¡Qué buen capítulo! Se siente la tensión de la guerra de guerrillas de los enanos y ese giro final con los dragones de tierra (Earth Dragons) le da una escala de amenaza épica. Aquí el lenguaje debe ser rudo, directo y con ese orgullo herido de la raza enana.
He mantenido la fluidez que pediste, usando un inglés que suena a "fantasía oscura" pero sin ser excesivamente formal, para que no pierda ese sentimiento de urgencia.
Chapter 28: The Price of Freedom
Battles are being won. Bit by bit, peace is returning to the caverns since the new King took his throne. My people's tasks in this liberation are small, but for that very reason, they are the most vital. As the new leader of the Skyrock Dwarves, I, Limestone, must see these negotiations through to a successful end.
I am near Java, the city of cities—the greatest of them all, save for the King's own. We dwarves admire the beautiful work done with the jade veins found long ago, before the Thunder Clan claimed the entire city for themselves. Skyrock was child's play, mostly because we enjoyed the backing of a being as powerful as Lord Thunderclap. He insists on being "normal," but for the sake of appearances, he accepted the title.
The process with the other cities was simple: we'd arrive, identify the mercenary gangs living there, and fight for their gear—mostly their weapons. Once they were just men suffering inside dented armor, with their referees fleeing to find reinforcements, we'd drag those scumbags to the main square. There, we offered weapons. To every dwarf with nothing in his hands but the will to live, we gave him something to fight with. None asked for armor. None showed mercy. None killed outright, but the damage to bone and muscle was so severe that after two weeks of fighting, every village had armed citizens, annihilated mercenaries, and referees facing a mob that had seen every bit of their corruption. I doubt many of those referees will ever be found. That is the fate of those who preyed upon us.
These cities aren't lawless—I made sure of that. We always leave wise folk behind to guide everyone toward new ways of trade. We've told them to stop trying to get rich for a moment; first, the needs of families must be met. Schools have reopened. Those who lost arms, eyes, or legs—those who can no longer fight—along with the very old, have taken education seriously. Artisans are passing down crafts that stayed hidden for centuries: blacksmiths, cooks, teachers. They all have places to practice, but none of them have forgotten how to survive. It's no surprise to see them kneading dough and then practicing with axes during their rest, or while waiting for the oven to show them how much they've learned.
But this city is different. Everyone is holed up here: mercenaries, master merchants, mages, and soldiers who refuse to lose their grip on power. We are over five thousand dwarves, but storming a fortress without siege weapons is hard—and even worse now that we don't have our mentor. He went off to hunt those hiding in the mines, including the dead and the creatures he calls "spawn of chaos"—things that look like animals but are toxic and inedible. They are tough and violent, so I'd rather he be the one clearing those tunnels. I just hope he's still alive when he gets back.
When I open my eyes, it feels like I've been asleep for a long time, but the pain in my gut reminds me we are still at war. No sooner had I reached the gates of Java than they began hurling enchantments. Their weapons spat arrows; their mouths spat insults. Nothing I did could make them listen. Hate, fear, and the "bravery" that comes from attacking those without cover—it's typical. But this time, I was the one who paid. I thought I was out of range. I only wanted to tell them it was important to negotiate. That city is made of millionaires and the workers of guild bosses; no one is held there by force, but they won't leave. Outside those walls, it's a survival economy, so they intend to defend it. We only wanted to establish trade contracts—and when I say "we," I fear I mean my people and a few others. The rest suffered too much under their rule; they want blood. I was the only one who could stand between them, but I can't even get up. I've got a crossbow bolt hole in my guts. They dragged me out before I could save them from themselves.
I look out and see exactly what I feared. We dwarves are tough, but a lifetime of hunting and gathering the "mushrooms of poverty" has hardened our spirits alongside our muscles. Now it all comes together. The Berserker dwarves use their agility to dodge attacks; if that fails, they use Harden—simple magic that grants resistance to spells and physical damage. It can be held for a long time; it doesn't work for weapons, but it makes them easier to control.
