TitoVillar
patreon
TWL Chapter 339: The Elder’s Decree
🕑 Added 2025-03-24 15:08:32 +0000 UTCThe dwarves, still reeling from their initial fall, hadn’t even managed to scramble to their feet before they were sent tumbling again. This time, however, the shockwave wasn’t just powerful—it was bone-chillingly cold!
By the time they managed to pry open their wind-blasted eyes, they saw only a flicker of emerald light dissipating into the night sky. The knight had come and gone like the wind, leaving behind nothing but a towering block of ice that left them all staring in stunned silence.
“…The dam… it’s frozen over again,” one of the dwarves muttered. “So it was him… Duke Lannister…”
The Zigrin dwarves had initially assumed the Fuchs clan had used their old plans to repair the dam. But upon arriving, they had found a massive block of ice sealing the breach. They had marveled at the Fuchs clan’s supposed ingenuity, but now, it was clear—this was no work of theirs.
“What do we do now? Blow it up again?”
“We’re out of explosives. And even if we had them… if we try again, he’ll just come back and freeze it over again. And next time, we might end up trapped inside that damn ice block too.”
“…Then what about the chief’s orders?”
The first dwarf fell silent for a moment, then muttered—perhaps to himself, perhaps as an answer: “…Do you really think… the chief’s orders tonight were the right ones?”
...
Back on the Battlefield.
“Lannister!” The Zigrin chieftain’s furious roar echoed through the night.
He had waited and waited for the sound of floodwaters roaring down the valley—but none came. He already knew something had gone terribly wrong. And when Lann appeared, his amber-lit silhouette framed against the dark sky, the chief’s worst fears were confirmed. The most crucial part of tonight’s plan had failed.
“This is a dwarven conflict! It has nothing to do with you!” the chief bellowed. “Does Cintra no longer want Mahakam’s support?!”
“Cintra welcomes all who come to help—every race is treated as an equal,” Lann said coolly. “But you? You can’t even treat your own kind as equals. Cintra has no need for people like you.”
He paused, then added, “And just now, you were planning to attack my men, weren’t you?”
The Zigrin warriors had advanced dangerously close to Cintra’s ranks, their weapons gleaming, their bloodlust unmistakable. If not for Lann’s sudden arrival, the battle would have already begun.
“No one else can know what happened tonight,” the chief said, his breath heavy with barely restrained rage. “If that’s how it is… then let’s see if the ‘Lion of Cintra’ is truly as mighty as the rumors claim!”
The Zigrin warriors surged forward. Lann, as always, urged his horse to the front of the line.
But this time, he didn’t raise his blade. Instead, he reached deep into his reserves of magic and activated a skill—Teleport.
A bright emerald light flickered beside him, small but distinct.
The Zigrin dwarves all froze.
A shadow stepped forward from the light—small in stature but carrying the weight of a mountain upon their shoulders.
Even the chieftain, his fury burning hot just moments ago, felt the breath catch in his throat.
As the light faded, a fully armored dwarf emerged. His hair and beard were stark white, but his frame remained solid and unyielding, like the peak of a great mountain.
He wore a full suit of armor and carried a warhammer as tall as he was. Yet he had no need to lift his weapon—his mere presence was enough. The moment his form fully materialized, every dwarf in sight took an involuntary step back.
This was not the Elder in chief—he would never allow himself to be moved by some ancient bloodline magic. Though, in truth, even if Lann had truly been determined to use Teleport, there would have been something the Elder could do to resist it.
No—the one standing here now was Barclay Els.
Lann had first met him at the Mahakam mines, where the dwarf had given him an earful for daring to bring his business before the Elder. But while Barclay may have been nothing more than a subordinate in Elder’s presence, his name rang louder than a hammer strike across Mount Carbon.
Barclay was a Colonel in Mahakam’s army. He had fought against both humans and elves before the mountains were sealed, and even after Mahakam shut its gates, he had led countless battles against monsters, carving out safe havens for his people.
Lann knew that in the future, when the Mahakam Volunteer Army marched to aid the Northern Kingdoms, Barclay would serve as its supreme commander. He would lead Mahakam’s heavy infantry against Nilfgaard’s cavalry and etch his name into history with his astounding victories.
