After Gromril decided to take advantage of the armed caravan organized by the High King, with himself as the security captain, to engage in trade and make money, he began to rummage through his mind for relevant knowledge.
However, it was regrettable that the original owner of the body was somewhat unaccustomed to physical labor and lacked knowledge of agriculture. While not so clueless as to think food appeared from the kitchen, he had no clear understanding of where money came from.
Gromril sighed, sitting on his chair. He decided that instead of trying to figure it out himself, he should ask a professional. Conveniently, his own Aunt Sonia, the Eloquent, was responsible for the clan's external trade.
Thinking of this, Gromril stood up. He first informed Johnson Strongshield that the job had been settled, then left his room with two guards. He headed towards the outskirts of the clan, as his aunt, having married, lived with her husband's family according to his memory.
Passing through the clan's plaza, he saw a group of dwarves in meteorite iron equipment training. Seeing Gromril, they cheered, "Respected Chosen of the Goddess!"
Gromril paused, realizing these were his Anvil Guards. After waving to them, he continued on his way.
Sonia had not married far away. When she married, Thorgrim Grudgebearer was not yet the High King. She married into a local clan as the daughter of the miners' captain of the Dekkazklad clan. Her husband was an enterprising merchant, often traveling.
Gromril arrived at his aunt's shop in the central plaza. "Oh, Chosen of the Goddess, Master Gromril! What brings you to my humble establishment!" Sonia laughed heartily.
After giving Gromril a chair and a cup of coffee, they briefly chatted about Gromril's experiences in Zhufbar.
"Is there anything I can help you with? My husband was just saying he planned to visit you in the next couple of days. He'll also be on the caravan at the end of the month, and he'll be relying on your care!" Sonia got straight to the point.
"Well, it's like this, aunt, I plan to establish an expedition team when I return from this trip," Gromril replied.
"And then? You only have one cousin, and he's not much of a fighter, so don't get any ideas about him, hahaha." Sonia was quick-witted.
"I feel I lack sufficient funds. Since this trip involves escorting a caravan, I also want to take the opportunity to do some business, but I'm unsure what to sell. So, I've come to ask my clever, capable, and strategic aunt, haven't I?" Gromril delivered a fine compliment.
"Hmm, that's true. Although our clan has no less gold and silver than the amount of greenskins in the valleys, we also have many clansmen! Even if my brother is the High King, he can't force the elders to give you too much support." Sonia sipped her coffee and nodded.
"Where do you plan to go? North?"
"No, the Ancestor Goddess guides me south!"
Hearing the Goddess's name, Sonia involuntarily sat up straight.
"Then you absolutely must go. This means you'll have to travel by sea, but that's good news for you." Sonia didn't elaborate, returning to the main topic.
"Hmm, rather than deciding what to sell first, you should consider who you want to do business with."
"What do you mean? Don't caravans only pass through the dwarf holds along the way?" Gromril asked, puzzled.
"What I mean is, do you want to sell things to our dwarf brethren or our human friends? You should know, the Black Mountains and Grey Mountains have closer ties with the humans down the mountains than even Everpeak." Sonia, knowing Gromril's previous lack of experience, patiently explained.
"If you're talking about doing business with our dwarf brethren, I can point you in the right direction. The caravan's first stop is Karak-Drazh—oh no, that's what it used to be. Now it should be your elder brother's Karak-Varn." Sonia slapped her forehead.
"Karak-Drazh, Bergman's brewery is near there. If you buy a few cartloads when you pass by, you won't have any trouble selling them along the way, but you won't earn too much, just enough for pocket money."
"Why is that? Isn't Bergman's brew famous throughout the Old World?" Gromril was confused again.
"Are you silly, child? Joseph Bergman sells it himself! All you can earn is the price difference from the High King's caravan's exemption from tolls."
"Sigh, wouldn't that be a wasted effort?" Gromril lost interest in that idea.
"Aren't our traditional dwarf goods weapons and equipment? How about getting some stock from Master Firebrow?"
Sonia frowned at this, somewhat speechless at Gromril's naivety. "Who would you sell to? Which Mountain Stronghold doesn't have its own Master Blacksmith? Selling to our human friends would just be taking business from our local brethren. Besides, your weapons wouldn't have a price advantage."
"If you ask me, you'd be better off registering with the Rune Smith Guild and taking orders! Don't you engrave a single rune for three to five gold vows? If you lack clients, I could introduce you." Sonia was getting a little agitated; she was naturally short-tempered.
Gromril thought that with his extravagant production style using dragon blood, a single mistake might not only prevent him from earning but also cost him money.
Engraving runes and forging weapons are essentially no different; both are trades that rely on practice to achieve proficiency. Only with skill can production efficiency be increased and defect rates lowered.
"The Ancestor Goddess is in a hurry, and I might not have time for that." Gromril did not tell the truth. Although the real reason for his haste was his knowledge of the End Times, bringing up the Mother Goddess at this moment was undoubtedly more appropriate.
"Alas!" Sonia sighed, leaning back, then continued her analysis with Gromril.
"If you're talking about things other Mountain Strongholds don't have, it's nothing more than exquisite weapons and precious jewelry. But firstly, these items are mainly custom-made, just like what you saw at the Blacksmiths' Guild that day. The caravan returning the previous year brings requests and deposits, and the goods are delivered the following year when the final payment is collected."
Gromril nodded; this was consistent with what he knew. "It's not impossible to bring finished products to sell directly, but they're hard to move, and I don't know if you have enough capital."
Hearing the word 'capital,' Gromril shook his head. With his current meager savings, by dwarf noble standards, he could be considered destitute.
"Let's talk about humans instead. What kind of trade can I do with them?"
"Handicrafts?" Sonia asked with uncertainty, in her opinion, these things, like beer, could at most only net the difference in taxes.
"Hmm, what if I sold weapons?" Gromril suddenly had an idea. He remembered that the Mountain Strongholds along the way were not too large and might not have their own arms factories.
"Arms?" Sonia didn't understand the meaning of the word.
"Hmm, it's a general term for military firearms and ammunition," Gromril explained. "Thunderers, Iron Drake Handcannons, cannons, and the like."
"Well, that's not impossible, but our kin over there are quite conservative, so whether they'll buy them is a question," Sonya continued.
"If our kin don't want them, I can sell them to humans. If all else fails, I can always bring them back for my own use. I'm going to organize an expedition team anyway," Gromril had thought this through carefully.
"To buy these things, you need connections. Thanks to your master, even our own Everpeak production isn't enough, and many still have to be purchased from Zhufbar!" Sonya threw out another challenge.
"That's easy to solve. The son of Brokk, the Guild Master of the Engineers Guild in Zhufbar, is under my command!" Gromril chuckled, never expecting that the discount he just received would immediately come in handy.
"That's truly excellent. Your Cousin Tomi is about to make a trip to Zhufbar. Make a list, and he can bring them back for you on his way!" Sonia was also delighted to hear this.
"Tomi! Tomi, your Cousin Gromril is here!" She yelled towards the back.
A clattering sound came from the warehouse behind, and a young dwarf rushed out. He wasn't tall, but his face showed a rare quick-wittedness for a dwarf.
"Greetings, esteemed Chosen of the Goddess, my dear Cousin Gromril!" He seemed a bit excited. "Is there anything I can do for you, or rather, for the Mother Goddess?"
"Good morning, Cousin. I want to buy a batch of weapons from Zhufbar to sell along the way with the caravan. Can you make the trip for me?" Gromril asked politely.
"Valaya above! It would be my honor! Oh, by the way, are you in charge of escorting the caravan at the end of the month?" Tomi looked at Gromril, and after receiving an affirmative answer, he became excited.
