Chapter 383| A Diplomat With Fangs

The northern corridor felt like a stone oven.

The obsidian walls reflected the faint glow of crimson runes. Sulfurous vapor crept along the floor, carrying a stifling heat that stung the lungs.

While Riven surged north, Roland traversed the same corridor toward the underground city. Naya and Dom trailed behind him, merging with the shadows. The northern passage led straight to the subterranean city, and directly to the throne room.

Roland Sudrath’s footsteps struck the slick stone without a hint of hesitation. His white shirt was already soiled with soot and limestone dust. The stinging pain from the slash on his shoulder throbbed incessantly, but the young man’s expression remained entirely unchanged. As cold as frozen marble.

Behind him, Naya and Dom moved soundlessly like dead shadows. Naya kept a tight grip on the hilts of her twin daggers. Dom’s dark eyes continuously scanned every crevice of the tunnel.

The political chessboard in Roland’s mind had shifted to the extreme.

Rumina was safely away with Selene. At the eastern border, Riven and the others were surely preparing to breach Grendel’s gates.

But all those battles would be utterly useless if the political front in this capital collapsed.

The enemy had dared to spill Sudrath blood. Sweet diplomacy and polite compromises had officially expired. He didn’t come here to beg for help. He came to sink Northreach’s fangs straight into the throat of the Dwarven throne.

"Lord Roland," Naya whispered softly, her voice nearly swallowed by the hissing sulfurous steam. "The royal guards at the main gate are on high alert."

Roland didn’t slow his pace in the slightest. "Let them see us."

A massive stone door, carved with reddish-gold circuits, loomed at the end of the corridor. Four heavily armored soldiers blocked the way.

"Open the gates," Roland commanded.

His voice didn’t boom, but his absolute authority froze the air around him.

Inside the Throne Room, utter chaos had broken out.

Dozens of clan elders and senior Dwarf officers were screaming at each other. The thuds of axe hafts slamming against the floor echoed loudly. The glow of the golden runes on the stone pillars vibrated erratically, reacting to the room’s suffocating tension.

"Grendel has already mobilized his forces at the eastern rift!" Elder Kael, a white-bearded Dwarf, shouted. "He is defying the laws of the throne! We are on the brink of civil war!"

"This is all because of those southern humans!" Elder Harek shot back fiercely. "We should behead those humans and hand them over to Grendel before he storms the city!"

Atop the giant stone throne, the Dwarf King sat in absolute silence.

His calloused hand crushed a bronze chalice until the thick metal bent out of shape. His red eyes stared down at the crowd, weighed down by an immense burden. His throne was truly hanging by a thread.

Then...

BANG!

The double doors of the throne room were violently slammed open. Limestone dust billowed into the air. Two guards stumbled backward, their fingers trembling against the hilts of their weapons.

The rhythmic thud of heavy boots echoed.

Roland Sudrath walked in.

A sudden, choking silence gripped the massive room. Dozens of eyes went wide, staring at the intruder.

"Human?!" one of the elders growled, his eyes bulging. His hand instantly drew a short axe. "How dare you set foot in here again! You—"

"Shut your mouth, Elder."

Roland’s intonation was completely flat and freezing cold. His words sliced through the air like a razor, stopping the breath of everyone in the room.

The elder froze. The absolute arrogance radiating from the young diplomat, who stood there without a single weapon drawn, left him utterly stunned.

Roland ignored the hateful glares of the elders. His gray eyes locked straight onto the King. He strode forward into the center of the hall, without bowing a single inch.

"You all sit here bickering over ancient laws," Roland’s voice echoed, crashing against the pillars. "While Grendel is out there trampling all over your authority."

"Roland Sudrath..." the Dwarf King growled low, heavy with threat. "Watch your tongue in my domain."

"Your domain is burning, Your Majesty!" Roland fired back sharply, taking a step forward. "Grendel didn’t just attack a border outpost. He tortured my little sister—the Second Princess of Northreach—with a metal-fibered whip inside a cell!"

Shocked whispers erupted among the ranks of elders. Many of them had no idea Grendel had acted so insanely toward a foreign official.

"Grendel acts on his own behalf!" an elder snapped defensively.

"And those actions are dragging your Kingdom to the brink of destruction!" Roland shot down the excuse flawlessly. "While you and this council point fingers at each other like cowards, my older brother is kicking down the gates of Grendel’s fortress in the east!"

SLAM!

The Dwarf King shot up to his feet. His stocky build radiated a massive physical pressure. "You deployed forces to attack my people’s fortress without permission?!"

"We didn’t come to ask for permission!" Roland stood tall, puffing out his chest. "We came to reclaim the family blood that was unlawfully spilled! And we came to give you the one and only path to saving this throne!"

