After the anvils of doom were forged, the Ancestor Gods fairly distributed them among various Clans located in different strongholds.
As a Clan descended from the Age of Ancestors, the Drazklad Clan naturally received an Anvil, which is currently in the possession of Master Iron Chisel.
"You know, Gromril, I'm currently using our Clan's Anvil, and the workshop's production cannot do without it…" Master Iron Chisel was about to explain further when Gromril interrupted him.
"I understand, Uncle Iron Chisel, your experience and wisdom far surpass mine, and I fully support you in wielding the Clan's anvil of doom!"
The Elders present all praised Gromril for his sensible actions, but Master Iron Chisel still seemed uneasy that the Chosen of the Goddess had no Anvil to use.
"Our Rune Smith Guild, with Thurni's care, originally received three during the initial distribution, but over the past several millennia, two have been lost due to accidents involving the Masters who wielded them at the time. These matters are recorded in the Guild's book of grudges."
Although Gromril had expressed understanding, Master Iron Chisel continued to speak unprompted.
"Of course, I estimate that Master Krag might still have one or two in his private collection. Although he has rarely moved with the army in these years, battles he participated in have basically achieved victory, but you know, his power is enough to change the course of the battle."
The old dwarf took a breath, "But his stubborn temper is no less than his power. If you ask me, it's better to try searching in the lost Mountain Stronghold than trying to get one from him!"
Master Iron Chisel took a sip of beer and continued: "Every meeting, Master Krag complains about the two lost Anvils from back then. Sigh, let's not even mention it!"
"So, where did Master Molten's anvil of doom come from?" Thinking that Master Molten came from a small Clan, Gromril couldn't help but ask.
"Don't rush, child, let me tell you slowly," Master Iron Chisel took another sip of beer. "His Anvil was exchanged from the Angrund Clan!" Hearing this, apart from a shocked Gromril, the other Elders had varying expressions.
The oldest, Great Grandpa Dorson and Grandma Krazrin-dor, looked regretful and sorrowful, while the three fathers mostly had cold sneers on their faces.
"The Angrund Clan that once ruled Karak-Eight-Peaks?" Gromril asked uncertainly. He vaguely remembered that the Dwarf legendary lord Belegar Ironhammer in the game always shouted, "For the glory of the Angrund Clan!"
"Is there a second Angrund Clan in the world?" Master Iron Chisel sighed, "Who would have thought that a once powerful Clan would fall to the point of selling off ancestral treasures to raise military funds?"
"Military funds? You call that military funds?" Before he finished speaking, Uncle Longhammer shouted:
"That's clearly money to buy the lives of our Clansmen!" His emotions seemed a bit agitated.
"How many compatriots are buried in foreign lands because of this! Is that what they call reclaiming their homeland? That's clearly suicide! Thousands of people trying to retake Karak-Eight-Peaks, do they look down on the Ancestors' skill in building fortresses or do they look down on the mountains and valleys full of greenskins?"
"Regardless, trying to reclaim the lost Mountain Stronghold is a good thing…" Grandma Krazrin-dor tried to defend the Angrund Clan, which also represented the attitude of a large number of older dwarves. "That's because it's not your brother who died!" Longhammer roared.
"Enough!" Thorgrim frowned and spoke in a low voice, "Klim, if you're tired, go back and rest."
Longhammer knew he had said the wrong thing. He drained the beer in his mug and slammed the mug onto the table with a "bang." Gromril vaguely saw his eyes moisten.
"Let me continue," Master Iron Chisel smoothed things over.
"Durin exchanged a superb ancestral weapon from his own Clan, his own famous work, plus a large sum of oath gold for that Anvil. It had been a long time since I'd seen an anvil of doom preserved so perfectly. If we had known this day would come, we should have made a move!"
Master Iron Chisel spoke quickly, wanting to end the topic as soon as possible.
Although the rarity of the anvil of doom is comparable to legendary weapons, its value is far less than the latter due to its applicability. Many adventurers from other races often ventured into lost Dwarf strongholds, and they also brought out anvils of doom, attempting to exchange them for treasures from the dwarves.
However, some of these recovered Anvils were damaged due to improper storage and disrepair over the years. Others were even deliberately destroyed by Chaos races; while they couldn't harm the material of the anvil of doom itself, they could grind away the runes inscribed on it. Since extensively repairing them was necessary for reuse, and some were even irreparable, their value was not too high.
However, the Anvil held by the Angrund Clan was different; it had been meticulously maintained since it was transported out of Karak-Eight-Peaks. It was only put up for trade because the Clan had not produced a Rune Master qualified to wield it for too long, thus fetching a higher price.
"Let's leave the matter of the anvil of doom for now; we'll figure something out ourselves later!" Thorgrim signaled to end the discussion on this topic.
"Last item, let's discuss Gromril's personal guard! What was it called? Hammer…"
"Anvil Guard!"
"Right, Anvil Guard, how do we go about this? Last night at the tavern, several Clan Chiefs with close ties to our Clan brought this up to me. They suggested they could provide both men and equipment."
"Hahaha, it seems our little Gromril's golden reputation as the Chosen of the Goddess is quite attractive!" Master Iron Chisel laughed happily.
"The Clan's efforts to promote it through various channels weren't in vain. Those fellows drinking our beer can't help but say good things!" Aunt Sonia added.
Hearing this, Gromril was stunned. He only then realized that his rather chuunibyou nickname, Chosen of the Goddess, was deliberately spread by the Clan.
"They all feel that following Gromril is a great honor, and besides gaining honor, they might also gain the attention of the Ancestor Goddess," Thorgrim continued.
"But we must pick the personnel carefully! Don't let any guys weaker than Pointy-ears get in! If they're too weak to move under the weight of meteorite iron equipment, it's our people who will be shamed!" Uncle Longhammer interjected.
"Last night, many Clansmen also came to me, some with long beards and some with little dwarf, all asking when Gromril would form the Anvil Guard! Fighting under the gaze of the Ancestor Goddess is such an honorable thing, we can't let other Clans get all the benefits."
"Is the Anvil Guard, like the Ironbreaker, a team of eighty?" The oldest, Great Grandpa Dorson, looked at Master Iron Chisel.
"That's right, all three of us are assigned that number!"
"Then how about forty from friendly Clans, and forty from our own Drazklad Clan? In the Ancestors' teachings, when it truly comes to the battlefield, blood of the same origin is the most reliable!" The dwarves present all agreed with this mature sentiment.
"No time to lose, I'll go announce this news to the clan right away! I must carefully vet the people; if something like last time happens again, I might as well take a trip to Karak Kadrin!" Uncle Longhammer said, getting ready to leave his seat.
"While time is as precious as gold in a treasure vault, you don't need to rush this much!" Master Iron Chisel stopped him.
"First, lend half of my Anvil Guard to Gromril for emergencies! How could the Chosen of the Goddess go out with only one attendant by his side?"
"Anyway, I have no plans to explore outside anytime soon, and the guards are just idle staying with me in the Mountain Stronghold! It breaks my heart to see them gather together every day, drinking on the clock."
"Alright, all three matters have been discussed, let's adjourn the meeting! The ale I drank yesterday made me quite dizzy!" Thorgrim said, looking at the notebook in front of him.
"Hey, child, you forgot one important thing! What about the banquet?" Grandmother Krazrin-dor reminded him.
"Look at my memory! It's all those scoundrels' fault; even if it's free, they shouldn't just waste it! Don't they know that frugality itself is a treasure passed down by the Ancestor Gods?"
Taking a sip of the clear water the guard brought, Thorgrim straightened his face and sat up straight. "Everyone, I plan to host this banquet as the High King. What do you all think?"
Thorgrim Grudgebearer currently holds four identities: head of his own family, clan Chief of the Drazklad Clan, Lord of the fortress Karaz-A-Karak, and High King of the Mountains Kingdom.
"I think it's a good idea!" Great Grandpa Dorson was the first to agree.
