Chapter 399| You Are Not A Killer, Your Majesty. You Are A Leader. And A Leader Does Not Execute Defenseless Prisoners.

?The screams from behind the stone doors had yet to die down.

?The voices echoed off the obsidian walls, bouncing and stacking on top of one another. The most repeated word wasn’t always clear, but the tone was unmistakable.

?Execution.

?The Dwarf King sat on his throne, his stout figure leaning slightly forward. Both hands rested on the stone armrests. His gray beard hung tiredly against his chest.

?The white-runed warhammer remained propped beside him, untouched.

?His faded red eyes stared straight ahead at Grigori and Adrian, who stood in the center of the room, their hands bound by rune-etched chains. Grigori stood tall, refusing to bow his head. Adrian stood a half-step behind him, face pale, his eyes darting wildly in every direction.

?The Dwarf King remembered his firstborn son.

?Killed at the eastern gates sixty years ago, his body obliterated by the Iron Empire’s steam cannons.

?His second son died twenty years later. The same corridor. The same swords.

?It was as if history intentionally repeated itself just to ensure his wounds never truly closed.

?Three grandchildren he never even got to see grow up.

?Too many names to recount one by one.

?His hands clenched against the armrests, knuckles turning white.

?Outside, the roaring grew louder.

?

?Roland took a half-step forward.

?His white shirt was still stained with dust and soot. His black hair was a mess. His diplomatic robes had been discarded long ago. Yet the way he carried himself remained unyielding, every movement calculated.

?"Your Majesty," he said. "Let me handle this."

?The Dwarf King turned, eyes narrowing. "You’ve only been here a few days." The King’s voice was heavy, bordering on a growl. "They slaughtered my people. My family. For three hundred years."

?"I know," Roland replied. "And that is exactly why I must be the one to handle this. Not you."

?The Dwarf King stared at him for a long moment.

?Outside, small stones began to pelt the massive doors in a rapid, impatient staccato.

?Roland took a short breath before continuing.

?"You are not a killer, Your Majesty," he said, his voice softer now. "You are a leader. And a leader does not execute defenseless prisoners."

?"You don’t know what they’ve done," the Dwarf King said.

?"I do." Roland paused. "My sister was tortured by radical Dwarves. I saw the whip marks on her back with my own eyes. Do not tell me I don’t know what vengeance feels like."

?The Dwarf King fell silent.

?"But if I retaliate in kind," Roland continued, "I am no different from them."

?

?Off to the side of the room, Riven stood dead still.

?The bandages on his left arm still covered the unhealed Wyvern scratches. His axe had been wiped clean, slung across his back, always within an arm’s reach.

?His eyes were locked onto Grigori.

?The old man stood tall, not looking like someone who had been defeated. He looked more like a man waiting for the inevitable.

?Riven remembered Rumina.

?The lash marks across her back. The way his sister limped, swallowing the pain with every step she took. Her deathly pale face when they first found her in that stone cell.

?His hand drifted toward the hilt of his axe almost subconsciously, his fingers half-curling around it before he even realized what he was doing.

?Then he saw Roland, standing before the throne, pleading with the Dwarf King to spare their lives.

?A diplomat. Always a diplomat. Always talking. Always searching for a peaceful way out.

?Riven pulled his hand back.

?He hated this. Every fiber of his being screamed to lunge forward, to smash, to avenge. But he knew Roland was right.

?Always right. And that was the most infuriating part of it all.

?Riven averted his gaze to the wall, steadying his breathing, holding it all in.

?

?"If Your Majesty executes the General and his prince," Rianor spoke up from the other side of the room, "the Iron Empire will be furious."

?The Dwarf King turned toward him. Rianor’s left arm hung limply, his dead Bracer strapped to it like a piece of scrap metal. His cracked glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose. His face was pale, but his eyes were sharp as ever.

?The Dwarf King frowned, as if hearing such a rationale for the very first time. "You care?" he asked, his voice heavy.

?"I do," Rianor answered flatly. "Because you are a leader, and a leader cares for his people."

?The Dwarf King didn’t reply.

?Rianor continued without shifting his tone.

?"Grigori isn’t just some run-of-the-mill commander," he said. "He is a General. If he dies by Dwarven hands, Emperor Regulus will have the perfect excuse to dispatch a far more massive army. Not to conquer these mountains. To exact revenge."

?He paused for a second, letting the words sink in.

?"But if Grigori lives, you have a hostage. A high-value hostage. Hostages are much more useful than corpses."

?The Dwarf King stared at him for a long moment.

?Outside, the roaring still echoed, though it sounded slightly more distant than before.

?

?"I don’t hate the Dwarves," Grigori finally spoke.

?His voice was calm, gravelly, like grinding stones. There was no plea for mercy in it. No remorse. Just cold facts, delivered with the demeanor of a veteran who had lived far too long to bother pretending.

