Ryan's appearance finally calmed the entire camp. The king was the only one in the camp who could simultaneously suppress both the Wood Elves and the Dwarves. The Wood Elves needed Ryan for trade, and as for the Angrond Clan, they respected him. Upon hearing that Ryan had successfully advanced to the high level of the Sanctuary, Belegar also quieted down. The King of Eight Peaks was making his final preparations.
Ryan didn't rush to call a meeting; he needed to familiarize himself with his new abilities first.
His psychic power touched the cold void, and in the Warp, his Primarch-level psychic energy appeared as a bright point of order, forming mysterious symbols. Ryan fully controlled his psychic power, expanding and exploring it.
Hmm, the dark magical source about ten meters away, with my psychic mark, must be Olica standing guard outside the door. Ryan sensed this and nodded.
Since he could sense Olica, what about Veronica?
Ryan extended his power further. His psychic energy covered several hundred meters outside the house. Soon, Ryan found Veronica. The Garland Witch was hiding in her tent, gathering fire magic elements. Even amidst the dense concentration of fire elements, the psychic mark Ryan had left on her lower abdomen remained clear.
She's been working hard, Ryan thought with a smile. Over the past year of the great expedition, Veronica had contributed significantly. Although the rewards were tempting, her presence here was largely because of him. As a high-level Sanctuary witch, Veronica didn't say much, but she always prioritized Ryan. Now, in the cold weather, it wasn't suitable for her to use fire magic, yet she was still working to store some firepower reserves.
In fact, this cold weather should have been Teresa's domain. However, she wasn't in the Sanctuary, and even if she had come, she wouldn't have been very useful in the harsh terrain and battles of Valaya's Gate. Her greatest contribution would have been at the final gate of Eight Peaks, which was not worth the trouble. Ryan had decided not to bring her. As for Aurora, she could have been useful, but Ryan didn't completely trust her.
Yes, not completely. It wasn't that he didn't trust her at all, but he didn't fully trust her.
So why had Ryan allowed Aurora and her daughter to form Military Intelligence Section Seven?
The answer was simple: there was no one else to use, and Ryan needed to maintain a balance. During his rise, he had become somewhat overly reliant on Sulia and the knightly noble forces behind her.
"Alright, let me test my new ability." Ryan closed his eyes and attempted to cast a spell using his psychic powers.
Bright psychic light illuminated the entire room. Soon, the boundary between the Warp and the physical world was torn apart. A faint blue psychic vortex appeared and gradually opened a bright portal.
Through the portal, Veronica's figure appeared, falling from the air with a scream. Ryan caught her in his arms. At first, the Garland Witch was panic-stricken, almost thinking she had lost control of her power, accidentally summoning a Chaos demon or being sucked into the Warp. But upon seeing Ryan, her face darkened, and she lightly slapped his face with the back of her hand, irritated: "Dear! What are you doing? You nearly scared me to death! I thought I was sucked into a Chaos portal!"
Veronica's reaction wasn't unwarranted. Over a hundred years ago, when the Imperial Royal Wizard Academy's Alchemy College was first established, the management wasn't as strict as it would later become. One alchemist had failed in his spellcasting and accidentally summoned a Chaos portal. A large number of Tzeentch demons and Khorne warhounds emerged, killing all the alchemists inside the academy. The demons of Tzeentch and the Khorne warhounds even fought each other in the academy for a whole day before the Chaos tides receded and the demons disappeared. Only then did the Empire discover the disaster.
In the history of the Garland Council, similar incidents had occurred. Despite Ryan's psychic protection ensuring she wouldn't be corrupted by Chaos, Veronica had experienced spellcasting errors and backlashes before, so this incident had truly frightened her.
"I see, I understand now." Ryan, holding Veronica's soft body, nodded thoughtfully. "I understand how Father managed to teleport Angron out of danger."
"Brother Angron?" After her brief panic subsided, Veronica regained her composure. Sitting on Ryan's lap, she teasingly said, "Brother Angron is so strong, how could he ever be in danger? You're not trying to trick me, are you?"
