Just as about seventy miners from the right flank were running to approach the left flank's battle line, the Wolf Riders, under the goblin shaman's command, suddenly moved. They were as still as virgins, then moved like startled rabbits, quickly attacking the dwarves on the left flank.
Everyone, including Goldfinder and Gromril, thought they intended to attack before the reinforcements could properly position themselves, but the Wolf Riders suddenly changed direction!
"Brothers! Detonators ready! Throw!"
Goldfinder's command was half a beat too slow; he wanted to wait for the Wolf Riders to get closer for the detonators to be more effective.
But facing the Wolf Riders' sudden turn, a wave of detonators almost all landed in empty space! As the smoke and dust from the explosions dissipated, only seven or eight Goblin corpses, poor riders with slow turns, were left on the ground.
The goblin shaman, riding a spider, let out a cackling, triumphant laugh, then led the remaining cavalry in a half-circle directly towards the dwarf's right flank.
By this time, it was too late for Goldfinder to re-deploy the miners from the left flank to support the right; a dwarf's two short legs, no matter how fast they moved, couldn't compare to a wolf's four!
In an instant, the thin defensive line on the right flank was exposed to the Greenskin's military might! The remaining miners bravely threw detonators, then swung their mining picks and charged. Every dwarf knew that protecting the ranged units behind them was key to winning this battle.
Just then, accompanied by a terrifying howl, the goblin shaman summoned a pale moon, with a monstrous, green-faced, fanged, goblin-like face coldly looking down upon all beings!
"Curse of the Bad Moon!" Gromril and the goblin shaman shouted simultaneously.
Under the influence of this relatively strong spell in the small Waaagh magic, the miners' formation was disrupted.
The Wolf Riders charged through their ranks. Under the goblin shaman's restraint, the riders did not pursue the scattered Miner units but instead headed directly for the ranged units!
The goblin shaman knew that, as per custom, although these dwarves' ranged units had some close-combat capability, with his remaining subordinates and his still-available reserves of the Winds of Magic, they could deal with these ranged units. At the very least, they could force the front-line dwarf melee units to return for support. Either way, they were close to the fruits of victory!
Seeing his cavalry complete their flanking maneuver from afar, Boss Fiery Axe, who was clashing with Grom, burst into boisterous laughter:
"Wahahaha! Gork be praised! Dwarves, your backside is about to be ravaged by me!"
"Is that so? My brother will not disappoint me!" Grom was unmoved; he swung his warhammer in a wide arc, smashing it down with force.
Boss Fiery Axe blocked the attack with his axe but was pushed back half a step.
"Bah! Dead dwarf! I'll shave off your beard and make a scarf!" Boss Fiery Axe roared.
"Ladz, put yer backs into it! Da stuntie shootas are 'bout ta get wiped by da Gobbos — we's da great Orks, we ain't lettin' 'em show us up! WAAAGH!"
Grom was not to be outdone: "Clansmen! Stay focused! The Chosen of the Goddess of the Ancestor Goddess is protecting our rear!"
"It's time!" Gromril thought to himself, gripping the warhammer in his hand.
"Form up! Charge!" With his roar, the Anvil Guard and Eternal Hammer Guard moved, centering around Gromril, swinging their weapons as they charged towards the oncoming Wolf Riders.
"Mork be praised!" Looking at the group of dwarves charging over, the goblin shaman felt the same despair as the ork cavalry captain before him!
This scene was not what he had imagined, with the dwarf ranged units frantically pulling out their sidearms.
Although this group of charging dwarves was not large, at most fifty people, they were all elites! How could these dwarves still have such a reserve force?
The goblin shaman didn't have much time for despair. He only managed to order his mount to slow down, and the galloping cavalry and the steel torrent quickly collided, with sounds of "bang!" and "thud!" ringing out incessantly.
A Dire Wolf, plus the Goblin rider on its back, weighed less than half of an Anvil Guard clad in full meteorite iron armor. Their charge was bounced off the shields, and then war axes and heavy hammers made of meteorite iron chopped and smashed into them.
On one hand, to pursue speed, and on the other, due to the inherent weakness of Goblins and the limited carrying capacity of Dire Wolves, these riders had almost no armor on them, and the weapons in their hands were just the most ordinary scimitars.
The dwarves' weapons could easily cut these guys, both rider and wolf, in half, while the blades in their hands and their mounts' claws struggled to even leave a scratch on the dwarf armor!
This was not a fair fight at all; it was a slaughter!
The goblin shaman had just come to his senses when he found that half of his subordinates were already gone, and the rest were cowering.
"These, these dwarves, are too strong! I, we retreat!" Saying this, he turned the spider beneath him and fled without daring to cast even a single spell.
Facing the fleeing Goblin, the Anvil Guards chased for a few steps then stopped.
"Damn Greenskins! Their courage is even less than a rock ram!"
"Come back if you dare! Shout again, why don't you!"
The dwarves were not satisfied with the kill; they vented their emotions by shouting.
Watching the goblin shaman run further and further away, Gromril, protected in the middle, his warhammer still unstained with blood, suddenly had an idea. He swung his hammer in a wide arc,
"Hmph!" He threw the hammer with all his might!
"Thwack!" With a sound, perhaps by the blessing of the Ancestor Gods, the hammer struck the goblin shaman's head squarely. The unlucky fellow fell, leaving only his spider to flee in panic!
The dwarves around Gromril and the ranged units hesitated slightly before letting out a cheer!
"Chosen of the Goddess! Chosen of the Goddess!"
According to the dwarves' original simple way of naming nicknames, based on his recent performance, Gromril perhaps should have been called Flying Hammer or Skullcrusher.
However, the former was far less imposing than Chosen of the Goddess, and the owner of the latter was currently clashing with the ork Boss at the front, so the Clansmen still used the slightly chuunibyou-sounding Chosen of the Goddess.
Hearing the cheers, the units clashing at the foot of the mountain paused. Boss Fiery Axe looked up and saw not the dwarf ranged units being scattered and fleeing, but his own cavalry in rout.
Seeing his second-in-command, who had been with him day and night since the start of their campaign, also have his head smashed, Boss Fiery Axe despaired. He realized his future was bleak.
"Hmph! You dare to be distracted while fighting me!?"
Grom seized the ork's moment of distraction. He first swept his hammer horizontally, forcing Boss Fiery Axe to block with his axe, then he flicked his warhammer upwards, knocking away the battle axe while the ork's tiger's mouth was numb and his grip unstable.
Finally, Grom jumped up, and using the momentum, he smashed down with force, crushing Boss Fiery Axe's skull! With a three-hit hammer combo, Grom slew his powerful enemy and stood before the ork's corpse, letting out a roar:
"In the name of the Ancestors! The grudge of Karak-Varn has been settled! I, Grom-Skullcrusher, dedicate this victory to…"
Just then, a "boom" sounded from the left side of the dwarf army.
The dwarves in the field turned their heads to look around at the sound, and in this gap, the remaining Greenskin forces, having lost their leader, scattered and fled.
This is the characteristic of the Greenskin race: when the battle goes well, the waaaagh battle cries are endless, the entire army charges forward, and morale is high.
