Chapter 99: War and Storm

Viscount Letterman had no choice but to give Ambrose's proposal serious thought.

Paying a modest amount of gold and mineral resources in exchange for the Dwarven King's troops... If the price was right, it might well be an unacceptable deal.

Alkhemia was in chaos. Minor lords were annexing one another at will. The grand lords, however, hesitated, afraid that they would be falling into each other's traps if they were to strike first. Though things seemed calm on the surface, in truth, a storm was brewing.

Once the grand lords finally entered the fray, this land would plunge into total war.

And if the Court of the Silver Moon invaded, matters would grow even more complicated.

The Court of the Silver Moon was a colossus. The elves' military strength was beyond what any single lord could withstand. Viscount Letterman might worship Thanos, Lord of Storms, but madness didn't mean stupidity. He understood the disparity between him and the elves perfectly well.

Dwarven support was therefore essential. In the early stages, he could even use the Dwarven King's forces to expand his own territory as quickly as possible, stockpiling strength to face the elven invasion to come.

If only the elves hadn't been so inflexible! They had refused to accept any terms short of total territorial surrender and insisted on driving everyone out.

Given that premise, cooperation with the dwarves sounded far more preferable.

Viscount Letterman stated his willingness to accept this form of mercenary partnership.

Ambrose was delighted. All that remained was straightforward bargaining.

The Dwarven King would pay gold to purchase land for resettling migrants from the Golden Kingdom at a rate of one million gold per hundred square kilometers.

It sounded like a bargain for the Golden Kingdom, but there were few restrictions as to the nature of the land. Mountains, canyons, lakes—all land was priced the same. Much of the wasteland was unsuitable for human habitation anyway; the territory just had to be marked out and handed over when the Golden Kingdom arrived.

Then, Viscount Letterman would pay gold and mineral resources to hire the Golden Kingdom's army to fight on his behalf. Ambrose, acting as intermediary, would coordinate everything. The exact price depended on how many troops Letterman required and what kinds of units; Ambrose would need to draft a new list to calculate just how much he himself would earn.

The key point was this: the Golden Kingdom would pay, as would Viscount Letterman, but neither side would know how much the other had paid.

In other words, as the facilitator of the trade, Ambrose helped them exchange resources and troops while taking only gold and minerals as a commission. By any standard, that was downright conscientious.

The negotiations lasted most of the day before the two parties finally settled on the general form and scale of the assistance.

Although both the Golden Kingdom and Viscount Letterman felt that they hadn't gained very much, Ambrose was more than satisfied. This was going to be an extremely fruitful collaboration.

In the magnificent royal palace of Sarcoma, the Dwarven King retired for the night.

In recent years, as the Lyon Empire pressed ever closer, the king's body and spirit had steadily declined. Major affairs of state had long since been entrusted to the King's Hand, Hoffmann Ironfist.

True to his name, Hoffmann Ironfist's right hand had been severed at the wrist and replaced with a steel gauntlet. It had been cut off by a Sacred Slash during a battle with the Lyon Empire—though in the fighting that followed, Hoffmann had personally slain three paladins.

His valor earned the Dwarven King's recognition and inducted him into the royal circle.

Later, while Hoffmann was serving as an administrator, the king soon discovered that he was even more capable in governance than on the battlefield, and gradually elevated him to a position of absolute trust.

With the king in ailing health, the entire kingdom rested on Hoffmann Ironfist's shoulders alone.

At that moment, Heki Stone was seated opposite Hoffmann Ironfist, communicating with Ambrose through the Necromantic Codex and relaying Ambrose's proposals to the King's Hand.

Hoffmann Ironfist said to Heki Stone, "Your friend is a master negotiator. Every condition is precise and reasoned. I can't argue with any of his terms."

Heki Stone gave a strained smile. "Yes. His precision is... impressive."

So precise were Ambrose's figures, in fact, that he barely had any room at all to skim a profit as an intermediary.

During the negotiations, Ambrose had proposed terms the Dwarven Kingdom could afford and made it seem as though prices were still open for discussion, only to suddenly produce a set of pre-calculated figures. When Heki saw those numbers, he nearly ground his fangs to dust. There was almost no margin for him to exploit.

Not that there was nothing to gain—but it was a far cry from what he had hoped for.

Hoffmann Ironfist pretended not to notice. "You and I have known each other for many years. Rest assured. You will be rewarded for helping broker this deal as well. Still, how extensive are your friend's connections in Alkhemia? If this Viscount Letterman is all he knows, it won't make a significant difference to our overall plan."

Heki Stone replied, "Don't worry. No matter how many connections he had before, he'll soon have many more. The lords of Alkhemia have only two choices: the Court of the Silver Moon, or the Golden Kingdom. Given the elves' arrogance, we'll definitely be able to win over more than half of them in advance.

"The question is whether we have enough strength to protect them. The Court of the Silver Moon seems to have deployed all of its Twilight Wardens."