Right now, I see an old dwarf, he must be over a hundred and eighty years old, running like a madman. His twin axes cover him from shots to the face. Some emboldened dwarves inside opened slits in the wall to fire at anyone approaching. It's a terrible mistake. A hand covered in mail and gauntlets won't fit in that slit, but the old man's thin hand slips in with ease. Whatever he finds, he pulls: beards, ears, teeth—anything. But he isn't a fool. People think Berserkers just attack without noticing their surroundings, but that's not true. They see everything and use their experience. The old man does this to make them try and aim; when they do, one of his hands is already gripping a thin knife. Such a blade doesn't exist in the common dwarven ranks—it's made from the fang of a corrupted serpent. Thin, sharp, and oozing poison. The impact against the crossbow and its tip shatters the tooth, spilling a venom that evaporates on contact with the air. I almost feel happy for a second... before a stone thrown from above crushes his skull.
The battle went on like that. For every weapon destroyed, every axe that shattered shields and helmets, every mace strike against the gate, one of ours fell. I've tried to coordinate them, but they are so full of rage they barely listen. The bodies of hundreds, if not thousands, of our kin already litter the ground. However, Java hasn't come out as unscathed as they hoped. Our weapons weren't expected to break stone on the first hit, but the impacts are rattling their hinges. A gate like that isn't going to split, but if we keep it up, the mountings will give way, the supports will snap, and the whole thing will come down. That, plus all their ranged weapons are broken (not to mention the archers who held them). Soon they'll have to come out and defend themselves. That's when they'll fall.
Suddenly, horrific screams erupt from inside the city. Cries for mercy and pity so loud that even our front lines fall back a bit. I pull myself up as best I can. My tent is at the highest point of the cavern entrance. From here, I can't see the city's interior, but I can see their warriors. They've stopped attacking us; now they are firing inward.
I shout out orders as best I can. We pull back and stay busy recovering weapons, bodies, and shields. I have my hammer; though I'm not great with it, I swore an oath to protect my fellow dwarves. In that moment, we see the gate—a double-leaf gate made of tons of solid rock—begin to crack. Something massive is hitting it from the inside. Just as I start to tremble, another impact breaks off a huge chunk of the door.
In that instant, someone starts signaling us. I can't see well from here, but I think that dwarf is the Governor of Java. I can't see much more; his golden armor becomes a blur. Something caught him, and with one powerful leap, it lands on the esplanade. It's hideous. While the Governor begs for help for his people, blood in his mouth and resignation in his eyes, the beast looks at us with a dull, stupid expression. It knows nothing of politics, of the distinctions or duties of one dwarf to another. It is only hungry, and it absentmindedly snaps the Governor in half with its powerful jaws. It stands four meters tall, dark brown, with the claws of a predator.
But it didn't cause the noise. Something else is still tearing down the defense that is now ours. Most of my kin have already charged. They know what it is, the evil it holds, its gluttony. That is a young Earth Dragon, so lethal that even one that age can wipe out entire cities.
The gate explodes and crumbles. From the shadows inside, several eyes glow with anticipation. I don't believe in gods, but I believe they hate us if they exist. The mother of the Earth Dragons, Gaia, is coming with her brood. We are their dinner. They came through the mines and the water wells. With skin as tough as pure steel and as foul as spoiled ale, I don't know what to do. The Overlord only asked me to look after my people. I did that. I tried... but it wasn't enough.
Now there is no time for mistakes. I must rally our forces. Once that's done, I will ask everyone to take refuge in the nearby villages. We will flee—just as we promised we never would! But these are killers so ruthless they won't just eat their enemies; to make sure no one else eats them, they drench them in their own filth. My father didn't raise Limestone to be shat on by a dragon. We will run and we will regroup. To have a chance, they will have to trust each other. My people must survive!