The process of bureaucratizing the nobility essentially leads to aristocratic factionalism and further specialization. The Empire had already completed this transformation, and Ryan had also begun working on it. His father-in-law, François, through the Winford Academy, was doing something similar—training noble bureaucrats who would govern, but without passing on their positions hereditarily.
While Ryan, Kalad, and Fedemund discussed these issues, the Cathayans were also deep in conversation.
"The King of Bretonnia, Li Ge'lao, this is a rare opportunity. If we can establish a key trading link across the Vast Ocean, it would be a great achievement, wouldn't it?" Jing Lu respectfully poured wine for the high-ranking Cathayan official. "Ge'lao, your journey across the seas has been arduous, but your service is exemplary. This drink is in your honor!"
"Ah, no, no, it is all thanks to the emperor's great fortune. How could I claim credit for such a thing? Never mention it again!" The Cathayan, his face glowing, stroked his beard. "As for that Knight King, I think there's no need to bother. Even if we meet, it will be only for trivial matters like trade. Our Heavenly Empire is rich in resources and self-sufficient; we don't need foreign goods. It's only because our tea, porcelain, and silk are necessities for these far-off lands that the emperor graciously allows trade. But remember, we are here on imperial orders, and we mustn't act rashly."
"Yes, I was foolish," Jing Lu immediately bowed his head in apology.
"We are but humble servants of our master!" Qishan, another official, also lowered his head.
"This time we're here to purchase starmetal and other valuable goods. I brought ten pounds of high-quality tea," Hong Fuchu said with a smile. "Ge'lao, please have a taste."
"Excellent! To be able to transport it across the seas without it spoiling—Hong Fuchu, this deserves recognition." Li Ge'lao sipped the tea.
"The tea is indeed good, but sadly, there's too little of it," Hong Fuchu said modestly. "Li Ge'lao, you'll get three pounds, the dwarves four, and Jing Lu and Qishan will each receive a pound."
"What about yourself?" they asked.
Hong Fuchu smiled humbly. "I'm used to drinking plain water."
"Oh, listen to this! Plain water? You've managed such a large procurement—thousands of pounds of meteoric iron, obsidian, lead, and silver—and yet you claim to drink plain water? Who are you trying to impress?" Li Ge'lao teased, stroking his beard. "But the dwarves, really, do they need four pounds? Can't we negotiate?"
"Foreign barbarians are stubborn. They won't budge," Hong Fuchu replied with a smile. "We already agreed on the amount, and it can't be changed now. I'm just trying to do my job. If Ge'lao feels I'm not up to the task, someone else can take over."
"No, no, don't say that! The Grandmaster and the Emperor would have my head if I dismissed you," Li Ge'lao quickly backpedaled. "Let's stick to the plan!"
"Yes, I'll make the arrangements immediately."
"And don't forget about the negotiations for the trading house in Marienburg. This is the Grandmaster's great project, so we must press on with it."
"Of course!" The group raised their mugs. "To the Grandmaster's boundless longevity!"
"Boundless longevity!"
—Divine Praise for the Grandmaster—
Ryan paid little attention to the Cathayans in the tavern, as their attire instinctively made him uneasy and disinclined to interact. After lunch, he led Kalad and Fedemund to the Dwarven Engineers' Guild at Haimen Pass.
Even so, they waited nearly an hour at the entrance before being allowed in. As they walked through the guild's hall, guided by Hammerer warriors, they noticed that several of the senior engineers were red-faced and short of breath, appearing rather exhausted. Chief Engineer Brook Gunnarsson, breathing heavily, guzzled dwarven ale and belched loudly. "Welcome, King of the Knights from far-off Bretonnia. What do you want us to do for you, or is it you who's come to do something for us?"
Drunk dwarven engineers? Ryan noticed the remnants of food on the table and realized that Brook was both tired and intoxicated. This might make him easier to persuade, but Ryan also needed to be cautious not to anger him.
"Brook, don't be like that," said Polley Ironboot, a more amiable dwarven engineer and head of the local Dwarven Merchant Guild. "Sit down, King of the Knights. Let's have a drink. There's plenty of beer and bread to go around."
Polley had benefitted from Ryan's actions since arriving at Haimen Pass, so his attitude was particularly friendly.
"Right, there's no shortage of beer here," Brook nodded vigorously. "If word gets out that we didn't offer you beer, people would think we were disrespecting the King of the Knights, right?"
"Let's fill the mugs!" Brook ordered, motioning for Ryan and his companions to sit down. "Drink first, then we'll talk!"
"Alright, let's do it," Ryan agreed. Kalad and Fedemund, seeing their king comply, had no choice but to follow suit.
An hour later.
The drinking contest between the Grail Knights and the dwarven engineers finally came to an end. Kalad and Fedemund were dizzy, and even Ryan's face was flushed red. The dwarves were equally inebriated, and Brook hiccupped. "So, you're here to place an order? Looking to commission an ironclad warship?"
"Can you do it?" Ryan asked, struggling to suppress his hiccups.
The dwarven engineers whispered among themselves, eventually reaching a conclusion. Brook shook his head. "No, at least not right now."
"You've helped us clear out the greenskins along the Blackwater Bay and are now marching on Eight Peaks. Whether you succeed or not, you've done a commendable job," Brook muttered, scratching his head. "But we still can't fully trust you. If this expedition fails, who will pay us?"