But once their attack is blocked, their morale will quickly drop, and if this situation is not resolved, the final result may even be the collapse of the entire army.
Gromril saw a large hole suddenly explode in a dirt mound not far to his left, and accompanied by chaotic squeaks of "Squeak! Squeak!", a large number of skaven poured out!
The miners on the left flank, who had just received reinforcements, gripped their mining picks tightly. It was clear they were somewhat nervous, as skaven have always been the greatest threat to underground workers.
Grom's cheers were interrupted, but he didn't show any panic. After all, the presence of skaven underground had been long confirmed, and with the Greenskins and dwarves arrayed against each other for so long, the skaven, if they weren't deaf, blind, or foolish, would certainly take some action.
"Fellows, don't rush to pursue! The injured fall back, medical personnel will be here to bandage you soon! Everyone else, come to me!" Grom shouted, beginning to reassemble the troops.
After three waves of assault from Boar Riders, ork Big 'Uns, and common orks, the dwarf battle line at the front had been disrupted.
Mixing units with different equipment and characteristics together is not conducive to their effective performance.
Seeing this, Gromril realized he needed to buy his people some time.
"Iron Drake Handcannon ready!" Gromril roared. The twenty Iron Drakes, who had not participated in the battle until now, raised their weapons. The reason they were only acting now was partly to save precious ammunition for the potential skaven, and partly because their range was limited and they could easily injure allies.
Hearing Gromril's reminder, Goldfinder quickly directed the miners to clear the Iron Drake Handcannon's line of fire.
With a command from Gromril, twenty tongues of flame shot towards the emerging skaven.
Unlike the Greenskins' combat style of leading with elite units to quickly overwhelm the enemy and boost morale, a skaven warlord prefers to first use cheap cannon fodder to exhaust the enemy's stamina and ammunition, and then deploy elite units at the end to deliver a decisive blow.
Therefore, the first to rush out from underground were a group of Slave Rats. Facing the flames spewed by the handcannons, these poorly clothed wretches were almost instantly incinerated into charcoal.
The few who miraculously survived in the back row had their last shred of courage consumed by the flames. They wailed, clutched their heads, and scurried away, trying to escape back into the tunnels.
"Wretches! dwarf things' flamethrowers take a long time to reload! Now, now! Charge up and tear them apart! dwarf things, die! die!"
A sharp, piercing voice echoed from the tunnel, and the fleeing Slave Rats were once again driven by the Clanrats behind them to charge towards the dwarf miners' line.
The voice was right; the reload time for the Iron Drake Handcannon was indeed not short. Seeing the skaven gradually approaching, Gromril knew it was time for him to act!
He raised his left hand, revealing the iron chisel ring on his middle finger. He wiped his right hand across the ring, and the bright yellow rune on its face glowed, creating a fireball about the same size as Gromril himself.
With a flick of his left hand, Gromril shot the rune-activated fireball towards the oncoming Slave Rats. Due to the sheer number of the rats, he didn't even need to aim.
The close-range fireball was extremely powerful. The bursting flames instantly engulfed dozens of skaven, and once again, the battlefield was filled with the smell of roasted meat and burnt fur.
Struck by the sudden attack, the Slave Rats' second charge came to an abrupt halt. Faced with continuous fire damage, they completely broke!
Some Slave Rats tried to escape back underground, while others scattered in all directions. Still others, disoriented, bumped into the dwarf miners. Having just been toyed with by the goblin wolf riders, the miners, full of anger, didn't hold back with these rats, directly swinging their mining picks to smash their rat heads.
"Useless! Useless! Your lives are a waste! A waste!" After two consecutive failed attacks, the voice from underground became even more frantic.
Immediately after, a large group of Clanrats surged out. These rats had slightly better discipline; they emerged from the ground and did not rush to attack, but instead tried to form a formation.
With the first two rounds of attacks failing, and watching the dwarf melee units reassemble and move to the left flank, the leading skaven warlord knew the surprise attack plan had failed, and all that remained was a head-on confrontation.
Soon, a huge figure emerged from underground—this was a Hell Pit Abomination!
Its appearance was like a rat magnified countless times, with twisted fleshy growths on its body. It is a fast, large monster, capable of poisoned attacks and adept at fighting infantry, and it also enters a berserk state when injured.
Sitting on the back of the giant rat was a skaven, clad in armor and holding a glowing halberd.
Judging by its fur color, this rat was quite young. Combining this with the intelligence reported earlier by Anvil Guard Captain Johnson, Gromril deduced that this skaven was the son of the warlord who died in his bed in the middle of the night, the current leader of clan Mors.
This giant beast and the skaven on its back were surrounded by a group of black-furred, armored skaven—these were Stormvermin.
Stormvermin are the elite warriors of the skaven warlord clans. Unlike those scrawny runts, they are generally a full head taller than common skaven, with thick muscles and a more robust physique.
Most Stormvermin are determined by birth; their naturally large size and black fur set them apart. They possess the finest weapons and armor, and typically serve as the warlord's bodyguards and as assault troops on the battlefield.
"Greenskin things, die! die! dwarf things, also die! die! Mountain Lake Fortress belongs to the great clan Mors!"
The skaven on the giant beast's back let out an arrogant shriek, a hint of dissatisfaction with his disrupted plan hidden in his voice.
Gromril roughly guessed that he wanted to emerge and reap the benefits when the Greenskins and dwarves were half-finished fighting, but the battlefield situation changes rapidly. How could this inexperienced rat, who had suffered defeats since his debut, understand such complexities?
After the Greenskin rout, he tried to ambush the dwarf flank in the chaos, but the tactic failed once again. How could the weak Slave Rats bear the heavy responsibility of a charge?
If he had ridden the giant beast with his Stormvermin guard and burst out from underground immediately, there might have been some chance of success.
But now it was too late to say anything; two consecutive mistakes had cost him the initiative.
"This is the age of the rats! The Great Horned Rat, The Great Horned Rat walks among us!"
The skaven warlord pointed his halberd, and together with his Stormvermin, drove the Clanrats in the front ranks to charge towards the dwarf battle line.
"If we win, we get to eat! We get to eat!"
Faced with the skaven attack, the dwarves remained calm.
With Gromril's rune magic and the Iron Drake Handcannon's firing, Grom gained ample time to reorganize the front line.
What was truly terrifying about the skaven were their high-tech weapons and their elusive movements underground.
Without high-tech weapons like the Warpfire Thrower teams, Warp Lightning Cannons, and Ratling Guns, without the Grey Seer's skaven magic, and exposed on the front battlefield without terrain advantage, the threat from these skaven was not great.
Compared to the fledgling and foolish skaven warlord of the Clawfang clan, the dwarves present were seasoned veterans.
Goldfinder, as the head of the prospecting team, had been fighting the skaven underground for nearly three hundred years.
Grom had followed Thorgrim on campaigns since adulthood, and could also be called a veteran of many battles.
Soon, the two racial forces clashed, and the skaven warlord immediately felt the same despair as the goblin shaman who had already gone to meet Gork and Mork: his Clanrats, relying on crude swords and spears, simply could not break through the meteorite iron armor of the Ironbreakers on the front line!