Hoffmann Ironfist nodded. "I understand. Viscount Letterman must serve as an example. We must guarantee his safety so that others can gain confidence in cooperating with us. I will dispatch one hundred Dwarven Ironguards to protect our ally."

Heki Stone blinked in surprise. "A serious commitment."

Dwarven Ironguards were effectively royal troops. They were specialists in protecting leaders and masters of counter-assassination. Sending a hundred of them to Viscount Letterman meant that Hoffmann Ironfist was determined to drive a solid wedge into Alkhemia.

"My old friend," Heki Stone asked, "are you truly prepared to abandon the desert? Has the war become that dire?"

Hoffmann Ironfist gave the vampire a bitter smile. "We truly are no match for the Lyon Empire. Even by the most optimistic estimates, more than half of Sarcoma's territory will be lost. They've trained specifically for desert warfare for years. Their young paladins have fully adapted to the sands. We can only retreat beyond the natural barrier in the desert and rely on the endless sandstorms there to hold back Lyon's advance."

Sarcoma lay entirely within the desert. Its city-states were built around hundreds of oases large and small.

This so-called "natural barrier" was a narrow boundary running across the heart of Sarcoma, within which sandstorms never ceased. A newly forged suit of plate armor thrown into that region would be scoured full of holes by abrasive sand within two days.

The environment was so inhospitable that almost no life could survive there.

Sarcoma itself relied on subterranean passages left by an ancient civilization to cross this boundary and maintain contact between its two halves.

Given Hoffmann Ironfist's words, it seemed that the dwarves of the Golden Kingdom intended to abandon all territory north of the barrier, seal the underground passages, and use the endless sandstorms to halt Lyon's invasion. That would mean giving up even this very dwarven palace.

The situation was far worse than Heki Stone had imagined. Worry crept onto his face.

The Lyon Empire was the natural nemesis of the undead. The stronger Lyon became, the less freedom Heki Stone would have. If Sarcoma were to fall entirely, vampires like him would have no choice but to flee far away. He had to help the Golden Kingdom to help himself. Heki Stone set aside any thoughts of skimming the profit and resolved to see the dwarven kingdom through this crisis first.

Hoffmann Ironfist said, "Assembling the Iron Guards and setting up the continental teleportation arrays will take time. During that time, the elves will not remain idle. Warn your friend that he must protect Viscount Letterman at all costs before our Ironguards arrive."

Heki Stone nodded. He decided to send those gargoyles to Ambrose today. Viscount Letterman was the linchpin; he could not be allowed to fall to elven assassins.

Unfortunately, Heki Stone's resolve came a moment too late.

Ambrose and Viscount Letterman had spent the entire day in negotiations. Just as they were on the verge of concluding their deal, the elves lost their patience.

A man claiming to be an envoy of the Dwarven Kingdom had shut himself away with Viscount Letterman for an entire day. The outcome was obvious to anyone with half a brain.

It would be foolish for the Twilight Wardens to simply sit there. They demanded a meeting with Viscount Letterman outright.

The viscount, busy calculating just how much he was losing, had no desire to entertain a band of arrogant elves. After he declared himself unavailable, the elves chose the most direct approach.

They attacked the tower in which Ambrose and Viscount Letterman were meeting.

At first, their attack only consisted of dozens of crossbow bolts fired from the night sky.

Ambrose didn't hesitate. He summoned his Golden Throne and turned its backrest toward the attack.

Clink, clank—arrows struck the throne and bounced harmlessly away.

Even without being empowered, it was a throne made of solid gold, its back nearly half a meter thick. Even a magitech cannon would struggle to penetrate it.

Viscount Letterman was not so fortunate. Though he raised a magical barrier in time, several bolts grazed him, causing sparks to flare across his chainmail. One bolt even pierced his shoulder, though Ambrose couldn't tell how deep the wound went.

But the elves weren't finished. Several of them appeared in the meeting room, having teleported there with Mist Step. Their dual blades flashed as they charged straight for Viscount Letterman.

"Damn elves! I'll show you the fury of thunder!"

Viscount Letterman roared. Lightning erupted from his body. His bellow itself slammed into the attackers with physical force.

Three elves were blasted backward, but two remained unaffected by the sonic wave. Their curved blades were already swinging toward Letterman.

In that split second, Ambrose prepared to intervene—but Viscount Letterman proved stronger than he had expected.

The viscount raised the warhammer at his waist. Brilliant white lightning leapt from it, chaining again and again between the two elves.

This was a stormpriest's signature spell: Chain Lightning. The unlucky pair of elves had been struck directly by the attack. They wouldn't survive.

And indeed, Ambrose's assessment was perfectly accurate. By the time the lightning faded, the two elves were nothing more than blackened heaps of charcoal.

Viscount Letterman crushed one scorched skull beneath his boot, no longer restraining his rage.

"By my command, kill all the elves in the castle!"