"Since the Dark Ages, the Ancestor Gods have not shown any miracles. At my advanced age, I sometimes wonder if the Ancestor Gods have truly abandoned us, let alone young little dwarf! They all lack respect for the Ancestor Gods! Now, with Gromril, the Chosen of the Goddess, appearing to speak for himself, I believe it will enhance our race's cohesion!"
Speaking such a long passage was a bit of a burden for an old dwarf like Great Grandpa Dorson. He paused before continuing, "If you ask me, this is more important than any youngest Rune Master!"
"Hmm, I agree too," Longhammer's voice rang out.
"With all due respect, ever since you, my brother, ascended to the throne, while many grudges have been settled, many new ones have also arisen! The Clansmen's satisfaction still needs improvement, and I'm tired of hearing some Longbeard Warriors grumbling! It's rare to have such an inspiring event, I think it's worth celebrating grandly!"
"It should be a grand celebration!" Grandmother Krazrin-dor nodded.
"In that great war a hundred years ago, our clan suffered heavy losses. Although Thorgrim, you returned in time to inherit the throne, and the clan has flourished in recent years, there are still some ignorant fellows who question our current status!"
"It's time to use a grand banquet to tell them that the young generation of our clan has grown up, and the Drazklad Clan is still the king that has ruled Everpeak for thousands of years!"
The last to speak was Sonia, who was in charge of production.
"Since you've all said so much, I can't be the bad guy! But don't blame me for not reminding your brother, that fat goblin, its waaaagh has impacted both trade and production. Many goods are out of stock in the market, and the cost of the banquet won't be small.
Last night it was easy for you to be generous, but this morning I woke up shocked by the bill! Anyone who didn't know would think an entire tribe of trolls had invaded the tavern!"
Although the cost of a banquet was not even a drop in the bucket compared to the endless wealth accumulated by the clan since the time of the Ancestor Gods, the inherent love for wealth among the dwarves would not change because of it.
The banquet was scheduled for the following evening. During this free time, Gromril decided to first tidy up his new residence. Since becoming a Rune Master, he no longer had to live in the prince's room; the clan had arranged an empty courtyard with a forge in the residential area for him.
The courtyard had three sections: the outermost was the guards' quarters, inside were his and his attendants' quarters, and the innermost was the forge connected to the underground fire.
Upon arriving at the entrance, he found a team of iron-clad warriors already standing there, though they looked a bit wobbly.
Seeing Gromril approach, the leader, a vigorous Longbeard Warrior, stepped forward and bowed.
"Good afternoon, respected Chosen of the Goddess! I am Johnson Strongshield, deputy captain of the Iron Chisel Guard."
Seeing Gromril's displeased expression, and then looking back at his teammates who were still swaying despite supporting each other, a hint of gloom also appeared on his face.
"Attention!"
Strongshield roared at the other dwarves, his huge voice like thunder, startling Gromril. The dwarves in the surrounding residences also poked their heads out. Gromril secretly thought that this warrior must have put skill points into 'bagpipe lung capacity'.
The drowsy team was startled and barely managed to pull themselves together.
"My sincerest apologies, respected Chosen of the Goddess, for making you witness this. Thanks to you and the generosity of His Majesty the High King, these fellows all spent the night in the tavern yesterday. Under normal circumstances, we are a strong enough team; our brothers' axes and shields can handle all enemies!"
Given that these forty individuals were a team borrowed from Master Iron Chisel, Gromril didn't say anything harsh. He nodded, "Hmm, it's good to rest when there's nothing to do, but when there's a mission, you must be serious."
However, he secretly made a mental note of the loud-voiced captain, Johnson; this dwarf seemed reliable and useful!
After arranging living quarters for the Anvil Guard, Gromril and Balin together set up their own rooms.
Afterward, Gromril entered the forge with the ring given by Master Iron Chisel and his Master-level Flight Rune. After some time, he successfully transferred the rune to the ring's surface. Gromril looked at the heavy ring on his left middle finger, with its faintly visible 'W' shaped symbol, and smiled with satisfaction.
This was the first exquisite-quality equipment he had obtained since his transmigration. Out of gratitude to Master Iron Chisel, he decided to name it "iron chisel ring."
He fell asleep wearing the ring, and the next morning Gromril was woken up by Balin. Walking into the living room, he found Sonia sitting with her legs crossed, sipping an unknown beverage.
"Good morning, Sonia, how did you wake up so early?" Sonia smiled and raised the cup in her hand. "This stuff! Our human friends call it coffee. With it, it's hard to fall asleep! Before, staying up late doing accounts with ale only made me more confused, but now my work efficiency has improved a lot! You don't like alcohol much, do you? So I brought some for you to try!"
While Balin prepared the coffee, Gromril chatted with Sonia for a few moments as he drank.
"I'm here for something important!" Sonia wasted no time and got straight to the point. "Yesterday, Aurem did an inventory and found that we're still short a few sets of meteorite iron equipment. I'm going to the Blacksmiths' Guild to procure them. Don't you also need to custom-make a hammer? Let's go together, and I can pay for both at once!"
Gromril nodded. He stood up and called out to the guards outside. Soon, five Anvil Guards, who were in their daily training, came out. They, along with the four escorts Sonia brought, protected the aunt and nephew as they left the clan settlement.
Because it also required underground magma as a heat source, the Blacksmiths' Guild, like the Rune Smith Guild, was located in the lower levels of the Mountain Stronghold.
Through winding corridors and descending elevators, the group gradually went deeper. As the temperature steadily rose and the clanging of forging hammers on steel became clearer, Gromril knew the Blacksmiths' Guild was almost there.
Soon, the view suddenly opened up, and Gromril saw a building even grander than the Rune Smith Guild hall and his own clan's hall.
On both sides of the main entrance still stood two giant statues. On the left was Grungni, the Father God who presided over mining and forging, and on the right was Stadhammer, the God of Ore Forging, the son of him and Mother Goddess Valaya.
The statue of Grungni was not armored; he was bare-chested, roaring to the sky, his right hand wielding a forging hammer, and his left hand holding a pair of iron tongs. The statue of Stadhammer was in a squatting position, appearing to be pulling the bellows for his father.
Engraved on the arched doorway of the guild was the symbol of blacksmiths—crossed forging hammers and iron tongs. According to ancient legend, this symbol was personally designed and engraved by Grungni, containing infinite divine power.
Walking through the main entrance, Gromril found that the layout of the hall was quite similar to that of the Rune Smith Guild, both fanning out from a central magma vent.
Compared to the Rune Smith Guild, the number of dwarves working here was several times greater, with almost no idle forging stations. Sonia ignored the shouts of blacksmiths along the way trying to drum up business. She led the group directly to a workshop with a stone armor emblem printed on its door.
The young apprentice who was drumming up business at the workshop entrance saw Sonia approaching and shouted into the room: "Master! Master! Someone from the clan is here!"
"Coming, coming!" Accompanied by clanging sounds, a middle-aged Dwarf, shirtless and wearing an apron, walked out. His face was flushed red by the furnace fire, and as he walked, he shook water droplets from his hands, apparently having just washed his face before coming out.
"It's you, Sonia, an old acquaintance! Come in and have a seat!" As he spoke, his gaze fell on Gromril, who was behind Sonia, and then his eyes focused on the emblem on Gromril's chest.
"This must be, this must be the Chosen of the Goddess, as rumored?" The Dwarf asked uncertainly. After receiving an affirmative reply, he paused before exclaiming:
"Grungni taught us that to achieve great things, one must start as soon as one grows a beard," he paused, "How many people haven't even started, and you already have such high achievements! Respected Chosen of the Goddess, your arrival makes my humble workshop shine! What can I…"
"I say, brother Firebrow, if you put your speaking skills into blacksmithing, you would have been elected Vice President of the Guild long ago!" Aunt Sonia's sharp tongue was on full display.
She turned to Gromril, "This is a Rune Master trained by our clan. Although he has some real skill, he can't settle down. The clan pulled strings for him twice, but he wasn't elected Vice President of the Blacksmiths' Guild, wasting a lot of resources! All the standard equipment for the clan is produced by him. Get to know him; if you plan to form your own army in the future, you'll definitely need to find him!"