"No matter how strong, he's still just a demigod," Ryan said meaningfully, his hand lightly stroking Veronica's black silk-clad legs. Beneath the thin stockings, her smooth skin was revealed. A bit embarrassed and slightly irritated, the Garland Witch slapped Ryan's hand away: "Alright, dear, I don't know what new power you've gained, but if you summoned me just for this, let's save it for the night. Or you can go find your Olica. I still need to focus on gathering more magic for the upcoming battle."
"I was just testing my new ability," Ryan said, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I've tested the first ability; now for the second."
"The second?" Veronica hadn't yet realized what Ryan was referring to when a faint blue psychic vortex filled the room. In an instant, both of them disappeared: "Whoosh!"
A moment later, Ryan and Veronica reappeared two kilometers away on the eastern wall of the Streamwatch Outpost. Veronica's black high heels sank into the thick snow, and the Garland Witch, in disbelief, gazed at the snowy landscape around them. "Dear, you've learned mass teleportation?"
"Psychic Warp Jump, up to thirty to forty people at a time, with a maximum range of three kilometers," Ryan said, absorbing the new power. "Damn, this world is too heavily restricted by the Great Ward and the Vortex. Otherwise, I should be able to teleport much farther."
"Your new ability?" Veronica looked at the falling snow and draped her cloak over Ryan's shoulders. "Let's go back to the room. No need to stand out here in the snow."
"Psychic recall and psychic warp jump," Ryan nodded. He activated his warp jump again, and a second later, they reappeared in Ryan's golden tent.
Ryan began processing various messages and affairs.
According to Belegar's dwarf rangers, Skarsnik was gathering all his troops. The large-scale movements indicated that the final battle for Eight Peaks was approaching. At the same time, an entire tribe of Ogres, known as the Big Gut Tribe, led by the Ogre warlord Bloater the Big Gut, was approaching Eight Peaks. Skarsnik had not only used the Eight Peaks crown and a large quantity of food to trade with the Ogre tribe, but had also offered up half of the goblin population within the mountains for the Ogres to feast on.
While goblins are inedible for most other races, the Ogres are different. For them, there's nothing they can't eat. In times of extreme hunger, Ogres are even known to eat rocks and dirt, though it's not very satisfying. Faced with thousands of delicious roasted goblins, the Ogres agreed to Skarsnik's contract.
Belegar had initially been confident about hiring Ogres himself, but seeing Skarsnik so decisively pay such a high price, the King of Eight Peaks had little to say, admitting that his old enemy was truly going all out this time.
While Skarsnik was cunning and deceitful, the greenskin warlord also possessed the boldness and readiness to risk everything when necessary. Even Belegar, who despised him, acknowledged this.
As for the Skaven, they had been eerily quiet. Belegar suspected two possibilities: either Headtaker Queek was planning something even more vile and dangerous, or he was simply waiting to swoop in and clean up after the battle.
The second possibility... was daunting, even for Ryan. However, if they could resolve the issue of Eight Peaks in one decisive battle, saving themselves much trouble, it would be worth it.
When it came to Belegar's suggestion of field battle versus the Wood Elves' proposal of defending the fort, Ryan ultimately decided on a field battle. The Streamwatch Outpost was too dilapidated. It wasn't a proper fortress with sufficient defenses or an intact wall structure. It had been abandoned for thousands of years, and though the Dwarves had repaired parts of it, it was far too fragile for a defensive battle.
Ryan understood Alaloth's reasoning—Wood Elves preferred to let others engage in the melee while they rained arrows from behind.
However, a field battle would allow Bretonnia's heavy cavalry to maximize their impact, so Ryan made up his mind. Belegar was delighted, saying that Ryan truly understood Dwarves, while calling the forest-eared elves idiots. Alaloth, on the other hand, was less pleased. After several polite but persistent suggestions, he was forced to accept the field battle plan. Though Ryan could tell, the Wood Elf hero still preferred defending the fortress.
For now, Ryan suppressed Alaloth's dissatisfaction, not by his own authority, but thanks to Lileth's reminder to Alaloth: "Follow Ryan's orders, and don't let him get hurt."
The Champion of Courage's voice was tinged with jealousy, which made Ryan smile.
The entire camp was now preparing for war.
In the wind and snow, amid fallen branches and leaves, in the ruins of a dwarf settlement, the true King of Eight Peaks, Belegar Ironhammer, sat on a stone, holding a pipe
, puffing smoke.