"Mother, let me go in Father's place! I've been to the nearby Mountain Strongholds so many times over the years I could run them with my eyes closed! With Master Gromril and the Mother Goddess's blessing, what short-sighted fools would dare to attack the caravan?" Tomi looked at his mother eagerly.
"And there are also the troops sent by His Majesty Thorgrim to protect us. Let me go, Mother. This way, you and Father can spend more time together!"
Sonya was moved. She sighed, "young'uns are always like this, but this is somewhat a good thing. Wasn't it the same for my brother and me back then?"
After muttering to herself, she looked at Gromril: "Then I'm entrusting Tomi to you. Try not to let him go to the front lines, but if it comes to a crucial moment, he won't disgrace the clan!"
"Come on, find a chair. Let's discuss how much to buy and what to buy!" Sonia commanded.
"I have a budget of about two thousand gold coins," Gromril began hesitantly.
"What?" Sonia exclaimed.
"Hmm, did I hear that right, my dear Cousin?" Tomi, who was looking for a chair, also turned around.
Looking at his two suspicious relatives, Gromril's smile grew more awkward.
"That's at most the price of a few dozen Thunderers. If you have a discount, maybe you could get a bit more," Tomi said thoughtfully.
"I think I understand. How about this, how about auntie lends you some?" Sonya tapped her coffee cup.
"But let's be clear upfront, even though we're relatives, we need to keep clear accounts. For this trip of about half a year, how about I charge you five percent interest? And I won't ask for collateral. If you can't pay it back, you'll just spend some time in the workshop anyway," she said with a smile.
"Then how much do you think I should borrow? I mean, how much worth of goods can I approximately sell?" Gromril's question was a bit naive.
"Only Ranald could tell you that! How could I possibly know!" Sonia was amused by Gromril's question.
Ranald is the fickle God of Luck and Fortune. He is a human deity, and unlike other gods, his priests are thieves, swindlers, and gamblers, not well-educated elites from noble backgrounds.
His temples are casinos, brothels, taverns, and other dens of iniquity, rather than magnificent marble cathedrals.
The Ranald cult views the rest of the world as a constantly flowing river of wealth. Most merchants who are confident in their wisdom and ability worship him.
"Yes, the sales of weapons and equipment are greatly affected by war, but I think after a recent large Waaagh invasion, the demand for firearms among our kin might be considerable!" Tomi analyzed.
"Then, how about I borrow eight thousand gold coins?" Gromril asked tentatively.
"Make it ten thousand! You always need to keep some money on you, and a journey always costs money. A round number will make it easier for me to calculate interest!" Sonia was very generous and thoughtful.
Gromril decided to rush back to his courtyard to ask Brim for a family letter, which could also serve as a discount voucher for Cousin Tomi's arms procurement.
Sonia had no objection to this. As for how to allocate the ten thousand gold coins worth of goods, the three dwarves decided to entrust it to Guild Master Brokk. His experience would surely make it more appropriate.
After settling everything, Gromril squatted in the forge in the courtyard and began carving his Rune of Fury and Destruction. His goods, his warhammer, his little lamb, and his Anvil Guard all required time.
Gromril believed that once all these were ready, his strength would undergo a new leap.
Time always flew by in the workshop. Gromril melted the metal using the earth fire, then wielded his forging hammer to repeatedly fold and shape it, finally engraving the runes with dragon's blood.
Looking at the final blue rune, a small circle within a square, Gromril wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled brightly.
This was the first time he, a Rune Master, had produced a rune by his own power since transmigrating. A successful practical application deepened his understanding of the contents in his original memory, allowing him to barely achieve a thorough comprehension.
Pushing open the door to the forge, Gromril first took a shower. Immediately after, he noticed many things piled up in the courtyard.
Lifting the ox-hide cloth covering them, Gromril discovered that these were the arms he had purchased from Zhufbar.
Most prominent were four Organ Guns. These could not be produced by the small fortresses in the west, but they were perfectly suited for dealing with their numerous but generally low-quality enemies.
Smaller items included one hundred Thunderers. These were the hard currency of dwarf arms, usable by both dwarves and humans, and were sure to sell well.
There was also a separate box containing twenty Iron Drake Handcannons.
"Grungni above! Guild Master Brokk is truly generous!" Gromril exclaimed. Buying the first two items for ten thousand gold coins was normal, but these twenty Iron Drake Handcannons were purely a bonus; their price was certainly not cheap.
After re-checking the ammunition that came with the firearms, Gromril re-sealed the crates and covered them with waterproof cloth. These protective measures were to prevent the weapons from rusting in the damp underground environment.
"Let's see the configuration of the caravan guards my father provided. If they're not up to par, I'll keep some of these Iron Dragons for my own Anvil Guard, but that means more expenses for chainmail!" Gromril muttered to himself as he walked out of the courtyard.
"Master Gromril! You're finally out!" Hearing the deafeningly loud voice, Gromril knew it was Johnson Strongshield.
Seeing a new batch of faces among the Anvil Guards before him, Gromril realized these were his newly recruited personal guards.
Before Gromril could even greet them, Johnson shouted again, "If you don't have anything particularly urgent right now, why not show your face at the caravan? You've been holed up for days, and the clansmen outside are all talking!"
Gromril nodded. At Johnson's call, half of the guards gathered around Gromril and headed towards a side gate of Karaz-A-Karak.
Along the way, Gromril observed his Anvil Guards. For a long time to come, his personal safety would depend on them, so he couldn't be careless.
Compared to Master Iron Chisel's guards, this batch of dwarves was noticeably much younger, mostly young and strong adults, with no Longbeard Elders among them.
The image of the Mother Goddess was engraved on their shields and helmets. Valaya was already the dwarves' patron goddess, and her image was used on equipment with a frequency second only to Grimnir, the God of War. Here, it also served to display Gromril's identity as the Chosen of the Goddess.
Their spirits were also full and exuberant; overall, they were full of vigor.
Arriving at the side gate of Karaz-A-Karak, Gromril was filled with emotion. The last time he passed through here, he was being carried! Now, things were completely different from back then.
Gromril saw dozens of carriages lined up here, being loaded with goods. Many clansmen were busy around the carriages, and there were even some human figures among them.
While Gromril was undecided about who to talk to first, the clansmen spotted him.
"Hoo, the esteemed Chosen of the Goddess!"
"It seems the news that he's leading this trip is true! With the Mother Goddess's attention, it must be very safe!"
"Isn't that right? He has to go to Breezehold to welcome Prince Grom's bride anyway!"
"There's such a thing? Tell me more in detail! Lunch's drinks are on me!"
The clansmen clamored loudly. At the same time, three dwarves and one human came forward to greet him.
Gromril realized he knew all three dwarves. The first to speak was Tomi, the shortest among them: "Cousin Gromril, we're counting on your care for this trip! Are you satisfied with that batch of goods?"
After receiving Gromril's praise, he happily departed; he still had to manage his own clan's goods.
"His Majesty Thorgrim has equipped the convoy with a cannon and a ballista. They arrived yesterday, and I'm currently calibrating them. Mogrim above! The gunners of Everpeak are truly mediocre."
The second to speak was Brim. After a brief report, he grumbled and returned to the side of the artillery.
"Respected Chosen of the Goddess, your warhammer is in the final stages of polishing and inspection, and it will be delivered to your residence tonight." Gromril paused for a moment before recognizing the last dwarf; this was the greeter from the Anvil Master's workshop.
"Hello, how are you? Are you also leaving with the caravan?" Gromril replied politely.