Watching his remaining forces rush like moths to a flame against the dwarf defense line, only to be mowed down like wheat, the skaven warlord quickly grew anxious, and the Clanrat's morale began to plummet.
Gromril watched this scene with cold eyes; due to the lack of a suitable firing angle, he didn't even order the Thunderer and Quarreler to open fire.
The ammunition for these two units had already been more than half consumed in the previous shooting against the Greenskins.
The Iron Drake Handcannon gunners conserved their ammunition, only firing once to incinerate the Clanrats when they gathered in a pile, while the ballista was secretly aimed at the Brood Horror and the skaven on its back.
This slaughter lasted for two or three minutes; the dwarf troops didn't even feel much pressure.
The damage these Clanrats could inflict was incomparable to the Greenskins charging down from the mountain!
Finally, the skaven warlord could no longer hold back.
This young fellow had just learned that the tactic written in military scrolls, relying on a massive force of cannon fodder to wear down the enemy, didn't always work.
He swung the halberd in his hand, "Damn it! Damn it! The unscrupulous merchant who sold me the book dared to deceive me! I will, I will throw him into the breeding pit!"
He vented his impotent rage, "By the horned rat! Go! Go! Cut off the dwarf things' beards!" With that, he spurred the giant rat beneath him, leading his Stormvermin in a charge forward.
The Brood Horror's speed was incredibly fast; it moved its four thick legs, running wildly, and quickly outpaced the charging Stormvermin.
"Fire!" Gromril seized the opportunity and waved his hand; the dwarves operating the ballista released the bowstrings in response.
Two huge crossbow bolts "whoosh!" shot towards the charging giant rat!
One bolt missed by half a meter, skewering three Clanrats like a string of gourds, while the other accurately struck the giant rat.
The bolt, carrying immense kinetic energy, plunged in completely, and the beast's charge came to an abrupt halt.
It twitched a few times in place, then began to roll in pain.
The mount's painful rolling directly flung the skaven warlord off its back; he rolled twice after landing before regaining his footing, but this indirectly saved his skaven life.
Afterward, more than a dozen tongues of flame from the Iron Drake Handcannons followed, and the giant beast was quickly burned to a charred lump.
Shaking his head, the skaven warlord, recovering from the shock, opened his eyes to see this scene, and he was completely terrified!
"Retreat! Retreat!" He dragged his halberd and scurried into the tunnel without looking back.
Seeing their leader flee in disarray, the already low-morale Clanrat army instantly collapsed.
Some loyal ones continued to follow their chieftain's footsteps, escaping underground; some, terrified, began to scatter in all directions; some, in their madness, even started to attack their own kin.
These crazed individuals unceremoniously plunged their weapons into the necks or chests of their kin, solely to seize a better shield or a complete helmet to increase their chances of survival.
The black-furred Stormvermin, who should have suppressed such behavior, no longer bothered with these matters.
Although they were stronger, tougher, and better equipped than their kin, they were still essentially cowardly skaven; these fellows were also busy fleeing underground.
Watching the wildly fleeing skaven, the dwarves advanced, cutting down some clumsy individuals before stopping.
The dwarves let out a victory roar, but it was the same old problem: the heavily armored dwarf troops simply couldn't catch up to these unburdened individuals who were solely focused on escaping.
Grom, Gromril, and Goldfinder, the three dwarf leaders, quickly gathered to discuss the subsequent issues.
Seeing that his elder 'brother', despite a new scar on his cheek and numerous dents and scratches on his helmet and chest plate, was in excellent spirits and hadn't suffered any major injuries, Gromril felt relieved.
"We won! But this is far from enough," Goldfinder began, propping himself up with his mining pick on the ground.
At his age, participating in a morning of battle was somewhat exhausting.
"Clearing out the remaining Greenskins and pursuing the fleeing skaven are both necessary tasks.
If we miss this opportunity and they reorganize, Karak-Varn will never know peace!" Goldfinder continued.
"And clearing the battlefield and tending to the wounded!" Gromril added.
"How should we divide the work?" Grom asked, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.
Having been at the very front of the line and engaging in a life-or-death duel with the over two-meter-tall Greenskin leader, his stamina was greatly depleted.
"Leave the fleeing skaven to me! I swear I'll return with the warlord's head!" Seeing the situation, Gromril, who had barely fought in the battle, volunteered to take on this most crucial task.
"Let me go!" Goldfinder panted, "My experience fighting those rats is not something you two youngsters can compare to!"
Hearing this, the two brothers shook their heads.
"Comparatively, tending to the wounded and organizing reconstruction and production are more important, Uncle.
I don't have the experience for those tasks!" Gromril explained.
"That little rat lost its mount, so its capabilities are limited and not worth worrying about, besides, I have the protection of the Eternal Hammer Guard!" Hearing the last sentence, Grom's lips twitched, but he eventually nodded.
Although there were only ten of them, no dwarf would doubt the strength of this unit.
"I'll count the Ironbreakers! You take everyone who can still fight!" Grom said, then turned and left.
Gromril looked at his fifty dwarves; they were all full of energy and eager for action.
Having finally come out only to cut down some goblin wolf riders, how could this group of Anvil Guard, who had been cooped up for so long, be satisfied?
Soon, Grom returned, followed by a group of Ironbreakers.
"Nearly thirty of these brothers have returned to the embrace of the Ancestor Gods! They were all true warriors! Excluding those injured who need treatment, there are still sixty warriors who can go with you!"
Grom's tone was quite heavy. For a race with a small population like the dwarves, every Clansmen was a valuable asset, especially the elite Ironbreakers.
Looking at these Clansmen whose armor was covered in scratches and blood, Gromril nodded heavily.
"Take all the Iron Drake Handcannons with you too!" Grom continued.
"No, I'll take half. The underground tunnels are narrow, and too many people won't be able to maneuver! Besides, your task of clearing the grot on the surface will be much easier with the high-temperature flames they spray!" Gromril declined his kind offer.
For the grot tribes, they cannot be entirely viewed from an animalistic perspective; their unique method of reproduction is the best proof.
There is no distinction between male and female among the grot. A special spore exists in their blood vessels, and there is a symbiotic relationship between the grot and the spores. The spores absorb nutrients from the grot' blood to obtain the energy needed for survival. When a Grot is severely injured, for example, if its limbs are severed, the spores secrete a special hormone that stimulates the Grot's regenerative abilities.
When grot enter their reproductive period, the spores begin to secrete a hormone that causes the host's consciousness to enter a confused state. The grot will wander alone in the wilderness, away from their tribe. At this time, the spores are released from the body and settle in the soil.
After the grot return to their tribe, the spores in the soil begin to sprout slowly. They spread underground, forming countless plant ovariums. With sufficient nutrients and water, the first creatures born are grot and squigs.
After the first creatures, Goblins are the second species to be born, and finally, orks.
The entire ecosystem does not require external sources to provide additional nutrients, ensuring that the orks' Waaagh! never lacks manpower and food resources, no matter where it marches.