Around him were hundreds of dwarven soldiers eating sandwiches, drinking beer, fighting, and arguing loudly. Belegar didn't stop them; instead, he was pleased by the sight. It represented the vitality of the Dwarf clan.
The decline of the Dwarves had lasted a long time, with the older Dwarves now outnumbering the young. If not for Ryan's help and support, which had provided the younger Dwarves with enough food and training, this decline would have continued. But one day, the young Dwarves would don their ancestors' armor, wield their axes and hammers, and step onto the battlefield, fighting for honor and their clan.
What a sight that would be, Belegar thought with a smile. He gazed out towards the distant Gate of the Titans at Eight Peaks, stretching his legs and enjoying the view. From the mountain top, he could see the undulating mountain range, the hard rock, sparse vegetation, and the faint outline of Eight Peaks. The statues of Grungni and Grimnir stood before the peaks, overseeing everything. They were about to witness a battle of a lifetime.
"Over three thousand years ago, your kingdom fell here, esteemed King Belegar," came a voice from behind. Belegar turned to find an old dwarf with a white beard tied with a simple cord. The stranger wore a blue woolen cloak, his cracked, rough hands holding an ancient dwarven scroll. "And now, you intend to reclaim it."
"Only by retaking Eight Peaks can my clan and I achieve final revival," Belegar replied earnestly, taking his pipe from his mouth. He looked curiously at the old dwarf, whose beard was long enough that he could be his grandfather. "Who are you? You're not one of my clan's warriors. Where did you come from?"
"I come from Karaz-a-Karak," the old dwarf nodded, stepping beside Belegar. "I'm just an old craftsman, skilled at making and repairing weapons to earn a little coin. I thought you might need my help, so here I am."
"Thank you for your assistance. May Grungni be with you," Belegar nodded. "Anyone lending a hand at this time is a friend. Please, sit."
The old dwarf sat next to Belegar, stretching out his legs as well. He took out a cup of Bugman's XXX Black Ale and began drinking heartily. "This will be a glorious battle. I'm glad you found such powerful allies. But as an elder, I must offer some life advice."
"I don't need advice, and if you're about to tell me that Ryan isn't trustworthy, I won't take kindly to it. By Valaya, Ryan is my friend, always," Belegar grumbled, clearly unhappy. "I don't need your guidance."
The old dwarf didn't respond immediately. He deftly packed some tobacco into his pipe, struck a match three times before it lit, and, after a few satisfying puffs, slowly spoke: "Ryan Malcador? He's a passable warrior, just passable. But remember, Belegar, only he among the humans can be trusted. The rest aren't worth mentioning. You must understand, humans live too briefly and are too fragile. Look at the Empire—besides Emperor Sigmar and the Savior Ludwig, have they had any other competent rulers? Still, for now, we can trust Ryan and his knightly allies. But that's not what I'm referring to. I'm talking about another group of despicable, treacherous beings who betrayed the Great Pact. I won't name the pointy-eared ones."
"You mean..." Belegar thought for a moment, his eyes narrowing. He looked suspiciously at the old dwarf behind him. The long cloak the elder wore covered his entire body, but it was clear that a weapon shaped like an axe hung from his waist. "You're here to help me, aren't you?"
"I'm delighted. I once thought reclaiming Eight Peaks was an impossible task, but Belegar, you've made the impossible possible. Now, the moment of reclaiming the mountain is close. If you and your knightly allies defeat the greenskins and the ratmen, you may truly have a chance—just a sliver of one," the old dwarf nodded.
"This is my oath: I will reclaim Eight Peaks," Belegar's eyes shone with determination. "An oath is what binds our clan together."
"Yes, the Kingdom of the Mountains will rise again," the old dwarf's slow, deep voice carried the weight of a thousand years. "An oath, as solid as a rock."
"Go now, King Belegar. May Valaya guide your way. May your will be as strong as Grungni's iron, and your strength as mighty as Grimnir's axe. May you succeed."
Belegar slowly nodded, releasing a black raven into the sky. As he watched it fly into the distance, the King of Eight Peaks spoke with deep emotion.
"This day has finally come!"
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