"Yes, I need to deliver goods. I will follow you all the way. Lord Granite Hand of Karak-Varn also commissioned a forging hammer," the dwarf respectfully replied.
"Oh? Is that so? Would you mind telling me more?" Gromril was very interested in information about Breezehold, as it involved the trials he might face and potential benefits.
"Well, it's not impossible. Last year, or perhaps the year before, the Lord of Weifeng Fort (Breezehold)'s son successfully mastered the power of runes. This hammer should be for him," the dwarf blacksmith said, not knowing or caring much about the specific details.
As a craftsman, he only needed to complete the work as required and receive payment; that was enough.
After the dwarf blacksmith turned and left, Gromril turned to the last human. This human was very tall, dressed in a knight's plate armor, but this plate armor was not as shiny and well-maintained as that of normal knights. Instead, it was covered in scratches and small dents. It was clear that it had accompanied its owner through many battles.
"Master Gromril, may I call you that? Or Master Thorson?" The knight spoke. His voice seemed weathered by experience. Although Gromril was older than him, he did not have an advantage in terms of life experience.
"You may call me Fatis. As you can see, I am a knight, a Questing Knight."
"Greetings, warrior. Has the path of the Grail that you seek guided you here, to Everpeak, the City of the Mountains?" Gromril asked.
Gromril knew about Questing Knights, also called Adventuring Knights. They were almost all powerful warriors.
Since the era of Gilles the Unifier, the first King of Bretonnia, the Lady of the Lake's Grail has been the ultimate symbol of Bretonnian chivalry, viewed as the final goal by every true knight.
A knight who embarks on a quest for the Grail will relinquish all his worldly possessions and sever all ties with his fiefdom.
They will lay down the lance that symbolizes their knightly status and instead wield a greatsword or flail, or any other convenient weapon.
From then on, the knight's life will be filled with trials and suffering, constantly testing his spirit, body, and even his soul.
The path of a Questing Knight is winding, for he vows never to stay in the same place for two nights and will never yield in his quest for the Grail as long as he lives.
The journey to find the Grail has no boundaries. Questing Knights will travel far from their fiefdoms and even beyond the borders of the Kingdom of Bretonnia.
During their quest, knights strive to prove themselves to their Goddess. They leave a trail of glorious deeds, slaying foul beasts, challenging powerful and fearsome foes, or displaying courage on grand battlefields. In this process, those lacking strength or resolve will be buried in foreign lands or abandon their quest.
Only when a Questing Knight has proven his courage and purity will the Lady of the Lake appear before him, not only allowing him to behold the true form of the Grail but also permitting him to drink from it.
From then on, they will gain a lifespan many times longer than ordinary people and even greater power. These successful individuals of the questing path are called Grail Knights.
"I will lead the human caravan's guards and depart with you. My employers should not be going to Breezehold, but I will follow you all the way!"
"Oh, what makes a noble Knight like you make such a decision? Did your merchant friends offer a high price?" Gromril asked, a little strangely.
"No, I embarked on a Quest for the Holy Grail and have long since abandoned worldly wealth," Knight Fatis said solemnly.
"Is it because Karak-Varn is close to Bretonnia, and you want to visit home on the way?" Gromril thought he had guessed the answer.
"No, for a sinner like me, it's either receiving the Lady's forgiveness and drinking from the Holy Grail, or facing death!" Fatis frowned.
"To be honest with you, I came for you!" He didn't want Gromril to guess any further.
"What?" Gromril exclaimed, involuntarily clenching a certain part of his body.
"Is this a Questing Knight? Not a Chosen of Slaanesh, is it? What heavy taste…" Gromril muttered to himself.
"I heard from merchants that you received the divine grace of the Ancestor Goddess, and that you are the first in thousands of years. So I rushed over from Stirland." Fatis didn't notice Gromril's reaction and continued speaking solemnly.
"I thought, since they are both Goddesses, perhaps there are some commonalities? I believe I can learn some tricks from you on how to gain the Goddess's favor."
Seeing Fatis's serious expression, Gromril suppressed a laugh and nodded, "I wish you good luck in achieving your wish and finding the Holy Grail soon!"
Though he said this, Gromril secretly shook his head. This was probably another chivalry-syndrome patient whose brain had been washed with foot water, but he looked like he could fight quite well.
After a few more casual words, Knight Fatis bade farewell and left. He still had to camp in the wilderness tonight to avoid staying in the same place.
Gromril arranged for his Anvil Guard to find two carriages to load his arsenal. Just as he stood with hands on hips, surveying the busy scene, a familiar dwarf appeared.
Grenson, the squad leader of the Eternal Hammer Guard, came to Gromril with his guards. "Respected Chosen of the Goddess, the High King summons you!"
Gromril nodded. He followed the three dwarves to the upper levels of the fortress. "I need to get my boots back!" he thought as he walked.
"You're finally out! Master Iron Chisel said it's best not to disturb you, but if you hadn't come out tonight, I would have truly had to knock on your door!" As soon as he entered the room, Thorgrim spoke.
Gromril was surprised to find his father wrapped in a blanket, feigning weakness. Thorgrim stared at Gromril with a strange look, and it took Gromril a moment to realize what was happening.
"What's wrong, Father?" Gromril feigned anxiety.
"Nothing, I caught a bit of a cold inspecting the flying squadron a few days ago." Thorgrim acted very convincingly, even with a slight nasal tone.
Gromril understood his father's good intentions. To prevent certain interested parties from noticing his increased vigor and connecting it to the divine grace Gromril bestowed, he even feigned illness to share the burden with his son.
"Please take care of yourself, Father!" After a few back-and-forth, meaningless conversations, the father and son finally got down to business.
"Gromril, the security forces for the caravan are almost assembled. Including you and your Anvil Guards, the strength should be stronger than ever, but with Grom's betrothal gift and the money for your anvil, the temptation for those with ulterior motives is even greater. Be extremely careful!"
Thorgrim extended his hand from under the blanket and took a sip of the steaming beer on the table.
"Butterbeer, a drink passed on from our human friends. It's suitable for ladies and the sick, but you can try it too. It's better than coffee!"
"Don't worry, I will keep a strict watch, but what do you mean by my anvil money?" Gromril replied.
"It's like this: according to reliable intelligence, Karak-Varn holds two anvils of doom, but currently, it only has one Rune Master qualified to use this treasure, so you have a chance to acquire one from there," Thorgrim explained.
"I've prepared five hundred oath gold for you. If it's not enough, you can add more as you see fit. The extra expenses can be drawn from the caravan's funds! The clan will reimburse the caravan upon your return."
"How can that be!" Gromril exclaimed. He knew the value of oath gold; his custom warhammer only cost twenty pieces.
"The anvil you bring back won't be yours personally. Its ownership belongs to Karaz-A-Karak and our Dekrazklad clan; it's just for your use!" Thorgrim reached out to stop Gromril from saying more.
"Moreover, after discussing with the Elder Council, we've inferred that with the Ancestor Goddess's revival, the number of Rune users may also increase in the future. At that time, anvils of doom will be highly sought after, so there's no harm in stockpiling one early!"
Thorgrim's words dispelled Gromril's guilt. He nodded.
Thorgrim pressed a button on the table, and a few minutes later, Grenson ran in.
"At your service, High King!" the old dwarf said loudly.
"I'll still ask you to take ten brothers to protect Gromril. You won't have any objections this time, will you?" Thorgrim said with a smile.
"Hahahaha!" Grenson, this usually serious elder warrior, burst into laughter.
"My High King, you should be grateful that Master Gromril is the Chosen of the Ancestor Goddess and not Father Grungni, otherwise you would have to recruit a new personal guard!" Grenson said earnestly.
