“Cough...” Blake stood up and grinned.
“...Sorry,” Leopold said as he hurriedly walked out of the parlor. “I didn't think that punch would—”
“Leopold! You have absolutely zero talent for fighting!” Blake shouted at him.
“...I really didn't do it on purpose,” Leopold muttered. “You told me to punch you, so I did.”
Blake walked over to the wall, bent down to pick up a relatively intact honey biscuit, brushed off the dust, and took a big bite. Muffling his words, he said, “That's exactly the problem—that punch of yours relied purely on brute force. You didn't coordinate your entire body at all, did you?”
Leopold looked down at his own fist. “...I suppose so.”
“What do you mean ‘I suppose so’? It absolutely was!”
“Um, Lord Blake...” Gorn interrupted awkwardly.
Only then did Leopold look at Gorn, who was standing to the side.
“Is this... the black dragon?” Gorn asked, trembling slightly.
“Yes, indeed,” Isabella nodded.
Leopold sized up the young goblin before him. Gorn wore a suit of dark brown leather armor, and a shortsword hung from his belt, its hilt embedded with a dark red gemstone.
“Your grandfather...” Leopold paused. “Chief Grimm...”
“He passed away two years ago,” Gorn said in a calm tone. “He went very peacefully.”
After he said this, the parlor fell silent for a moment.
“Was he constantly worried that the angels would find this place before he passed?” Leopold spoke up, breaking the silence.
Gorn didn't answer right away. He fell silent for a moment.
“My grandfather did worry about that,” Gorn said, his tone turning solemn. “But in his final years, that wasn't what he was truly worried about.”
“Everything here has changed—the dragon survivors, the angels, the dwarves, the underground situation... More has happened in these past sixteen years than in the previous hundred years combined.”
“The Bronzebeard Tribe has leaped to become the strongest goblin tribe in the Eisenberg Mountain Range. Although some other tribes have submitted to us, it has also forced several goblin tribes to form the ‘Greystone Alliance.’”
“Things within the Bronzebeard Tribe aren't optimistic either. Undercurrents are surging within the Council of Elders, and there are many opposition groups in the capital... especially the Dragon Slayers.”
Leopold listened to Gorn's explanation. Instead of replying immediately, he took a few steps forward.
“In other words, although the Bronzebeard Tribe is stronger than before, you now have more enemies both inside and out.”
“You could put it that way,” Gorn nodded.
“What about the dwarves?” Leopold asked. “You mentioned that Blake used blizzard magic to help you renegotiate the ore prices. Did the dwarves just accept that?”
“The dwarves still have to continue their war with the elves, so they don't want to lose our support. Besides, the ore prices we provide are actually still below market value...”
Hearing this, Leopold couldn't help but marvel at how miserably the goblins had been exploited by the dwarves all these years... He turned his head and exchanged a glance with Isabella.
Isabella walked over to Leopold's side and said to Gorn, “Chief, you can tell Leopold what you're thinking. He will make the final decision for us.”
Gorn stood by the broken doorframe, his grayish-green eyes falling on Leopold. He took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind.
“Actually, I came this time to ask for a favor.”
Leopold didn't say anything, only watching him quietly, waiting for him to continue.
“For thousands of years, it is precisely because the various goblin tribes were not united that the dwarves succeeded in driving down prices time and time again.”
“The Bronzebeard Tribe has grown strong, but the other tribes either fear us, are hostile toward us, or continue to beg for scraps on their knees before the dwarves.”
He gripped the hilt of the shortsword at his waist. “And I want to change all of this.”
“You want to unify all the goblin tribes in the Eisenberg Mountain Range,” Leopold said, finishing his thought for him.
Gorn nodded, not denying it.
“I want to launch the ‘Eisenberg Goblin Unification War.’ I want goblins to have the right to negotiate prices, even without the dragon clan backing us!”
Gorn's words echoed in the parlor. Leopold didn't reply immediately, but thought for a moment before speaking slowly.
“A war of unification,” Leopold smiled. “How do you plan to fight it?”
Gorn straightened his back, his voice slightly calmer than before. “I will first send messengers to the Greystone Alliance with a letter for their leader.”
“In the letter, I will state my conditions: stop the mutual attrition, take the Bronzebeard Tribe as the alliance leader, and jointly establish a unified goblin price-negotiation alliance.”
“If they are willing to negotiate, we can sit down and discuss prices, shares, and distribution. If they refuse...”
Gorn paused and drew his shortsword.
“Then it will be a matter of iron and war. But—” He raised his head, a stubborn look in his eyes. “I hope the dragon clan will not participate in this war.”
“Why?” Leopold was somewhat surprised.
“Because the contract my grandfather signed with you back then was to ‘protect the safety of the Bronzebeard Tribe.’ The goblins of the Greystone Alliance are still my compatriots, after all. I don't want your sharp claws to be stained with goblin blood.”
Once Gorn finished speaking, the parlor fell silent for a moment.
Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, Blake snorted. It was hard to tell whether his tone was one of approval or mockery. “You don't want our help? Then what did you come to us for?”
“I need to know your attitude.” Gorn sheathed his shortsword, the blade sliding back into its scabbard with a crisp, clean click. “If the Bronzebeard Tribe launches a war of unification, we might win, or we might lose.”
“If we lose, we will need you to clean up the mess and preserve the tribe...”
“Tch!” Blake turned his head away.
Leopold walked over to the window, resting his hands on the stone windowsill as he looked down at the street scene of the capital. Goblins bustled to and fro, ore carts rolled slowly along the tracks, and the faint sounds of shouting from the marketplace could be heard.
“Gorn,” Leopold said without turning around. “You want to unify the goblin tribes not for the benefit of the Bronzebeard Tribe, but to make the entire goblin race stand up, right?”
Gorn was silent for a moment. “...Yes.”
“But have you ever thought about this?” Leopold turned around. “Even if you unify all the tribes, the dwarves will still be stronger than you. You still won't have the power to negotiate—because in the eyes of the dwarves, goblins have never been equals.”
“Similarly, if we weren't being hunted by the angels, you wouldn't have been qualified to sign a contract with us in the first place...”
Gorn didn't answer immediately. His fingers tightened slightly around the hilt of his sword, but his grayish-green eyes quickly regained their composure.
“...Mr. Leopold, you are right,” Gorn finally spoke, his gaze resolute. “Even if I unify all the tribes, the dwarves will still be stronger than us. They can still cut off our trade routes at any time and threaten us with war to make us accept lower offers.”
“But unity is the only way for the goblins to rise!”
“Look at our current situation—if the various tribes continue to act on their own, scattered like loose sand, the only fate awaiting our entire race is enslavement and extinction!”
Isabella glanced at the impassioned Gorn, and ultimately chose to close her eyes.
Clap, clap, clap.
Leopold suddenly began to applaud, leaving Gorn utterly bewildered.
“Leo, what are you doing?” Blake asked, puzzled.
“Because he spoke very well,” Leopold smiled at Blake. “The end of loose sand is destruction; the starting point of cohesion is the future.”
With that, he gave Gorn a slight bow.
“Chief Gorn, please return for now. We will give you our answer today...”
Rate on N.U.
