Somewhere in Daggerfall,

A legion of men and women stood upon a cliff. The group’s leader stood at the cliff’s edge, eyes fixed upon the hammer in the sky with a slightly feverish gaze. Upon closer inspection, these people, none surpassing five and a half feet, were the traditional dwarfs.

Dark brown eyes glaring through a curtain of long curly hair the color of night and an equally dark beard exuded a noble aura that made the followers behind to bow in reverence. For a dwarf, at merely sixty-seven, he could be considered to still be at the prime of his life. He wore a slightly showy, yet practical black heavy armor made from dark steel and emblazoned with the double hammer symbol of the Farvulian Noble House.

A black cape fluttered listlessly behind the man as he glared at the hammer in the sky, each thunderous bang echoing within the furthest reaches of his heart.

To the rest of the world, the hammer was either a miracle or a rare phenomenon. But, to this dwarf and his kind, this signaled an era-changing destiny. Clenching his armored fist tightly, the man cast an impatient glare at the chamberlain to his side. "Still no word?"

The chamberlain faced with this chilling glare did not dare to dither. "N-no my lord. The messenger should be ba—"

"My lord!" A slightly juvenile voice called as its owner made his way through the crowd. The chamberlain released a relieved sigh when he saw the young man that stepped forward. The juvenile did not dare to be negligent in his respects as he hurriedly fell to a knee in front of the armored man. "Lord Farvulia, I bring a report from the seer."

The man called Farvulia snorted as he ordered. "Speak!"

"As you command." The messenger did not delay as he reported, "The seer speaks of an emergency. He said to inform you to come to him immediately, or it might spell doom for our kind."

Farvulia knitted his brows. The seer of their tribe was a unique man with no name. Unlike other seers, he sought neither money, power, nor prestige. He was content to live in a small hut within the commoners and live off the little game the local children hunted for him.

So it was that whenever the seer had something to say, the Farvulia household always took it seriously as they knew he was not blowing hot air to gain popularity.

Farvulia turned to the chamberlain. "Instruct the guards to return to the manor. Send word to my father that I seek the seer's guidance." The seer hated the fanfare associated with the nobles, which was why, when visiting, members of the Farvulian household only went with a handful of guards at best.

"As you command."

Farvulia stomped down the hill till he reached the posts where their rides were tied up. Because of their builds, dwarfs naturally could not ride horses. Instead, they forcefully domesticated a set of barghest wolves, which stood just about a meter off the ground. Even though these beasts were small, their speed was among the best, and their teeth were astonishingly sharp.

Farvulia mounted his beast, and with a slight nudge, it took off down the countryside. As he raced across several small villages, he could not help but fall into a slight reminiscence. How long had it been since the dwarfs migrated from their homeland? Fifty, Sixty years? He was just about a little runt when the dwarfs made it to this land.

Without a king to guide them, the dwarfs, besieged on all sides by orca, scattered like the winds at a time when they should have stood together. Only the Farvulian Noble House and a few other households remained to fight off the orcs and protect the commoners who were weary from the travels.

Since then, the dwarfs, like scattered poppy seeds, took roots all around Daggerfall and tried to grow amongst the tenacious weeds called orcs.

Every dwarf since had to grow up living a life of kill-or-be-killed, especially as the orcs did not allow them to build any underground colonies. Whenever a tribe attempted this, the orcs would swarm the village like a floodtide, throwing bodies relentlessly until they either perished or stopped their actions.

So it was that for half a century, the dwarfs were forced to live aboveground. Other races would never understand the unpleasant feeling that itched at all dwarves, even the newborns as if a part of their very soul was missing. To combat this, the dwarfs would occasionally enter a tightly sealed room and pass several days in isolation. Only then could the itch slightly subside.

Farvulia raised his head as the sound of laughing children filtered into his ears. He looked up to see an old hut with hogpelts on the thatch roof to fight off the cold and about six toddlers prancing about an old dwarf whose hair had long since turned white and scraggly. His shabby, torn robe did nothing to hide the wisdom in shining eyes.

This old man was the seer. No one knew his real name as he always claimed he was too old to remember it, so everybody just called him 'Old White.'

Farvuila greeted the children with a stiff smile on his war-hardened face. The perceptive kids sensed the tension and immediately scampered off to find something else to play with. When they were alone, Farvulia clasped his right fist in his left hand and politely bowed. "Rudega Farvulia, first son of Baritus Farvulia, greets the seer."

