“Clack-clack, clack-clack, clack-clack, whoosh—”
Amidst the screeching noise and billowing steam, the train arrived at the station.
The cramped carriages were like cans packed with sardines. As the doors slid open, countless “sardines” jostled and squeezed their way out.
A dim tunnel met their eyes.
A few torches hanging on the walls cast a faint, flickering glow, barely illuminating the path ahead.
The Black Knights who had traveled with them had already lined up and vanished into the darkness.
Meanwhile, this crowd of “sardines” was like country bumpkins entering a grand palace, looking around in utter bewilderment, unsure of where to go.
Fortunately, their great Black Dragon, His Grace, had already anticipated this situation. Before these volunteers who had willingly joined the war could lose themselves in confusion, guides arrived to lead them out.
Iron Bull was swept along with the crowd, pushed forward by the flow of people against his will, looking like some poor soul swept up by the relentless tide of history.
Not that he resisted, or even had the strength to do so.
By the time they followed the crowd out of the dim underground tunnel, the sun was already high in the sky. Their eyes, accustomed to the darkness, squinted against the sudden, blinding glare.
Like most half-beastkin without night vision, Iron Bull stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes, only slowly opening them after a long moment.
What he saw was vastly different from what he had imagined.
The streets were completely deserted. There was none of the bustling activity the clan chief had described—no traveling merchants chatting animatedly, and no beastkin or half-beastkin with smiles on their faces.
Only armored, armed soldiers patrolled by from time to time. The towering black walls in the distance proved beyond a doubt that he had arrived at his destination.
However, this city called Black City had already entered a state of full war readiness a month ago, cutting off all trade with the outside world.
In reality, even if trade hadn't been cut off, merchants would hardly be willing to risk their lives to come here.
Though they valued gold coins more than their own lives, they weren't stupid; they wouldn't take action unless the profits were high enough.
The Duchy of Reny's massive troop movements in preparation for war against the rising power in the God-Forsaken Land was no secret. The entire Eastern Kingdoms had already been put on high alert.
Hilariously, to avoid raising unnecessary alarms and misunderstandings with other duchies and empires, the Duchy of Reny had announced a completely different reason for going to war:
A crusade against shameless thieves.
According to them, the mysterious mixologist who had risen to prominence in the God-Forsaken Land in recent years was a traitor to the Duchy of Reny, a shameless thief.
They claimed that this shameless thief had lurked by the Duke's side for years, winning his trust only to steal a new formula that the Duke had spent years of painstaking research to develop in secret.
To escape the Duke's pursuit, she had fled to the God-Forsaken Land.
The Duke, out of consideration for their long association, had initially intended to let the matter slide. Yet, this shameless little thief actually dared to use the formula for this new kind of wine to steal the Duchy of Reny's wine business.
It was an unpardonable crime.
Thus, the Duke had launched this righteous war—for justice, for fairness, for faith, and to protect all that was holy.
They had even forged a piece of evidence of the theft.
When this news reached the God-Forsaken Land, Irene—looking at the declaration of war with its “solid evidence”—might have actually believed it herself if she didn't know she had never set foot in the Duchy of Reny.
Naturally, the high-ranking officials of the Eastern Kingdoms didn't believe a single word of this explanation.
But it didn't matter. The Duchy of Reny only needed a pretext to wage war. History was written by the victors, after all.
As long as they killed the mixologist and snatched her formula, then this would become the absolute truth.
“Hey! Iron Bull!”
A sudden shout rang out.
Iron Bull turned his head and saw a rather thin sheepkin waving at him through the crowd, his single remaining horn particularly eye-catching.
“One-Horn?”
Iron Bull was startled.
This sheepkin belonged to the Goat Tribe, which was not far from the Wild Bull Tribe. In the past, the two tribes often traded necessary resources.
A few years ago, when Iron Bull accompanied his clan chief to the Goat Tribe to trade goods, he had met this very cheerful sheepkin.
He just hadn't expected to meet him here of all places.
While he was dazed, the sheepkin squeezed through the thick crowd and arrived at Iron Bull's side, striking him hard on the chest with a broad grin. “Hey! I didn't expect you to show up too. Aren't you afraid of leaving your wife a widow?!”
“You bastard, don't talk nonsense!”
Iron Bull snapped out of his daze and punched the sheepkin back hard on the chest. “I didn't come here to die. When my kid is born, I'm going to tell them how incredible I was on the battlefield.”
“Alright, alright, my bad, haha.”
One-Horn didn't mind. He slung an arm around Iron Bull's broad shoulders and led him in another direction.
“Come on, let me show you around. Let me tell you, I've been in Black City for three days now, and I've got this place all figured out. Let's grab some food first. The meals here are all-you-can-eat, and they taste amazing!”
“After we eat, I'll take you to get your...”
As they walked, Iron Bull suddenly stopped in his tracks, his gaze locking onto a certain direction.
His powerful build caused the scrawny One-Horn to stumble. Just as One-Horn was about to grumble, he followed Iron Bull's gaze and saw a squad of heavily armored soldiers marching past in perfect unison in the distance. Their pitch-black armor and weapons gleamed with a chilling, solemn air under the sunlight.
“Those are the Imperial Guards. I heard they're the most loyal and powerful troops of His Great Grace,” One-Horn explained offhandedly. “Don't let their small numbers fool you; they're all elite. Just two or three of them could take on our entire tribe.”
“I want armor like that too,” Iron Bull suddenly spoke up. “If I could wear a set of armor like that back to the tribe, it would definitely make my wife proud.”
“Are you serious?”
One-Horn glanced at the Imperial Guards in the distance, then at the determined look in Iron Bull's eyes, and couldn't help but shake his head. “I suggest you stop dreaming. Grunts like us don't get that kind of treatment.”
He pulled Iron Bull along toward the other side. “The son of my uncle's second aunt's third aunt became a Black Knight.”
“I heard him say that those Imperial Guards are chosen from the Black Knights, one in a hundred. We aren't even dragonborn, so stop dreaming.”
At this point, he looked left and right, and only after making sure no one was around did he lower his voice. “Also, he told me a secret. Don't go spreading it around.”
“These Imperial Guards are about to change their armor soon. It's some kind of power armor, supposedly dug up from the graves of those green-skinned beastkin's ancestors.”
“Tsk.”
The sheepkin shook his head with a look of deep sorrow. “Do you think our half-beastkin ancestors might have left behind some good stuff too...”
With their arms around each other's shoulders, the two walked further and further away. They didn't notice that in the direction they had been looking earlier, a girl clad in a black robe stood in place, her gaze locked onto their retreating figures.
“Which batch is this?” the girl suddenly asked.
“Your Grace.”
Fido, who had been following closely behind, bowed his head. “This is the ninth batch of volunteers who have joined the war.”
“I see...” Irene withdrew her gaze. “Remember to make proper arrangements for their families.”
With that, she stepped forward.
“Let's go. Let's visit the Equipment Department. I heard Gar has already finished my power armor.”
“Yes!”
Fido nodded and hurriedly followed.
Rate on N.U.
