"My clan's old man recently used mithril, crystal cores, and sacred wood vines to forge so incredibly tough, razor-sharp arrows. I'm guessing you'd be very interested," Harbek said, clutching the barrel of strong liquor he'd just purchased and taking a swig.
This was an invitation—dwarves and blood elves had been allies for generations, so just hinting at it was enough.
"Once I've escorted our elder back, I'll visit the dwarves," Elanor replied. She took the drink the bartender handed over—a "Sunny Breeze"—and licked it lightly, almost like she was sampling blood.
"I still need to stop by the rcenaries' Guild to turn in a few missions, so I won't stick around."
With that, the blood elf Elanor downed her drink in one go, displaying a boldness most blood elves didn't usually show. Then, without a trace of reluctance, she turned and left.
"Master Harbek, who was that blood elf just now?" the young dwarf Tordek whispered once Elanor disappeared.
"Who is she? Just a pretty elf ranger," Harbek said. Then he hoisted his barrel, took another long gulp, and burped.
"Buurp… A bloodthirsty blood elf... A tough custor," he muttered under his breath.
"Ah… hah… Master Harbek, this strong liquor here is amazing… I want more!" Tordek exclaid eagerly.
Harbek took one look at Tordek, who'd already finished his first cup, and said flatly, "That one was on , kid. If you want more, you'll have to pay for it yourself."
Tordek patted around his pockets. He hadn't grabbed a bag or any coins.
"Master Harbek, I… I…"
"…"
Compared to the rowdy tavern in the street outside, the eting in the royal palace was much quieter.
In the kingdom's conference room, only King Harold, dwarf Prophet Dain, and blood elf Elder Lireesa were present. Even the king's personal guards had been dismissed.
"The white dragon Frostsire has broken free from his seal. We three races all took part in that pact a millennium ago. This war is inevitable—unless we decide to go back to that other continent, where fighting is even fiercer," King Harold said, his voice asured and slow.
"There's no going back," Elder Lireesa interjected. "Six thousand years ago, the teleportation arrays linking the two continents were destroyed. Unless we recover the original schematic and rebuild one, we're stuck here."
Six thousand years may not be terribly long for blood elves—who can live for a millennium—just a few generations, really. And especially for a scholar of history like Lireesa, those events were well-docunted. But when it ca to dwarves and humans, six thousand years was a span most had forgotten.
"Why be so pessimistic?" Prophet Dain, who had inherited the dwarves' legendary hot temper, insisted. "Even if Frostsire is free, he's not unstoppable. A thousand years ago, our ancestors sealed him away, and if we unite now, we can do the sa again.
"We occupy the most fertile territory on this continent, and our combined strength is nothing to scoff at—certainly enough to match whatever those northern creatures bring."
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"So how many races can we unify?" King Harold asked. "It's been a thousand years since that seal, and besides our three races, only the half-dragons and rfolk haven't been at odds with us. Over ti, we pushed everyone else farther north. If I had to guess, at least eighty percent of the non-human races up there will join the invasion."
He wasn't jesting. After the news broke that Frostsire had escaped, human scouts had flooded the northern territories. Reports poured in that many domains were mustering forces, preparing to march south.
"Even with the support of our saints," King Harold went on, "I'm certain we humans can't hold off so many invaders alone. We need you."
No one in this eting bothered with empty niceties or attempts at stalling—everyone here outranked most of their kind, people who actually shaped the fate of their races.
"The dwarves can handle invasions on the eastern front," Prophet Dain declared.
"The blood elves will secure the western front," added Lireesa.
All three sides nodded in agreent. Once they reached an understanding about fighting together against a common foe, the conversation shifted to how to divide any future rewards.
"According to our plan, once we beat back these northern armies, we'll move the boundary line three territories north," King Harold said. "First, that'll generate more resources for our alliance. Second, those extra territories can be bartered to win over a few more allied races. Third, it'll force the northern tribes to cram into the far north, competing among themselves. Fourth…"
He continued to list the benefits. Dain the dwarf prophet and Lireesa the blood elf elder both found his ideas appealing. Not only did they stand to reap extra gains, they could also draw in other subordinate races, strengthening their hold on power.
The palace eting went on for a long ti. It was three days before Prophet Dain and Elder Lireesa left the palace.
anwhile, across the human territories, in every city and all noble households, official summons from the king were sent out, mobilizing forces.
In the Utessar Kingdom, at a local blacksmith's shop, a knight nad Galahad walked in. He pulled the single-handed sword from his belt, along with one grade-A crystal core and two grade-B crystal cores.
"Garrett, I've made my decision—I want these embedded into my sword," he said.
The shop's master ca out from behind the forge, accepted Galahad's sword and the crystal cores, and studied the knight intently.
"My friend, do you know what it ans to embed these things?"
Galahad nodded solemnly.
"Humility—no arrogance."
"Behind every powerful foe, there's a reason not to fear."
"I must show kindness to the weak, and I must never yield to violence. I'll stand against every wrongful act…"
He recited the ancient knightly vow, the one last remnant his family had left—perhaps the only thing of worth they still possessed.
Garrett studied Galahad for a mont, then gave a grave nod. "All right."
He walked to the front of the shop, shut the doors, and hung up a sign that read "Closed for Seven Days."
"My friend, I'll need your help here. Forging and rebuilding your sword and armor is more than I can handle alone."
Garrett returned to the forge and pushed forward a massive bellows, gesturing for the coal knight to take the handles.
Galahad sat down and imdiately threw himself into the work.
For a second, Garrett glanced at Galahad's sword and silently pledged,
"I will fight to protect those who have nothing.
"I shall answer every call for help…"
It was the spirit of "sacrifice," one of the Eight Tenets of the ancient knights—and it was their creed.
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