"Fumu," Old White acknowledged as he gave the young man a once over, appreciation in his eyes. "Rise child. You know I dislike these things."

"Respect to seniors must never be forgotten," Rudega stated as he raised his head.

"Fumu. Young'uns are so stiff these days," Old White lightly complained as he reclined on his old stool, so his back rested against the wall. Sharp auburn eyes peeked through the curtain of matted hair as he proceeded to the main topic, "I assume you received my message?" Rudega's silence provided the answer. Eyes turning excessively solemn, Old White warned, "I must tell you this. The decision you make regarding my following words could elevate or destroy the dwarven clan forever."

Rudega stiffened. Old White had never expressed such a severe attitude in the fifty-odd years he had known this ageless man,. Feeling pressured under the sudden entrustment, Rudega could not help but ask, "Why me?"

Old White smiled as if expecting the question. "You are born with a great destiny which I have watched you walk toward with your own two feet ever since you were a child. Normally, I would have let you complete your destiny without alerting you to it, but..."

Rudega followed his gaze to the [Apparition of the Gods], which they could inexplicably clearly see despite being thousands of kilometers away. "As I thought, it has something to do with that?"

Old White nodded, his eyes grave. "A new Dwarven King has been crowned, personally coroneted by the gods."

Rudega felt the muscles in his entire body tighten for a second. His expression hard to read; he faced the seer. "Are you certain?"

Old White peered at the dwarf through half-closed eyes. "Have I ever been wrong?"

"No, you have not." Rudega's fingers brushed past the sword strapped to his side. The cold hilt jolted him to his senses. He hastily bowed and apologized, "I have shown you something ugly."

"Fumu~ Desire is not a bad thing," Old White replied with a mysterious smile. "It is what we do despite our desires that shape our destiny."

Rudega paused to consider the seer's words. With a sigh, he cautiously asked, "Is it possible to reveal the crowned king?"

"Why? Do you want him assassinated?" Old White said with a small smirk. At Rudega's ashen expression, he only waved his hand. "Do not worry. I do not care what you do." He paused for a bit to breathe deeply. "His name, I do not know, but I can tell you is he of the mixed-blood left behind at Merriheim."

Old White's words were like a thunderbolt to Rudega's heart. Even though he wished to be the dwarven king, it was only as a means to unite the dwarves so that they could become the power they once were. That was why it only took him a moment to get rid of the greed in his heart and accept that someone else was the dwarven king.

That all changed if the dwarf was one of mixed blood!

If it were a normal dwarf, at most 20-30% of the greedy dwarfs who sought power would rise in opposition. That small percentage could be settled with either bribes or force.

However, in the case of a mixed-blood, the scales would most likely be 50-50 or at the most 60-40! This was a potential civil war that could rip the entire dwarven race to pieces!

Rudega, whose heart rate had climbed to an astonishing degree, did not notice that his feet had turned towards his steed. As he mechanically untied his steed and mounted it, he could not help but recall Old White's warning. "The decision you make [...] could elevate or destroy the dwarven clan forever."

‘What should I do? Kill that dwarf? Muster an alliance?’ Whatever Rudega’s decision, there was one thing that had to happen first. ‘ As I thought, we're no good divided.’ Rudega fished out a translucent Rink from within a bag tied to the side of his mount. He injected mana into the orb then waited for the Summoned to answer.

A few seconds later, a melodic voice belonging to a young woman cheerfully answered. "Farvulia-san, I have been expecting your call."

Rudega did not waste time with pleasantries. "Brilith, that offer you made—"

“—Still stands. Why? Have you changed your mind?"

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Rudega drew a deep breath as he glanced at the massive hammer in the distance. "Things have changed. I will accept your offer."

----------------------------------------

Somewhere in Ederwood,

BANG!... BANG!... BANG!

Outside the city, Lilyguard, an army of about ten-fifteen thousand wisben soldiers, stood in silent order behind two women who gazed at the [Apparation of the Gods]. "Brilith-chan, why don't you just kill that conceited dwarf?" A young female wisben coquettishly complained as she wrapped her arms around a taller wisben.