"By my oath!"
"As solid as a rock!"
After making their vows, Grenson retreated. This time was different from the last; it was definitely a long assignment, and even the Eternal Hammer Guard would need time to prepare.
"The clan will supplement you with thirty Iron Hammer Guards. Together, forty people serving as your honor guard won't be a disgrace!" Thorgrim said.
"That's truly excellent!" Gromril was very satisfied with this arrangement. He had already witnessed the Iron Hammer Guards' destructive power, far superior to that of the Ironbreakers.
"Your Anvil Guards will also count as the caravan's escorts. You can collect their maintenance fees and your compensation for this trip from the quartermaster later!"
"I'm getting compensation?" Gromril was overjoyed. He realized Thorgrim was quite adept at using public office for private gain.
"Manpower is tight, you see. Protecting the caravan and bringing your elder brother's bride will both be taken care of!" Thorgrim seemed to have read Gromril's thoughts and briefly explained.
Gromril himself was not so stubborn. He happily went to the quartermaster to collect his compensation. Seeing a large sack of gold coins, Gromril was even more motivated. He left the upper levels of the fortress and headed down to the Blacksmiths' Guild.
He figured the time was about right; once the hammer was dealt with, it would be almost time to depart.
Gromril exchanged his pick-up slip for his hammer at the Master of the Broken Anvil's workshop.
Gromril briefly examined the hammer; its edges were sharp, and it gleamed brightly. What male wouldn't love a weapon? Gromril held his hammer, unwilling to put it down.
With a simple swing, Gromril almost felt the weapon was an extension of his arm, perfect in both size and weight. It was far more comfortable than his original standard-issue forging hammer.
"No wonder the Master of the Broken Anvil dares to charge so much!" Gromril thought to himself. The exchange rate between a Vow Gold coin and an ordinary dwarf gold coin was one to one hundred, but this was only the official price.
In private transactions, getting one Vow Gold coin for one hundred twenty gold coins was considered good! Without a discount, this hammer would be enough to buy ten standard-issue products.
Watching the faint, flickering arcs of electricity occasionally appearing on the warhammer's surface, Gromril knew this should be the effect of plasma quenching, but its actual power remained to be tested in real combat.
As per his request, the two sides of the hammer were engraved with the Ancestor Goddess's face in an angry roar and his clan's stone armor symbol, respectively.
And on the bottom of the warhammer, near the handle, a small line of dwarf text was engraved: "Made by the Master of the Broken Anvil for the Chosen of the Goddess Gromril in October 6943."
"This hammer will accompany me as my name spreads throughout the world!" Gromril secretly resolved. He returned to his workshop, preparing to transfer the Master-level Throwing Rune to the hammer.
By the night before his departure, Gromril had finally succeeded. In the training ground, he threw the hammer out and recalled it telekinetically, repeating the process a dozen times without tiring.
Gromril spent the skill points he gained from the victory at Mountain Lake Fortress on his skill panel, acquiring the Stormhammer skill.
After activating the skill, the motion of throwing the hammer was noticeably more precise than without the skill, and the throwing distance was also greater. However, it was a pity that the wooden dummy could not show the stunning effect, which still needed to be tested in actual combat.
Gromril instructed Balin to pack his luggage, bid farewell to a few relatives, and then climbed into bed.
The next morning, he put on the starli boots that Master Iron Chisel had sent back overnight, picked up his hammer, put on his ring, and walked out of his room feeling refreshed.
In the courtyard, the Hammerer and Anvil Guard were assembling, their uniforms distinctly different.
On one side were the 'iron cans,' completely sealed from head to toe, even their faces covered. They held round shields and battle axes.
On the other side wore flat-topped, slightly ceremonial helmets. To facilitate wielding two-handed long weapons, they chose to expose their elbows, using a combination of shoulder pads and gauntlets.
Looking at the two top dwarf troop types filling the courtyard, Gromril waved his left hand, "Depart!" The group headed straight for a side gate of Karaz-A-Karak.
Although it was early morning, with only faint sunlight visible from the gate, merchants and guards traveling far, as well as relatives who came to see them off, still crowded both sides of the road.
Gromril roughly estimated there were hundreds of carriages here; truly a large-scale caravan.
As Gromril arrived, shouts of "Chosen of the Goddess!" rang out.
The official guards arranged by the High King lined up at the front of the procession, distinguishing themselves from the merchants and caravan guards behind them, and awaited Gromril's inspection.
Seeing the enthusiastic clansmen, Gromril decided to seize the moment to say a few words. With luck, he might even gain some more Revival Points!
"Dear clansmen! I, Gromril, am commanded by the High King to protect this caravan on its journey to Karak-Varn. I know some of you are worried, for among this caravan are your fathers, brothers, or sons. For this, I swear in the name of the Ancestor Goddess that I will do everything in my power to ensure their safe return!"
Gromril's voice echoed within the mountain belly of Everpeak in the early morning, stirring up waves of reverberation.
The clansmen present cheered. After the impact of Grumm the Great Belly King's Waaagh, many felt uncertain about this journey, and Gromril's assurance put their minds at ease.
"Depart!" Gromril shouted. He walked at the very front of the procession, striding towards the morning sun outside the Mountain Stronghold. According to the plan, he was supposed to reach the newly established first stop, Karak-Varn, within the day.
As he walked, Gromril began to inspect his subordinates.
The caravan members could be divided into three categories. First were Gromril's direct subordinates, mainly including his attendant Balin, his Engineer Brim, eighty fully-manned Anvil Guard, and forty Hammerer, including ten Eternal Hammer Guard.
These individuals fought for the clan and Gromril himself, and were the most loyal and reliable.
The second part consisted of the caravan guards arranged by the High King, whom Gromril commanded as the head of the guard team.
They included fifty Longbeard Warriors, one hundred dwarf warriors, a ranged unit mixed with thirty Thunderer and thirty Quarreler, one cannon, one ballista and their operators, and ten Iron Drake. Finally, there were five Rangers responsible for scouting.
This force of less than four hundred formed the official defensive strength of the caravan.
However, the caravan's strength was in fact greater than this. Each carriage basically had a driver and two or three guards; after all, merchants always needed some manpower when traveling.
The number of these dwarf also stood at around four hundred. Their equipment was uneven, and although they lacked discipline, they had plenty of combat experience from traveling far and wide.
Coupled with equipment slightly better than that of ordinary dwarf warriors, their combat effectiveness was on par with the Longbeard Warriors.
Finally, there were dozens of human adventurers led by Knight Fatis, who provided security for the human members of the caravan. These individuals brought up the rear of the procession.
The winding procession stretched out of sight within the Underway network. Gromril allocated his forces according to traditional practice:
Two Rangers were sent ahead to scout. He himself, along with the Hammerer and a portion of the Anvil Guard, was at the very front of the main force. The other guard forces were evenly distributed on both sides of the carriages. Brim, the artillery teams, and the Iron Drake were in the middle of the procession. They were the most crucial source of firepower.
During a mid-journey rest, Knight Fatis led his warhorse from the rear of the procession to Gromril.
"Eat together?" He took his sandwich and wineskin from one of his horses. Gromril had no objection to this; he also wanted to learn more about the Knight Kingdom.
"You have two warhorses?" Gromril asked. Knight Fatis and his two horses were second only to Gromril and his Eternal Hammer Guard in prominence within the procession. They were much taller and more muscular than the draft horses pulling the carriages.
"Two? Hmm, to be precise, one warhorse and one riding horse!" Knight Fatis took a bite of his sandwich.
"Is there a difference?" Gromril asked, looking at the two magnificent warhorses, neither of which he could ride.