Sonia rattled on and on. Her talkativeness was not only rare among female dwarves, but even including the grumbling male dwarves, she would still rank among the top. No wonder she had the nickname 'Eloquent One'.
"I got carried away with nonsense, almost forgot the main business! The clan needs to form an Anvil Guard for Gromril, and they're short of ten sets of meteorite iron equipment. Please expedite this for us!"
"No problem, no problem. For our own clan's business, I'll definitely put it in the fast lane. Ten sets of excellent meteorite iron, you two can rest assured!" Master Firebrow repeatedly agreed.
Seeing this, Sonia nodded in satisfaction, "Hmm, same old rules, the bill will be settled at the end of the year. You go get to work now, we have other matters and won't bother you anymore!" The group left the workshop with Master Firebrow's shouts of "Apprentices, light the furnace! We have an urgent job!" echoing in their ears, and continued deeper into the hall.
After passing several independent workshops of Rune Masters, Gromril finally gained a deeper understanding of the prosperity of the Blacksmiths' Guild.
Sonia stopped in front of the innermost workshop, "Please inform them that people from the Drazklad Clan wish to see them!" she said to the greeter sitting at the entrance.
Gromril judged from the calluses on his hands and his steady gait that this greeter Dwarf sitting at the entrance should also be a skilled official blacksmith.
The Drazklad Clan had ruled Everpeak for thousands of years, so they certainly wouldn't be turned away. Sonia's action was more out of respect for the workshop owner. Soon, the greeter came out: "The Master invites you in, Lady, but the escorts please remain outside!"
Gromril followed Sonia in with large strides. Seeing Gromril's black beard, which only reached his chest, the greeter initially mistook him for an escort and prepared to block him, but when his gaze shifted to the emblem on Gromril's chest, even this greeter, who could be said to have seen countless people, couldn't help but stare blankly.
Inside the door was a corridor, and the walls of the corridor had many display windows carved into them, showcasing various weapons and equipment. Some were marked with prices, while others noted 'Customized for [clan Name]'. Through the prices of dozens or hundreds, Gromril judged that these numbers referred not to ordinary gold coins but to Oathgold. This meant that these equipment pieces were at least rare-grade treasures.
Through the corridor was a forging room, where about ten dwarves were busy. "Master Shatter Anvil, I've brought them!" the greeter said to an old dwarf sitting in the corner.
"Sonia, it's been a while since we last met. Who was it you came for last time? Grim? To forge a warhammer!"
"It was Grom, Master!" Aunt Sonia reminded him respectfully, "I've come this time to…"
"I know, I know!" The old dwarf interrupted her, lit his pipe, and took a puff. "Don't think that just because I'm old, I'm out of touch with the world! This time, you must be here to forge equipment for the Chosen of the Goddess behind you—Master Gromril, right?" Hearing the old dwarf call him, Gromril stepped forward and bowed.
Seeing this, the old dwarf knocked his pipe and stood up from his chair, returning the bow. The light of the forging room shone on his face, and Gromril felt that his aura was somewhat similar to Master Krag's, but his personality was clearly much gentler.
Master Shatter Anvil seemed to have shrunk in stature due to his age. He looked up at Gromril and said, "Chosen of the Ancestor Goddess, the youngest Rune Master, your name has almost worn calluses on my ears these past two days!"
"I've heard a saying from the Land of the Dead, south of the Mountains' Kingdom—'The back waves of the Great Ming River always push the front waves forward, just as successors always surpass their predecessors.'
I used to think that only applied to short-lived races like humans, who turn to dust before they can accumulate experience. But I don't think that anymore! At your age, I was still learning from my master how to smelt meteorite iron!"
Upon hearing this, Gromril quickly offered a few humble words, attributing all the credit to the Ancestor Goddess, but Master Shatter Anvil remained noncommittal. In his view, Gromril must have had exceptional qualities to earn the Goddess's favor.
"This is Master Shatter Anvil, the head of the Blacksmiths' Guild, and the most skilled Blacksmith in our Kingdom, the best Blacksmith you'll find in this world!" Sonia introduced the old dwarf to Gromril.
"Since he became a master, he has forged no less than three legendary weapons, and countless exquisite weapons!" Just as Sonia was about to continue recounting the old dwarf's achievements, Master Shatter Anvil spoke:
"Don't say that, little girl. The creation of exquisite and even legendary quality equipment also owes much to the hard work of our colleagues in the Rune Smith Guild. How can you credit it all to me? Let's get to the point! Master Gromril doesn't have time to chat with an old man like me, who's almost ready to report to the Ancestor Gods!"
Besides his superb skill, the rare humility displayed by Master Shatter Anvil filled Gromril with admiration.
"Tell me your requirements, my child. Do you want a standard weapon or a custom one?"
"I'd like a custom one, Master!" Gromril replied.
"Of course, if you didn't need a custom one, you could just go to that boy Firebrow. How could the Drazklad Clan of Everpeak not have a Master Blacksmith?"
Then, Master Shatter Anvil called out to the busy dwarves in the workshop: "Stop what you're doing! Lads, bring me the measuring tapes and the custom order form!"
Soon, one Dwarf handed a form to Master Shatter Anvil, while two other dwarves, holding tape measures, began to take Gromril's body measurements.
Gromril watched as the dwarves measured him from his height to his waist, then his shoulder width, and so on, and couldn't help but ask: "Master, for a custom hammer, isn't it enough to measure just the arm and hand? Why measure so much?"
"Hahaha!" Master Shatter Anvil laughed happily, "Every time there's a fortress council meeting, I suggest that besides Miners' apprenticeships, children should also come to the Blacksmiths' workshop to observe and learn. Manufacturing equipment is not as simple as you think!"
He took another puff from his pipe, "Think about it, when you swing a hammer, you can't rely solely on arm strength! That might be enough for nailing, but it's far from enough to smash a greenskin!
You must integrate your waist and stance, engaging the muscle groups of your entire body in the strike. This requires the coordinated effort of your feet, legs, hips, waist, and shoulders. A weapon is an extension of your arm, and to wield it as nimbly as your own limb, it must have a counterweight that suits your entire body!"
Listening to Master Shatter Anvil's explanation, Gromril nodded repeatedly, impressed by the Master's professionalism.
The two dwarves responsible for the measurements were quick. In no time, they reported Gromril's various body data to Master Shatter Anvil. The Master pulled out a monocle from his desk drawer, put it on, and began to rapidly record on the form with a charcoal pencil.
"The handle size and overall weight, should they be as I calculated?"
"Naturally, Master. I have no doubt in your experience!"
"What shape do you want for the hammerhead? Round-head hammer, claw hammer, cone-head hammer, or octagon hammer?"
Gromril pondered for a moment, "Do you have any recommendations?"
"A round-head hammer has even weight distribution, making it easier to swing; a claw hammer can smash with its front, and its pointed back has better armor-piercing effects; a cone-head hammer is also used by many, one strike and the rags on greenskins and Skaven can't withstand it; an octagon hammer, well, that's the most traditional choice!"
"An octagon hammer!" Thinking of Thor's Hammer from Marvel, Gromril made his decision.
"Hmm, any requirements for the quenching process?" Master Shatter Anvil made a few more notes and then asked,
"Heat treatment methods can all be customized?" Gromril asked in surprise,
"Of course, that's a specialty here! Specific quenching mediums and methods help improve a weapon's hardness, strength, and even durability, and can also add some special effects."
"What options are available?"
"Hmm, my memory isn't what it used to be, let me see," the old dwarf said, twirling the charcoal pencil in his hand, as he pulled out another list from the drawer.
"Our common ones fall into several major categories: firstly, the blood of powerful individuals from various races. Weapons quenched with these can cause additional damage to specific races. This process is very suitable for weapons forged to settle grudges against particular races.
