Translator: CinderTL
When the iron gate of the cave opened, Solan Helsen was sitting on a straw mat, polishing his family crest—the only keepsake the guards had allowed him to keep.
Two dwarf guards entered, their tone surprisingly polite. "The Clan Chief wishes to see you. Come with us."
He stood up, brushing the dust from his robes. For the past two months, his meals had been meager compared to his previous noble life. In the prison, he received coarse bread, stew, and clear water. Though he had lost weight, his bones remained strong.
Initially, when he was first detained, he had feared he would die in some sunless cave or be tortured into mental collapse as a hostage. But reality had proven otherwise.
The dwarf guards, though rough in speech, never laid a hand on him. An old veteran named Brock even came to chat regularly, sharing anecdotes from the mines or complaining about the heavy orc tax burden.
Helsen remained vigilant, aware that this was a common tactic to extract information. He kept each conversation brief, never mentioning military affairs, political developments, or the true state of Alden Town.
Yet he gradually realized that these dwarves were not malicious. They adhered to their rules, revered their ancestors, and refrained from excessive violence against prisoners. Were it not for their opposing allegiances, they might even be considered simple and honest.
At that moment, he was led into a slightly larger stone chamber. A charcoal brazier burned in the center, and Imar sat upon the Black Rock Throne, draped in a deep gray wool cloak. His beard was braided into War Markings, his expression both dignified and arrogant.
"Sir Helsen," he began, his voice like the grinding of mountain stones, "I have summoned you here to discuss the path to coexistence between our two peoples."
Helsen froze, almost believing he had misheard.
Peace?
This clan chief, who had imprisoned him for two months, was now proposing peace?
Suppressing his shock, he bowed respectfully. "Clan Chief, if you truly desire reconciliation, you should have released me long ago. Delaying until now has only worsened relations between our peoples."
"That is because you have been pressing us at every turn!" Imar snorted coldly, then, realizing his slip, quickly added, "...But now, I am willing to consider releasing you as a sign of my sincerity."
Helsen's gaze sharpened.
A flaw in the dwarf's words flashed through his mind: "you have been pressing us at every turn," "now I am willing to consider"... Intriguing.
He asked calmly, "May I inquire, Clan Chief, what you mean by 'pressing us at every turn'?"
Imar frowned deeply, as if regretting having said too much, but he pressed on, "Human armies invaded the eastern Rocky Mountains, destroying our tunnels and slaughtering my people. If I hadn't ordered restraint, war would have already engulfed us!"
Helsen's heart jolted.
Destroyed tunnels?
Before his imprisonment, Alden Town and the Stonemason Clan had not yet engaged in open conflict. Now, Imar himself admitted that the Alden forces had attacked and used methods capable of destroying underground passages.
Helsen knew that before his departure, Lord Grayman had ordered the development of a new explosive far more powerful than Black Powder, specifically to destroy the dwarves' tunnels.
It seemed the new explosive had been successfully developed.
Alden Town had already taken action, and with a ferocity beyond his imagination.
Still... the dwarves were an excessively straightforward race. With just a light probe, they had revealed the true reason for summoning him.
Maintaining a neutral expression, he said calmly, "If military action has indeed been taken, it must be due to your clan's detention of our envoys..."
Imar waved his hand impatiently, cutting him off. "Damn it, I don't have time for your stalling. I want peace talks."
The crackling fire in the stone chamber cast flickering shadows across Imar's face, making his features shift between light and darkness.
"Write a letter," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument as he glared at Helsen. "In your name, to that Grayman in Alden Town. Tell him—the Stonemason Clan is willing to release you and initiate peace talks, provided the humans immediately cease their attacks and withdraw from the Rocky Mountain region."
Helsen stood his ground, his hands clasped calmly before him, his expression serene. "Clan Chief, this is a matter of great consequence. I require time to consider it carefully."
"Consider?" Imar slammed his fist against the armrest of the Black Rock Throne, his voice rising sharply. "I'm offering you a way out, and you dare to haggle? What do you think you are? A mere prisoner! A corpse waiting to be buried in the bedrock!"
His roar echoed through the stone chamber, causing the guards to instinctively shrink back. Imar's chest heaved with fury and anxiety. He already felt humiliated by having to bow to the humans, and now this captive dared to delay, trampling on his last shred of dignity.
"You dare refuse to write it?" Imar stepped closer, his voice a low, rumbling growl. "Then you'll never see the light of day again. I'll lock you in the deepest mine shaft, where no one will ever find you. You'll rot like a discarded ore, buried in the mountain's belly, your bones never returning to your homeland."
Helsen didn't flinch.
He met Imar's gaze steadily and said slowly, "If I write this letter now, only for it to become a tool to coerce Alden Town, that's not negotiation—it's extortion. I'd rather rot here than let my name be used as a pretext for war."
"Besides," he continued, "do you really think I have the influence to sway Grayman's will? Don't forget why I came here in the first place—the Stonemason Clan aided the orc army's passage through the Rocky Mountains. Ha! Are you going to deny that now?"
"This..." The dwarf Clan Chief's face flushed crimson, then paled. "The matter of the orcs... it's not beyond negotiation."
The dwarves are truly backed into a corner, Helsen thought.
Then he delivered the words that nearly sent Imar into a rage: "Even so, I'll need time to consider!"
Imar glared at him, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He desperately wanted to order this arrogant human thrown off the bottomless cliff, but reason held him back.
If Helsen died, the humans would never let it rest, and the Stonemason Clan couldn't withstand another round of bombings.
Finally, he spat out through gritted teeth, "You have one night."
He turned his back on Helsen, refusing to look at him again. "Take him back. I want to see the letter before sunrise tomorrow, or you'll spend the rest of your life in darkness."
The guards escorted Helsen back to his cell, the iron door clanging shut behind him.
Chains rattled softly as Helsen slowly sat back down on the straw mat. The flickering torchlight danced across his face. Instead of immediately pondering how to write the letter, he closed his eyes and let his thoughts sink into the depths of his mind.
If... Imar lets me return, agrees to sever ties with the orcs, and the Alden army ceases its attack, restoring peace between our nations...
It sounded like the end of a crisis, a diplomatic triumph.
He would return as an envoy, bearing the promise of peace, washing away the humiliation of his capture, and perhaps even earning commendation for his efforts.
But was this truly the best possible outcome?
(End of the Chapter)
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