Besides natural reproduction, grot also reproduce under another circumstance: when a Grot is forced to release spores from its body—due to injury or death.
Because grot directly procreate upon the host's death, the spores actually secrete a hormone. Under the influence of this hormone, every Grot enters a state of intense excitement when it starts to bleed.
This inherent nature within the organism causes the grot' minds to be left with only two thoughts: hitting and being hit. This nature perfectly explains why Grot tribes are so fond of fighting.
Due to this characteristic of scattering spores upon death, if the released spores are not promptly eliminated by fire or other means after defeating and killing a group of grot, a new batch of grot will emerge the following year. This is an experience the dwarves have summarized during countless years of confrontation.
Grom nodded; the Iron Drake Handcannon was exactly what he needed.
"Brothers, take a rest and eat something! We depart in half an hour!" Gromril shouted.
While the dwarves on the pursuit mission chewed their dry rations, Goldfinder collected the food and water carried by the other dwarves. The unused dynamite from the miners was also gathered and given to Gromril's subordinates.
Soon, it was time to depart. Gromril counted the troops with him:
10 Eternal Hammer Guards
40 Anvil Guards
60 Ironbreakers
30 miners (Dynamite)
10 Iron Drakes
Since the Quarrelers and Thunderers had almost run out of ammunition, Gromril did not take them. A total of 150 dwarves charged into the dim tunnel.
Although the skaven had a head start and were faster, they could never match the endurance of the tough dwarves.
Not long after walking, Gromril saw some Clanrats lying haphazardly by the roadside. Before he could even speak to stop them, the Ironbreakers at the front of the line each sent these rats to meet their the horned rat with an axe.
"Leave one alive! Ask what happened," Gromril said.
"Why are these skaven just lying by the roadside?"
"Respected Chosen of the Goddess, it's because they've run out of food! These rats are too hungry to move!" Johnson explained to Gromril.
"Normally, these guys would be killed by their still-capable kin and eaten as rations, but it seems the lead rat was in too much of a hurry to escape this time to bother!"
Compared to other races, skaven are incredibly fast. This speed is comprehensive, from movement speed to growth rate to the speed of thought changes.
Such traits enable their development and progress to be astonishingly rapid, but their excessively fast metabolism also gives them a frighteningly large appetite.
Furthermore, because skaven do not have much fat reserves on their bodies, they are always hungry. If this situation is not resolved, it can lead to severe consequences.
This section of the under-empire network had been abandoned for a long time, so the markers along the way had long been lost.
Gromril roughly estimated they had advanced about ten kilometers based on the dwarves' average speed, then arranged for the team to take a short break.
The dwarves sat down and drank some beer to replenish their strength. Everyone knew that the moment they caught up with the enemy, a desperate struggle would erupt!
After a short rest, the team continued to advance. Soon, the dwarves discovered that among the rats lying collapsed on the ground, besides Slave Rats and Clanrats, there were even scattered Stormvermin!
These strong, black-furred rats were now at the mercy of the dwarves, just like their weaker kin.
Seeing this, the dwarves knew that the chase was nearing its end. There was a deathly silence in the dim under-empire network. Every dwarf gripped their weapon tightly and moved forward quickly.
Suddenly, the dwarves in the front heard sounds of battle! One side was squeaking and screeching, sharp and ear-piercing, undoubtedly the fleeing skaven, but who were they fighting? It couldn't be skaven infighting, could it?
Out of caution, Gromril adjusted the formation. He led the Eternal Hammer Guards and the Iron Drakes to the very front.
Feeling the runic energy in the ring on his middle finger replenish, Gromril believed that no matter what they faced, he and his elites around him would be able to withstand the first strike!
"Ancestor Goddess protect us!" Gromril took a deep breath and roared, being the first to rush around the tunnel corner!
With a "bang!"
A furry object crashed into Gromril's arms. In the dim tunnel, there was no time to look closely. He raised his hammer and struck down hard!
With a "thud!", red and white splattered all over Gromril!
"Firepower suppression!"
Gromril said, triggering the rune on the ring. A massive fireball and ten tongues of flame illuminated the entire under-empire network!
In the narrow tunnel, this round of flame dealt full damage, turning the Clanrats squeezed in the back into charred corpses. The rich smell of roasted meat permeated the entire tunnel network.
"Iron Drake Handcannon?" A loud, seemingly young voice echoed from the other end of the tunnel.
"Clansmen over there! Stop! If you keep burning, my people will suffer!"
Hearing this, Gromril raised his left hand, making a 'stop' gesture, but the Iron Drakes' fingers remained on their triggers, ready.
By the light of the burning flames, Gromril saw a group of figures at the opposite end of the tunnel. Their short, stocky builds almost certainly identified them as dwarves.
However, Gromril didn't dare to just walk straight over. Against cunning and cruel enemies, no amount of caution was too much.
Neither side could confirm the other's identity, and a brief silence fell over the tunnel. At this moment, a famous bridge scene Gromril had seen in his previous life suddenly came to mind—
"The Heavenly King covers the Earth Tiger!"
"The Pagoda suppresses the River Demon!"
Quickly pushing that thought out of his mind, Gromril spoke first.
"I am Gromril-az Thorson of the Drazklad Clan! Son of High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer, Chosen of the Mother Goddess Valaya..."
Gromril hadn't finished listing his titles when the other side spoke.
"And the youngest Rune Master in the Mountains Kingdom? Hahaha! I am the son of King Selunding of Zhufbar! Just call me Balendin! I don't have as many titles to boast about as you!"
At this, the dwarves on both sides relaxed, each walking towards the center of the tunnel.
Gromril knew that Zhufbar in dwarf language referred to Zhufbar, the closest important dwarf fortress to Karaz-A-Karak.
The dwarf King here and the High King had always maintained a good relationship, and there had been intermarriage a few generations ago. Strictly speaking, he and Balendin could even be considered relatives.
Zhufbar was the most mechanized of the dwarf cities. It was built in the heart of a deep valley carved out by waterfalls cascading from high Mountains. It was also the headquarters of the Engineers Guild and a center of worship for the Ancestor God Mogrim.
Zhufbar was once occupied by greenskins during the dwarf Dark Age.
At that time, Alaric the Mad, a Rune Master from Zhufbar, successfully sought the help of the human leader Sigmar to reclaim Zhufbar. To repay the favor, he forged the twelve Runefangs for humanity, which were passed down through generations of the Empire's Elector Counts.
The two princes, surrounded by their respective guards, met in the center of the tunnel. After confirming each other's identities, they shared a big hug.
"Hmm, let me see, my great-grandmother was your great-grandfather, the previous High King Alaric's aunt. By lineage, you're my cousin!" Balendin said with a laugh.
Gromril felt that he was different from ordinary dwarves, possibly due to Zhufbar's more open atmosphere.
"I came here to hunt down a skaven clan that invaded Mountain Lake Fortress, but it seems I arrived a step too late!" Gromril said.
"So that's it!" Balendin showed a look of sudden understanding. He took out a pouch of beer and shared it with Gromril.
His dwarves also shared their provisions with their kinsmen who had come with Gromril. Ten members of the Eternal Hammer received extra attention, and many Zhufbar dwarves tried to strike up conversations with them.
