The Wind Rises

The God-Forsaken Land.

Amidst the swirling yellow sands, a steam locomotive let out a harsh, droning hum, tearing through the blinding dust storm at breakneck speed like a wild horse breaking free from its reins.

Inside the locomotive, a dwarf named Grey sat in the driver's seat, pouring a mouthful of red wine down his throat. Gripping the control lever with one hand, he pushed the speed to its limit and let out a hearty roar, “Aha! Fine wine! A steam locomotive! This is a dwarf's romance!”

“Gulp, gulp... This tastes awful...” In the passenger seat, a dwarf named Bronzebeard took two swigs of ale, his face instantly twisting in disgust before he tossed the bottle out of the window.

“Hehehehe...”

Grey caught sight of this and let out a harsh laugh that sounded like a squawking duck, shaking the bottle of red wine in his hand. “Hey! Old friend! I've got the very last bottle right here!”

“Dammit!” Bronzebeard reached out with his broad hand, lunging for Grey's bottle. “Give me a few swigs!”

“Haha! You're dreaming, old friend!”

Grey suddenly yanked the control lever, sending the locomotive into a sharp turn. The powerful inertia flung half of his companion's body out of the cabin. Seizing the opportunity, Grey shoved the bottle into his mouth, chugging the remaining wine down his throat before letting out a satisfied burp.

By the time Bronzebeard pulled himself back inside, cursing up a storm, an almost empty bottle was waved in front of his face. “Left a drop for you. Don't say I'm stingy, hehehehe!”

Bronzebeard blinked in surprise, then his brow twitched violently. He snatched the bottle, downed the final drop, and licked the rim of the bottle with a lingering, unsatisfied expression.

A moment later, he glared fiercely at Grey. “Son of a bitch! When we get back, I'm going to split your backside open!”

“Hehehe! Don't be mad, old friend!” Grey waved his hand dismissively, pointing ahead. “Look where we are.”

“Where are we?”

Before Bronzebeard could react, Grey slammed on the brakes and yelled, “Out you go!!!”

The steam locomotive drifted sharply, kicking up a massive wave of yellow sand in the desert.

With a dull thud, the unlucky dwarf holding the bottle shattered the front windshield and flew out of the cabin, completely caught off guard.

A figure was now planted headfirst in the yellow sand.

Fortunately, the sand in this area was fine and soft, so despite being launched at such a high speed, the unlucky fellow didn't suffer any injuries.

However, with most of his body buried in the sand, he wasn't getting out anytime soon. His two short, exposed legs kicked frantically in the air.

He looked like a drowning fish.

“Hehehe!” Grey jumped down from the locomotive, gloating as he delivered a heavy kick to the exposed backside.

“Let's see whose backside gets split open first, hehehe!”

With that, he began to pull down his own pants...

Just as Grey was preparing to give a grand, bare-bottomed display, a squad of half-beastkin clad in gray armor rushed out from the sand with spears raised, completely surrounding the two dwarves.

The minotaur captain leading the squad glanced at the pale, exposed backside on the ground, swallowed hard, and forced his gaze away. He pointed his large axe at Grey, whose pants were half-off, and roared:

“Who are you? Where did you come from? What is your business in Black City?”

“Black City? What's that? We're already here?!”

Grey raised his head and rubbed his eyes, which were seeing double from the alcohol, before finally making out the towering black walls looming through the swirling sand.

He opened his wide mouth, releasing a thick blast of alcohol fumes mixed with bad breath.

“Oh! My minotaur brother! Don't misunderstand! We are messengers from the Dwarven Empire! There's been a bit of an emergency. Please, let me speak with your Lord face-to-face!”

...

“The wind is rising...”

Atop the pitch-black walls, looking out at the sand swirling across the desert, Irene's golden eyes flickered. She spoke in a tone devoid of emotion:

“How is our recent progress?”

The old kobold behind Irene took a step forward and replied, “Your Grace, according to your instructions, the underground laboratory has been excavated. Gar and the talents recruited from the various tribes have already begun forging the first batch of power armor.”

“As for the tunnel connecting to Lord Daviel, one-third of the railway has been laid.”

“However...” Fido hesitated before continuing, “we do not own any mineral veins, and various metal materials are in short supply. The number of armor suits we can forge at the moment is extremely limited.”

“The railway construction has also ground to a near halt. Lord Daviel is currently trying to gnaw off the tail section of that metal construct, intending to melt it down into molten iron for the tracks...”

“Is that so...”

Irene brushed back a few strands of hair whipped by the wind. “When is our next trade with the dwarves?”

“You mean...?”

Fido quickly caught on. “To have the dwarves pay us in ore in exchange for our alcohol?”

Seeing Irene give a slight nod, he quickly flattered her, “Your Grace, your wisdom truly leaves me in awe!”

“This is simply like shooting two yellow-feathered birds with one arrow! (A type of bird unique to the God-Forsaken Land.)”

'The actual idiom is "killing two birds with one stone"...'

Irene couldn't help but grumble inwardly, though she didn't immediately point out Fido's mistake.

She could sense that ever since Gar had been appointed as the Minister of the Equipment Department, this old kobold had developed a strange sense of crisis.

He probably felt he wasn't smart enough and was worried about being cast aside.

After all, he had previously been the sole recipient of her favor.

But now, a green-skinned beastkin named Gar had entered the picture. To defend his status as the number one vassal, this fellow had been studying like a madman lately, trying to outdo Gar. He was treating the whole thing like some palace intrigue drama.

As for the results... well, they were mediocre at best.

Just as Irene was pondering how to manage the relationship between her vassals, a sudden rush of hurried footsteps echoed.

A soldier of the Imperial Guard, clad in black armor, ran over. After saluting both Irene and Fido, he reported loudly:

“Your Grace, messengers from the Dwarven Empire have arrived. They claim to have an urgent matter to discuss with you face-to-face.”