Even without those future accolades, his reputation alone was enough to shake the battlefield.
Most dwarves had served in the military at some point in their lives. Which meant that most of them had, at one time or another, served under Barclay Els.
They might be willing to raise their axes against the Fuchs clan.
They might even be willing to fight a human duke who had interfered in their affairs.
But not a single one of them had the courage to stand against Barclay Els.
“Not long ago, I was discussing the 'Great Cleansing' of the Land of Davor and the enclaves near the Pond of Davor with the Ancient One," Barclay said, his gaze sweeping over the assembled dwarves, disappointment heavy in his tone.
“But then, Duke Lannister appeared—suddenly, out of nowhere—and informed us of what was happening here. At first, I couldn’t believe it. But now…”
His eyes turned sharp. He straightened his back, his voice booming like a war horn across the battlefield: “The Elder’s decree: The Zigrin clan is to lay down their weapons immediately and surrender. Every dwarf involved in tonight’s events will be sentenced to five hundred years of labor in the mines. Those who refuse will be exiled from Mahakam—never to set foot upon these mountains again!”
“The Mount Carbon battalion is already on its way,” Barclay continued, his voice lowering but no less firm. “If you still intend to resist… then yes—dwarven blood will be spilled tonight.
“But it won’t be the Fuchs clan’s.
“It will be yours.”
"It's been centuries since something like this happened in Mahakam. And I haven't felt as miserable as I do today for centuries. So listen carefully, because I'm only going to say this once more time—"
"Drop your weapons!"
The command struck like a war drum, pounding in their ears. The Zigrin dwarves flinched, stumbling back several steps. Faced with the Elder’s decree and Barclay’s thunderous fury, none of them dared to raise their weapons again.
As one, they turned toward their chief, desperate for his command, clinging to the hope that he would refuse to surrender.
"We… we…" The Zigrin chieftain’s eyes burned red as he glared at Barclay and Lann, his words scraping out of his throat like stones grinding together.
Killing their sworn enemies was no longer an option. Worse, their entire clan stood on the brink of destruction. Even so, the chieftain refused to yield. He couldn’t accept centuries of their clan’s legacy being reduced to nothing. He wouldn’t become a nameless miner, nor a stray dog exiled from his home.
"We can… we can still—"
A dull thud cut him off. His head snapped sideways, and his body crumpled into the snow.
Gabor slowly lowered the butt of his axe, sighing as he looked down at his unconscious chieftain.
Behind him, a silent path had opened in the ranks of Zigrin warriors. Without a word, they had stepped aside, allowing Gabor to approach the chief unimpeded—as if they had already accepted their fate.
"We surrender," Gabor declared.
One by one, weapons clattered to the ground.
…
Lann and his companions remained in Davor for another two days, waiting for the Mount Carbon battalion to arrive and take control of the conflict between the Zigrin and Fuchs clans.
For exposing the Zigrins conspiracy in time and preventing the conflict from spiraling out of control, Barclay expressed his gratitude on behalf of the Elder. But Lann knew better—gratitude was meaningless. That shrewd, tradition-bound old dwarf had no intention of offering any further military support.
On the other hand, Barclay himself had taken quite a liking to Lann. He even admitted his admiration for Cintra’s forces—a mere few dozen soldiers daring to intervene in a battlefield of thousands. That, at least, was an unexpected gain. If history followed its course, Barclay would one day lead the Mahakam Volunteer Army to support the Northern Kingdoms against Nilfgaard. Earning his favor now might prove useful in the future.
Barclay invited Lann and his men back to Mount Carbon, but after careful consideration, Lann declined.
Despite the recent turmoil between the Fuchs and Zigrin clans, he still intended to fulfill his promise—to act as an envoy to the Ferenc clan. If there was even a chance of securing more support, he had to take it. After all, those were Mahakam heavy infantry they were talking about.
Besides, there was something else Lann was eager to see—the red dragon Keltullis, said to reside in Mahakam.
He wasn’t the only one.
Saskia, who had been traveling with them, had been unusually excited ever since she learned they might visit the Ferenc clan. The reason she had chosen to linger in Mahakam in the first place was because of the dragon.
Yet after witnessing the conflict between the Zigrin and Fuchs clans, her mood had taken a sharp downturn.
