Preparing for War

Watching the two dwarves board the steam locomotive and disappear into a trailing cloud of dust, Irene's gaze turned slightly vacant.

Just now, she had learned about the so-called Duchy of Reny from the two dwarves. Fortunately, that duchy did not possess any Legendary Rank experts—only three Gold Rank ones.

Or rather, they used to have one, but he had succumbed to illness many years ago. In recent years, the Duchy of Reny had failed to produce another Legendary expert.

This was good news. At least the threat wasn't overwhelmingly immense.

Honestly, Irene had never expected to attract such a disaster out of thin air.

She had originally wanted to just keep a low profile and live a peaceful life. Who would have thought that despite being so low-key, she would still be targeted?

This was mainly due to an information gap.

There was no record of the Duchy of Reny in her Draconic Inheritance.

This was actually normal. To a dragon, there was no need to remember such a weak country. It might very well perish while they took a single nap.

Because of this, coupled with Fido being too eager to complete the tasks she had assigned over the years, he had hastily signed a long-term supply agreement with the Dwarven Empire without fully understanding the situation.

This was what had led to their current predicament.

But it was too late to complain now; dwelling on the past wasn't Irene's style.

She liked to keep a low profile, but she certainly did not lack the courage to face danger.

If the enemy wanted to fight, then they would fight. Without a Legendary expert backing them, the outcome was still anyone's guess...

Irene's eyes narrowed.

Seeing the dust settle and the locomotive vanish from the desert, she turned around and walked back through the city gates.

“Let's go. Let's check out the Equipment Department.”

Fido, who had been waiting on the side, opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. In the end, he could only offer a submissive reply, tugging at his collar as he hurriedly caught up.

...

Down the dark, winding spiral staircase, two figures walked one after the other. The candle flames fixed to the walls flickered in the draft they kicked up.

After turning an unknown number of corners, the old kobold walking behind suddenly stopped.

His face was filled with worry.

Sucking on his teeth anxiously, he finally spoke up.

“Your Grace, are we really going to war?”

His words echoed repeatedly down the dark, enclosed stairwell like a coiled spring releasing.

The young girl walking ahead paused. She turned her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over the dog-like head behind her. Illuminated by the candlelight, the old kobold's silhouette looked rather bleak.

“What? Are you scared?”

Her tone was light, as if she were simply asking if he had eaten breakfast.

Having said that, she continued forward.

“No! Of course not.”

Fido instantly straightened his back and took two quick steps forward to catch up. “Your Grace, as your most loyal vassal, I wouldn't even bat an eye if you ordered me to march through a mountain of daggers or a sea of flames.”

Then, his tone shifted. “But this time, it's not as simple as dealing with one or two merchant caravans. This is an entire duchy, Your Grace.”

The old kobold's posture slumped once more.

“This is all my fault. I was too foolish. I signed the agreement with the Dwarven Empire without conducting a proper investigation, which led to all of this.”

After a brief hesitation, he continued:

“Perhaps... you should leave the God-Forsaken Land first.”

“I still remember a saying you once shared with me: ‘As long as the green mountains remain, one need not worry about firewood.’”

“Heh...”

A soft chuckle escaped the young girl's lips.

“Are you not worried about the lives of your tribesmen?”

“My... tribesmen?”

The old kobold hesitated. If Her Grace really left, the Duchy of Reny would most likely still refuse to spare them, her vassals.

Currently, the Iron Tooth Tribe alone had expanded several times over, not to mention the newly joined tribes. It was virtually impossible for everyone to leave together.

They couldn't fly and couldn't cross the Ersencielo River. They couldn't possibly expect Her Grace to demean herself by carrying them over one by one. Even if they could cross, a massive crowd moving through the Great Gana Forest would make them too big of a target.

After pondering for a moment, Fido seemed to come to a decision and said, “Your Grace, under your leadership, we have already brought immense honor to our ancestors over the past few years. It would be our honor to meet our end amidst such glory.”

Irene turned around and met Fido's steadfast eyes. In them, she seemed to see a quiet resolve to face death.

“What a blindly loyal fool,” she grumbled inwardly. Turning back, the little dragon girl looked ahead. Unknowingly, they had already reached the end of the stairs.

Before them stood a heavy stone door.

Even from a distance, the clanging of metal and the hissing of steam could be heard from behind it.

Stepping forward, she placed her hand on the stone door and pushed with a bit of force. The heavy door slowly creaked open.

At the same time, along with the creaking of the stone door, a lighthearted voice drifted into Fido's perked-up dog ears.

“If things truly reach their most critical point, I'll definitely run faster than anyone else.”

The stone door swung fully open, revealing the scene inside. It was an underground space about the size of a basketball court.