"This is Emma, my best friend and comrade-in-arms!" Fatis's eyes lit up when he spoke of his warhorse. He pointed to the taller white horse and said.
"She is a half-elf warhorse, her father came from Athel Loren Forest. Her size is much larger than any other horse in the Old World, even the Northern Steppe horses from the neighboring Chaos Wastes cannot compare to her, not to mention those guys also lack the strength and calm will of our Bretonnian warhorses."
Fatis took a sip of wine and continued, "She is tireless with heavy armor, even if the horses of our friends over the mountains are worked to death, she can still gallop and leap repeatedly with ease. Not to mention her calm and steady demeanor in battle, unlike ordinary warhorses that are easily scared!"
"You know, facing clumsy giants or monstrous creatures in the deep forest, this brave and fearless quality is very important! A good knight without a good horse to match is just a footman!" Fatis was very proud of his warhorse.
"The other one is just an ordinary warhorse, then?" Gromril asked, nodding after receiving Fatis's affirmative reply.
"I don't ride Emma when I'm not fighting. She needs to stay in peak condition, at most carrying luggage, so I need another horse for travel," Fatis explained further.
Gromril listened quietly. He wanted to understand everything about Bretonnian knights. In his opinion, it was difficult for Dwarves to form cavalry, and his idea of motorized units was a pipe dream in the short term. Therefore, if he could reach some agreements with Bretonnia, it would be very helpful for future operations.
Since they had just set off, the team was full of energy, and without interference, they moved quickly. They arrived at Mountain Lake Fortress on time that night.
Gromril found that the original outpost now only had a squad of soldiers left. It seemed that his elder brother had completed the initial reconstruction of Karak-Varn during this period.
This was indeed the case. The convoy, unable to go up the mountain, stayed at the outpost. Gromril took ten Eternal Hammer Guard and followed the mountain path to visit Grom.
Although it was past dinner time, his elder brother still prepared a lavish banquet to entertain Gromril, as Gromril was once again traveling for him.
The atmosphere at the dinner table was a bit awkward. The two brothers exchanged toasts and talked some meaningless nonsense.
"Later, be careful on your journey, take care of yourself, and, and take care of her!" After several rounds of drinks and dishes, Grom finally blurted out this sentence.
For a traditional dwarf like Grom, it was clearly impossible to expect him to compose a farewell poem for Gromril or sing a song to express his longing.
The next morning, a hungover Gromril woke up in Grom's bed. The two brothers hadn't slept together in a long time.
"I was too excited last night, I forgot to tell you two things," Grom also rubbed his eyes and got up.
Although Mountain Lake Fortress was close to Everpeak and currently in its initial stages with not much trade potential, Gromril would still stay here for two more days to wait for the merchant convoy from Zhufbar to arrive.
"The first is that your rock ram has been trained and you can ride it soon. The second is that I've intercepted a squad of Butchers for you!" Grom said.
The first piece of news was within Gromril's expectations, the second was a pure, delightful surprise.
"Butchers, what kind of Butchers?" Gromril asked.
"Come on, let's go eat breakfast, they should be there too!" With that, Grom led Gromril downstairs to the mess hall.
In the mess hall, the Dwarves were already gathered. The merchants who came with Gromril would also eat here, as the next stop was Karak-Drazh, and for the two days en route, hot meals might not be available.
Grom and Gromril squeezed forward, greeting clansmen along the way. Gromril noticed that the crowd was surrounding several dwarf Butchers with orange topknots and bare torsos covered in blue tattoos.
The one with the longest orange hair was drinking and telling his adventure story.
"I leaped, dodged the monster's tail, then twisted my waist for a counter-attack, severing its left hind leg tendon. While the beast was in pain, I jumped onto its back, and I furiously hacked at its pair of evil horns..."
The dwarf Butcher spoke with his hands gesticulating at the same time! His adventure stories of fighting ferocious monsters were undoubtedly a huge attraction for the clansmen present.
"Hmm, and this is?" The Butcher looked up while drinking beer and noticed Grom and Gromril beside him. His gaze lingered for a moment on the Rune Master emblem on Gromril's chest.
"Keep going, Rogov!"
"What happened next? What happened?"
"Cook, get him another barrel of beer!"
The clansmen, whose excitement had been interrupted, began to shout! Seeing this, Gromril decided not to go against their wishes.
"You may certainly continue, admirable Butcher!" Gromril said.
"My kinsmen, everyone go about your business for now! I will finish my story tonight!" But this Butcher was not going to continue.
"As you all know, I am here for Master Gromril, the Chosen of the Goddess!"
"Another one here for me?" Gromril's eyelid twitched, and he began to feel pleased with his fame and appeal.
As the clansmen gradually dispersed, the Butcher stood up. Only then did Gromril notice that his topknot was almost half a man's height, which meant this Butcher could be considered not entirely successful.
The best way to gauge a dwarf Butcher's strength is by the height of his highly distinctive topknot; the longer the topknot, the more deadly the dwarf.
Most Butchers die in their first or second battle with an enemy, but those who survive these battles are considered unfortunate.
Whether it's due to their powerful combat skills, tough will, or unyielding determination that leads to this outcome, these Dwarves, though they fail in their quest for death, indirectly prove themselves to be great warriors.
This natural selection eliminates most of the mediocre, meaning any Butcher encountered is likely to be a dangerous individual with extreme views.
"I am Rogov the Manticore Butcher, and my lads and I have come from the north to join your ranks!" the Butcher said.
When a Butcher has chopped off the heads of many monsters with his axe, they usually take a title derived from the most powerful monster they have killed.
The greatest among them are Daemon Butchers and Dragon Butchers, who have survived encounters with two of the most ferocious creatures ever, killed them, and tell stories of the battles.
"A Manticore, you truly are brave!" Gromril praised upon hearing this.
Manticores are enormous lion-like beasts with tough wings, capable of flight. Among all predators living in the northern Mountains, they are the most powerful.
The mutating power of Chaos makes them varied in form; some Manticores have snake-like manes, others have skin like iron scales, and many have venomous stings on their tails that make the blood of those pierced by them boil.
However, all Manticores are savage killers filled with primal rage. They are extremely fierce, and thus are also tamed by the Dark Elves to become avatars of Khaine, the God of Murder.
For the dwarves, such agile and ferocious monsters are more threatening than clumsy Giants.
"Originally, I heard that Karak-Varn was infested with Greenskins and intended to wipe them out first, but you brothers got there ahead of me," the dwarf Slayer said in a deep voice.
"Then someone told me that Prince Domga of the Angrund Clan was assembling a great army to retake Eight Peaks Mountain, so I planned to head south and join his forces in search of an honorable death."
"Didn't you say you came for me?" Gromril asked.
"Yes, as my lads and I were resupplying and preparing to head south, Prince Grom said that you, the Chosen of the Ancestor Goddess, would be passing through here soon on your way to Karak-Varn. We all agreed that cleansing grudges under the gaze of the Mother Goddess would be more meaningful!"
After a long speech, the Slayer, who had lived in the wilderness for a long time, felt a bit awkward, "Therefore, I hope you can bear witness for us!"
Gromril had no objection; he knew the combat power of the Slayers, and although their numbers were not large, they would be a significant reinforcement for his caravan.
Two days later, in the early morning, the caravan set off once again. With the merchants from Zhufbar joining, the number of people in the caravan was approaching a thousand.
Gromril, leading the procession, now rode a rock ram with golden-brown fur. The sturdy Ram occasionally snorted white mist from his nostrils, and his sharp horns were additionally fitted with a pair of meteorite iron horn covers, adding a touch of menace.