"Two days ago, our miners reported finding scattered skaven underground. My father guessed then that these fellows might have fled from Karak-Varn. He sent me with some brothers to clear them out."
Balendin took a sip of beer and handed the leather pouch to Gromril.
"I brought my men and searched along the tunnel network, taking care of some small rats along the way. I was just starting to get bored when a skaven warlord with a nest of Stormvermin ran into us!"
"How was it? Were the losses great? Are there any wounded that need tending to?" Gromril asked, taking a sip of beer.
"That's what I found strange. I was quite nervous at first; I didn't have too many troops on hand!"
Gromril looked around and noticed that Balendin's force was only about half the size of his own, consisting of his Hammerer guard, Ironbreakers, and Iron Drakes. However, the proportion of Iron Drakes was much higher than Gromril's, which was likely due to Zhufbar's advanced technology.
Balendin continued, "But even though those rats were numerous and all elites, they were all listless! They couldn't even swing their blades with force, let alone raise their shields to block! If you ask me, killing them was no different from killing Goblins!"
"They were defeated in an internal struggle and fled. Mountain Lake Fortress had been under siege for too long without a food source, so they were starving!" Gromril explained.
"Yes, my Iron Drakes' two or three volleys sent them to meet their filthy horned rat!" Balendin continued.
"By the way, cousin, did you see that skaven warlord? It ran towards your side. That fellow had a warpstone weapon in its hand; the few brothers I lost were all taken by surprise by it!"
Gromril looked up and asked the dwarves who had come with him. Soon, two Ironbreakers ran over, carrying a skaven corpse with a caved-in head.
"Master Gromril personally judged it!" The Ironbreakers' voices came from beneath their helmets.
Hearing this, the dwarves in the tunnel let out a cheer!
"To the Chosen of the Goddess!"
"To grudges settled!"
By the light of the lamps lit by Balendin's men, the dwarves identified the corpse by its plate armor and banners.
After a quick bite and drink, Balendin spoke: "Cousin Gromril, there's an old saying: even between brothers, we must settle accounts clearly! How should we divide the spoils?"
"Is there anything to divide?" Gromril asked curiously. In his opinion, these starving skaven must have been dirt poor.
"Well, even though we don't care for the rats' shoddy equipment, there should still be some gold and silver trinkets, right?" Balendin said uncertainly; he was not long an adult and lacked extensive experience.
"Alright then, since you all eliminated the main force, it's only right that everything on their bodies goes to you, cousin. Just give me the rat chieftain's halberd!"
Gromril was very interested in skaven warpstone technology. He believed that the warlord's halberd, inlaid with warpstone, should be the most valuable spoil of war.
"How can that be?" Balendin exclaimed.
"You slew the enemy chieftain, and not only do you take nothing from the spoils, but you also help us deal with the source of contamination! While I, Balendin, am not a generous dwarf, I would never do such a thing!"
Before Gromril and the Dwarves he brought could speak, the Zhufbar Dwarves under Balendin's command cheered.
"As expected of the Chosen of the Goddess! So generous!"
"We can't let Zhufbar down!"
"Just because Everpeak is rich, does that mean Zhufbar isn't?"
"It's settled then, we'll split the spoils half and half!" Balendin made up his mind, hearing his subordinates' shouts.
"Then I'll entrust that warpstone halberd to you! Only someone like you, who has mastered the power of runes, can handle the pollution caused by warpstone."
Dwarves refer to warpstone as 'demon stone.' It is a crystallized substance of chaotic magic, powerful but extremely uncontrollable, capable of corrupting everything around it. We can view it as nuclear fuel.
However, the skaven show strong immunity to warpstone radiation. Not only can they use dark magic powered by warpstone, but they also have various methods of ingesting or applying warpstone directly to gain benefits such as extended life and increased magical power.
Generally speaking, only Grey Seers and the Warlock Engineers of the Skryre Clan can use warpstone magic. The former are more like traditional mages, while the latter utilize magical energy in a more "scientific" way, with specific techniques somewhat similar to dwarf Rune Smiths.
Compared to dwarf technology, skaven technology, driven by warpstone, directly solves all energy problems with magical nuclear fuel; all that remains is how to guide this power.
For other races, dealing with the pollution caused by warpstone radiation is already troublesome, and warpstone itself is even more of a hot potato. Dwarves usually have Rune Smiths engrave runes to seal it.
After resting, the Dwarves from both sides together scavenged the skaven corpses on the ground. They found approximately four thousand gold coins. Other uncollectible equipment and unusable sundries were burned along with the skaven corpses.
skaven carry various strange bacteria; if not incinerated at high temperatures, they could contaminate water sources or even trigger plagues.
In the flames of the burning skaven corpses, the Dwarves from both sides bid each other a reluctant farewell. "My clansman, Grom-Skullcrusher, currently governs Karak-Varn," Gromril began,
"He plans to rebuild the Mountain Stronghold and recruit immigrants to mine the resources. Perhaps your region could establish trade with us?" Gromril launched into diplomatic rhetoric.
In his opinion, Zhufbar's advanced technological level would surely accelerate Grom's reconstruction efforts.
"Of course!" Balendin said, "Our control over Mountain Lake Fortress has been intermittent over the years, and the lack of a stable and sufficient supply of meteorite iron has greatly limited our development!" He also seemed very excited.
"Once I return and report this good news, the trade caravan should arrive very soon!" Balendin continued.
"Are you returning to Mountain Lake Fortress now? Perhaps you could visit us in a few days; the elders of our Clan have been talking about you!" Balendin extended a warm invitation.
"Of course, I have long heard of Zhufbar's prosperity and advanced technology; it would be excellent to come and broaden my horizons!"
Balendin spoke Gromril's true thoughts; he had always believed that technology was the primary productive force.
"Oh? Really?" Hearing Gromril's reply, Balendin was quite surprised.
"Your willingness to come truly exceeds my expectations! Rune Smiths, as inheritors of traditional crafts, have always been at odds with Engineers, who represent emerging technology! It has been a long time since a Rune Master was willing to visit Zhufbar!" His tone was very excited.
"In my opinion," Gromril began, carefully choosing his words,
"Whether new technology or old tradition, anything that can strengthen our dwarf race's power and help us revitalize the Kingdom of the Mountains is a good thing worth learning!"
He deliberately kept his voice low, so only Balendin opposite him could hear. Balendin nodded after hearing these words. As a native dwarf, even one living in a more open fortress, it would take him some time to digest this statement.
"Hmm, if I may be so bold, is this your intention or…?" Balendin also asked quietly.
"Currently, it is my intention!" Gromril replied.
"Good, Master Gromril, my father King Selunding will certainly be pleased by your visit!" Balendin raised his voice, ensuring that all the Dwarves in the tunnel could hear him.
The Dwarves from both sides were eager to return and report, so after bidding each other farewell, they each headed back in the direction they had come from.
On the way back, the Dwarves under Gromril's command shed their earlier solemnity; joy of victory radiated on every face.
