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TWL Chapter 358: Ashes of the Old, Fire of the New
🕑 Added 2025-04-11 21:47:41 +0000 UTCIf he had been a typical dwarf with fire in his veins, he might have ignored the warning. Even if it cost him his life, he would have tried to deliver news of the enemy attack. But Gabor, upon seeing an arrow bury itself in the ground at his feet, was so startled that he shut up immediately.
In Mahakam—a land that values tradition and honors deeply—Gabor’s reaction would earn the scorn of all dwarves, even those who had left Mahakam to join the Scoia’tael. Dwarven archers were no exception.
“But at least he’s clever. Should make talking to him easier,” said the dwarven archer, still holding his bow at full draw. He glanced at Saskia, who had been knocked to the ground, and muttered, “Damn, this human’s armor is thick!”
Gabor and his men quickly surrounded the fallen Saskia, warily eyeing the attacker. Many of them wore squirrel tails as decoration, signifying their allegiance, but more still were familiar faces—fellow dwarves from Gabor’s own clan.
And at that moment, Gabor’s gaze locked firmly onto the man who was speaking with the dwarven archer.
“Chieftain,” Gabor called out softly, using the old title—still unchanged.
“Gabor.” Chief Zigrin looked visibly weakened, a result of being imprisoned in the dungeon for too long. But his voice remained powerful and resolute.
“I was planning to visit everyone before leaving... Never expected you’d find me first,” Gabor said, tightening his grip on his axe and casting another glance at the fallen Saskia.
“There’s a lot you didn’t expect tonight, Gabor,” Chief Zigrin replied, shaking his head. “Your choice this evening will determine your future… and the future of the entire Zigrin clan.”
Gabor didn’t respond directly. He surveyed the group before him and noticed there were only about twenty dwarves from the Zigrin clan—the rest were all Scoia’tael. That struck him. Zigrin was one of Mahakam’s largest clans, with more than fifteen hundred qualified heavy infantry alone.
“Why do you have so few with you, Chief?” Gabor asked. “Where’s everyone else? What’s the plan?”
Chief Zigrin fell silent.
The dwarven archer snorted in response.
“Zigrin was sent off to the mines ages ago for hard labor. The rest? Either became little ‘gifts’ for humans, like you all did, or ended up like your chief here—being saved for a public trial, a warning to the other clans.”
He gestured to the dozen or so dwarves from the Zigrin clan in the group. “Look at them, Gabor Zigrin. Look at what Brouver Hoog has done to your people. You’re Zigrin—the Zigrin! One of Mahakam’s proudest clans! And this is what’s become of you. This is how Brouver Hoog has always treated us.”
Gabor stayed silent. He had long known the fate of the Zigrin clan.
“So what would you propose, brother?” he asked.
The dwarven archer tilted his head slightly. “I’ve heard your name, Gabor Zigrin. A dwarf who made a name for himself among the humans, only to return and help rebuild his homeland. Back in Mahakam, you hosted kings and diplomats—your vision should go beyond mine. And if that’s true, then you must see the problems in Mahakam.”
“Brouver Hoog’s rule is nothing but cruelty to our kind. They call him Elder in Chief, but he acts like an emperor. He dictates everything—right down to which hand we should use to drink soup—but turns a blind eye to the real suffering of dwarves in society. It’s time for that to change.”
“We will overthrow him. Liberate our people. Fight for the dignity we deserve. Build a new nation where dwarves have a voice.” The dwarven archer extended a hand to Gabor. “That’s why we need every capable dwarf. We’re kin. Dwarves should help dwarves.”
“You’ve been planning this for a long time. You dream big,” Gabor said quietly. “But I’m guessing something didn’t go according to plan tonight.”
"That's right," the dwarven archer said bluntly with a nod. "Those humans with the lion emblem were indeed unexpected, but the creature they brought was an even bigger surprise. That’s why we need your help—to slip this into the monster’s meals and ensure it doesn’t end up causing us any surprises.”
He pulled out a massive leather pouch. There was no need to guess what was inside.