We have the blood of Dark Elves warlords, the green blood of Orc Warlords, the corrupted demonic blood of Chaos Champions, the dirty blood of rat chieftains—basically, anything you can think of, I have here! Oh, and if you can afford the price… "
At this, the old dwarf gave a mischievous grin, "Deepest in our Guild's vault, there's a true treasure: the blood of the Pointy-ears' Phoenix King—Caledor II! How about that? A weapon quenched with that, simply calling it 'Elf Slayer' would be quite fitting, I think!"
Gromril recalled the hatred between dwarves and Elves in his memory. Having not been chosen as Phoenix King after his father's death, Malekith, the son of the first Phoenix King Aenarion, murdered the second Phoenix King Bel-Hathor and split the Elven race. He and his followers, known as Dark Elves, engaged in civil war with the High Elves.
The two Phoenix Kings after the second Phoenix King both came from the Dragon Kingdom of Caledor; they were the grandson and great-grandson of the High Elves Archmage and Dragon Tamer Caledor, mentioned earlier. This father and son were skilled warriors, and more importantly, the Dragons had not yet fallen into slumber due to climate change at that time.
Therefore, the Dragon Prince cavalry of the High Elves back then were incomparable to the laughable figures of later generations who rode Elven warhorses painted with dragon patterns; each of them rode a true Dragon. Facing hordes of Dragons, Malekith and his forces, no matter how bloodthirsty and skilled in battle, could only retreat steadily.
To turn the tide, he resorted to deception by sending small detachments disguised as High Elves to attack Dwarf merchant caravans and plunder Dwarf supplies, thereby creating discord.
Regarding such a scheme, the fourth Phoenix King, Caledor II, due to his overly arrogant nature, disdained communication. He ordered the beard of the envoy sent by the then Dwarf High King, Gotrek Starbreaker, to seek an explanation, to be cut off. This was a great insult to the dwarves, thus igniting a prolonged war between the Elves and dwarves.
Both races suffered immense losses in the war. Caledor II slew Gotrek's son, and the dwarves subsequently killed Caledor II's son and brother.
The war finally ended with Gotrek Starbreaker slaying Caledor II in a duel. To this day, the phoenix crown, blessed by the Elven Gods, is still kept in the treasury of Karaz-A-Karak.
Facing the Master of Broken Anvils' mischievous suggestion to quench the hammer with the Phoenix King's blood, Gromril, who harbored the idea of uniting most of the Order races to jointly resist the Chaos invasion, obviously could not agree. What if he were to parade around with such an "Elf Slayer"?
"Uh, let's choose a different quenching option!" Gromril replied.
"Dragon blood is also a widely chosen quenching material. Compared to the blood of powerful individuals from other races, which is only effective against specific races, dragon blood has a much broader application range. It has a certain intimidating effect on most monsters and lower-intelligence creatures in this world.
Of course, I've heard some explorers say that there are terrifying creatures in the jungles of Lustria that can tear dragons apart. I can't say if it would work on them!
I have the finest Star Dragon blood here, but I heard your Guild still has some of Drakhyrion's blood. If you can get that, I guarantee I'll forge it into a legendary weapon embryo for you!"
"By Grungni! If I could get such a holy relic, wouldn't it be better to just exchange it for a legendary war hammer? But dragon blood sounds good!" Gromril nodded, "Are there any other options?"
The Master of Broken Anvils was not impatient. He continued to explain:
"Ordinary water, I presume the esteemed Chosen of the Goddess wouldn't be interested in that? Almost no customers who customize here choose that option!" After receiving Gromril's affirmative reply, the Master continued:
"Then what's left are various elemental liquid condensates. These things, when melted and diluted, can also imbue weapons with additional effects when quenched. However, there's one problem: most of these raw materials are unique, and I can only roughly infer the specific effects they might bring based on their properties."
The Master paused, took another puff from his pipe, "Many materials are discovered by adventurers who might not even be able to explain where they came from or how they were produced, let alone those that have passed through many hands. It purely depends on how the merchants in between spin their tales. Therefore, based on my experience, I can't judge the specific function of the finished product; I can only proceed with the quenching operation as usual."
Gromril nodded repeatedly upon hearing this. Compared to various bloods, elemental condensates were more to his liking. "I think elemental condensates are better. What kinds of elements are there?"
The Master of Broken Anvils pondered for a moment, "There are many that I'm not sure about, so I won't tell you about them! Look at my beard; going to the halls of the Ancestor Gods is only a matter of years now. If I create some strange effects for your weapon, and you complain about this old man to the Mother Goddess, then I'd be in trouble!"
The Master of Broken Anvils saw the other dwarves amused by his witty remark and also showed a satisfied smile. "Back to the main topic, I recommend the effects of burning, severe cold, and increased weight. I've done these many times before, so I have rich experience and full confidence."
Before Gromril could make a choice, a Dwarf nearby reminded him, "Master, did you forget that a Ranger just brought in some plasma the day before yesterday?"
"Ah ha, right, I can also give it a paralyzing effect!" The Master of Broken Anvils said, "The fresher the material, the less energy is lost, and the better the effect. How about it?"
Gromril's heart lightened when he heard this, and he decisively nodded in agreement. The Master of Broken Anvils made a few more notes and began the next customization item.
"Are there any requirements for the engraved patterns?" Gromril thought of his identity as the Chosen of the Goddess, and then of the clan that had given him so much help. He decided to engrave the Ancestor Goddess's head on one side and the clan's stone armor mark on the other.
"Respecting tradition is a good thing! You're much more reliable than some of these little dwarf nowadays! Some of the things they talk about, I don't even know what they look like!" The Master of Broken Anvils praised.
After the Master gestured, a Dwarf nearby immediately began designing the two patterns Gromril had described on paper.
"Hmm, accessories, next are accessories. We have collaborations with the best craft shops in the city. If you need anything, just say so, and my apprentice will determine the size." Gromril shook his head, believing that weapons were better plain and didn't need any accessories.
The Master turned the form to the back.
"Let me see what's next, Runes, hmm. We cooperate with Rune Masters Iron Chisel and Molten from the Rune Smith Guild. Both of them are highly respected Rune Masters and can provide the engraving of most conventional Runes.
If there are special requirements, our workshop can even send it to Karak Kadrin to ask Master Thorek Ironbrow to make a move, but this would take more time and cost more." The Master of Broken Anvils rattled off a long passage.
"Master, I don't think I need additional Rune engraving services." The Master of Broken Anvils' face, with his monocle, emerged from behind the form. He paused for a moment and then slapped his forehead.
"Look, look, I've customized too much equipment according to this list. I've memorized the contents but haven't thought it through. How can there be a Rune Master who commissions others to engrave Runes?" Gromril also laughed at his words.
"Runes, customer to handle themselves," the Master of Broken Anvils crossed out this section, "Finally, delivery method, hmm, you are a local Dwarf, so there's no need to ask about this either! It must be self-pickup!" After writing a few final strokes, the Master of Broken Anvils flipped the list back to the front.
"Let's calculate the price!" The Master turned to Aunt Sonia. "Basic fee 20 Oathgold, plasma adds 5, that's a rare item, and the patterns, that'll be 200 gold coins. It's quite difficult to process these things on meteorite iron! Thank you for your business!"
"Is there a discount?" Aunt Sonia smiled slyly, "This is the Chosen of the Ancestor Goddess; him carrying a weapon produced by you is a living advertisement!"
The Master of Broken Anvils twitched his beard: "The God of Wealth has blessed you with that clever tongue, madam! But what you said is indeed true." The Master pondered for a moment.
"Hmm, then let's round off the odd amount and give a discount! Let's make it just 20 Oathgold, provided you allow me to engrave my name and emblem on the hammer!"
Gromril had no objection, and Aunt Sonia took out a pouch of Oathgold from her bosom and paid the bill. "When can it be delivered? Please expedite it for us, Master Gromril is waiting to use it!"
"No problem, no problem, let me see the work schedule!" The Master of Broken Anvils readily agreed, he called for an apprentice to bring a leather folder, which contained many lists.
"Let me see, the one on the workbench now will take three more days, the next one is, a pair of chain axes..."
