Within a small city capable of accommodating three thousand people:
"Chief Rabio, there is still no news from Prince Anakin..."
Massey Bronzebeard stood behind the Dwarf King, his expression filled with frustration.
The King of the Dwarf tribe, Rabio Bronzebeard, gazed through the small window of his thatched hut, observing the dwarves moving ore on the streets outside. His expression was grim.
This was a city built by the dwarves themselves.
The thick fog, hundreds of meters above, perpetually covered the valley below. Even if the Orcs' two-footed flying dragons entered the fog, they wouldn't notice the presence of the dwarves in this vast valley, spanning ten kilometers in length and width, unless they descended to a certain altitude.
But now, this city, once a refuge from external threats, no longer belonged to the dwarves.
Rabio's eyes drooped, his hands gripping the windowsill, the veins on the back of his hands bulging.
The most prominent figures on the streets outside were not the dwarves, but the tall, ferocious-looking Orcs.
Now, the Orcs were the masters of the Dwarf Valley. These irascible creatures would readily approach any slow-moving dwarf and whip them mercilessly with their long whips.
Slaves, a title that brought immense shame to Rabio.
But now, the dwarves were slaves to the Orcs!!
The thought sparked uncontrollable anger in Rabio's eyes, which were framed by a black feather coat.
They were the great Bronzebeard tribe, with noble Dwarf royal blood flowing through their veins. Yet now, a group of filthy, lowly Orcs had enslaved them.
This was a humiliation etched into their very bloodline!
The Orcs would surely face the wrath of the dwarves!!
"Anakin has Master Warren with him. I believe they will be alright. Have the other teams contacted the dwarves of the Southern Copperhammer tribe?" Rabio turned his head, his eyes burning as he looked at Massey.
"No one can trample on the dignity of the dwarves! I will make these Orcs taste the fury of the dwarves!"
Seeing Rabio's piercing gaze, Massey fell silent.
"King, the Copperhammer tribe relocated two hundred years ago. We still need time to find them..."
Disappointment clouded Rabio's eyes upon hearing this answer. The Copperhammer tribe was the closest Dwarf tribe to them, with a population of fifty thousand.
Dwarves were a warrior race, every individual a formidable heavy infantryman, possessing immense strength.
Moreover, the Copperhammer tribe boasted three thousand Great Horned Goat cavalry and five hundred Dwarf chariots. Their strength was enough to launch a large-scale war.
If the Copperhammer tribe knew of the Bronzebeard tribe's plight, Rabio was certain they would dispatch a powerful army to demonstrate to the world that the dwarves were not to be trifled with.
After the destruction of the once-mighty Dwarf Kingdom by the Abyssal Demons hundreds of thousands of years ago, it was only a hundred thousand years ago that the Dwarf Kingdom was re-established in the Boulder Mountains, adjacent to the Stormy Sea.
Scattered for hundreds of thousands of years, the dwarves had left their mark throughout the Glorious Prime Material Plane. There were countless Dwarf tribes like the Bronzebeard.
The Dwarf Kingdom in the Boulder Mountains was too far from them. Even by ship, it would take nearly half a year to reach them, making it impossible to seek help.
Therefore, Rabio could only turn his attention to the neighboring Copperhammer tribe.
"The Bronzebeard tribe's relocation was too sudden. We only discovered their departure a year later when we visited their settlement," Massey explained. "But at the time, we didn't pay much attention. After searching for a while and failing to find them, we gave up.
Now, to find them again..." Massey trailed off, shaking his head with a bitter smile.
Dwarf tribes had a bad habit. Although they were incredibly united against external enemies, the tribes of different surnames looked down upon each other. Compared to building relationships, they preferred to stay underground, mining and forging weapons.
That's why they only discovered the Copperhammer tribe's relocation a year after it had happened.
"Do not give up the search. The Copperhammer tribe is our only hope for reinforcements. The other Dwarf tribes are too far away," Rabio shook his head, his eyes flashing with contemplation.
"Also, if we cannot reach Anakin and Master Warren, send out other dwarves to seek allies.
We must not relax in our search for the Copperhammer tribe, nor should we give up on contacting allies.
We need the support of external forces."
"Yes, my King," Massey pounded his chest firmly with his hand.
Just then, a 2.2-meter tall figure entered the house.