Gabor stared at it, his mind quickly working through the implications. A name slipped from his lips.
“Ferenc?” He let out a cold laugh. “You really have torn Mahakam to pieces, haven’t you?”
“That just proves our cause is gaining recognition,” the archer replied. “We hope you’ll join us. This is your opportunity, Gabor Zigrin. But you should know—even without you, our plan will move forward unhindered.”
The sneer on Gabor’s face deepened. He took a step back, raising his weapon—his stance left no room for misunderstanding.
The archer’s eyes darkened. He shook his head and raised his right hand, ready to signal the Scoia’tael behind him to attack.
But before he could move, a large hand landed firmly on his shoulder.
“Let me handle this.”
The Zigrin chieftain stepped forward, placing himself between the archer and Gabor. His deep, bell-like voice echoed through the corridor.
“I agreed to come out of that cell for one reason: to ask you this myself, face to face. Gabor—why did you betray your own clan?”
Gabor remained silent, steeling himself for a fight to the death. But when the chieftain repeated the question, something in his eyes finally wavered.
“I already told you, Chieftain,” Gabor said, hiding his face behind his shield. “Your choices will only lead the Zigrin into ruin. This feud with the Fuchs will hurt all of Mahakam. In the end, neither of our clans will win.”
“Even standing as you do now,” the chieftain gestured toward Gabor’s hopeless position, surrounded and outnumbered, “you still hold to that belief?”
“I do.”
The dwarven archer was visibly irritated now. He shot a glance at the chieftain, clearly having lost all hope for Gabor’s stubbornness.
“Everything I’ve done… it’s been for the Zigrin,” the chieftain said solemnly. “I’ve had a lot of time to think in that dungeon.”
“If you still believe in your path, then keep walking it. I trust that everything you’ve done was also for the Zigrin. Perhaps… more right than I ever was.”
The archer’s eyes widened suddenly, as if realizing something was wrong.
But it was already too late.
The old chieftain had moved to stand almost directly in front of him. As his final words faded, the archer felt a sharp, splitting pain explode from the top of his skull.
With stunned eyes, the Scoia’tael watched the chieftain pull his axe from the archer’s crushed head, a gush of red and white viscera spilling forth. His thunderous voice rang down the stone hallway.
“Then from this day forward, Gabor—you are the chieftain of the Zigrin!”
The old chieftain raised his voice even louder. “The Zigrin of Mahakam are already in decline. I charge you with carrying the glory of a new Zigrin to Cintra, to the Northern Kingdoms, to human lands!”
“Go! Warn the leader you now serve of the danger that lies ahead. Leave this place to us—those who once were Zigrin!”
He turned to face the Scoia’tael, roaring, “You self-important youths think that just two years of hardship outside Mahakam makes you wise enough to build a new kingdom? You know nothing of Mahakam!”
At that moment, more than a dozen Zigrin dwarves within the Scoia’tael ranks who had seen this coming turned on their former comrades, axes swinging. In an instant, the enemy ranks fell into utter chaos.
Gabor could only feel a surge of heat rushing to his head. Even if the Zigrin dwarves had suddenly turned against their oppressors, they were still outnumbered many times over.
The old chieftain had used the Scoia’tael’s breakout not to escape, but simply to hold a ceremonial handover—for him. And after that, he was clearly planning to pave the way for Gabor, the new clan leader, with his own life!
No… it wasn’t just for the Zigrin dwarves heading to Cintra.
The old chieftain also wanted to give an explanation to the Elder in Chief, to create one final opportunity for the Zigrin still trapped in the mines, condemned to indefinite labor.
He had planned it all from the start!
Gabor’s eyes turned red in an instant. His mind was filled with only one word: Zigrin.
“Gabor, go! You have to go—now!”
A young Zigrin behind him tugged at Gabor desperately. He didn’t want to waste the rare opportunity their clansmen had bought for them with their lives. But no matter how hard he pulled, he couldn’t get the new Zigrin chieftain to move.
It was then—
Saskia, who had been lying motionless on the ground, suddenly stirred.