?"I have never hated your kind. I simply follow orders. The Emperor commanded me to conquer these mountains, and I did. If it wasn’t me, someone else would have come. And that someone else might not have been as lenient as I am."

?Outside, the citizens only grew angrier.

?The shouts warped into outright roars. Some screamed liar. Others screamed murderer. Small stones battered the heavy doors in a continuous rattle, like a rainstorm that refused to let up.

?Grigori paid it no mind. His eyes remained locked on the Dwarf King.

?"I’m not asking for mercy," he continued. "I only ask that you do not punish my men for my actions."

?The Dwarf King scoffed. "You think you have the right to speak of mercy?"

?"No," Grigori replied. "But you do. And that is the difference between us."

?

?"I am begging for mercy," Adrian blurted out.

?His voice was so much smaller than Grigori’s. Higher pitched. Younger. He took a half-step forward, but the heavy chains yanked him back, a stark reminder that he was not a free man.

?"I was just following orders! I didn’t know it would go this far. My father—the Emperor—he gave the command. I just—"

?His voice cracked mid-sentence. His face flushed red, tears welling in his eyes.

?A few of the citizens outside who caught his words fell silent.

?The rest kept screaming. But there was a small fracture in the mob’s uproar, a fracture that slowly widened with every passing second.

?The Dwarf King stared at Adrian for a long time—much longer than he had looked at Grigori.

?He was young. Far too young. The King could see the sheer terror in his eyes—the exact same terror he had seen in his own son’s eyes on that final night before they marched to the eastern gates, never to return.

?The Dwarf King looked away.

?

?The Dwarf King remained silent for a long time.

?The throne room felt quieter than ever, even with the muffled roars echoing from outside. The reddish-gold runes on the walls pulsed faintly, syncing with the collective breathing of everyone inside.

?The King looked toward his people at the threshold. Faces of those who had lost fathers, husbands, sons, and grandsons. Faces demanding justice in the simplest language known to man—blood for blood.

?Then he looked at Roland, standing calmly without a weapon, without an army, armed only with his words.

?Then at Grigori, standing tall without an ounce of regret.

?And then at Adrian, who hadn’t even lived a fraction of the King’s long life.

?The King closed his eyes. Three hundred and twelve years. He had killed so many. He had lost so many.

?And if he killed two more men today, what would really change?

?Nothing.

?Corpses do not resurrect corpses. Blood would not bring back all the blood that had already been spilled.

?He opened his eyes. "Roland Sudrath."

?Roland stepped forward, bowing his head.

?"I leave these two prisoners in your hands," the Dwarf King declared.

?Roland looked up. There was something flickering in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or maybe profound relief. "Are you sure?"

?"I am sure," the Dwarf King replied. "You succeeded." He paused for a moment. "But, if you fail—that will be on your head as well."

?Roland stared at him for a long moment.

?Then he bowed deeper than before. "I will do my absolute best."

?The Dwarf King gave a slow nod, then glanced toward the massive doors where his people were still massing.

?"This won’t please them," he said. "But this is my ruling."

?He rose from his throne, his movements slow, his body feeling much heavier than usual.

?He grabbed the warhammer beside him, hoisted it up, and rested it on his shoulder—the exact same weapon he always carried whenever he had to face his people with news they didn’t want to hear.

?"We are not done here," he continued. "The Emperor is still in the capital. Talk to him before he sends his next legion."

?"I will speak with him," Roland replied.

?The Dwarf King marched toward the doors. He stopped briefly at the threshold, looking out at his mob of citizens. Their voices began to die down one by one, as if realizing that a judgment had been passed and nothing could change it now.

?Then he walked out. The heavy stone doors shut behind him.

?

?Roland stood in the center of the throne room, surrounded by Rianor, Riven, Borch, Thorne, Naya, and Dom. The two prisoners of war stood before him, hands still bound by rune-etched chains.

?Rianor stepped closer, standing beside his brother. "You know this isn’t over."

?"I know," Roland replied.

?"Emperor Regulus won’t be happy."

?"I know that too." Roland looked at Grigori, then at Adrian.

?Thorne took a half-step forward, his spear held at the ready despite the prisoners being tied up, his eyes never leaving them for a second.

?Riven approached from the other side. His eyes still harbored something dark, but his hand no longer drifted toward his axe.

?"If you’re wrong," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "I’ll finish this myself."

?Roland met his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "I know."

?Naya and Dom stood quietly by the doors, as usual, watching without a word. Borch gave Roland a single nod, a silent mark of approval.

?Night fell over the underground city. For the first time since the battle began, there were no sounds of explosions.

?Only silence.

?And in the midst of that silence, a diplomat stood before two prisoners of war, pondering how to turn enemies into allies.