Roland pointed his index finger straight at the King’s chest.

"Northreach will never forget. If you remain silent and let Grendel be... we will make sure our fires of war burn this underground city to absolute ash!"

The Dwarf King stared intently into those gray eyes. There was no bluffing to be found.

Yet, the King scoffed. A bitter, condescending smile crept onto his lips.

"Tsk. Liar," the Dwarf King hissed. "You think I’d believe that? Northreach is just a bunch of refugees from the south. A tiny kingdom. You don’t even have a naval fleet to fight the Iron Empire. You’re just trying to con me with your bullshit."

Roland wasn’t offended.

He simply raised his right hand slowly, and snapped his fingers in the air.

Snap.

The Dwarf King frowned. "What—"

His words were cut short. The air around the throne instantly froze.

Naya was no longer standing behind Roland.

One second passed. The Dwarf King felt an ice-cold sensation pressing against his jugular vein.

It wasn’t a cold breeze. It was the blade of a dagger.

Naya was already standing perfectly still behind the backrest of the throne. Her dagger was pressed flawlessly against the King’s throat. Too fast. Too silent. The two personal guards flanking the throne hadn’t even had time to blink.

The Dwarf King froze stiff. The runes on his arms pulsed wildly in response to the fatal threat.

Without changing his expression, Roland shot a glance at the corner of a pillar to his left.

Dom stepped out from the shadows. Soundless, expressionless. The man swept back his black coat, revealing the dark barrel of the Gauss Rifle slung across his back, fully primed.

In the blink of an eye, Naya was back standing beside Roland. Her dagger had already vanished into its sheath, as if she had never moved from that spot.

"You don’t believe my story?" Roland asked quietly. "Now you know. These two are from the Ghost Squad. We have many more. Armed with weapons you couldn’t possibly imagine."

The Dwarf King swallowed hard. His fingers trembled over the hilt of his warhammer.

Roland stepped right up to the base of the throne’s steps.

"Grendel tortured my sister. He is your subordinate. You did nothing. I didn’t come here to ask for permission; I came to give you a notice." Roland’s gray eyes flashed with lethal intent. "Grendel will die. If you protect him... Northreach will become your enemy. And we will not lose."

The throne room was as silent as a graveyard. No one dared to breathe too loudly. The runes on the walls pulsed lazily, keeping time with the absolute tension.

The Dwarf King stared at Roland for a long time. His faded, aged red eyes no longer harbored anger. Only a bitter reality.

With a heavy heart, the underground ruler slowly sat back down. His body felt significantly older.

"Tsk... You are completely insane, Human," the King muttered hoarsely.

"I am a diplomat," Roland replied coldly. "A diplomat with fangs."

The Dwarf King lowered his head. His gray beard swept against his chestplate.

"Summon all the commanders of the Throne Guard Battalion," the King ordered his guards. His voice echoed with exhaustion, yet it was absolute. "Ignite the war circuits in all the towers."

He looked back up at the young diplomat.

"The Royal Army will march to the eastern rift. We will level that rebel fortress alongside you."

One of the elders opened his mouth to object, but a glare from the King made him snap it shut. The elders fell silent. Not a single one dared to argue.

A faint, utterly lethal smile finally etched itself onto Roland’s lips.

"A very wise decision, Your Majesty."

Without any further pleasantries, Roland turned on his heel and strode out. Naya and Dom melted back into the shadows at his sides.

The stone doors clamped shut, leaving the Dwarf King staring blankly down the corridor. He realized that he had just bent the knee to the sheer arrogance of a human.

Outside the throne room, Roland paused for a moment. His breaths were heavy. His diplomat’s mask slipped for just a second. He clenched his fists. This wasn’t a victory. This was only the beginning.

Meanwhile, at the eastern rift.

The scorching, sulfurous wind slapped Riven Sudrath across the face.

He took his first step onto the stone bridge suspended over the boiling lava crater. Across from him, the gates of the Obsidian Fortress loomed arrogantly, guarded by dozens of Grendel’s Dwarf soldiers on high alert.

Riven didn’t stop walking. The tip of his short sword dragged lightly, defying the blistering heat.

On his left flank, Rianor marched in step. The blue light from his Arcanotech Bracer flickered dimly in emergency mode. Borch and Thorne trailed right behind them like grim reapers on the prowl.

No tactical orders left the General’s mouth. There were no battle cries.

The four men marched straight across the bridge of fire, carrying a pure, unadulterated fury ready to burn the rebel fortress ahead to absolute cinders.

"We level it," Riven hissed, as cold as ice.