"Master, this cannot be delayed. This was custom-ordered by the Butcher King of Karak Kadrin. The heavy snow will block the mountain roads in a few days. If it's not forged before the last caravan heading north this year departs, the customer won't receive the goods!" the apprentice who brought the work schedule reminded.
"That's true," the Master nodded.
"The next item, the next item is not urgent, so let's put the war hammer after the chain axes. Let's speed things up, a month should be fine, right? Afterwards, I'll give you a few days off!"
The Master wrote "Payment received, to be delivered in one month" on the list, then tore it off, handed the imprinted copy on the back to Aunt Sonia, and placed the original in the work schedule.
"Come back in a month to pick it up!" the Master said.
"Chain axe, Slayer King..."
Aunt Sonia turned to leave but found Gromril hadn't moved, instead muttering something in a daze.
"Why aren't you leaving? What are you waiting for? Don't worry about the weapon; just come get it in a month. Oathgold won't fall from the sky, and I have to get ready for the evening's banquet!"
"Oh, you go ahead, Aunt Sonia. I was just thinking about the Slayer King," Gromril replied. He had just recalled the legendary Dwarf Lord from the game, with his towering orange hair and massive axe.
He was probably the third most powerful Dwarf in the mortal world! But why would he order a chain axe? Wasn't the legendary Axe of Dargo enough?
"How strange!" Aunt Sonia shook her head, muttering as she left the workshop. She had a lot to do to prepare for the banquet!
"Hahaha, relax, my boy. When I was your age, I also admired the strong and dreamed of becoming one of them, fighting all sorts of powerful monsters in the Mountains. And if I could save a few young ladies along the way, even better!"
Master Grudgebearer sat down, tapped his pipe, and chuckled happily. However, he had clearly misunderstood Gromril.
"But later, I realized that supporting them by producing and maintaining their weapons and equipment from the rear is also a form of support, isn't it? The Ancestors taught well—even the most glittering gold cannot replace the utility of pig iron!
You have the Ancestor Goddess's divine grace, and you've become a Rune Master at such a young age. Your name will surely become part of an epic, passed down through generations! Perhaps even your hammer and I, who forged it, hahaha!"
Master Grudgebearer genuinely advised this promising young junior, but he didn't quite hit the mark.
"Why did the Slayer King order these chain axes? Doesn't he have the ancestral Axe of Dargo?" Gromril still voiced his doubt.
"Let me see," Master Grudgebearer pulled out an order form. "Hmm, judging by the surname, he ordered it for his son. That Prince isn't much older than you."
"The Slayer King has a son?" Gromril asked again.
Master Grudgebearer glanced at the forge. "Well, it'll take some time for the furnace to reach the right temperature after being relit. Since you're so interested, why don't I tell you the story of Agrimm Ironfist? He has some connections with your family and me."
Gromril nodded. He truly wanted to learn the story of this warlike Dwarf King to lay the groundwork for a highly probable future encounter.
Master Grudgebearer's apprentice brought Gromril a chair and two mugs of beer, then refilled the Master's pipe with fresh tobacco. The Master's story began.
"Agrimm Ironfist, he's about the same age as your father, the High King. His legendary experiences also begin with the bloody war against Chaos a hundred years ago." The Master's gaze gradually unfocused as he fell into his memories.
"Agrimm's father, the previous Slayer King, found an honorable death in that battle, killing more Chaos scum than all other warriors combined. As the army returned, Agrimm received news of his father's fulfillment of the Slayer Oath and was successfully crowned the new King of Karak Kadrin.
Not long after he took the Slayer Oath and completed the Slayer ritual, High King Auricsson passed away. News reached Butcher Keep that a new High King would be chosen within a year through a competition of contributions.
As the Lord of the strongest fortress in the north, Agrimm undoubtedly had the qualifications to participate. However, the elders of his clan all refused to support his participation. They didn't want to lose another Slayer King so soon, especially since he had no heirs at the time."
The Master took a sip of beer to clear his throat: "Agrimm considered this a slight and an insult. He became enraged. He removed the symbol of Karak Kadrin's throne—the legendary Slayer King's Crown—and plunged alone into the vast snow.
At that time, a tribe of Giants occupied the passage connecting Karak Kadrin to the south and constantly harassed the fortress and trade caravans, greatly impacting the Clansmen's lives and production.
Agrimm traveled all the way to the valley where this tribe resided. Wielding his axe, he cut down every Giant who dared to face him, leaving a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood in his wake until he reached the Giant King. That was a big one; it was half again as tall as an ordinary brute. The Slayer King, even with his hair crest, only reached its ankle."
The old dwarf puffed out a cloud of smoke, and Gromril listened intently.
"They engaged in a one-on-one battle. Agrimm's resounding war cry and the Giant King's roar echoed throughout the entire Northern Mountains! They fought from the foot of the mountain all the way to the peak, and their roars and the aftermath of their battle triggered an avalanche!
The snow buried everything. The dwarves of Kadrin heard the news and came looking for their King. They descended along the cliff, and halfway down, they saw the legendary Axe of Dargo stuck in a rock crevice. These dwarves didn't give up hope, and although they were prepared to take the Slayer Oath, they continued their search downwards."
"What do you think they saw in the mountain gorge?" Master Grudgebearer asked. Gromril shook his head.
"They saw Agrimm sitting on a head larger than himself, drinking! The Giant King's head was covered in indentations from punches, and Agrimm's fists were covered in red blood and milky white brain matter!
As this news spread throughout the Mountain Kingdoms, Agrimm Ironfist's name became known to everyone, even women and children. It's said that in some places, Giant cubs dared not even cry when they heard his name! He became the most respected strongman and, with this achievement, the most powerful contender for the High King's throne at the time! Of course, he ultimately lost to your father, Thorgrim, but those are stories for later."
Recovering from the stirring story, Gromril couldn't help but marvel at the Slayer King's heroic feat. "So, what's your connection to him?"
"Hahaha, back then, I had just become a Master Blacksmith, and I wasn't doing such high-end work. After he became famous, I took three consecutive orders to remove the 'Ironfist' characters from exquisite weapons! I wore out several files in a month!"
The nicknames of dwarves were introduced earlier. Generally, a junior using an elder's nickname is considered a provocation. But after Agrimm chose the nickname Ironfist, the dwarves who had previously earned those nicknames chose to change them to avoid duplication, which is a good testament to his renown.
After finishing the Slayer King's story, Master Grudgebearer saw Gromril out of the workshop. Seeing that it was already late, Gromril returned directly to his new residence with his guards. He washed up, changed into formal clothes, and prepared to attend the banquet.
Gromril groomed his beard, dressed neatly, and pinned the insignia of a Rune Master to his chest.
Accompanied by guards, he headed to the throne room located in the upper part of the fortress.
Everpeak, Karaz-A-Karak, was the first fortress built in the World's Edge Mountains, and its architectural layout was later imitated by most Dwarf fortresses.
The main body of the fortress was divided into four parts.
The uppermost layer was the castle section exposed above ground, primarily used to defend against enemies from the surface and for the lord's office work and meetings.
The subsequent three parts were all carved out of the mountain.
The second part mainly contained the temples of the three gods, the living quarters of Dwarf nobles, the halls of a few powerful clans and guilds, and the fortress's storage facilities.
The third part was the main body of the fortress, where most Dwarf commoners' production and daily life were concentrated.
In the third part, one could find workshops for all trades, markets, schools, barracks, and numerous residential areas.
The lowest level of the fortress consisted of winding mines and a network of earth veins; most Dwarf fortresses were built atop mineral deposits, gradually evolving from simple mining outposts.
Also, the tombs of the Ancestors were located on this level.
The control area of a typical Dwarf fortress also included the land at the foot of the Mountains, which served as the dwarves' farmland and pastures, and where markets for trade with other races were also built.
As he went up, Gromril encountered many richly dressed dwarves along the way, who, like him, were clearly going to the feast.
Stepping out from underground, this was the first time Gromril had seen the sky since returning to Karaz-A-Karak.
There was no time for sentimentality; he strode towards the grand throne room, which was the most central and highest point.