The massive lion head revealed the visitor's identity – the King of the Orc tribe, a Lionman.
The Lionman's golden fur was as majestic as a lion's. He wore half-body armor covered in dark patterns, clearly of Dwarf make.
His two deep blue eyes were filled with an oppressive aura, and his hands were not human hands, but the claws of a beast.
"King of the Dwarves, next month we need you to forge five thousand sets of armor and five thousand weapons..."
The Orc King's Common Tongue was majestic, and his tone brooked no argument.
Massey looked at the Orc King with a face full of anger and roared, "Greedy Orc!! Impossible!!
The Dwarf tribe does not have such forging capabilities. The three thousand sets of armor forged this month were already produced with all our might, using all the ore in our stockpile!
Two thousand sets, at most two thousand sets!! And we can only provide one thousand weapons!"
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Karp Lionheart shook his head mockingly.
"Dwarf, this is not a negotiation. This is an order!"
He then turned his head and looked at Rabio, the Dwarf King, who wore a black feather coat and maintained his noble bearing despite being reduced to a slave.
"King of the Dwarves, I hope you understand the reality of the situation. The dwarves are now my slaves. If you desire better treatment, cooperate diligently."
He then gave Rabio a meaningful look.
"Don't even think about playing tricks under the eyes of the Orcs, Dwarf King. You are a smart man. I believe you will choose the right path."
With that, he waved his hand and turned to leave the dark, dilapidated thatched hut.
Only the two dwarves remained, their expressions grim.
Rabio abruptly threw off his black feather coat and tossed it to the ground. His linen clothes underneath were bound with dozens of magic-suppressing chains.
With pale lips and cold eyes, the Dwarf King refrained from speaking further.
Only the weak would wail and complain in despair. The dwarves would repay their humiliation with blood.
Massey fell silent upon seeing this scene.
The dwarves, as they were now, had no room for resistance.
**---**
After leaving the house, Orc King Karp was joined by another figure as tall as himself, emanating an aura of cruelty, coldness, and murderous intent.
He was draped in a mottled gray beast hide, his muscular body covered in scars that faintly revealed themselves as he walked. A massive tail swayed behind him.
Savage and primal.
The wolf head atop his shoulders was terrifying, his narrow green eyes filled with killing intent, and his sharp fangs bared in a ferocious snarl.
This was a noble of the Orcs, a powerful warrior race – the Werewolves.
"King, why not kill this Dwarf King? His existence poses a significant threat to us."
Craig Shadowchaser's eyes were filled with confusion. The Dwarf King was the backbone of all dwarves. As long as he lived, these dwarves would never submit to the great Orcs.
"No, Craig, the Dwarf King cannot die. He must live, no matter who else perishes!" Karp turned his head, a profound look in his eyes.
"The reason the dwarves are so obedient is that their King is commanding them.
Dwarves are not humans. They do not fear death. Do not try to use the same methods on dwarves that you use on humans.
If something happens to the Dwarf King, I swear by the Great God of the Hunt, the dwarves will resist with all their might!
The only outcome would be that we suffer heavy losses, and the dwarves are annihilated."
As the King of the Orc tribe, Karp saw things clearly.
Oppression would not work on the stubborn dwarves. The only way was to control their King and have him issue orders.
Death? These creatures who wished to be buried in the earth while still alive and had nothing but stone in their heads cared little for it.
Craig nodded, offering no further objections. In terms of wisdom, Karp, the leader of the Lionheart tribe, had never disappointed him.
"Craig, finish forging the weapons and armor as soon as possible. We need to go out and plunder more food during the Month of Frost."
Karp's tone was solemn, his expression grave.
"Our food reserves are not enough to sustain us through this winter."
Anger flickered in Craig's eyes, and he growled, "Those damned human merchants have raised the price of food again!!
Now, we have to trade a whole cowhide for a single sack of wheat!!
These greedy, filthy human merchants... one day, I will personally cut off their heads with my blade!!"
Karp's expression darkened upon hearing this. The Barren Wasteland was too poor, producing very little food. Every year, a large number of Orcs would starve to death during the cold winter.
Furthermore, the humans' embargo on food sales to the Orcs exacerbated the situation.
Therefore, to feed more of their people, the Lionheart tribe had been secretly purchasing food from human smugglers.