Row after row of half-beastkin and beastkin were busy inside, melting iron, forging, polishing, and molding, with various crafts proceeding in an orderly fashion.

Sparks flying from hammers striking steel and the spraying steam were the dominant themes of this place.

This was the Equipment Department, newly established by Gar.

Noticing the door open, Gar, who was busy hammering away at a half-finished set of power armor, looked up. Upon seeing who it was, he quickly arranged for another beastkin to take over his work. Then, he jogged over to the entrance, performed a beastkin salute, and shouted loudly, “Your Grace, you've arrived!”

His voice was mostly drowned out by the noisy environment, but thanks to her extraordinary draconic hearing, Irene caught every word. She nodded in acknowledgment, swept her gaze across the workshop, and transmitted her voice using magic:

“I have already resolved the issue with the materials. However, in the near future, we will face a war—a real war. My army needs to be fully armed.”

“Do you understand what I mean?”

Gar was taken aback, but then he nodded vigorously. “I understand!”

Having said that, he was about to return to his work when Irene called out to him again.

“Your Grace, is there something else?” Gar trotted back, raising his voice to ask.

Irene paused, her eyes sweeping over the rows of power armor in the workshop. She said softly, “Design a set of power armor for me.”

“Huh?”

Gar sized up the young girl in front of him. “That's not hard. Let me think about it. If I just shrink the armor's size down a bit, then...”

“No.”

Irene suddenly interrupted him. “I mean for my true form.”

Gar: “...”

...

In the tallest building of the dwarven mine, a drunken dwarf banged a bottle against a battered iron bucket, signaling the end of the shift.

A chorus of noisy voices erupted from the honeycomb of densely packed mine shafts, shattering the day-long silence.

“Ah, shift's over, shift's over!”

“Wanna head over to the Great Hammer for a drink?”

“Let's go, let's go! I heard the latest batch of red wine has arrived. I can't wait!”

“Ah! Refreshing!”

“Damn! You two are doing that in the mines again?!”

“...”

The clamor was mostly produced by the dwarves walking out of the mine with pickaxes slung over their shoulders.

On the other hand, the slaves—who were visibly much taller but extremely gaunt—remained taciturn.

The slaves lined up in an orderly queue before the food stalls, waiting to receive a loaf of dark bread made from fluorescent moss mixed with cave rat meat. This was their compensation for a hard day's labor.

By comparison, the dwarves were far more fortunate.

As soon as these grime-faced fellows emerged from the mines, they headed straight for the tavern.

As a race of universal alcoholics, to them, life held absolutely no meaning if they couldn't down a massive mug of iced liquor after a hard day's work.

Even the Dwarven King was no exception to this tradition.

In fact, as the king of the Dwarven Empire, Herbert Alexander had already been soaking himself at a table in the furthest corner of the tavern all afternoon. The mountain of bottles piled high on his table stood as a constant testament to his glorious exploits.

However, despite being a king, he wore nothing but coarse sackcloth and a pair of worn-out leather boots. Anyone who didn't know better would simply take him for an old, dead-drunk sot wasting his day away in the tavern.

The tavern's battered wooden door was violently slammed open as two dwarves burst inside.

Unlike those who entered with a clear objective and headed straight for the liquor barrels, only one of these two ran to the bar to order a drink. The other sought out the Dwarven King, who was slumped over the corner table, reeking of alcohol.

“Your Majesty, we have returned.”

Grey pulled out a chair and sat down, grabbing an unfinished bottle of red wine from the table and chugging it down.

“Ah... (ㅍ_ㅍ)...”

Slumped over the table, the Dwarven King lifted his head groggily. His thick beard had long been dyed an eerie, pale red by the wine, and it took a while for his unfocused brown eyes to lock onto his target.

Snatching the wine bottle from Grey's hand, he took another swig before asking, “So, how did it go? Is the matter settled?”

“Hah! Don't even get me started!” Grey glanced at the table and, seeing only empty bottles, leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “The girl refused to leave. She told us to stall for as long as possible and even demanded that we swap the gold coins for the trade into various ores instead.”

“Looks like she intends to fight that old geezer Edliman to the bitter end.”

“Gulp, gulp, gulp!” Chugging down the remaining wine in one go, the Dwarven King, Herbert, let out a loud belch. He slammed the bottle heavily onto the table with a resounding thud, causing spiderweb-like cracks to instantly splinter across the stone surface.

“Good! This girl has as much kick as the wine she sells. I like her!”

Having said that, the Dwarven King stood up, swaying slightly. Once he found his footing, he muttered in a low voice:

“Do as she says. We dwarves always keep our word and take responsibility for our actions. If that kid Edliman has any complaints, tell him to come see me in person.”