This was the landmark building of Everpeak, "Here resides the King of the Mountains, here is read the book of grudges!"
Recalling the game's description of this place, Gromril surveyed the magnificent hall.
At the entrance of the hall were statues of the three main Dwarf gods, displayed in their most classic poses.
Grungni stood in the center, his expression solemn, clad in heavy armor, with his war hammer resting on the ground.
The God of War Grimnir stood to his left, bare-chested, holding a battle-axe in each hand, roaring skyward.
To his right was Mother Goddess Valaya, who held a scroll in one hand and a wine cup in the other, with a gentle smile on her face.
Entering the great door, Gromril was awestruck by the splendor of the hall.
The hall was a full twenty meters high, with walls and ceiling covered in murals depicting Dwarf mythology and history.
At the deepest end was a platform over ten meters high, which was the seat of the High King, where the throne of power was placed, and all who wished to glimpse the High King had to look up.
The throne, forged with the Ancestor Goddess's secret methods, was almost impervious to damage, though the elaborate carvings depicting past High Kings battling dragons or Greater Daemons showed slight indentations.
In the center of the hall, two long rows of tables were arranged lengthwise, with gaps between them filled with one wine barrel after another, each adorned with a dragon's head.
Many dishes were already laid out on the tables, but several Halfling chefs were still directing servants in the final preparations.
By custom, the dwarves' grandest feasts were held in a buffet style, to ensure that even the hungriest guests could eat and drink their fill.
The Halflings of the Imperium of Man's Mootland were the best chefs in the world, indispensable at every high-class banquet, and when necessary, these fellows, even more diminutive than dwarves, could transform into deadly stealth operatives.
Led by a servant, Gromril found his seat—a round table in the front row, to the right.
The two dwarves already seated at the table stood up and offered a warm welcome when they saw Gromril approaching.
Getting closer, Gromril realized they were Masters Iron Chisel and Molten Flame.
After exchanging greetings, he sat down opposite the empty seat, "This is?" Gromril asked, pointing to the empty seat.
"Master Krag's seat! But he never attends these banquets, so we can sit more comfortably!" Master Iron Chisel replied with a smile.
Exchanging pleasantries with the two Masters, Gromril began to survey the guests in the hall.
He noticed that two-thirds of the seats were already filled, and considering that some dwarves, like Master Krag, might be absent, most of the actual guests had already arrived.
Gromril was surprised to see many humans, a first for him since his transmigration.
These humans mostly sat at their own tables, dressed very luxuriously, wearing top hats and medals pinned to their chests.
Gromril also saw many female dwarves, but most who came here were Clansmen of a certain age and status; Gromril scanned the room but found no young Dwarf maidens.
Less than ten minutes later, the chefs and servants withdrew, and High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer appeared from a side door, slowly walking up the steps towards the throne of power.
The steps of the high platform were exceptionally steep, meant to remind successive High Kings to think carefully before wielding their power.
Amidst enthusiastic applause, Thorgrim began to speak.
He first welcomed every guest present, and from his welcome speech, Gromril learned that due to the high-level nature of the banquet, the dwarves present, besides clan leaders, local Dwarf nobles of Karaz-A-Karak, and guild leaders, also included Masters and caravan leaders from various Dwarf fortresses stationed at Everpeak.
The humans present mainly came from the Imperium, consisting of ambassadors from various Elector Counts and heads of merchant guilds, with only a very few from Bretonnia and Tilea, and their status seemed not very high.
Gromril secretly made a note of this discovery.
Afterward, Thorgrim inevitably spoke some grand, empty words, reviewing the past, looking to the future, and so on.
These words had been spoken by countless people before and would be brought up repeatedly again.
As some of the guests' stomachs began to rumble in protest, Thorgrim's lengthy speech finally drew to a close.
"Let us finally thank the Ancestor Goddess for her divine grace, and then begin to celebrate the addition of a young Rune Master to the entire Kingdom of the Mountains!"
Amidst cheers, Gromril rose and waved to all the guests, and Thorgrim slowly descended the steps.
Father and son drank the first and second mugs of beer respectively, signaling the start of the feast.
Dwarf cuisine mainly included various roasted meats, sausages, stews, and cold cuts, and of course, an abundance of various alcoholic beverages.
Dwarves favored their homebrewed high-proof beers and ales, but to accommodate their human friends present, some fine wines were also provided.
As the main course of the banquet—an entire roasted Wyvern—was pushed into the center of the hall by servants, under the frantic direction of the Halfling chefs, the feast officially reached its climax.
The more powerful the magical beast, the tougher and firmer its meat; even after being boiled then roasted, the Wyvern meat was somewhat difficult to swallow.
Such a main course served more to display the host's immense wealth and power, as hunting a flying monster was extremely difficult.
As time passed, the guests, having eaten and drunk their fill, began to gather in twos and threes to toast and converse.
As the guest of honor at the banquet, a continuous stream of dwarves came to toast Gromril.
Because Gromril was too young, many dwarves saw him as merely a lucky individual favored by the Ancestor Goddess, not yet comparable to the experienced Rune Masters Iron Chisel and Molten Fire.
Also, since he hadn't yet established his own power and wasn't the eldest son in his family, many high-ranking clan leaders and experienced Masters didn't actively approach him.
Gromril himself, due to his memories from a previous life, wasn't confined to the Dwarf Kingdom or even a single fortress, so he had little interest in the weaker individuals and factions around him.
While socializing with the Clansmen in front of him, Gromril paid attention to the situation in the hall. Besides an old dwarf who was quietly conversing with his father, Thorgrim Grudgebearer, a young Dwarf caught Gromril's attention.
This fellow seemed to be about the same age as his elder brother Grom. He was dressed lavishly, with several rings on his hands, and his not-so-long beard was adorned with accessories.
Unlike the traditional, taciturn Clansmen, this Dwarf seemed very sociable. Gromril watched him toast every table, not even missing the humans who were largely ignored and formed their own small circle.
The other guests' attitudes towards him were strange; some were very enthusiastic, while others were quite cold, even lacking the basic courtesy of drinking the wine he offered.
The Dwarf circled for a while and finally arrived in front of Gromril's position.
"Good evening! Esteemed Master Gromril, I am Domga Ironhammer of the Angrund Clan, a descendant of King Ruan. May I have the honor of sharing a drink with you?"
Gromril clinked glasses with him, "Domga? Shouldn't it be Belegar?"
"Oh ho! The Ancestor Goddess's Chosen One has even heard of my younger brother's name!" The Dwarf exclaimed,
"Hey! Belegar! The Master is calling you!" Looking at a young Dwarf running from the corner at the sound, Gromril realized that it was still early, and the Belegar, who was full of grievances in the game, was still just a young little dwarf.
Domga put his arm on his brother Belegar's shoulder and asked:
"My younger brother just passed his coming-of-age trial and doesn't even have a formal nickname yet! Where did you hear about him?"
Before Gromril could answer, he turned to Belegar and said, "Haven't you been saying these past few days that you want to learn from Master Gromril, strengthen your power, reclaim your homeland early, and restore the clan's glory? Could it be that your vow has received a response from the Ancestor Goddess?"
"Hahaha, just hearsay, hearsay!" Gromril chuckled, trying to brush it off.
"Master, to reclaim our homeland, I am forming a new expeditionary force. Many clans that originally belonged to Karak-Eight-Peaks have already announced their joining. I have also received support from several Lords; Lord Panos of Barak Sea Gate has promised to provide logistical support for my army. Currently, my team is still lacking powerful individuals who can wield Rune magic. Are you interested in joining us?"
Gromril frowned at the words. He didn't believe that this historically failed expedition would change because of his participation:
"Thank you for your trust, Prince Domga. As you can see, I have just become a Rune Master and need some time to consolidate my skills. Look, I haven't even equipped myself with a presentable set of gear yet!" Gromril politely declined.
"What a coincidence!" Prince Domga wasn't about to give up,
"Our clan opened a secret passage to our clan's treasury during the last expedition. Although we didn't have time to open the treasury's door, we successfully cleared the Greenskins along the way, blew up that section of the tunnel, and completely sealed it with several powerful runes!