Gromril walked along, toying with the warpstone halberd in his hand. Just as he was bored and suffering from aching feet, a voice suddenly echoed in his mind:
"System upgrade complete. Detecting host's first victory leading an army. Unlocking new functions to assist you in reclaiming lost Mountain Strongholds, recovering lost artifacts, and restoring the glory of the Kingdom of the Mountains!"
Hearing this, Gromril instantly became excited.
He didn't delay for a second, decisively opening the system. He found that the system's original functions of forging weapons, equipment, and runes with oath gold had been replaced by a series of ritual options.
The skill panel, apart from gaining an allocable skill point due to winning in battle and leveling up, showed no significant changes; other sections also remained the same.
Gromril studied the ritual content as he walked. The main subjects of the rituals were the dwarf Ancestor Gods and a few of the most renowned heroes, such as the High King Gotrek Starbreaker, who, as mentioned earlier, slew the Elf Phoenix King Caledor II.
Rituals were divided into three tiers based on the status of the ritual subject. The lowest tier was for the Great Ancestors; for them, there was only one ritual option: summoning their spirits to descend into the mortal world. These spirits could offer counsel to Gromril or fight for him.
The second tier of subjects was the Ancestor Lesser Gods. Rituals for them were divided into three levels.
The lowest level was to enhance the strength of troops influenced by that Ancestor God's divine authority during battles for a certain period. For example, a ritual to Mogrim, the God of Engineers, could increase the loading speed and firing accuracy of war machines.
The second level was to enhance Gromril's own abilities within the scope of that Ancestor God's divine authority. Again, for Mogrim, this could enable Gromril to master the manufacturing method of a particular device.
The highest level of ritual could directly enhance a specific ability of Gromril's faction, such as research speed or personnel proficiency.
The rituals for the three main gods were even more finely graded, producing stronger effects, and the duration of influence and scope of action could be controlled based on the amount of sacrifice.
Taking Mother Goddess Valaya as an example, from the lowest level of making a unit courageous in battle and gaining psychological immunity, to clearing chaos from a region, to increasing the fertility of an individual dwarf, a city, a faction, or even the entire dwarf race, all could be achieved.
Gromril was incredibly excited looking at the powerful effects of these Rituals! He immediately proceeded to check the conditions required for the Rituals.
The Rituals didn't require livestock like cattle, sheep, or pigs, nor did they need rice or ale. Instead, they required a type of point system named 'Revival Points' by the system.
These points could be acquired through various actions beneficial to the dwarf race: settling Grudges, reclaiming Mountain Strongholds, increasing Clansmen satisfaction, enhancing the race's influence and unity, spreading the faith of the Ancestor Gods, clearing Chaos corruption, and so on. All these could provide varying amounts of points.
In short, any action that contributed to the dream of the race's Great Revival, ensuring the Clansmen's material wealth was greatly abundant and their spiritual wealth was also greatly abundant, could earn Revival Point rewards.
However, Gromril also discovered that the ultimate Rituals of the three main gods had additional requirements besides needing a large number of Revival Points.
The Valaya Ritual required reclaiming Karak-Eight-Peaks, where Valaya's original temple was located; Grimnir's Ritual required confederating with Karak Kadrin to control the largest Slayer Shrine in the entire Mountains Kingdom; and performing the Ritual for Father Grungni required being crowned High King.
"How many Revival Points do I have now?" Gromril thought while operating the system. He saw that the points generated by his actions during the system upgrade period had also been tallied.
There were points from his clan's widespread promotion of him becoming the Chosen of the Ancestor Goddess, which led to more dwarves regaining faith in the Ancestor Gods.
There were points from the free ale feasts and banquets after he became a Rune Master, which improved public order and Clansmen satisfaction.
And there were points from his recent participation in commanding troops to defeat the Greenskins and skaven, reclaiming Karak-Varn, pursuing the skaven, and personally slaying their leader.
Since many of these positive influences were indirect or collaborative with his elder brother, Gromril received just over five hundred Revival Points.
Although this amount wasn't huge, it was enough to perform a mid-level Ritual. Gromril was quite satisfied with this; it was just the beginning, wasn't it?
Suddenly, Gromril noticed the single digit jump up by one, which delighted him even more. After reading the detailed log, he found that this increase came from indirectly spreading the faith of the Ancestor Goddess through the dissemination of his deeds. Seeing this, Gromril realized that a two-pronged approach of fighting and being a 'holy man' might be a good choice.
The return journey seemed much shorter. Not long after finishing his system research, Gromril saw the exit of the geomantic network. When he saw the blue sky again, the sun had already been replaced by the moon.
Two dwarf warriors stood at the tunnel entrance, leaning against a rock with their battleaxes, nodding off to sleep. Hearing the footsteps of the party, they shook their heads and opened their eyes.
Seeing the Clansmen at the entrance, holding axes and looking tense, Gromril also relaxed. He had been worried that if a large Greenskin choppa was waiting for him at the tunnel entrance, what would he do?
"Master Gromril, you're back! Those rats..." the dwarf Warrior began.
Halfway through his sentence, he saw the warpstone halberd Gromril was holding in his left hand. The fate of the skaven was self-evident, and the latter half of his sentence was swallowed.
"The Ancestor Goddess protects you!" he exclaimed with genuine admiration. "Prince Grom is waiting for you at the outpost!" Guided by the Clansmen, Gromril led his subordinates back to the outpost.
After arranging for his subordinates to rest, Gromril took Johnson to the meeting room.
Upon entering, Gromril found several high-ranking dwarves yawning and drinking, waiting for him. "Why are we still here? Hasn't Mountain Lake Fortress been reclaimed?" Gromril asked, expressing his confusion.
Before Goldfinder could answer, Grom slapped the table and shouted, "Gromril, I've heard! You personally smashed the head of that rat leader! You truly are the pride of our clan!"
The dwarves in the room also cheered: "To the courage of the Chosen of the Goddess!" Gromril also took a mug and drank it all.
"Corruption, still corruption!" Goldfinder exclaimed, his nose red, clearly having drunk a lot of alcohol.
"Those damned Greenskins desecrated the Ancestors' city! Until we clean up the filth and garbage they left behind, the Stronghold is completely uninhabitable!" the old dwarf continued.
"I just took a team to check, and the underground parts of the fortress have also been contaminated by the rats with warpstone dust!" a middle-aged dwarf standing behind Goldfinder said through gritted teeth. Judging by his attire, he was also a miners foreman.
"We'll need your help to clean up this stuff!" Grom grumbled. It was clear he was very tired, and had been stubbornly waiting for Gromril to return.
Gromril nodded. He knew that the 'help' referred to his ability to engrave the Hearth and Home Rune to dispel the corruption. This Rune was the first Rune created by the Ancestor Goddess and one that every Rune Smith had to learn during their apprenticeship.
Striking it on the battlefield could evoke the dwarves' pride in their family, Ancestors, and Stronghold, making the Clansmen fearless. But this was not the Rune's primary function.
It was more often used to deal with corruption and protect Strongholds. Legend had it that the gates of Karak-Eight-Peaks bore a Hearth and Home Rune personally engraved by the Ancestor Goddess.
