chapter 20.4

Upon arriving at the main hall, Alcard was immediately greeted by a Dwarf warrior clad in thick steel armor, with the emblem of the Steelhammer Clan prominently engraved on his chest. This Dwarf was noticeably older than the guards he had encountered at the entrance, but his sharp eyes, filled with experience and unwavering vigilance, showed that he was no ordinary sentry.

"You're from The Wall, aren't you?" the warrior asked, his voice deep and commanding. He scrutinized Alcard from head to toe, his gaze measuring every detail with the precision of someone who had seen too many battles to be easily deceived. "Come with me. We will take you to the supply depot. The provisions you require are being prepared."

Without hesitation, Alcard fell into step behind him, following the Dwarf down a long, dimly lit corridor where torches flickered against cold stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of iron and smoldering embers, a testament to the never-ending labor of the Dwarves. Their footsteps echoed heavily along the corridor, mingling with the distant clanging of metal striking metal—a rhythmic symphony of the forges at work.

As they descended deeper into the underground stronghold, the stone pathways became narrower and more intricate, the craftsmanship of the tunnels speaking volumes about the precision and discipline of Dwarven engineering. They moved down ancient stairways, their steps worn smooth by centuries of footfalls. Every turn, every chamber, revealed a part of a grander structure, a vast, organized labyrinth that extended far beyond what one could see from the surface.

Eventually, they arrived at an enormous door forged from blackened steel, its surface etched with runes of protection and ownership. Two heavily armored Dwarf sentries stood guard, their imposing figures illuminated by the glow of braziers burning with blue flame. They held massive battle-axes, their grips firm, their stances unyielding.

Without a word, the Dwarf escort gestured, and with a grating metallic groan, the steel doors began to part. The deep rumbling reverberated through the corridor as the entrance to the supply vault slowly revealed its contents.

Alcard's gaze swept over the vast chamber beyond. Shelves reaching nearly to the ceiling were stacked with rows upon rows of weaponry—swords, axes, war hammers, spears—each blade gleaming under the torchlight, polished and ready for war. Shields of various sizes and designs rested against thick iron supports, their emblems depicting the heritage of past battles. There were crates of finely smelted ingots, sheets of reinforced steel prepared for armor crafting, and carefully labeled barrels likely filled with alchemical compounds used in metalworking.

Even for someone who had seen the armories of great human kingdoms, the sight was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

Before Alcard could speak, the Dwarf beside him turned abruptly, his tone shifting from formal hospitality to cold business. "Our clan leader, Tharvin Steelhammer, is not one to simply give without an exchange. If you came here just to ask for supplies without offering anything of equal value, you will leave empty-handed."

Alcard, who had anticipated this, did not flinch. He remained composed, displaying no offense at the statement. Slowly, he reached inside his cloak and retrieved a small pouch, which he then carefully placed on his open palm. With a deliberate motion, he loosened the leather tie, allowing the contents to spill slightly—gold coins, polished gemstones, and finely cut rubies that shimmered under the torchlight.

The Dwarf warrior's expression shifted ever so slightly. His eyes flickered to the pouch, widening just a fraction before his disciplined composure returned. "You brought this from The Wall?" His voice carried a newfound seriousness, his previous skepticism momentarily replaced by interest.

Alcard nodded. "We did not come unprepared. We are willing to pay a fair price."

For a moment, the Dwarf seemed to weigh his options. He observed the gold and jewels with a careful eye, his fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to reach for them too eagerly. Then, with a curt nod, he pulled the pouch shut once more and gripped it tightly.

"Wait here," he ordered, his tone quieter but no less firm. "I will report this directly to Tharvin Steelhammer."

Without further discussion, the Dwarf turned on his heel and strode away, his footsteps fading into the depths of the stronghold.

Alcard remained motionless before the entrance to the supply vault, his eyes scanning the surroundings. He knew that this meeting was about more than just acquiring weapons and armor for The Wall. His true purpose ran deeper than mere trade—he needed to uncover what the Dwarves knew about the mysterious green fragment that he and Oldman now safeguarded. The Dwarves, with their vast historical records, their ties to ancient relics, and their unparalleled knowledge of metal and magic, were perhaps the only ones who could provide the answers he sought.

Yet he also understood that knowledge, especially knowledge of something as powerful as the fragment, came at a price. If the Dwarves discovered what he truly carried, their reaction could be unpredictable—dangerous, even.

Standing firm, Alcard maintained his unreadable expression, but his mind was a flurry of calculations and potential outcomes. He needed to approach Tharvin carefully, choosing his words with the precision of a blade. Any misstep could cost him not only the supplies but also a dangerous exposure of his true mission.

Minutes passed, and then, the heavy sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor. The cadence was slow and deliberate, carrying the weight of authority. Alcard turned his gaze toward the hallway as his escort returned, his face unreadable.

"The clan leader will see you now," the Dwarf announced.

Alcard nodded once, squared his shoulders, and stepped forward. The fate of this negotiation—and possibly, the secrets of the fragment—now rested in the hands of the Steelhammer Clan's formidable leader.

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