The main force of the Greenskins in the Badlands all followed Grom the Paunch on a Waaagh into the Imperium of Man, leaving behind only the old, weak, and sick in Eight Peaks Mountain. It's a foregone conclusion that we will open the treasury this time!"
Prince Domga took a sip of wine; his voice was a little hoarse, showing that he had repeated this speech many times already.
"You know, before the Dark Ages, Karak-Eight-Peaks, the Queen of the Silver Abyss, was a prosperous and thriving city comparable to the Everpeak. Our Angrund Clan ruled Eight Peaks Mountain for generations. Although the clan's treasury is not as rich as the fortress's treasury,
according to the records from our Ancestors' evacuation, it contains at least one legendary shield—the Shield of Defiance—and a powerful Oathstone passed down from the Ancestor Gods, whose rarity is no less than a legendary weapon. There are no fewer than ten pieces of superb quality equipment, and standard equipment sufficient to arm half a legion! Of course, there are also plenty of Oathgold and gold coins." He clinked glasses with Gromril again.
"I promise that if you join my team, after the deed is done, I will give you no less than 500 pieces of Oathgold, and you can choose one piece of superb equipment from what we recover first!
All Rune-related information can be shared with you. You should know that Eight Peaks Mountain is where the Ancestor Goddess created Rune magic! Of course, this is the base offer. If you make outstanding contributions in battle, both equipment and Oathgold can be increased!" Domga's sincerity was evident.
Hearing such an offer, Gromril struggled to suppress the restless fire in his heart. He knew that greater rewards came with greater risks. If this trip was as easy as Prince Domga claimed, why would he offer such generous compensation?
"I am truly sorry! I wholeheartedly support your expedition, but I was struck by an axe from that damned Greenskin Gulu in battle. Although the Ancestor Goddess saved my life, my injuries still need time to heal. Right now, tapping out runes at the forge is not a problem, but going to the Badlands to fight the Greenskins is still a bit beyond my capabilities!"
Gromril's mind quickly came up with a good reason. The story of Gromril receiving divine favor on the battlefield was already well-known throughout the clan due to their propaganda, so Prince Domga didn't doubt him. After saying a few words of blessing, he took his cup and moved to another table.
The banquet was nearing its end, but Prince Domga still had many dwarves to contact! After the Domga brothers walked away, Master Iron Chisel squeezed out from the crowd and pulled Gromril aside.
"You're very good! I was right beside you just now and didn't dare to go far; I heard everything you said! It's a good thing not to be blinded by profit! I was just afraid you'd impulsively agree, and it wouldn't be good to force you to break your oath then!"
The Master looked around and whispered in Gromril's ear, "The clan doesn't favor his expedition this time! Domga is still too young! Pride and complacency might ruin him."
The moon gradually climbed into the night sky, and the banquet drew to a close. Guests, burping and patting their round bellies, embarked on their journey home. Gromril also returned to his clan's residence under the protection of guards.
The next day, Gromril was awakened by a commotion. "This is Master Gromril's residence! You cannot trespass!"
"What, what's going on outside?" Gromril asked Balin, feeling the headache from his hangover.
Balin shook his head. He handed Gromril a basin of clean water for washing, then walked to the front yard. Gromril washed his face while listening to the commotion outside. After Balin went out, the noise quickly subsided, followed by a series of heavy footsteps.
With a "bang!" the door was forcefully pushed open, and a Dwarf rushed in to give Gromril a big hug!
"Gromril, my good brother, you are truly the pride of our clan!" Gromril wiped his face and saw that it was his elder brother Grom.
"Ancestor Gods above! It's only been a few days since I last returned, and you've already become a Rune Master!" Grom exclaimed, patting Gromril's head.
"I still remember you were all confused back then, asking me what a Rune Master was! Praise the Ancestor Goddess!" Grom pulled Gromril's hand and sat him down at the table.
"Balin, little Balin, get me a drink!" Due to their mother's early death and their father Thorgrim's busy schedule, Gromril was practically raised by his older siblings, and the three of them had a very close relationship.
Balin, hearing this, brought a drink for both Gromril and Grom. Grom took a big gulp.
"Pfft!" He took a sip and sprayed it out.
"It's scalding me! Grungni above, what is this stuff? It's as bitter as Troll bile!"
"Prince, this is a drink sent by Ms. Sonia, it's called, called coffee," Balin replied, scratching his head.
"I say, Gromril, don't learn those useless things from her. We Sons of the Mountains should be drinking beer!"
Gromril smiled and interjected, "Brother, aren't you on the front lines at Karak-Varn? Why are you back so soon? Is there any new progress in the war?"
Grom pinched his nose and took another sip of coffee.
"I really came back for serious business this time, but before I even entered the gates of Karaz-A-Karak, the sentries and herdsmen I met along the way kept congratulating me, which left me completely bewildered.
I asked an acquaintance and only then found out about such a big event happening these past few days, so I immediately rushed over to find you! Congratulations, Gromril! It's a pity I missed last night's banquet!"
Listening to his elder brother's heartfelt praise, Gromril smiled even more happily. "What serious business did you rush back for? Go and take care of it, don't delay."
"Ha, it's nothing big. I'm protecting our mining team in Mountain Lake Fortress (Karak-Varn is also called Mountain Lake Fortress because it's close to Black Water Lake), right? Originally, the Greenskins on the Mountain and I would have a small skirmish every three days and a big fight every five, which was also good training for the troops.
Until two days ago, Miners reported finding traces of rats in the underground mines. My team doesn't have Iron Drake Handcannons, and there aren't many Ironbreaker, so I rushed back to recruit a batch to deal with underground combat."
"Greenskins above ground, Skaven below ground, could it be that Mountain Lake Fortress is also called Little Eight Peaks Mountain?" Gromril exclaimed.
Although he didn't understand Gromril's joke, Grom's expression suddenly turned serious:
"Eight Peaks Mountain?" He curled his lip, "Did those guys from the Angrund Clan come looking for you? They acted fast! You didn't agree, did you?"
Grom nodded after receiving Gromril's negative reply.
"That's good! The waters of Karak-Eight-Peaks are very deep, you can't handle it! Over the years, their clan has tried to reclaim their homeland several times, and each time they returned in defeat, severely depleting their own strength, almost leading to their extinction, not to mention causing considerable losses to many clans, including ours. The life of every Clansmen is the most precious treasure, yet they were squandered by those useless fellows!"
At this, Grom was quite angry. He downed the coffee in his cup and then spat.
"Oh, right, I originally planned to recruit a Rune Smith this time to clear up the erosion the rats might have caused to the land! Those bastards scatter warpstone dust wherever they go; if it's not cleaned up, our Clansmen won't be able to live there! But now my plan has changed to recruiting a Rune Master!"
He looked at Gromril with a smile, "You're not going to ask your big brother for wages, are you, hahaha?"
Gromril also laughed, and the two brothers walked out of the room shoulder to shoulder.
"Come on, let's go see how my recruitment is going! Your Anvil Guard is quite diligent; they stopped me for a long time when I tried to come in. Remember to bring them along when you leave!"
They walked towards the door, and several of Gromril's Anvil Guard followed. By the time they reached the courtyard gate, several Iron Hammer Guard were already waiting there.
"Prince, Master Gromril is forming the Anvil Guard, and all the qualified people in our clan have gone there for tryouts, so we only recruited five Iron Drake! They've already gone back to get their equipment," the leading Iron Hammer Guard reported.
"No problem, let's go to the fortress's central square!" Grom said indifferently, pulling Gromril straight out.
The group arrived at the square in the center of the fortress. This was the heart of the residential area, with various shops distributed around the square, and some merchants hawking their wares in the square.
In the center of the square were statues of the three main Dwarf Gods, similar in form to those at the entrance of the Grand Throne Room, just smaller in size. Gromril saw two tables set up under the statues from a distance, surrounded by many Dwarf, and seven or eight Dwarf in uniforms resembling Iron Hammer Guard were shouting all around.
