By this time, the name of Grimm, the supreme commander of the dwarven forces, had become a symbol of terror for the Amirfar Kingdom and its three remaining allies.
The dwarves' new crossbow model, capable of firing twelve arrows at once, had proven to be an irresistible weapon. Not only could it unleash a devastating volley, its bolts easily pierced Amirfar shields.
However, inside the command tent of the Allasian army and its ten allied kingdoms, led by King Valen, the atmosphere lacked the celebratory air of victory. On the contrary, arguments and simmering discontent were erupting among the generals.
The root of this conflict was none other than the dwarven army's unbroken streak of victories.
Varg, the representative general from the Kingdom of Jarn-Ska, stood up and spoke in a harsh tone, his eyes blazing with displeasure. "King Valen, we can no longer allow these dwarves to do as they please."
His words instantly thickened the air inside the tent. Generals from the other kingdoms exchanged silent glances; some nodded in agreement, while others opted to withhold their thoughts.
King Valen felt a headache coming on. The dwarven army's outstanding performance under Grimm's command was undeniable. They were the vanguard, shattering Amirfar's defensive lines fortress by fortress.
Yet, at the same time, the captured strongholds—the treasures, armaments, and provisions within—were almost entirely swept up and claimed by the dwarven army, as if these repeated triumphs belonged to them alone.
Victories that should have united the alliance had instead sown suspicion and resentment within their ranks.
King Valen let out a long sigh, rubbing his throbbing temples. "General Varg... I know that Jarn-Ska has sacrificed much, but the undeniable truth is that without the crossbows of those dwarves, this streak of victories would never have happened."
"But hoarding everything for themselves is not the way of an alliance!" Varg countered fiercely, his voice brimming with indignation.
Farran, who had sat in solemn silence throughout the proceedings, attended the meeting from the second row of the Allasian delegation, his gaze sweeping over the tense atmosphere and the varying demeanors of the allies.
In truth, he was the representative of the Kingdom of Iceland attending this council, though the other allies remained under the impression that the dwarven army had sent no envoy.
Such a war was a strange affair indeed. The dwarven army had performed far too exceptionally, only to invite the ire of their own side.
Farran leaned back in his chair calmly, his expression devoid of emotion, listening as the argument steadily grew more heated.
A general from the Kingdom of Aethel chimed in, "Is it not the case that when the war ends in our victory, those dwarves will also demand a share of the conquered lands?"
Low grunts of discontent echoed throughout the tent.
"If we let this continue, we won't even know the point of remaining allied with the Allasia Kingdom," Varg declared, slamming his fist onto the table with a loud bang.
King Valen closed his eyes for a moment. He knew well that Varg's words were not without merit. But the flip side of that truth was equally stark: if the dwarven army withdrew their forces now, victory would slip from their grasp.
Meanwhile, Farran noticed a subtle undercurrent. Not everyone was merely angry. The representatives of several kingdoms were also betraying a deep-seated fear of the dwarves' combat prowess.
Farran lowered his gaze slightly, deep in thought. These allies were both weak and impoverished. Their armies had contributed practically nothing on the battlefield, yet they proved exceptionally skilled at squabbling over the spoils.
"Perhaps..." began an elderly general representing the Kingdom of Ondar, speaking slowly. "We might need to move the dwarven army away from the frontlines... just for a while."
Those words plunged the entire tent into a dead silence.
Everyone grasped exactly what that implied. Without the dwarven crossbows, laying siege to enemy fortresses from this point onward would become a monumental task.
After a protracted silence, King Valen finally spoke. "Let us leave it at this... Give me one more night," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I will try to find a way to strike a balance in all of this."
His statement served as the unofficial conclusion to the council.
The generals rose from their seats one by one. Some still wore faces of sheer displeasure, while others departed lost in thought.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
As for King Valen, he had only one pressing matter left to address.
Once everyone had gradually filed out of the tent, and he was absolutely certain no foreign representatives remained, he turned his attention back to the young blonde-haired man who had not moved from his seat.
"Please, remain seated," King Valen offered, gesturing for Farran to move closer to the center table, as though welcoming an honored guest.
Now, only the two of them occupied the command tent.
King Valen studied the young man before him for a long moment before speaking in a grave tone. "You understand the situation clearly," he began slowly. "Tell me, what are your thoughts on this matter?"
Farran delivered his opening sentence with blunt honesty. "To have our forces pull back from the frontlines... is that it?" He paused briefly, meeting King Valen's gaze. "Are you truly confident that you can still defeat the enemy?"
"That is precisely the problem. I am well aware that without you, Amirfar's defenses would not have crumbled so easily. But at the same time... these allies are terrified of you." True to his reputation, King Valen had accurately deduced that the human factions within his own alliance now feared the dwarves.
"You are all afraid of our crossbows, aren't you?" Farran stated, unruffled.
"You could say that," King Valen admitted. "Weapons capable of destroying Amirfar's army could just as easily destroy ours."
Farran offered a faint smile. "In truth, you do not need these allies," he said bluntly.
"They are weak and impoverished, having contributed nothing to the victories we've secured." He locked eyes with the king. "Unlike us... whom you absolutely cannot do without."