Another engineer, Galrok Silvershield, added hesitantly, "And we're also short on materials. Those Cathayans purchased a large amount of starmetal and other resources from us at high prices. We just don't have enough materials right now."
"I feel like I should've known this sooner, not after spending an hour drinking with you," Ryan said, his tone slightly irritated. "Is this how dwarves treat their guests?"
"You're the ones asking us to build an ironclad! Letting you in was already a big favor!" a young engineer named Gudson stood up, angrily shouting. "Do you humans think you'd even survive without our generosity?"
"Enough, Gudson!" Brook reprimanded him. Feeling regret for allowing the young engineer into the guild a decade ago, Brook calmed the situation. "Perhaps it was our mistake. The truth is, we don't have enough steel to fulfill your order right now. Give us time. Go on your expedition, and we'll talk about the ironclad when you return. If you succeed, we can continue the discussion."
"Fine, I guess we came here for nothing. Sorry for wasting your time," Ryan sighed. "How long will you rest? Ten years? Twenty? Fifty?"
The engineers grumbled, the scent of ale and metal filling the hall, but the stubborn dwarves remained unmoved.
"Very well, I see we've reached an understanding," Ryan decided, signaling Kalad and Fedemund to follow. The two Grail Knights were dizzy and bitter from the strong, bitter dwarven beer. Fedemund, struggling to keep it down, swallowed hard to avoid vomiting.
"Wait a moment, King of the Knights," Brook suddenly called after Ryan. "Hear my proposal."
Ryan turned around.
"I understand your sincerity and determination. Your actions have benefited Haimen Pass, and we dwarves won't let you leave empty-handed," Brook said. "We'll dispatch the Thunder Squad to support your next battle."
"The Thunder Squad?" Ryan asked, intrigued.
"Thunder Squad pilots four gyro-bombers, the latest in dwarven aviation technology. These machines combine the features of helicopters and zeppelins, with two rotors and a tail stabilizer. They're armed with eleven Annihilator bombs and a rotary gun in the nose," Brook explained. "But you'll have to cover their wages and supply their ammunition."
Gyro-bombers? Ryan's eyes lit up, and he nodded quickly. "We'll accept."
"Alright, then you can go," Brook gestured. "We've got more to discuss."
"Looks like you've got a lot on your plate, so we'll leave you to it," Ryan nodded, leading Kalad and Fedemund out. As they left, they heard more heated debates from inside the guild.
After about two weeks of rest and resupply, Bretonnia's Seagod Fleet delivered around fifty thousand laborers and reinforcements. With enough support, the expedition army began its next phase, preparing to march on Arsenal Fort, located east of the Haimen Pass mountains.
In the year 2512 of the Imperial Calendar, in the desolate plains west of Haimen Pass, the expedition army, led by Belgar Ironhammer, consisting of over ten thousand soldiers
, slowly marched through the hills and ancient roads. As a master of using and commanding dwarf rangers, Belgar had sent out many scouts to survey the surroundings. He himself led the entire Angrund Clan army, along with Blackheart Reep's forces, Leopold's Leopard Company, the Kislevite Erengrad Sea Soul Guard, and General Ivan's force of over a thousand horse archers.
Winter's cold wind swept across the plains. Although the temperature wasn't below freezing, it still chilled Belgar. Under the winter sun, the sky returned to its usual clear blue, giving the dwarven air force a perfect view of the surrounding area.
Belgar greedily inhaled the dry air of the Badlands. After many years, he had returned to claim what was rightfully his from the greenskins and Skaven. The true King of Eight Peaks couldn't help but feel a rare sense of joy. While most dwarves longed for dark tunnels and solid rock, standing in the Badlands' winter sun, breathing fresh air, was a nice change.
"My king, it seems there aren't many greenskin troops nearby. Perhaps they fled in fear?" Angrund Clan engineer Harald Goldsaver, holding a rune rifle, said to Belgar. "At least in this terrain, they can't ambush us."
"No, greenskins won't ambush us here," Belgar agreed in his gruff voice. "But I know where they will. Arsenal Fort is special."
"Yes, King Belgar. I've been in the Border Princes for years. Arsenal Fort is the boundary between the Badlands and the Border Princes, as well as the dividing line for rainfall. North of Arsenal Fort, there's just enough rain to grow some crops. But south of it, the land becomes too dry for farming," Blackheart Reep explained as he walked beside Belgar. "That's why humans have never conquered beyond this point."
"But humans never held it for long," Belgar scoffed. "Arsenal Fort is the first to face the greenskin hordes during their invasions. It's no wonder humans couldn't hold it. In the end, it's always us dwarves who stand as the shield."
"Yes, quite right," Blackheart Reep nodded awkwardly, his thick skin helping him shrug off the criticism. "You're absolutely right, King Belgar."
After several days of marching, Belgar's forces approached Arsenal Fort. The fort was built between two narrow hills, and the only way to approach was through a small valley.
Belgar didn't order the army to halt. Instead, they pressed on until the rangers and dwarven gyrocopters raised the alarm.
"Enemy sighted!"
"Greenskins ahead!"
"Goblins spotted on the left hill!"
"Goblins on the right hill too!"
"We're surrounded!"
_________________________
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