Negotiation (1)

“Things have really changed here.”

Guided through Black City by the Imperial Guard, Grey couldn't help but speak up.

When he had first learned from traveling merchants that the wine originated from the God-Forsaken Land, he had visited the Iron Tooth Tribe once before.

But back then, this place was just a small oasis. He never expected that in just a few short years, it would become such a prosperous city-state.

Everywhere he looked, the once-dilapidated stone houses had been replaced by exquisite small buildings, and the once-scrawny half-beastkin now had plump, healthy faces.

Pregnant women with bulging bellies strolled about, supported by their families.

Rounding a corner, they came upon a bustling marketplace, with all kinds of shouting echoing from the various stalls.

Half-beastkin and beastkin were exchanging surplus food and various supplies here.

Sniffing the fragrance drifting through the air, Grey slapped the backside of the dwarf walking beside him.

“Hey! Partner, do you smell that? Even the air in this land is filled with the aroma of red wine. This place is simply heaven!”

However, Bronzebeard slapped his hand away, wiped his nose, and wore a fierce expression, as if the words “don't touch me” were practically written on his face.

Seeing this, Grey gave an embarrassed laugh. Knowing Bronzebeard was still angry about what had just happened, he lowered his voice and said, “If I said that was just an accident, would you believe me?”

“Screw you! You already pulled down your pants, do you think I'd believe you?!” Bronzebeard's face turned the color of pig's liver as he roared, “Don't let me catch you slipping, or I'll split your backside wide open!”

Cough, cough... Grey let out a dry cough, casting a sidelong glance at the guiding Imperial Guard. Seeing that they weren't looking, he pulled up his pants with a rather helpless expression.

In his heart, however, he thought, 'If I had just moved a bit faster, maybe I would have conquered this guy by now.'

...

The two bickered all the way, following the Imperial Guard through various twists and turns. Finally, they stopped in front of a tavern. The guiding guard made a gesturing motion and said, “Please enter, both of you. Her Grace is waiting inside.”

“Oh! Arranging a meeting in a tavern? I like it!” Bronzebeard slapped away Grey's hand, which was creeping toward his backside again, and was the first to push open the door and walk in.

“Tsk, I'll conquer you sooner or later.”

Grey muttered softly as he watched his companion enter, then looked up at the tavern's name written in the Common Tongue. Stroking his thick beard, he murmured:

“Fantasyland? What a weird name. It doesn't sound nearly as good as our Great Hammer Tavern back home.”

With that, he also stepped into the tavern.

As soon as they entered, they spotted their target.

Or rather, it was hard not to notice.

The tavern had already been cleared out, and even the owner had been politely asked to leave.

In his place stood Fido, the old kobold, dressed in a tailcoat. He was standing behind the bar, wiping a glass with a handkerchief, looking every bit like an old butler.

Seated by the window was the only customer.

It was a young girl wearing a black mage robe.

Sunlight streamed through the glass window, reflecting in her golden eyes as if she were contemplating some deep problem.

It wasn't until the two dwarves approached and the old kobold behind the bar let out a dry cough that the girl seemed to notice their arrival. She stood up and gave a slight, ladylike bow.

“Good day, guests from afar,” she said, gesturing with her hand. “Please, have a seat.”

“Good day, esteemed mixologist.”

The two dwarves' eyes had already been drawn to the bottles of red wine lined up behind the bar. However, out of politeness, they forced themselves to look away, performed a traditional dwarven greeting, and sat down in the two chairs opposite Irene.

“May I ask what brings you two all this way?”

As Irene spoke, she snapped her fingers. The old kobold behind the bar immediately stopped wiping the glass, walked out from behind the counter, poured a glass of red wine for each of the three, and then stood respectfully to the side.

“Um... well... you see...” The two dwarves exchanged a look before Grey spoke up. “Your Grace, do you know that you're in big trouble?”

Irene was somewhat surprised—not by the dwarves' bluntness, as a race that spent all day with ore and hammers rarely had complicated minds, and to a dwarf, being direct was more effective than anything else. What surprised her was what he had actually said.

“In big trouble?” Irene mulled over the words. The mana within her body began to stir, putting her on guard against the two before her. On the surface, however, she wore a tense and puzzled expression, looking exactly like an innocent, inexperienced young girl.

“What do you mean by that? Does your empire not like the red wine I brew?”

“No, no, no, of course not.” Grey swallowed hard, picked up the glass in front of him, and downed it in one gulp. Only then did he look at the empty glass, feeling thoroughly refreshed, and said:

“Our entire nation absolutely loves this drink called red wine.”

“To be honest, ever since I tasted your wine, I can't bring myself to drink that awful ale anymore. It tastes like watered-down horse piss.”

Fido stepped forward at just the right moment to refill his glass. Grey downed it in one gulp again, let out a satisfied burp, and continued, “It's the Duchy of Reny. That old geezer, Duke Edliman, is planning to send troops against you soon.”

“Why?” The little dragon girl knitted her pretty brow, her gaze gradually turning cold. “I don't recall ever provoking this so-called Duchy of Reny.”

Grey coughed twice and pushed his glass forward. Fido, acting like a true butler, refilled it without a hint of impatience, allowing the conversation to continue.

“Your Grace might not know this, but nearly a century ago, our Dwarven Empire signed a long-term wine supply contract with the Duchy of Reny.”

“But after drinking red wine, we could no longer stomach that horse-piss ale, so the Dwarven King tore up the contract.”

As he spoke, he took another sip of wine and wiped the liquid clinging to his beard.

“That contract was originally established between us and the Legendary Grand Warrior, Andrigo. Now that it's been torn up, his son, Duke Edliman, is using it as an excuse to demand that we provide him with our newly excavated tunnel. It looks like he intends to make a move against you.”

“So that's how it is...”

Irene's eyes flickered. She quickly put on a fake smile, took the wine bottle from Fido's hand, and personally refilled the glasses for the two dwarves before asking:

“I assume you two didn't make this trip just to tell me this.”

“That's right.”

This time, Bronzebeard spoke up. “The Dwarven King cannot bear to see this land plunged into ruin and bloodshed. We are willing to help you hold off the Duchy of Reny. In return, you only need to pledge your forces to the Dwarven Empire.”

He then looked out the window. “Surely you wouldn't want to see the faction you've worked so hard to build be destroyed, would you?”