For these dwarves, who had more or less witnessed divine grace, Gromril's prestige was soaring, and no one raised any objections to his riding a Ram.
Gromril sat in the Ram's saddle, resting his feet, clad in his legendary boots, in the stirrups, swaying as he secretly observed the dwarves from Zhufbar.
"These fellows are all my competitors, how can I sell my weapons before them?"
Ever since he had a mount, Gromril felt time pass much faster. The journey from Karak-Varn to Karak-Drazh was also within the heartland of the Mountain Kingdom, with Ironbreakers patrolling along the way, so no petty scoundrels dared to cause trouble.
After a night of rest, the caravan arrived at Karak-Drazh on the morning of the second day.
For Gromril, the Chosen of the Goddess, Lord Lauren Timewatcher, who had previously attended the ceremony at Mountain Lake Fortress, showed him the highest respect.
He personally led his Hammerguard to welcome Gromril and his caravan at the fortress gate.
Observing Karak-Drazh, Gromril found it quite different from the other fortresses he had seen before.
Firstly, the fortress walls were covered in signs of battle; although repaired, there were still numerous scratches and dents.
Secondly, the design of the fortress was unlike most dwarf fortresses, whose main body is underground; instead, it resembled a human castle.
This is because Karak-Drazh was originally built to control Black Fire Pass, a strategic location connecting the Badlands and the Imperium of Man.
Once Black Fire Pass fell, the Greenskins of the Badlands could rush into the Imperium of Man and do as they pleased. Whether out of an ancient alliance or to protect their most important trading partners, the dwarves of the World's Edge Mountains were unwilling to sit idly by and let this happen.
Of course, defending against the Greenskins of the Badlands primarily relied on humans themselves; Karak-Drazh could at most serve as a fulcrum for containment and early warning.
Lord Lauren, who guarded this place, was famous for his skill in defensive warfare. He had repeatedly defended isolated strongholds, holding out against wave after wave of enemies until reinforcements arrived.
At the reception banquet, Lord Lauren did not disappoint Gromril, presenting many high-quality fine wines.
For dwarves, high-quality alcohol is even considered a strategic material. dwarf ale is so nutritious that one can survive for several weeks on it alone. Many warriors also feel their combat abilities improve after drinking dwarf ale.
The most famous ale is brewed by Joseph Bergman's family brewery. This ale is popular in cities across the Old World and the dwarf Mountains.
A single glass of this frothy ale can strengthen one's will, making him immune to fear for ten hours. However, Bergman ale is extremely potent, with one glass being equivalent to four glasses of ordinary alcohol.
"I heard at Everpeak that Bergman's brewery is near Karak-Drazh. You must be enjoying a feast for your palate guarding this place, right?"
Gromril was gradually getting used to the potency of dwarf brews. He drank two glasses, feeling a bit tipsy.
"Valaya above, I wish it were so!" Lord Lauren sighed, his face, carved like stone, now slightly flushed.
"But that old fellow, hmph, relying on the quality of his wine, he listens to no one!"
"Such a thing exists?"
"Indeed, not to mention me, he doesn't even give His Majesty Thorgrim, your father, any special treatment. Not only are there no discounts, but if you want aged fine brews like Number One or Number Two, you have to queue up!" Lord Lauren's resentment towards Bergman, fueled by alcohol, spilled out.
"Well, capable people often have a bit of arrogance; many of my colleagues are like that," Gromril said, excusing Bergman.
"Speaking of which, why did he build his brewery here? No offense, but I feel Karak-Drazh is a very vulnerable place."
In Gromril's opinion, such a top-tier brewery should be built within the largest dwarf fortresses.
"As far as I know, there are at least two reasons. Firstly, the water quality. His apprentice told me that the water from Black Water Lake is quite beneficial for brewing," Lord Lauren Timewatcher took another sip of ale.
"Secondly, the geographical location. Karak-Drazh is the westernmost point of the World's Edge Mountains, making it convenient to travel west to the Black Mountains and Grey Mountains, or south along the World's Edge Mountains to Iron Peak Fortress and north to Butcher Keep. Through Black Fire Pass, the ale can also be quickly delivered to dwarf taverns throughout the Imperium of Man."
Lord Lauren succinctly explained the dwarf geography.
After hearing the reasons for the location of Bergman's Brewery, Gromril nodded. "That place is also protected by Bergman's Rangers, and those guys are pretty strong!"
Gromril thought of the guys in the game who carried shields to block some damage and could drink beer during combat to restore health, and he blurted out.
"Rangers? Hmm, strictly speaking, I suppose so." Lauren Timewatcher looked a bit strange, but he continued to follow Gromril's lead.
"Though I think, given the scale of the Bergman family's brewery, which has been operating for many generations, it could almost be considered a small fortress."
"So at this time, Bergman's Brewery hadn't been attacked yet. The original Rangers should now be considered brewery employees and security guards." Gromril chuckled and brushed it off once he figured it out.
The welcoming banquet at noon quickly ended. Lord Lauren still needed to direct the craftsmen to repair the damage the fortress sustained during Gulu's Waaagh!
The caravan would stay in Karak-Drazh for three days. Some merchants heading to the Empire would split off here, and at the same time, some human merchants from the Empire wanting to travel to the Western Mountains would join them.
Gromril decided to use these few days to visit Bergman's Brewery. Early the next morning, he set off on his rock ram, accompanied only by his forty Iron Hammer Guard.
They followed the mountain path downwards. To facilitate water access, the brewery was built in a valley, with water from Black Water Lake cascading down a waterfall.
Gromril saw a few round rooftops peeking through the trees in the distance. Just as he cupped his hand over his eyes, looking for the nearest path, a voice rang out from the roadside.
"Don't move! Who goes there?"
The Iron Hammer Guards quickly moved at the sound, surrounding Gromril.
"Eternal Hammer Guard!"
"Could it be the High King himself?"
A few more voices rang out, and soon, with a rustling of branches, four dwarves emerged from the forest.
They wore red and blue leather armor and helmets with ram horns. They held crossbows slightly smaller than those of the Quarrelers, and carried shields and axes on their backs.
The dwarves still pointed their crossbows at Gromril and his party. Seeing this, Gromril, sitting on the rock ram, suddenly had an ominous premonition. He realized that despite being surrounded by his guards, he was still exposed to the threat of the crossbow bolts.
"I can't walk at the front of the line anymore! Otherwise, if we encounter sudden ranged fire, my Anvil Guards won't be able to form a shield wall in time to protect me!"
"This is Rune Master Gromril, the Chosen of the Goddess. We have come to visit Master Joseph Bergman!" Captain Grenson stepped forward, cupping his hands in greeting.
"Valaya above! It is the Chosen of the Goddess! Please follow us." With the Eternal Hammer and the insignia on his chest as endorsement, the dwarves were not worried about imposters.
With that, two security personnel led the group deeper into the forest, while the other two returned to their hiding spots to continue their duties.
"We have no choice but to do this!" the dwarf said as they walked.
"Our brewery's fine ale has immense appeal to all races. Besides brewers who want to steal our secrets, many greenskins and Trolls also harbor ill intentions towards the brewery!"
"Hahaha, good wine needs no bush!" Gromril praised sincerely.
Guided by the security personnel, Gromril soon arrived at the brewery's gate after several twists and turns. It was a structure similar in form to an outpost. Gromril roughly estimated that no fewer than a thousand people lived there.
As Gromril arrived, a plump dwarf strongman, surrounded by several guards, ran over, his massive beer belly jiggling.
"Good afternoon, esteemed Chosen of the Goddess! I am Joseph Bergman, the master here." The brewing master before him smiled broadly, his chubby cheeks and large red nose almost squished together.
