Deep within the cliffs of the Eastern Rocky Mountains, dwarves lurked among the rock crevices, observing the fortresses that humans were building.
The dwarf's rough fingers gripped a protruding rock tightly, his sharp eyes fixed on the grayish-white structure rising at the foot of the mountain.
"They're pouring stones! How dare humans build a fortress on dwarf territory! This is an offense, this is blasphemy!"
Anger flashed across the scout's face. The dwarves had always considered the entire Rocky Mountains their territory. In the past, they would even secretly let small groups of orc raiders attack human settlements that dared to approach the Rocky Mountains in winter.
The dwarves created a buffer zone, and the orcs obtained winter supplies; each got what they needed.
The news quickly reached the mountain hall of Stonemason Clan, where firelight illuminated stone pillars engraved with ancient runes.
Upon hearing the news, General Mogdin was enraged and smashed the stone table beside him with a single blow.
"They dare to erect a wall on our border without our permission?!" he roared. "This is an insult to us!"
He turned to Chieftain Imar: "Chieftain, before that fortress is finished, before their… that thing, I think it's called Cannon, is erected, we must strike! Use rolling stones and oil to wipe it off the surface! Otherwise, the humans will think that the rocks of the Rocky Mountains can be trampled on by them!"
Imar sat astride his obsidian throne, his beard woven into iron rings, his face cold and stern. He knew, of course, the purpose of the humans' actions; their envoy, Helson, was being held captive by him, and it seemed they were preparing to take strong measures, or at least as a deterrent.
Hearing Mogdin's roar, the orc guard standing at the corner of the hall frowned slightly. He was a tall and burly warrior, Abar's "gift" to Imar.
He whispered to Imar, "Your Excellency, you must make your decision carefully. The walls of humanity have never been breached by brute force."
He recalled the horrific scene of the invading army beneath the human walls when they invaded Aldor —siege engines destroyed by metal projectiles moving too fast to see, and warriors falling like wheat under volleys of firearms.
But Imar had made up his mind. He slowly stood up, a glint of ambition flashing in his eyes.
" Mogdin," he said in a deep voice, "you are right. Humans have been bullying us dwarves since ancient times. Now they dare to build fortresses at the foot of our mountains. If we don't fight back, how can we defend the Rocky Mountains, our last territory?"
The dwarves of the Rocky Mountains, regardless of their clan, have always held a negative view of the humans of the south. According to their ancient myths passed down through generations, long ago, the ancestors of the dwarves also lived on flat land, and then humans appeared out of nowhere.
Some say that humans migrated from the far north—a place even further north than the Great Prairie and the endless ice plains. In any case, the dwarves fought a fierce war with humans, but ultimately lost, losing their territory on the plains and being forced to retreat to the depths of the Rocky Mountains, where they tenaciously took root.
Every dwarf grew up hearing these stories, so they preferred to deal with the more rude orcs of the northern plains rather than the humans of the south.
Imar looked at the orc guard and raised his voice: "Let the Great Chieftain see that the Stonemason Clan are not weak allies. We can not only carve through mountains and tunnels, but also shatter the laughable walls of humans!"
He waved his hand and ordered, " Mogdin, I command you to lead a thousand warriors into battle, destroy that ugly castle, and hang the heads of humans on the mountain gate as a warning!"
Mogdin raised his battle axe high and loudly accepted the order.
The orc guard's mouth twitched. He wanted to offer more advice, but he couldn't tell Imar how powerful the humans were or how the orc army had suffered a crushing defeat, for the sake of the Great Chieftain's reputation.
But he ultimately didn't tell Imar directly, and could only silently take a step back.
When the dwarf general Mogdin received the battle order from Chieftain Imar, there was no hesitation in his eyes, only a burning fighting spirit.
In Mogdin's mind, the chieftain's command was not just a response to provocation, but a battle to vindicate himself.
He had long since witnessed that scene— how humble Imar was in his tone and how subservient he was to Abar, as if the Stonemason Clan were not allies of the orcs, but vassals of them, and how Imar granted almost every request made by the Great Chieftain of the orcs.
Mogdin felt deeply ashamed of this. "We are the offspring of the Stonefather, the builders of the ridge!" he roared to his men in private. "We are not slaves to the orc army, nor are we their pack mules that carry us across the mountains!"
Although the Stonemason Clan had long since become a tool for the Abar's southward invasion—it was they who opened the passage through the Rocky Mountains, allowing the orc army to penetrate deep into the kingdom's heartland— Mogdin resolutely refused to acknowledge this.
Now the opportunity has arrived.
"If we can destroy the human fortress with our own hands," he told the dwarven warriors he had gathered to the north, explaining the significance of the battle, "if we can build our triumphal arch with their gray stone, then that orc chieftain will understand that the Stonemason Clan does not depend on the orcs for survival, but rather we made the orcs' victory possible."
Mogdin already knew that Abar's army had suffered a crushing defeat beneath the human city; the cannon roared, the walls stood like iron ramparts, and the orc warriors fell like straw.
Now that humans are building a new fortress on the mountainside, this is the perfect opportunity to prove the dwarves' strength. Although they are outnumbered, they are far stronger than the orcs who were defeated by humans on their own territory.
"Orcs fear human walls, yet we dare to attack them." Mogdin donned his black iron chainmail and donned a helmet engraved with battle patterns. "I will have that orc guard return and report what a magnificent group of warriors the Stonemason Clan possesses, capable of doing what orcs cannot."
He believed that once they won the battle, the Stonemason Clan would no longer be a weak tribe under the shadow of Abar, but a being that could speak on equal terms with the Royal Tent, and the Stonemason Clan would once again become the masters of the mountains.
Two days later, on a cloudy day, just as the first wisp of morning mist was torn apart by the mountain wind, a group of dwarf warriors emerged from the valley.
Mogdin, clad in obsidian-trimmed armor and carrying a double-headed warhammer, strode confidently at the front.
Behind him, three thousand Stonemason Clan warriors marched in neat ranks, their armor forged from mountain rock and iron, heavy and menacing. Their footsteps struck the earth like chiseling stones. They wielded long axes and heavy shields, their beards woven into iron rings, their faces painted with ancient battle markings, their eyes burning as they pointed directly at the unfinished gray-white fortress.
The engineers of the Northwest Legion stood frozen in astonishment, and the lookout on the watchtower quickly rang the bronze bell.
Mogdin coldly surveyed the "Greystone Fortress" before him—the walls were not yet topped off, the gun emplacements were still being erected, and the wooden structures had not yet been removed. A cold smile crept onto his lips.