His words practically dictated the choice King Valen had to make.
The King weighed the statement carefully, falling silent before he replied, "If I abandon them now, those allies will undoubtedly shift their focus from Amirfar and turn their blades against me."
Farran tilted his head slightly. "But what if these cowards were terrified of you instead?"
King Valen frowned instantly. "What... do you mean?"
Farran replied in an indifferent tone, as if proposing the most mundane of transactions. "We can manufacture crossbows for you. Naturally, they wouldn't be able to fire twelve arrows simultaneously like the dwarven models; humans lack the requisite arm strength." He paused for effect. "But they should be capable of firing six to eight arrows at a time."
Such weapons, concentrated solely in the hands of the Allasian army, would certainly give the remaining allies severe pause before they ever considered betrayal.
"Such invaluable weapons," King Valen murmured slowly. A shrewd leader, he recognized the immense advantage of this offer. Yet, he still probed for leverage. "At what price do you intend to sell them to me?"
Farran shook his head slightly. "We can supply you with two hundred of them immediately... free of charge."
The answer made King Valen falter for a second. "But surely you require something in exchange?"
Farran nodded, his smile returning. "Correct."
King Valen leaned forward. "What is your condition?"
Farran answered calmly, "We require the exploration rights to Lake J?rmungandr."
King Valen's brow furrowed, a flash of displeasure crossing his features. "What did you say?"
Farran remained entirely composed. "We require the exploration rights to Lake J?rmungandr." He elaborated on the terms. "If you agree, the Allasia Kingdom will receive a total of five hundred crossbows from us. The first two hundred will be delivered immediately. We ask that you test them first, to determine whether a six- or eight-arrow volley suits your forces best. Following that, we will deliver the remainder in batches of one hundred, until the full five hundred are supplied."
Farran laid out these terms with a smooth, even delivery, carefully concealing the god Modi's true objective: that Lake J?rmungandr hid the "Belt of Power, Megingj?re," one of the three legendary artifacts of Thor from ages past.
King Valen sat in stunned silence for a long while. A tremor of unease stirred in his eyes, but he couldn't resist asking, "That lake... what exactly is in there?"
Farran did not answer at once. He simply stood and smoothed his clothes. "It is merely a belief among the dwarves. We humans... have no part in it."
"Then... agreed. I accept your terms," King Valen answered hastily.
Farran gave a nod of acknowledgment. "Well then... from here on out, we should press our advantage and conquer the Amirfar Kingdom as swiftly as possible. Don't you agree?"
King Valen nodded slowly, having fully realized exactly who his most valuable ally truly was.
After exiting King Valen's command tent, Farran still had to make his way to the dwarven military encampment to meet with Grimm, the commanding general and esteemed son of Dodan.
The dwarves' camp was pitched a short distance away from the main allied forces.
By the time Farran arrived, it was the dinner hour. The dwarven soldiers were entirely absorbed in their boisterous drinking, feasting, and roaring laughter, true to their warrior spirit.
But the moment they spotted the blonde youth approaching, the mood subtly shifted. The chatter continued, but many tempered their rowdiness; in terms of rank, this human was also a general, holding a position not vastly different from Grimm, their own commander.
Since the great battle in the realm of Alfheimr, Grimm had grown much closer and more familiar with Farran.
Seeing the young man approach with a faint smile, Grimm could immediately deduce the gist of the situation.
Grimm tore a massive leg off a roasting wild boar and thrust it toward Farran without a second thought. "Good news, then?" he bellowed, a hearty laugh following close behind.
Farran accepted the meat, taking a bite before answering impassively, "I'd call it bad news, actually."
Grimm raised an eyebrow. "Your face screams good news. How could it possibly be bad?"
Farran chewed quickly and swallowed. "How can it be good news," he retorted, "when soon enough, you dwarves will have to go diving in Lake J?rmungandr?"
Grimm went silent for a heartbeat, then erupted into booming laughter. "Ha! That means the deal went through!" He clapped Farran forcefully on the shoulder. "I knew it had to be good news. You're our lucky charm, you know that? Ever since you joined us, every plan we've hatched has succeeded flawlessly."
Even as he laughed, Grimm couldn't help but wonder privately who exactly would be doing this diving. It certainly wouldn't be him. Dwarves and deep water had never been on good terms.
Grimm then threw a companionable arm around Farran's shoulders.
In a fleeting moment of reflection, Farran found his thoughts drifting back to their very first encounters. Their relationship hadn't been smooth in the beginning; both had been guarded, eyeing each other with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Yet, as time marched on, after fighting shoulder-to-shoulder through countless skirmishes and facing life and death together on the blood-soaked earth, those suspicions had slowly dissolved. Time had forged them into trust. Because for battle-hardened soldiers, true friendship isn't always born from pretty words or sworn oaths; it is forged by holding the line together and surviving to see another dawn.
Ten days later, the Amirfar Kingdom formally surrendered. King Arkhad was taken as a prisoner of war, his fate now firmly in the hands of King Valen. On that day, one of the oldest human kingdoms in the land of Midgard ceased to exist, its territories wholly annexed into the ever-expanding Allasia Kingdom.