"Thanks to the Ancestor Goddess and you, my business has been much better this month! Look, I've gotten fatter!"
Bergman's familiarity caught Gromril off guard for a moment.
"I have long heard of you and your fine ale. This time, I was ordered to escort the caravan to Breezehold and finally had the opportunity to visit. I apologize for the intrusion!" Gromril replied politely.
"Hahaha, could it be that the Ancestor Goddess also enjoys my brew?" Bergman patted Gromril's shoulder. "Please come in, this is not the place to talk. Come, bring out the ale for our warriors who have traveled so far!"
Gromril followed Bergman through the gate. In the small square, many dwarves were placing barrel after barrel onto wagons.
"These precious things are entrusted to you! Without them, the clansmen of Hornburg, Undermountain Hold, and Breezehold would have to drink swill for the New Year!"
Hearing this, Gromril finally understood Bergman's arrogance, but he didn't refute it. Instead, he smiled and agreed.
"These are the fermentation tanks!" Bergman introduced, pointing to several huge containers leaning against the brewery wall.
"We transfer the prepared wort into the fermentation tanks for further fermentation, controlling the temperature to keep the yeast in optimal condition. During this process, the yeast converts the sugars in the malt into effervescent bubbles and fine ale."
After half a morning's journey, it was now lunchtime. Gromril and his men ate lunch with the brewery staff.
Besides the essential fresh brews, the food here also included dishes cooked with beer, such as beer duck, beer-roasted pork trotters, and beer-braised river shrimp, which Gromril and his guards thoroughly enjoyed.
"Have more! My friends, even the best ale changes flavor after transport and storage. How can it compare to the mellowness of what I have here!" Bergman jumped onto a table, loudly toasting.
Gromril himself didn't like drinking at lunch; the dizziness after heavy drinking would ruin the rest of the day, but this time, he couldn't resist the temptation.
After lunch, a groggy Gromril, supported by his guards, toured the other parts of the brewery. It seemed Bergman wanted to impress the Ancestor Goddess, as he introduced everything with great effort.
They walked past the large millstones for crushing malt, the workshop where malt was mashed to produce wort, the large filter pots for filtering spent grain to obtain clear wort, all the way to the innermost boiling room.
"Hops and yeast are added during the wort boiling process. Their proportions and selection are my family's secret recipe, Master? Master?"
Bergman, drinking as he spoke, suddenly noticed that Gromril's eyes were narrowed to slits, his head nodding, barely kept from falling by his guards.
Looking at Gromril, who had already passed out, Bergman felt a little melancholic.
"Youngsters with incomplete beards just can't hold their liquor! But it doesn't matter, as long as the Mother Goddess hears it. What if she thinks I've done well and bestows divine grace upon me too? Though preferably not the kind she gave Brokk of Zhufbar, my Bergman is full of vigor!"
Bergman quickly adjusted his mood, but unfortunately, he didn't know that this divine grace could only be obtained if Gromril was awake.
"Come, let's go to the back door, where I have my malt-sprouting greenhouse! For good beer, top-quality malt is essential..."
Gromril couldn't remember the rest of the conversation. When he woke up in the guest room, the first news he received was that it was dinner time.
He stumbled into the dining hall, where an even more lavish meal awaited him. This time, Gromril was directly forced to drink, and his already muddled consciousness completely succumbed.
The next morning, Gromril struggled through his ablutions, skipped breakfast, and immediately mounted his rock ram.
He had been so thoroughly plied with drinks by the enthusiastic tavern staff during the two meals the previous day that Gromril was horrified to find his little rock ram also swaying a bit when it walked, likely from some distiller's grains mixed into its feed.
Although Gromril couldn't keep up, the accompanying Dwarves were in high spirits, constantly praising the fine wine and food of the place.
The Eternal Hammers, traveling with the High King, were quite respected. Ordinary Iron Hammer Guard had never received such treatment before, and they all declared that this trip was well worth it.
Upon returning to Karak-Drazh, Gromril rested directly in his room until the day of departure. This time, the proportion of humans in the caravan had increased significantly.
After exiting the main gate of the fortress, the convoy arrived directly at Black Fire Pass. This was a place stained with blood since ancient times. Huge black cliffs stood like towers, with unnaturally straight edges.
Thousands of years ago, during the great earthquake that ushered in the Dwarves' Dark Age, massive volcanic eruptions tore through the Black Mountains, creating this pass.
The volcanic lava ripped open the surface, forming the unique topography here. The geographical importance of this pass was self-evident; it was a crucial stronghold against the Greenskins of the Badlands.
At the beginning of the Imperium of Man, the first Human Emperor Sigmar and the then-dwarf High King Kurgan Ironbeard led a combined Human and dwarf army at Black Fire Pass, defeating a massive army of Goblins and Greenskin orks and driving them east of the World's Edge Mountains.
In the 15th year of the Imperial calendar, Kurgan Ironbeard was overwhelmed and captured by a Greenskin horde during his travels in the Old World. Subsequently, Chief Sigmar, who received a call for help from nearby, led his forces to slaughter the orks and rescue him.
To express his gratitude, Kurgan gifted Sigmar his heirloom, the ghal-maraz, which means 'Skull-Splitter' in Dwarven, and signed a treaty of friendship and trade.
This battle was a testament to the alliance between Humans and Dwarves and ensured the survival of the nascent Imperium of Man.
Thereafter, countless battles between Humans, Dwarves, and Greenskins revolved around Black Fire Pass, the most recent being the Battle of Iron Gate a few months ago, which was the catalyst for Gromril's Crossing .
Having just gone through a major battle, Black Fire Pass was much quieter now. Gromril surveyed this place, which occupied a significant portion of both the dwarf book of grudges and Imperial history. He was filled with emotion, both for the mighty power of nature (or perhaps the Chaos Lords) and for the continuous struggle of his ancestors for survival.
After spending half a day passing through Black Fire Pass, Gromril and his caravan once again entered the dim underground network. Their next stop was Karak-Ankor, also known as Ironforge.
This was the first stop in the Black Mountains. Although Ironforge was not a large dwarf stronghold, it was still an important pillar of the Mountain Kingdom.
The integrity of the underground network here was much worse than that of the World's Edge Mountains. Judging by the scattered Goblins easily eradicated along the way, Ironforge's control over the surrounding areas was also relatively poor.
By the second day, Gromril, in order to allow the carriages to pass, had to lead his subordinates in clearing the collapsed sections of the underground network.
After an extra day of effort, the team finally arrived at Ironforge four days later.
The dwarf Lord stationed here, named Kilby Thundercloud, showed great enthusiasm for this annual caravan.
Through the relatively sparse dishes at the welcoming feast, Gromril understood that the living standards of the Dwarves here were relatively average.
"Welcome, honored Chosen of the Goddess! Hearing of the Mother Goddess's resurgence, every Son of the Mountains feels immensely invigorated!" This middle-aged dwarf, looking somewhat aged due to the dual pressures of life and warfare, delivered the opening speech for the banquet.
As the banquet drew to a close, Gromril and Lord Thundercloud sat on the dais, talking intimately.
"Has Gulu's Waaagh had a big impact here?" Gromril asked.
"Not bad, the news traveled all the way from Breezehold, and we timely sealed the fortress gates. Those damned Greenskins made one probing attack and then abandoned our stubborn stone to head for Black Fire Pass."
Lord Thundercloud took a sip of beer: "He truly lives up to his reputation as a rare Goblin Warboss; the proportion of dwarf-Goblins in his Waaagh is truly high. Looking down from the city walls, I almost thought it was a human wheat field!" Even today, he felt a lingering fear.