But those greedy human merchants had reached the point of insanity, even demanding a whole magical beast hide in exchange for a sack of wheat worth only a few silver pucks.
He knew that in the human world, a single magical beast hide could be exchanged for dozens of sacks of wheat.
But the border would be sealed by humans after the Month of Frost. Without the army dispatched by the Orc capital, they would not be able to break through the human blockade, even though they were considered a large tribe.
So, to obtain more food, he could only trade the magical beast hides or other materials hunted by the Lionheart tribe for food from those human merchants who were not afraid of death.
These items were of little use to them anyway, so it was better to exchange them for food.
"Have you finished counting the secret food storage warehouse we discovered in that new Dwarf tribe yesterday? How much food is stored there?"
Suddenly remembering something, Karp asked with a glimmer of hope.
"King, the Dwarf tribe's food is only enough to sustain three thousand people for one month," Massey shook his head, shattering Karp's hopes.
The Lionheart tribe had a population of fifteen thousand. This amount of food would only last them a few days.
Like the dwarves, the Orcs were a warrior race, so they could easily muster an army of tens of thousands.
"How much food do we have in storage now?"
"After plundering the dwarves, we have enough for two months."
Two months??
Karp took a deep breath, feeling a heavy weight press down on his chest.
It was August, the time to store food. But for some unknown reason, the beast herds in the Barren Wasteland were much smaller this year, and their hunting teams often returned empty-handed.
Without meat from hunting and without hides to trade with human merchants, they would usually have three or even four months' worth of food stored by this time of year, but this year, their harvest was meager.
The fact that they had two months' worth of food stored now was only because they had plundered the Dwarf tribe and obtained some additional provisions.
The scarcity of food this year made him feel a great sense of crisis.
The Month of Frost was approaching, and he didn't want to see his people buried due to lack of food.
"Increase our hunting efforts, send out more people, we need food..." The Orc King's voice was low.
As a powerful level beta plus warrior, Karp was unable to meet the most basic food needs of his people, and this caused him great pain.
"I don't want to see the elderly and wounded warriors walk into the wasteland alone again this winter..."
During the Month of Frost, what other reason could there be for someone to walk alone into the icy wilderness except to seek death?
Craig's massive wolf head turned slightly to look at the mist above the valley, his eyes dim.
No one wanted to see their people die from lack of food, but such were the rules of survival in the Barren Wasteland.
Food was always scarce. To survive, one had to fight for it. If one failed to do so, then the last remaining food had to be left to the strongest warriors of the tribe.
Because they were the ones who ensured the continuation of the entire tribe.
It was cruel and helpless.
But this was the survival of the race. There was no right or wrong, good or evil, just the struggle to survive, and nothing more.
This was also why the Orcs plundered humans every Month of Frost. It was a fight for the right to exist.
"Also, try to contact more human merchants who can sell food. If absolutely necessary, we can sell some of the weapons forged by the dwarves in exchange for food..."
Karp's tone was heavy. The Orc tribe not only lacked food but also lacked everything else – weapons, armor, salt, iron tools, and so on.
The Orcs, who did not understand farming or industrial development, had always lived a primitive and ancient life.
Craig opened his mouth to say something, but seeing the pain in Karp's eyes, he closed it again.
The weapons forged by the dwarves were also very important to the Lionheart tribe now, as only a third of their army was currently equipped with armor and iron weapons.
The rest were clad in simple leather armor made of rhino hide and wielded weapons made of wooden sticks and magical beast leg bones.
Primitive and backward.
In the Barren Wasteland, strength was the only measure of survival.
But the lack of food was like a demon lurking in the shadows, threatening to devour them at any moment.
Every decision was incredibly difficult.
"As you wish, King."
"Go and keep an eye on the Dwarf King. As long as he remains unharmed, the Dwarf tribe will not cause trouble."
"As you wish."
Karp clenched his fists tightly, his sharp claws gleaming with a cold light, leaving streaks of wounds on his palms.
Blood dripped down.
The powerful aura of this Lionman King caused a wave of panic among the Orcs and dwarves passing by.
His profound gaze swept over the mist-shrouded valley above, his eyes filled with the responsibility he bore as the King of a tribe, the responsibility for his people's survival.
"No one, no one can stop the Lionheart tribe from surviving!!"