"Grom-Skullcrusher of the Drazklad Clan is recruiting Ironbreaker!"
"Excellent benefits, right here in Mountain Lake Fortress, close by and no delays!"
"Few Greenskins, strong team, low risk!"
Every Dwarf is a natural Warrior; almost all adult male Dwarf can fully equip themselves and go to battle when needed, and if necessary, even females can directly participate.
The Dwarf army is divided into two types: one part consists of standing armies maintained by fortress lords or powerful clans, whose weapons and equipment are provided by the lord, and who are primarily responsible for daily patrols and guarding key parts of the fortress.
The other part consists of conscripts, and most Clansmen fall into this category. On a daily basis, they might be blacksmiths, cooks, Miners, artisans, etc. When large-scale combat missions that the standing army cannot meet arise, they accept conscription, arm themselves with their own equipment, and go to battle to earn a military salary.
As for which branch of the military they belong to and how much military salary they earn, it is determined by their equipment. Those who can afford meteorite iron equipment join the Ironbreaker, those with only fine quality equipment participate as 'Dwarf Warriors,' and those who have purchased bows, crossbows, or Thunderer are organized into ranged units.
On the battlefield, everyone is responsible for their own life and the lives of their comrades, so few Dwarf join a unit they are not qualified for based solely on their equipment.
Since the power of mandatory conscription belongs only to the lord and clan chief, even if Grom is the High King's eldest son, he can only replenish his troops through recruitment.
Brother Grom pushed through the crowded people to the table. He saw that his attendants, responsible for recruiting soldiers, were overwhelmed with work.
"Why only Ironbreakers? I'm very strong; I can chop down rats just as well as them!"
"No weapons in hand, just a full set of meteorite iron plate armor, is that okay?"
"How many days will the war last? If it drags on, my current project will fall behind!"
"What's the situation at Black Water Lake? Have they figured out how many rats are underground?" All sorts of questions flew in from every direction.
"Ah, my Clansmen, I only need Ironbreakers, only Ironbreakers! You must bring a full set of standard equipment! Those who don't meet the requirements, please disperse for now!"
"This is our time of reckoning! The book of grudges is full of grudges to settle! There will be plenty of opportunities to fight! No need to rush this time, no need to miss out this time!" Grom jumped onto the table and shouted at the top of his lungs.
Hearing this, the gathered crowd slowly dispersed. Grom looked at the few names on the crumpled registration form on the table and shook his head.
"There are already few Clansmen who can afford a set of Ironbreaker equipment, and we've just gone through a major war. This is a time for rest and recovery, to restore production. It's expected that we wouldn't recruit too many people. How is the clan doing?" Grom's attendant asked.
"Hmm, the clan is busy forming the Anvil Guard for my brother, Master Gromril, so they can only provide a few Iron Drakes. It's not a big problem, just the progress will be a bit slower when clearing the underground mines..."
"Master Gromril? The Chosen of the Goddess? Will he also go to Mountain Lake Fortress?" An Dwarf who was about to leave asked, hearing Grom's mumble.
"Uh..." Brother Grom hadn't had time to answer when Gromril spoke first:
"I am Gromril-az Thorson, and I promise to go to the front lines of Karak-Varn and contribute my strength to reclaiming the lost Mountain Stronghold!"
Looking at Gromril's young face, his short black beard, and the Rune Master's insignia, the surrounding dwarves gasped in surprise.
"Valaya above! He really is that young!"
"Thanks to you, that free ale I drank that day really got me going!"
"With Master Gromril there, this trip will definitely be smooth sailing! My cousin saw his master-level runes; those fireballs are bigger than us! Which greenskin can withstand being hit by that!"
"He is the Chosen of the Ancestor Goddess; if we fight by his side, with good luck, won't we also get the Goddess's attention?"
A few dwarves who had initially chosen not to respond to the recruitment returned and signed their names on the paper. Other Clansmen who didn't meet the standards quickly spread the news that Gromril would be accompanying the army to Mountain Lake Fortress.
Dwarves came in an endless stream upon hearing the news. Before noon, Grom had recruited a full company of eighty Ironbreakers and twenty Iron Drakes. Once enough people were recruited, Grom's attendants removed the table, and the dwarves who couldn't secure a spot could only leave dejectedly.
Like Ironbreakers, Iron Drakes wear full meteorite iron plate armor, but instead of axes and shields, they carry Iron Dragon cannons – flamethrowers invented by Dwarf Engineers.
This weapon allows dwarves to fight outnumbered in narrow mines, quickly clearing strong enemies like Rat Ogres, Poison Wind Globadiers, and Night Goblins Fanatics, who can tear through the Ironbreaker's defenses. The intense flames and light can also cause panic among enemy forces, leading many timid enemies to flee without a fight.
Their most distinctive feature is the beard-armor they wear to protect the dwarves' precious beards from the high temperatures of the Iron Dragon cannon. Due to the high cost and complex craftsmanship of the Iron Dragon cannon, their numbers are even scarcer than the already elite Ironbreakers.
At lunchtime, the Gromril brothers did not return to the clan for their meal but found a restaurant near the square. Looking at the grilled steak and roasted chicken on the table, the brothers clinked their mugs!
"As the old saying goes! Dragon slaying depends on father and son, fighting on the battlefield depends on brothers! I didn't expect that we brothers would be fighting side-by-side so soon! You're a Rune Master, and I'm not bad either! In all these years of duels, no one my age has been my match!" Brother Grom slurped down a chicken leg, wiped his hands, and continued,
"Father swore to settle all the grudges of our Mountains Kingdom. That's a grand vow, and there will be many battles to fight. We brothers, following Father, will surely become part of an epic, finding our own place in the Ancestor Gods' halls!"
"Of course! I swore an oath before the Ancestor Goddess to reclaim the lost Mountain Stronghold, recover the lost artifacts, and restore the glory of the Mountains Kingdom!" Gromril took a big gulp of beer, repeating his initial vow.
He had already accepted his identity and integrated into this group. Just as the brothers were clinking their mugs, a familiar voice rang out.
"You're good at hiding! I had a hard time finding you!" Gromril looked up and saw it was Uncle Longhammer.
"Have you eaten lunch? Want to join us?" Grom enthusiastically asked, and Longhammer didn't stand on ceremony, tearing off a piece of pork chop and biting into it.
"You're quite something; you managed to recruit yourself into the family when I wasn't looking! How many days has it been since Gromril was injured?"
"Don't the Ancestor Gods teach us that grudges should be settled as quickly as possible? Mountain Lake Fortress has greenskins that can be..."
"Enough! Don't give me that. Your brother sent me to find you. Save your strength to explain to him!" Longhammer then sat down and devoured the food on the table like a whirlwind, seemingly trying to make the brothers leave as quickly as possible.
After the meal, Grom paid the bill, and the group took the elevator to the upper level of the fortress.
Entering Thorgrim's office again, where he had first met him, Gromril felt the touch of the insignia on his chest. He knew he was different now!
"How is the situation at Karak-Varn?" Thorgrim looked up and asked as the three entered the room.
"Not bad, Father. I've already seized the opportunity to injure the leading Orc Warlord. If I hadn't been worried about possible rats, I would have charged in the day before yesterday!"
"For your first time leading an army alone, reaching this point is quite good!" Thorgrim nodded and praised him.
"Not underestimating the enemy and not advancing rashly is a good thing. A general must be responsible for the life of every Clansman. I heard your recruitment of underground combat troops also went smoothly?"
"With the banner of Gromril, Chosen of the Goddess, we quickly recruited enough!"
"Hmm, according to intelligence, the main force of the greenskins has already rushed into the Imperium of Man. Mountain Lake Fortress is at most a detached force left behind.
Dieter IV, that pig, is paying the price for his foolishness! But this grudge will never be erased because of that!"
Dieter IV is the current Emperor of the Imperium; he refused to send troops to jointly fight Grumm the Great Belly King's WAAAGH with the dwarves, choosing instead to relocate the capital to avoid the greenskins.