Gromril nodded in agreement; this was, after all, the original reason his elder brother Grom had invited him.
Suddenly, he thought of his Ritual system. Looking at the number five hundred displayed next to the mid-level Valaya Ritual, an idea struck him.
Although he felt a little reluctant, the Revival Points he had just acquired were about to be spent before they even warmed his hands. But Gromril quickly reconsidered: if he utilized this opportunity to create some hype, the Revival Points he could gain might far exceed the five hundred spent.
"But I can't rush it. I need to devise a set of rituals, something with a sense of ceremony!" Secretly making up his mind, Gromril spoke unhurriedly.
"No problem, this is my responsibility! I'll start work first thing tomorrow morning." Hearing this, the dwarves present all nodded.
"Everyone, let's disperse! Tomorrow we still have to continue clearing out the garbage left by the Greenskins!" Grom let out a big yawn, preparing to get up.
"Oh, right, we haven't sent anyone back to report the victory yet, have we?" Gromril decided to confirm to avoid the valuable Revival Points not bringing satisfactory returns.
"Of course not! Weren't we all waiting for you to return? Until those rats are dealt with, who can sleep soundly!" Grom said, puzzled.
"Hahaha, good, good night everyone!" Gromril smiled, made a slight excuse, and then led the way out.
From lining up in the morning to returning from the pursuit at night, he had been operating beyond his limits. If not for the inherent resilience of dwarves, he would have collapsed long ago.
"Wake me up early tomorrow, seven o'clock, no, six o'clock!" Fearing he might miss the messenger's departure, Gromril instructed Balin before going to sleep.
Early the next morning, Balin woke Gromril on time. Not having participated in the battle and having been on logistics duty, he wasn't too tired and thus fulfilled his mission well.
Gromril stretched and stood up. The physical and mental exhaustion of the previous day had sent him to sleep without much thought, but thankfully, as long as he took the first step, the initiative of time was in his hands.
He quickly washed up and tidied his appearance, then strode out of his room. Last night, waiting for news of him and the pursuit party, the Dwarves in the outpost hadn't celebrated victory with ale and feasts, but had remained on alert until his return.
Only after learning that the threat of the fleeing skaven was resolved did the Dwarves relax and rest, so they all slept soundly. And because of Gromril's deliberate early rising, almost all the Clansmen were still asleep.
Gromril nodded in relief at this sight. He slowly walked up to the watchtower, knowing there was a runic megaphone for warnings at the top.
Guarding the tower were two wounded soldiers, poor fellows who had been shot in the back by friendly fire during that charge. Because their back wounds hadn't fully healed, they couldn't sit comfortably, and leaning against the wall was also painful, so they could only rest by leaning on the railing.
Seeing Gromril ascend the tower, they enthusiastically greeted him.
"You're up early, Honored Chosen of the Goddess!"
"Praise your courage and strength! The Ancestor Goddess protects us!"
After a brief exchange with them, Gromril picked up the runic megaphone on the tower. Though somewhat strange, the two Dwarves didn't stop him.
"Clansmen!" Gromril cleared his throat and spoke into the megaphone:
"I have important news to announce!"
Hearing his voice spread throughout the entire outpost, Gromril paused and waited.
Soon, the awakened Dwarves grumbled and walked out.
"Which goblin-spawn is yelling so early in the morning!?"
"Are the rats here? Where are they? I'll smash their rat heads!"
"I'm going to kick that yelling bastard's arse!"
Seeing that it was Gromril, the Chosen of the Goddess, holding the megaphone, the Dwarves' curses stopped, but the Longbeard Elders were still grumbling.
Goldfinder coughed and stepped forward: "Gromril! My boy, our kinsmen have worked so hard. Can't whatever it is wait so everyone can rest properly?" His words echoed the sentiments of many Dwarves.
"If you're up early, go engrave runes!"
"If you finish early, we can move into the Mountain Stronghold early too! I'm tired of this outpost!"
The Dwarves started shouting again.
"I don't need to engrave runes to clear the corruption now!" Gromril's voice, aided by the megaphone, quelled the Dwarves' shouts.
"Last night, the Ancestor Goddess bestowed an oracle upon me. She praised all our efforts to reclaim Karak-Varn. To encourage us, She will bestow Divine Grace in three days, purifying the entire Mountain Lake Fortress!"
Gromril's speech was not fast, and his tone was calm, but these simple words turned the megaphone in his hand into a silencer. The entire outpost fell into a deathly silence.
Every dwarf was processing the information contained in that sentence. What had troubled Gromril yesterday was the timing of the "Mother Goddess bestowing Divine Grace."
He knew that from Mountain Lake Fortress to the three nearest dwarf strongholds—Zhufbar, Everpeak, and Karak-Drazh—was a full day's journey. Messengers would take a day to get there, and the Dwarves from there would take another day to arrive. Setting aside at least one day for this explosive news to spread widely was also essential.
He had initially thought of reserving a few extra days for the news of the Mother Goddess bestowing Divine Grace to spread even further, attracting more Dwarves to witness the ceremony.
But on one hand, he hoped his elder brother and Clansmen could move into the stronghold earlier and start their lives of production sooner. On the other hand, he felt that if the Goddess needed seven or ten days to prepare for bestowing Divine Grace, it might cause some Clansmen to become suspicious.
After a long while, Goldfinder murmured, "Is what you say true? Can each of us witness this miracle with our own eyes?"
"Naturally! The Mother Goddess Herself told me!" With that, Gromril confidently put down the megaphone and descended the watchtower.
Gromril understood that for such matters, the most concise language would have the best effect. His composure made all the Dwarves believe him implicitly. As he descended the tower, the Dwarves erupted in intense discussion and cheers.
"By the Ancestor Gods! The Ancestor Goddess truly is watching over us!"
"Praise the Honored Chosen of the Goddess! Coming to Mountain Lake Fortress this time was absolutely the right choice!"
Grom quickly reacted, "Quick! Send messengers back to Karaz-A-Karak to report this news! Zhufbar and Karak-Drazh must also be informed! The Mother Goddess bestowing Divine Grace is far too rare!" Grom exclaimed excitedly!
"Don't rush, young man!" Goldfinder's mind whirred, and he spoke.
"Your father, Thorgrim, might believe the messengers' words, but the lords of the other two Mountain Strongholds might not! Let's write a letter!"
With that, two attendants brought paper and pens. They briefly wrote down the battle process, stated the fact of victory, and finally emphasized Gromril's declaration that the Ancestor Goddess would bestow Divine Grace in three days.
"I'll arrange for some brothers to protect the messengers!" Grenson, the captain of the Eternal Hammer Guard, stepped forward. It was clear that this Elder was also very excited.
Soon, three Rangers, protected by the Eternal Hammer, quickly set off. They were to deliver this shocking news to the lords.
The Dwarves in the outpost lingered, unwilling to disperse. They gathered, expressing their opinions, while the dwarf high command once again convened in the meeting room. This time, they were to discuss matters of worship.
"I am a young man and unfamiliar with many rules. May I ask if there are any procedures for worshipping the Ancestor Gods?"
This time, Gromril was invited to the main seat, with Goldfinder and Grom seated to his left and right.