The taller wisben, with her fairy white skin, eyes the color of leaves, and straight, waist-length hair, the color of snow, resembled a goddess amongst men. Dressed in a noble green armor made from the leather of a lesser drake, adorned with tufts of crow feathers, she cast an ethereal image against the snow-laden forest. This lady was Brilith Loneheart, Guild Leader of the Winter Leaf Clan that dominated the entire territory of Ederwood.

Similar to the Hopeful Maggots in Rosendun, the Winter Leaf Clan spread their roots early within the upper echelons of the country then swiftly took over with brute force. In this country, Brilith Loneheart's voice was akin to the voice of god. Whoever disobeyed her orders were unceremoniously and quickly executed.

In stark contrast to her dreary reputation, Brilith revealed a pleasant smile as she patted the head of the girl next to her. Unlike her, this girl had a much more savage edge to her beauty. Her skin was the trademark light brown of the wisben race, with fierce yellow eyes that seemed to hold no regard for human life. The left side of her hair was shaved low, so Brilith ruffled the remaining short, black hair.

"We can't do that, Roro-chan," Brilith lightly chided. "We still need him if we want the dwarfs' cooperation. We need to be able to do at least that much if we are to defeat 'her.'"

The girl called Roro snorted as she buried her head in Brilith's bosom. "I don't see what's so great about her." In the entire Ederwood, she was the only person who dared to act this intimate with the frost-like Brilith.

Brilith's cold smile made the falling snow pale in comparison. "I made that mistake too once. I do not intend to repeat it."

At this juncture, a Summoned jogged up past the ranks and dropped to a knee behind the Guild Leader. He had a bound scroll in his hand, which he offered up with both arms raised. "I bring a report from our allies in Serisis.”

Roro peeked from under Brilith's arms. "Hand it over."

The messenger hastily rushed forward and placed the scroll in her hand. Without waiting for the easily irritated young lady to say another word, he swiftly left the area.

Brilith smiled as if the whole thing had nothing to do with her, still caressing the little girl's hair. "Roro-chan is still the scariest."

"They're just weak," Roro snorted as she switched position, so she had her back to Brilith. This way, Brilith could also read the report. She ripped off the seal then unfurled it to read its contents.

The kanji, which had a few mistakes here and there as proof of the rushed report, caused Brilith to reveal a cold smile. "See, I told you. She always has something big planned."

Roro chewed her lips with dissatisfaction. "Shouldn't we interfere? They will only get stronger like this."

Brilith shook her head. "This much is fine. We are not yet ready to confront them head-on. We should focus on consolidating our strength first." She placed a finger on the report. Ice covered the scroll in a flash. The next second it crumbled into tiny crystalline particles that drifted aimlessly with the wind.

Brilith rested her chin on Roro's head as she pointed at the hammer in the sky. "Besides, if my hunch is correct, that thing has some relation to that elusive daeben."

"Kashi!" Roro spat with hatred.

"That's right," Brilith soothed with a slow rub of her chin. "More than the capable Leila, I'm apprehensive towards that daeben whose movements no one can understand. If I did not know better, I would think he just acts on momentary whims," Brilith complained.

"Don't worry, Brilith-chan. I promise to kill him for you!"

"Mmmn," Brilith contentedly muttered as she rubbed her cheek against Rono's. "I know you will."

With that, Brilith finally released the girl and turned around to face her army. The chill in her eyes forced out any cold they might have been feeling from the snow. Voice low and serene, she ordered, "We march for Daggerfall. I want that country within two months."

The wisben army stomped their feet against the earth as they turned to the north with the poise of a well-grilled army, and then started a relentless march that would shake the continent for months to come.

----------------------------------------

Jatakem (The Holy City)

The High Shaman of the Lightbringer Church, known only to the mortals as Sayen-sama, sat cross-legged on the fields of an opulent snow white garden, a pair of eyes as dark as her hair fixed on the hammer in the distance.

Although none dared enter this sacred field, several tens of priests of different ages in golden robes respectfully stood at the perimeter of this winter wonderland, caring not for the snow that fell upon them. For the lady who sat within this garden, everyone was willing to stand there until their legs gave way without a shred of discontent.

This was because they knew that the reason the capital could remain so peaceful for centuries was not because of some vague blessings left behind by the goddess, but this nineteen-twenty-year-old looking shaman.

