Gorn stood at the city gate, locking eyes with John for a few seconds.
His grey-green eyes showed neither avoidance nor anger. He simply remained silent for a moment, then turned around and gestured to the ten cavalrymen behind him.
“Stand by outside the city. If I do not return by sunset, head back to the royal capital immediately and deliver the news to Mr. Leopold.”
Gorn turned back and stepped through Bratak's city gates.
The gates slowly closed behind him, the heavy iron portcullis falling with a resounding clang that echoed off the subterranean stone walls for a long time before fading.
John walked ahead at an unhurried pace, with Gorn following half a step behind, his gaze quickly sweeping over the buildings on both sides. The scale of Bratak's main city was slightly smaller than that of the Bronzebeard royal capital, but its architectural style was much more rugged.
The goblins on the streets stopped in their tracks, their eyes falling upon Gorn as whispers surged from both sides like a tide.
“...Is that the patriarch of the Bronzebeard Tribe?”
“He is so young...”
“I heard he keeps three dragons—”
“Shh! Keep your voice down. Don't let Lord John hear you...”
Gorn's expression remained unchanged as he continued to follow John forward.
After crossing two streets, John stopped in front of a building made of grey stone. A clenched fist was carved on the lintel of the building, which was the symbol of the Greystone Alliance's council hall.
“Please, come in.” John stepped aside and pushed the door open.
Gorn and his accompanying officials stepped into the council hall, where a long table was placed right in the center, with six goblins sitting on each side. There were men and women in various attire—some wore gorgeous silk robes, while others wore simple leather armor.
Gorn recognized several of the faces as core elders of the Greystone Alliance. He stopped in his tracks and nodded slightly.
“Everyone, I am Gorn Grimm, Patriarch of the Bronzebeard Tribe.”
The elderly goblin sitting at the far end of the long table slowly stood up. He wore a dark grey robe with a bronze badge pinned to his chest.
“Your Majesty John, everyone is present.”
“Since everyone is here, let us begin.” John took his seat at the head of the table, crossing his hands on the surface.
Gorn sat down on the other side of the long table, and his two accompanying civil officials stood firmly behind him. He calmly swept his gaze over the twelve elders present—some were expressionless, some scrutinized him, and some had their eyelids lowered as if they were dozing off.
“Everyone,” Gorn spoke, his voice not loud but carrying clearly throughout the council hall. “I have come today for only one thing: to avoid war.”
The elderly goblin at the end of the table raised his head slightly, his greyish-white eyebrows twitching. “Avoid war? The Bronzebeard Tribe has been expanding its military, preparing for war, and hoarding grain for over a decade, and now you say you want to avoid war?”
“Our military expansion and preparations were for self-defense, not aggression,” Gorn responded quickly. “The Bronzebeard forces have never crossed the midline of the Eisenberg Mountain Range. You all should know this better than I do.”
“Self-defense?” The Defense Minister stood up from his seat, his voice high and shrill. “You Bronzebeards possess a Grayfrost Blue Dragon, a Holy Light White Dragon, and a Night Black Dragon! Holding the power of three dragons in your hands, and you tell us this is called ‘self-defense’?”
“Exactly! If you ask me, your tribe should hand over two of the dragons. Only then can we have peace!” another voice chimed in.
“Indeed, you cannot talk about peace with your mouth while acting differently with your body...”
Gorn closed his eyes. These people were truly not even trying to hide it anymore. However, he did not lose his temper. He opened his eyes and calmly swept his gaze over every face present.
“Hand over two dragons?” Gorn repeated the words, his tone devoid of any emotion. “Are you all serious?”
“The Bronzebeard Tribe has signed family contracts with the three dragons; we are equal allies,” Gorn's voice rose slightly. “I have no authority to ‘hand them over,’ just as I have no authority to ‘hand over’ any of you present.”
The Defense Minister sneered. “Allies? You make it sound so simple. Those three dragons live in your castle, eat your food, and use your resources. Do you dare to say they are not the sword in your hand?”
“They are dragons,” Gorn replied flatly. “Not swords. Dragons have their own will. I only cooperate with them; I never command them.”
The elderly goblin at the end of the table spoke slowly, “Patriarch Gorn, you say you came today to avoid war. Then may I ask why you are preparing for a so-called ‘Unification War’?”
Gorn did not dodge the question. “I am indeed preparing to unify the goblin tribes of the Eisenberg Mountain Range.”
“But the ‘unification’ I speak of is a trade unification, a unification of bargaining power, a unification to liberate us goblins from the exploitation of the dwarfs!”
The Defense Minister let out a short, mocking laugh. “Well said. And after trade is unified? Who will be the alliance leader? You?”
“If I have the ability, I will not deny it,” Gorn looked directly at the Defense Minister. “But if there is a more suitable candidate among you, I am also willing to step aside. The problem is not who becomes the alliance leader—the problem is that we are still acting individually, and the dwarfs can make us fight among ourselves just by raising their prices slightly.”
Gorn's words echoed in the council hall for a moment. The twelve elders on both sides of the long table had varying expressions—some lowered their heads in contemplation, some exchanged looks, while others remained expressionless.
The Defense Minister opened his mouth to retort, but John raised his hand to stop him.
“You are right,” John finally spoke, his voice quiet but silencing the entire council hall. “The dwarfs are indeed exploiting us, and their prices are getting lower year by year.”
He paused, his dark brown eyes turning to Gorn. “But Patriarch Gorn, if the dragons are divided equally among the tribes, there will be a balance between us. That is the prerequisite for unity!”
Gorn fell silent for a few seconds. “...So you would rather continue to be exploited by the dwarfs than try a new possibility?”
“A new possibility?” The Defense Minister sneered. “You call this a ‘new possibility’?”
Gorn did not answer immediately. He sat there quietly, his calm gaze fixed on the Defense Minister.
“Everyone, I understand your concerns. Dragons are indeed powerful—powerful enough to make any tribe wary. But have you ever considered one question—”
He paused, scanning the room. “If I, Gorn, truly wanted to use the power of the dragons to conquer you, I would not be sitting here negotiating with you today.”
The council hall fell silent for a moment.
“I would only need to have the blue dragon fly over Bratak and cast a blizzard. All of your mine shafts would freeze over, your granaries would be completely iced, and your army wouldn't even be able to leave the city gates.”
Gorn's voice did not rise, but every word fell clearly into the ears of everyone present. “The reason I did not do this is because I did not want to. Because we are of the same race, and because I do not wish to see the blood of our own people spilled on the ground!”
“...Then what do you want to do?” John finally spoke, his tone much more serious than before.
Gorn stood up from his seat, resting both hands on the table and leaning forward slightly.
“My proposal is simple: establish a Joint Price-Negotiation Committee, with representatives sent by all goblin tribes in the Eisenberg Mountain Range to negotiate ore prices collectively.”
“If the dwarfs are willing to accept the price, we will sell together. If they do not, we will stop selling together. We stand united, letting them know we are no longer a scattered mess.”
John's expression darkened. “...A Joint Price-Negotiation Committee. Who will serve as the committee chairman?”
“The committee chairman will be rotated among the tribes every two years. The first chairman can be held by an elder of the Greystone Alliance.”
The Defense Minister's expression froze. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found himself unable to find any angle to refute.
John remained silent for a long time.
“...You make a lot of sense, Patriarch Gorn.” John looked thoughtful as he raised his head and spoke slowly, “But the relevant details still need to be discussed gradually...”
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