excitement, eager for the story.
"When the ancient saints created the world, the dwarves were crafted shortly after the elves. At that time, under the guidance of our ancestors Grongni, Grimnir, and Valaya, the dwarves had already rooted themselves in the World's Edge Mountains and established their civilization. Karak Eight Peaks was the first city built by the dwarves, even predating the construction of our ancestral dwarf capital, Karaz-a-Karak, or what you call the Eternal Peak."
"Eight Peaks Mountain was once the second largest city of the dwarves, second only to the Eternal Peak. Our ancestors created a magnificent civilization there, protected by eight mountain peaks and fortified with more than a dozen defense bastions and walls. Everyone believed that Eight Peaks Mountain would never fall... until over two thousand years ago, during a time our clan cannot forget."
Dugan paused, seemingly struggling with intense emotions that threatened to burst forth. He opened his mouth to continue but finally resumed the story: "However, Eight Peaks Mountain faced a problem. Our underground mines and network of veins were too numerous and complex. After thousands of years of development, even the most experienced rune craftsmen could not remember the hundreds of chaotic vein networks and where they might lead. And so, during one fateful incident, miners broke through to a vein that led to the Skaven Ratmen Empire."
"We fought valiantly, killing hordes of ratmen and successfully thwarting their siege of the city. But soon after, Eight Peaks Mountain faced an onslaught of greenskins, and the dwarves had to fend off both ratmen and greenskins simultaneously. Despite our ancestors' perseverance, they gradually succumbed. Even so, we managed to hold out for over a hundred years before finally sealing our sacred temples and treasures deep within the mountains..."
Dugan didn't continue, but Ryan understood that Eight Peaks Mountain had eventually fallen. "So your clan dispersed?"
"No, at that time, about 100,000 dwarves managed to evacuate from Eight Peaks Mountain, forming our Anglronde clan. Over the next two thousand years, our Anglronde clan wandered the mountains, losing our clan honor while begging for survival with our kin, desperately trying to reclaim Eight Peaks Mountain,"
Dugan sighed and shook his head. "Every king of the Anglronde clan vowed to reclaim Eight Peaks Mountain and restore our ancestors' glory, but undoubtedly, they all failed. The clan's population continued to dwindle until, three hundred years ago, when Belegar became the king of our clan, we had about 30,000 clan members left."
"Belegar Ironhammer, I've heard his name," Anglron said.
"Yes, our king, Belegar Ironhammer," Dugan Ironhand nodded. "From eighty years ago to now, Belegar has organized two expeditions, the second even receiving aid from the High King. But all that's left for us is bad news. Just recently, Belegar launched the third expedition, gathering a large number of kingdom refugees and warriors from other kingdoms to form an army of about 8,000. But I've grown tired of these futile efforts in reclaiming Eight Peaks Mountain. My kin who have come to your land and I don't want to continue these pointless endeavors. I mean... if we could reclaim Eight Peaks Mountain, I'd certainly do it, but with the current army... Lord Ryan, do you understand what I mean?"
"I understand." Ryan's eyes sparkled, sensing an opportunity.
Could he do something?
...
Unknown to those discussing the Anglronde clan in the Long Beard Tavern, located in the southern part of the empire, beyond the Border Princes' lands, lay the notorious Badlands.
The Badlands are a vast, barren, and desolate area between the towering World's Edge Mountains and the southernmost tip of the Old World along the Black Gulf coast. This is one of the largest greenskin active areas outside the Dark Lands and also home to many relics of lost civilizations.
Venturing into the Badlands means defending one's life with the blade in hand. Safe travel here is impossible; even caravans guarded by heavily armored soldiers cannot ensure safety. This harsh, barren region has no settled inhabitants, no food sources, and even the water sources are severely polluted. Any army attempting to enter this dreadful land suffers tremendous losses.
Yet the desire to explore the Badlands continues to draw endless streams of human and dwarven expeditions because, during its golden age, the dwarves thrived and built numerous fortresses here. Today, these fortresses have fallen into greenskin hands, and many dwarf expeditions have tried and mostly failed to reclaim them. Even if they temporarily drive the greenskins away, these creatures quickly return, launching even fiercer assaults on the dwarves.
Now, a new dwarf army stretches across the wasteland, marching through the wilderness.
This army, consisting of Ironhammer warriors, Longbeard warriors, several teams of dwarf rangers, numerous dwarf miners, dwarf warriors, and, of course, plenty of dwarf crossbowmen and gunners, along with the dwarves' proudest cannon, moves slowly but resolutely forward. Not far off, surrounded by misty mountains, the road to Karak Eight Peaks opens.
Dressed in blue dwarf enchanted gilded plate armor, wielding the Hammer of Anglronde and the Shield of Resistance, the self-proclaimed King of Eight Peaks Mountain, Belegar Ironhammer, stands atop the ancestral rune stone, addressing the dwarf army. He forcefully strikes his shield with his hammer.
"Clang~"
"My dwarf brothers, refugees of the Anglronde clan, warriors from other dwarf kingdoms!"
"The damned greenskins and ratmen, these evil creatures have destroyed our homes, reducing our kin to refugees! But they cannot destroy our will!"
"All the suffering we've endured has only made us more united, stronger, and more determined. By the names of Grongni and Valaya, we have returned to the foot of Karak Eight Peaks Mountain!"
"In two thousand years of warfare, we've lost many loved ones and friends! During the previous two expeditions, we lost countless brothers!"
"But these hardships haven't defeated us; we've returned with hatred and fury!"
"Now! Let us reclaim everything we've lost, reclaim the lands of our ancestors!"
"The third expedition to Eight Peaks Mountain begins now!"
Update! Lord Belegar makes his appearance!
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