"Horus." The shaman, Sayen, had a voice light the song of a nightingale. Soft and light, but slightly haunting. Upon her summons, an old Cerulean stepped forward and bowed. Although advanced in age, he exuded the temperament of a warrior, his back straight and his eyes sharp. "Summon Sonic. Our fears have come to light. The daeben has succeeded in his expansion, and thus the continent shall enter a new age of war."

"Horus obeys." The old priest took a step backward, then personally went to summon the man called Sonic.

While she awaited the arrival of the person she summoned, Sayen gazed at the hammer in the distance, each thunderous strike resonating deep within her heart. They too quickly reminded her of the drums of war, the chaos, destruction, and hopelessness that filled the people when these war drums resounded.

In Sayen’s eyes, that hammer in the distance was a declaration of war. It was a challenge set forth by the daeben of the Hopeful Maggots to the entire continent.

Hands grasping the helm of her sleeves, Sayen could not help but loathe her inability to stop this upcoming war. But she could not interfere. If she did, Karma would balance her intervention with something of similar or greater magnitude, bringing even greater misery. The most she could do was protect the people who had placed their hopes on her.

"Your Highness." A masculine voice filled with power and authority greeted.

Sayen waved her hand, and its owner came to stand in front of her. Sayen looked over the Summoned, whose appearance resembled the fusion between a snow wolf and a fox. The characteristic lithe form of a fox was covered in thick snow-white furs on his front and ash-silver coat at the back, culminating in an unbelievably thick and bushy tail that was almost as large as the entire Lycan.

A pair of blue eyes as clear as the afternoon sky warmly regarded the shaman. Ever since Sonic first encountered Sayen as a level 20 warrior, he was smitten beyond repair. The gaze of this young girl who seemed to carry the burden of the world on her shoulders had filled him a sense of purpose that he lacked in real life. That's right, if he could make her burden lighter by just a little, that would be all he needed.

With that in mind, Sonic immediately joined the Church as a trainee and fervently worked his way up till he could now stand before the great Sayen. Somehow, along the way, he seemed to have become the leader of a gargantuan guild with crazy accomplishments.

But all of that paled compared to the girl before him.

Even now, just watching her seemed to purify his entire being. There were no obscene thoughts like desire in his mind, just the pure unadulterated adoration usually only found in the eyes of children.

"Your desire to conquer Mònòch was not misplaced," Sayen calmly stated as if not aware of the young man's feelings. "Rosendun shall soon declare war upon the continent. If we do not wish to embroil our citizens within the embers of war, we need a suitable deterrence to prevent him from carrying out his ambition."

"Whatever Sayen-sama wishes, I shall deliver," Sonic declared with resolution in his eyes. Sayen revealed a small smile that brought tears to the lycan's eyes. For that smile, dying a thousand deaths was more than worth it.

"I give you permission to use the Wyvern Corps." Sayen hesitated for a second, but then shook her head. It could not be helped. "Make it swift with minimum casualties."

Sonic bowed. "I will ensure they come to know of your benevolence." With that, Sonic bowed once again and then left the garden.

Sayen sighed, her heart embittered. "Now, my hands shall be dyed with blood once again." She gazed at the falling snow. ‘ If only our hearts could be like the snow, free and without desires, would we find happiness?’ The shaman shook this thought out of her mind. It was this dangerous line of thought that had facilitated her encounter with Razznik.

Huge roars that shook the entire city drew her eyes to a large mass of about 5000 wyverns with the nation's best Dragon Knights atop, blotting the sky. Ahead of this mass, Sonic shockingly sat atop a forty-meter dragon!

It had to be known that dragons were incredibly proud creatures. The chance of taming a grown dragon was next to nil, yet the lycan sat atop this proud beast with extreme ease.

Very few people knew Sonic's true capabilities as he mostly spent his time either training solo or by the shaman’s side. But he was a real monster, one capable of gaining the respect of all the priests in the Lightbringer Church, including those much stronger than he was.

From atop the dragon, Sonic cast a loving gaze at the snow garden several hundreds of feet below, yet could spot Sayen's small nod. With an enthused shout, he urged the mass of dragonkin to the north.

Below them, Ten thousand soldiers on griffin mounts ran across the snow, their beasts unworthy of sharing the same sky with the dragon.

Sayen watched the horde slowly disappear into the horizon, her eyes bitter as she muttered, "In the end, were you right, O God of Chaos? Are humans only capable of war and slaughter?"