"Hahaha, your analogy is quite amusing. I haven't seen a human wheat field yet, but I've heard that blasting Goblins with cannons is as easy as harvesting wheat!" Gromril shifted the topic to weaponry.
"Indeed, when I was young, I saw them on the walls of Karak-Drazh. When dozens of those cannons unleashed their power simultaneously, what could dare to face their wrath?" Lord Thundercloud cooperatively continued the conversation.
"Yes, why didn't I see any here just now? Oh, I suppose they must be deployed at the main gate of the fortress." Gromril began to subtly lead the conversation, like any shrewd merchant.
"Grungni above! We here in Ankazhar don't have those things; all we have are ballistas and Grudge Throwers!" Lord Thundercloud slammed his beer mug down.
"How can that be?" Gromril was genuinely shocked this time. "My caravan even has a cannon!"
"Alas, for that, you'll have to ask King Arik Luferson of Karak-Heorn." Lord Thundercloud sighed.
Gromril knew Karak-Heorn, also called Hornburg, which was the most important dwarf stronghold in the Black Mountains and the next stop for his caravan.
"Arik, he's not even as old as I am, but somehow, he's even more conservative than our ancestors of this era!" Lord Thundercloud continued.
"Under his management, Hornburg has almost no place for Engineers! I want artillery, but there's nowhere to buy it."
Gromril wanted to know more about the Hornburg, but the Lord of Thundercloud was unwilling to talk much.
Gromril understood this. Due to its smaller size, Ironforge needed support from Hornburg in many aspects, from military to daily life. Even if the Lord of Thundercloud had some dissatisfied, he would not speak ill of his allies behind their backs.
"If you want cannons, I have a suggestion!" Gromril leaned in and whispered to the Lord of Thundercloud.
"It's not about buying them from Zhufbar, is it?" The Lord of Thundercloud also whispered back. "Arik's expulsion of the Engineers greatly offended our compatriots in Zhufbar, and we people of the Black Mountains are not very welcome there!"
"Of course not. To be honest, I just acquired a batch of firearms, including brand new Organ Guns and Iron Drake Handcannons!" Gromril said confidently.
"Are they authentic?" The Lord of Thundercloud was a bit uncertain.
"Absolutely genuine! Produced by the authentic Engineers Guild Headquarters in Zhufbar. Have you heard of 'mark of the craftsman'? The emblems of both the producer and the quality inspector are all there!" Gromril suddenly felt he had a talent for being a merchant.
"They are definitely not products from some unregistered small workshop!" He added.
"Can I try them out and see the effect?" The Lord of Thundercloud then asked, as purchasing cannons was no small expense for the relatively poor Ironforge.
"Of course, that's your right!" Gromril had no objection.
The next morning, on the front wall of Ironforge, Gromril stood with his three trusted men, Balin, Brim, and Tomi, along with several high-ranking officials from Ironforge.
In front of them was an Organ Gun, and a red circle had been drawn about two hundred meters in front of the city gate.
After receiving approval from Gromril and the Lord of Thundercloud, Brim adjusted the aiming device on his head, slightly corrected the barrel, and quickly loaded ammunition into all four barrels. Then, Brim lit the fuse from the touchhole.
With four muffled 'bang, bang, bang, bang!' sounds, the ground within the red circle looked as if it had been plowed.
"Well done!" Gromril praised Brim, patting his shoulder. The Organ Gun was less accurate than other cannons, and Brim's ability to hit the bullseye so beautifully was invaluable.
The group walked down from the city wall, observing the effects of the bombardment, and the dwarves of Ironforge nodded repeatedly.
"This Organ Gun is much more powerful than a catapult!"
"And unlike a ballista, it doesn't just do single-point damage. It should have no problem dealing with greenskins and rats!"
The dwarves were relatively simple, and they didn't hide their love for firearms. Hearing this, Gromril realized he could make his first sale!
"This is my cousin, and also my authorized trade representative. You can discuss prices and after-sales service with him!"
Gromril dropped this line and became a hands-off Boss. On one hand, it was out of trust for Sonia's son, and on the other, Gromril wanted to test Tomi's abilities.
By dinner time, Tomi, carrying a sack of gold coins, knocked on Gromril's door.
"One Organ Gun and five Iron Drake Handcannons, priced at five thousand gold coins, but including a ten-year warranty! If there's any problem, I'll go to Zhufbar to handle it for them."
Gromril was very satisfied with this price. He counted out a thousand coins as payment for Tomi's previous procurement, which also included potential future repair costs.
"What did you call them again?"
"Weapons!"
"Right, weapons. Selling weapons makes so much more money. Compared to this, selling handicrafts is just a pittance!" Tomi was delighted to have tasted success.
"Still young! These things are bought once and can be used for many years. How can they be a steady stream of income like daily necessities?" Gromril thought to himself but didn't say it aloud. Why dampen his cousin's spirits at this moment?
Karak-Ankor had nothing worth exploring, and its mineral resources couldn't be called rich. The caravan stayed here for two nights, absorbed some local dwarves, and then continued on its journey.
Their destination was Hornburg. This leg of the journey would take about five days, and the caravan would stay there for at least a week.
Gromril was not in a hurry. It was clear that Hornburg was powerful; the Geomantic Network along the way from Ironforge to Hornburg was noticeably better than previous sections, and no suspicious Skaven were found.
On the second night of the caravan's journey, Gromril planned to camp in an exhausted mine according to the original route map.
From a distance, Gromril, sitting on the back of a rock ram, saw a bonfire.
"Go ask if it's Hornburg's patrol!" He said to the Ranger beside him.
Gromril gestured for the caravan to stop. Two Rangers jogged forward and soon returned.
"A wandering compatriot!" the Rangers reported.
"Let's go. If there's no problem, we'll camp as planned!" Gromril gave the order.
Soon, the wagons formed a circle, the dwarves lit a bonfire, and set up cooking pots. After a long day of trekking, it was a reasonable choice to eat a hot meal and rest well in a safe situation.
Gromril dismounted from the rock ram and handed the reins to Johnson, telling him to feed it.
Suddenly, Gromril's body stiffened. He felt a power similar to his own—Rune Power—from the hooded, dust-covered wanderer, and the intensity of this power was not much weaker than his own.
"How is this possible! A formal Rune Smith would be treated with courtesy in any Mountain Stronghold. How could he be reduced to wandering around?" Gromril thought to himself. He didn't make a sound, but his right hand tightened around his warhammer, and his left hand gripped the iron chisel ring.
Gromril made a gesture behind his back. Captain Grenson, who had already sensed something was amiss, acted upon seeing this. He and the other Eternal Hammer Guards silently surrounded the wanderer.
"My dear compatriot, I am Rune Master Gromril-az Thorson, Chosen of the Goddess. You must be tired after a day's journey, aren't you? How about joining us for a meal? I have Bergman's fine brew here!" Gromril introduced himself and extended an invitation.
"So it is you! The biting cold winds in the Mountains have carried your name to my ears, a solitary man of the wilderness." The dwarf replied as he stood up.
"Don't be nervous, compatriots. I mean no harm. It is my honor to dine with the Chosen of the Goddess." He removed the hood of his cloak, revealing a weathered face. This was a dwarf in his prime.
He sat by Gromril's fire. "My name is Kalad-Stormwalker. As you can see, I am a wanderer, and of course, a self-proclaimed Rune Smith and Engineer."
The dwarf's tone was calm, as if he were stating something very ordinary, but even the well-traveled Eternal Hammer Guards' mouths were agape, wide enough to fit a Goblin.