Inside the foul-smelling greenskin prison at Arsenal Fort, dozens of grimy dwarves were shackled and chained. Their expressions were bleak, and their spirits seemed broken. When the heavy door creaked open, the dwarves sprang to their feet, unleashing a stream of colorful dwarven curses. After venting their anger, they froze in surprise.
A group of Bretonnian knights, led by Dugan Ironhand and some fellow dwarves, entered the prison. The knights were unfazed, as they didn't understand the dwarves' language, and most knights weren't fluent in dwarven speech. However, Dugan Ironhand, the dwarven engineer, grimaced, debating whether he should reconsider releasing these foul-mouthed dwarves after the barrage of insults.
Baron Armand, one of Ryan's trusted Grail Knights and standard bearer, mistook the dwarves' angry outburst as frustration over their imprisonment. He signaled his squires to unlock the cells and release their new allies.
Due to years of cooperation between Bretonnia and the dwarves, Ryan's knights generally held a favorable view of their stout companions.
The greenskins had forged sturdy shackles and cells, and the squires struggled to break them open. However, they could not manage to remove the dwarves' shackles. The dwarven prisoners, too proud to ask for help, sat on the floor in silence, faces flushed with embarrassment, a mix of anger and awkwardness simmering between the two sides.
As the knights' squires glanced helplessly toward Dugan Ironhand, the engineer reluctantly muttered about retrieving tools. But before he could act, Ryan entered the prison, followed by a few of his Old Guard.
"What's the hold-up? There are dwarven friends still in chains?" Ryan asked, his voice firm.
"Er... greenskin-made shackles are particularly tough. I'm working on it," Dugan explained hesitantly before adding, "I'll fetch some tools, Your Majesty."
"Good, and bring some dwarven ale," Ryan said, nodding.
Many assume that greenskins slaughter all dwarves when they capture a dwarven fortress, but this misconception is more attributable to the Skaven. Greenskins often prefer to imprison dwarves and use them for entertainment.
What kind of entertainment?
Most captured dwarves have their hair and beards shaved, their scalps branded with greenskin tattoos. These unfortunate souls become decorations for the greenskins' thrones, chained pets, ornaments on greenskin siege engines, ammunition for goblin rock-throwers, or even food for goblin wolf riders, squigs, and orc war boars.
For example, Karak Ironpeak's dwarf king, Kazador, had once suffered a brutal ambush from Black Crag's warlord Gorfang Rotgut. His throne hall was stormed, his wife and eldest son were taken captive, and Kazador swore a deadly oath of vengeance. Years later, the High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer and Kazador would march together, striking back at Black Crag and finally slaying Gorfang in a decisive battle. Kazador's son, Kazrik, was found in the Black Crag dungeons, broken in spirit after years of torture, his beard shorn, his body branded.
The dwarves in this prison recognized Ryan's name and reputation. The lead dwarf, with a thick brown beard, hesitated briefly but eventually took the offered water skin, gulping down a mouthful of dwarven ale. After coughing, he spoke awkwardly, "Thank you, great King of Knights, for rescuing us. I am Bazrak-Bergen from Karak-Domar, a ranger. We were ambushed by goblin wolf riders while transporting a caravan of beer to Haimen Pass."
The dwarves were clearly famished. They drank greedily from the water skins, quickly emptying them. More skins were brought by the squires.
"You're lucky, dwarf," Ryan said with a smile. He stepped forward and effortlessly broke the chains with his bare hands. Extending a hand to Bazrak, he added, "My army has defeated the goblins and captured Arsenal Fort. You're free now."
"We are grateful," Bazrak said, still bitter and humiliated. He gave Ryan a small bow before the other dwarf soldiers stepped forward to help their comrades remove their shackles.
Standing on the bloodied, muddy ground inside the fortress, Ryan listened as Bazrak recounted their misfortune.
Bazrak came from the famous Karak-Domar, home to the renowned Bugman's Brewery. He had been transporting a full caravan of beer for trade when goblin wolf riders ambushed them near Arsenal Fort. Most of the caravan's dwarves had been killed, leaving only around twenty survivors. Goblin Warlord Git Acidbelly had not yet decided what to do with the bearded captives before Ryan's army arrived.
Bazrak anxiously asked about the fate of their cargo, but Ryan's forces had only found a few intact barrels—most of the beer had already been consumed by the greenskins. Out of the many wagons, only seven or eight barrels remained, while the rest had been drained. To make matters worse, these remaining barrels had already been claimed by the knights who stormed the fort first.
The knights were reluctant to give up their spoils. Bazrak sensed their hostility the moment he showed any interest in reclaiming the barrels. Bugman's beer was highly prized across the Old World, with a single barrel easily worth at least twenty gold crowns, and even more during times of scarcity. Dwarven beer wasn't just alcohol; it was also "liquid bread," providing sustenance.
Bazrak sighed deeply. "I see. A clever dwarf always knows the truth." The master brewer then addressed the knights, "Keep what's left. Consider it a gift of thanks. But have any of you seen a black barrel? Pure black, marked with the label 'Bergen's Finest'?"
"Do you mean this one?" Antelme, Sulia's uncle, asked with a grin. He had been the first to enter the fort and immediately recognized the special black barrel as a treasure, so he had claimed it.
"That's Bergen's Finest, a special brew I made myself. Please, return it to me," Bazrak insisted, his tone stubborn. "I can trade you ten barrels of Bugman's beer for it. This brew is a specially concentrated dwarven ale—it's far too strong for humans to drink."
"Deal!" Antelme agreed without hesitation.
An hour later, Belegar arrived with his army at Arsenal Fort. Watching the flames rise as greenskin corpses were burned, he nodded in satisfaction.