Upon hearing this, the Dwarves present all lowered their heads sheepishly. Because the Ancestor Gods had not shown Divine Grace for so long, for these pragmatic Dwarves who had been out struggling, either fighting or mining, the names of the Gods were almost just words on their lips.
The eyes of the young and middle-aged Dwarves quickly converged on the oldest, Goldfinder, whose expression grew increasingly awkward. After all, he had been busy prospecting in various places for years and hadn't participated in a Mountain Stronghold worship ceremony for who knows how long!
"Hmm, Grungni above!"
Seeing that he couldn't remain silent, the old dwarf quickly invoked an Ancestor God's name.
"Did the Great Ancestor Goddess not tell you how we should show Her reverence?" He kicked the ball back to Gromril.
"The Mother Goddess loves Her children, teaches us skills, blesses us, and promises a place in the Ancestors' Hall for all who believe in Her. She asks nothing of us, but we cannot be ungrateful!" Gromril said with a solemn expression.
Seeing the ball kicked back to Gromril, the dwarves in the meeting room began to ponder.
"I might know something!" Balin said with slight hesitation behind Gromril. He felt a bit nervous, being the focus of all dwarves' attention for the first time.
"Speak up, lad! Be bold!" Gromril encouraged his attendant. It seemed his books weren't read in vain, Gromril nodded inwardly.
Since Gromril hadn't yet formed his own army or taken control of a fortress, Balin hadn't been able to fully utilize his skills, mainly running errands for him as a personal secretary.
"In the ancient texts, our Ancestors of the Golden Age offered rock rams as sacrifices to the Mother Goddess!" Hearing this, all the dwarves nodded.
"rock rams, those aren't too hard to get. Are there any other requirements?" the Ranger Captain asked.
"Preferably healthy, complete lambs without any defects," Balin continued.
"In the Ancestors' era, rock rams were relatively easy to obtain and delicious meat, with lamb being the most tender. Offering the best food to the Mother Goddess represents our respect." He explained the reasoning behind it.
Upon hearing this, the dwarves present all nodded. Putting themselves in that position, who wouldn't love to eat lamb?
"However, there are also some extended interpretations," Balin continued his explanation: "Some priests believe that defenseless, weak lambs are to us as we are to the Mother Goddess. Therefore, sacrificing lambs can also represent our willingness to offer everything to the Mother Goddess!"
Although many dwarves didn't fully understand this part, they still expressed their agreement. Now that there was an explanation that made sense, no one wanted to cause trouble.
Seeing that no dwarf present had any objections, Grom gave the order. "Take your men to the mountains and catch a few lambs! Be gentle, don't hurt them! These are offerings for the Mother Goddess, what a great honor!"
Grom exclaimed, "If only I could run faster than them, I would definitely lead the men myself!"
"Grom, do you remember what we talked about on the way here?" Gromril quietly reminded Grom.
"Oh, right, also catch an adult rock ram, a strong one, and a smart one if possible!" Grom added to the Ranger Captain.
"As you wish, Prince." Although he didn't quite understand why there was such a request, the Ranger Captain decided to execute Grom's order without fail.
"Everyone else, clean up and decorate the outpost! When this news spreads, I'm afraid many Clansmen will come to observe the ceremony, so let's not make our den look shabby and embarrassing everywhere!" After Grom gave the order, he declared the meeting adjourned.
Watching his Clansmen busy cleaning up, Gromril, satisfied, directed some artisans to build a simple altar in front of the Mountain Lake Fortress gate for himself.
A day later, as the Gromril brothers were busy cleaning up their small outpost, Thorgrim Grudgebearer in Karaz-A-Karak received a letter.
The dwarf King grew happier with each line he read. Since his ascension, he had been oppressed by the dense grudges in the great book of grudges. But in these few short days, he had smiled more times than in the entire previous year.
"Copy the contents of the letter and send it to all the clans and guilds. Also, send some people to the square and taverns to spread the word! I want as many Clansmen as possible to know that the Mother Goddess will bestow divine grace!" Thorgrim gave the order.
The scene shifts to the throne room of Zhufbar. It's not as grand as the magnificent throne room of Karaz-A-Karak, but as the Engineer City, the throne room of Zhufbar has its own unique features.
It has a more famous name—the Echoing Hall. It is renowned for its astonishingly intricate acoustic design, featuring a low, circular dome that reflects sound evenly to every corner of the hall, allowing a large number of dwarves to converse easily without raising their voices.
Sitting on the main seat was an elderly dwarf with an almost entirely white beard. He was slightly older than Thorgrim, and this was King Serenthin of Zhufbar.
After hearing Prince Balendin's report, he nodded, "You mean Gromril of the Dekazkrad clan smashed the head of the rat chieftain?" His voice was not as full of wisdom as his beard, but rather still somewhat rough and impetuous.
"Then it seems he is not a coward favored by the Mother Goddess, but a warrior!" King Serenthin nodded.
"Do you think that Grom can hold Mountain Lake Fortress?" a strong, middle-aged dwarf sitting to Serenthin's left asked. This was the clan Head of Zhufbar's second-largest clan, currently serving as the fortress's internal affairs officer.
"Mountain Lake Fortress, our control over it has been intermittent these past years. I hope this little dwarf doesn't run back to Everpeak in a few years, making us happy for nothing!" This dwarf gave his opinion.
"I can answer that for Balendin!" The speaker was an extremely powerful dwarf named Henrid-Dragonslayer, currently serving as the Gatekeeper of Zhufbar. He was a warrior capable of holding off a thousand foes.
"I've met that kid Grom! He protected a caravan to this area a few years ago and wanted to spar with me. He's got some skills!"
Hearing Henrid's praise, the dwarves in the Echoing Hall began to discuss in hushed tones. Henrid was renowned as a warrior comparable to the Ancestors; during his adventures in the Old World, he had slain a True Dragon with his team!
"I think so too!" King Serenthin nodded. "A few days ago, I received news that that little dwarf is getting married! Speaking of which, Balendin, you need to make me proud! If..."
Just as King Serenthin continued speaking, an Iron Hammer Guard from the door ran in and relayed a message. "Gentlemen, there is a messenger from Karak-Varn."
"Which is just to inform us of the recapture of the Mountain Stronghold! We already know that," King Serenthin said, twitching his beard. Balendin had also cleared out some remaining skaven in the mines and tunnels on his way back, which had delayed him by half a day.
"Arrange accommodation and food for our distant Clansmen! Don't let people say behind our backs that we don't know proper etiquette!" the internal affairs officer sitting below Serenthin added.
"Accompanying him is an Eternal Hammer Guard! They say the message is very important!" the Iron Hammer Guard added. "Present it!" King Serenthin gave the order.
"Greetings to you! King Serenthin of Zhufbar!" The Eternal Hammer Guard walked in and saluted with a fist to his chest. "Master Gromril has conveyed the Mother Goddess's oracle; She will bestow divine grace at Karak-Varn in three days!"
"Ancestor Gods above!" The dwarves in the Echoing Hall exclaimed in unison. Due to the acoustic design, it was almost deafening.