The fortress was still in disarray, with peasants and knightly squires cleaning up the mess. The Old Guard stood vigilant, while Ryan and his companions conversed with the newly freed dwarves. As Belegar approached with his oath guards, he immediately recognized Bazrak.
"Oh ho! Bazrak-Bergen! Master Brewer of Bugman's! Don't tell me you were captured by goblin wolf riders?"
"King Belegar, you scoundrel!" Bazrak snapped back, his temper flaring. "What does this have to do with you? By Grungni's hammer, I swear I will make those goblin wolf riders pay in blood!"
Bazrak's anger simmered as he had no way to exact his revenge on the greenskins. The knights had already slaughtered the goblins at Arsenal Fort, leaving only heaps of bodies burning in piles. Unable to take out his frustration on the goblins, Bazrak found a discarded hammer and angrily smashed a few goblin corpses for catharsis.
"Goblin wolf riders? Sorry, they're all dead by my hammer," Belegar boasted, grinning. "Unfortunately, Git Acidbelly escaped. My rangers tracked him fleeing toward the World's Edge Mountains when he saw the fort fall."
Bazrak let out an annoyed huff.
"Join us, Bazrak," Belegar urged, coughing slightly. He knew the value of these dwarves—they weren't just brewers, but also a legendary elite force known as Bugman's Rangers. Belegar needed their strength. "Come with us to reclaim Eight Peaks! We need your help."
"We've been deceived once already! We won't fall for it again!" Bazrak snapped, his tone defiant. He stormed up to Belegar, his face flushed with anger before realizing what he was doing. Embarrassed, he added, "In any case, thank you for the rescue, but our trade mission has failed. We must head to Haimen Pass."
Belegar opened his mouth to protest, but Ryan stepped in. "Very well. I'll send a unit to escort you safely to Haimen Pass."
"Thank you, King Ryan. Karak-Domar and I, Master Brewer Bazrak-Bergen, will forever be grateful for your help." Bazrak gave a respectful nod before gathering his men to leave.
After organizing the fortress, Ryan and Belegar sat down with their Grail Knights, Veronica, and other commanders to discuss the next steps. Olica, meanwhile, was busy arranging Ryan's accommodations for the night.
"Bazrak-Bergen and Bugman are both stubborn old fools! This time, we have an unprecedented opportunity to reclaim Eight Peaks!" Belegar muttered, still annoyed by Bazrak's refusal. "It's their loss if they don't want to join us."
Because you've failed so many times, they no longer trust you! the Grail Knights silently thought.
Ryan, on the other hand, was more pragmatic. He understood that Belegar's quest to reclaim Eight Peaks was akin to trying to reverse history. The Skaven and greenskins had
significant advantages in numbers and breeding. Without external help, reclaiming Eight Peaks might always remain an unattainable dream for the dwarves.
It was like expecting Istanbul to revert back to Constantinople—some things simply couldn't be undone.
In video games, players could always rewrite history or complete their dreams as many times as they wished. But in reality, there was no going back.
"In any case, we've achieved the first phase of our mission," Ryan said, tapping a map of the region and pointing to Arsenal Fort. "Our priority now is to rebuild the fort and turn it into a vital supply base. It's only fifty kilometers from Haimen Pass. Supply convoys from there will reach us in a day, making this a critical point in the campaign. In a month, we'll prepare to march on Iron Rock."
"Consolidate our position, then?" Kalad nodded thoughtfully. The string of victories had left the Grail Knight eager for more action, but Ryan's orders carried authority. "But we'll be stationed here for a whole month?"
"Not entirely," Ryan said with a smile. "We can raid the nearby greenskin strongholds. They're all treasure troves waiting for us to claim!"
The knights grinned. They loved treasure, especially when it was "righteously" taken from greenskins.
Though the campaign had only just begun, the knights had already amassed a substantial fortune.
Belegar wasn't fully convinced by Ryan's plan but couldn't argue with the logic. "A swift advance has its advantages, but Ryan is right. We've taken significant losses in ammunition and gunpowder. We need to replenish our supplies. Plus, we're running low on provisions. We only have about a month's worth of food left, and it'll take time for new supplies to arrive."
"Agreed," the others nodded, a brief silence falling over the group.
Veronica's eyes sparkled with an idea. Normally, Ryan's chief courtier rarely spoke during war councils, but this time she did. Pointing at the map, she suggested, "Transporting food from Bretonnia will take time and cost a fortune. Why don't we buy supplies from Averland in the Empire instead? It's much closer."
"We've already made arrangements," Antelme stroked his beard. "Averland's grain shipments will arrive soon, passing through Black Fire Pass and reaching us at Arkendorf. That's why we needed to capture Arsenal Fort—to secure the supply route."
"Perfect. Lucien!" Ryan called out to his subordinate, Baron Lucien.
"My king," Lucien approached, fully armed.
"You'll be in charge of organizing the patrols and securing the area."
"At once!"
"Hector!"
"Here!"
"You'll oversee the repairs to the fortress walls and manage the allocation of manpower."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
"Everyone, to your tasks. This great expedition has only just begun. There will be many more challenges ahead!" Ryan declared as he stood.
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
— The Best Start is Half the Battle —
Under the cover of night, Goblin Warlord Git Acidbelly was riding his wolf mount, racing across the desert plains of the Badlands.
As he approached Arsenal Fort, the distant flames and smoke confirmed his worst fears: the fortress had fallen.
Belegar had returned. The bearded nemesis had brought with him a massive army of dwarves and human shrimp, stronger than ever before.
Git Acidbelly knew he had to deliver this news to the Crooked Moon tribe and to Skarsnik, the Warlord of Eight Peaks!
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