Chapter 42: The Mountain Fortress (Part 2)

The underground tunnels were the work of dwarves, dating back thousands of years. During the height of their power, Emperor Charlemagne of the Human Empire and High King Kazadni of the Dwarves agreed that the plains and hills would belong to humans, while mountains, wastelands, plateaus, and other inhospitable terrains would belong to the dwarves. The relationship between humans and dwarves was close, with humans receiving warm welcomes in dwarf lands and dwarves being hosted by local nobility when visiting the Human Empire.

During their peak, the dwarves constructed a massive network of underground tunnels, linking most of the world's mountain ranges. Thanks to these tunnels, the dwarves could traverse the globe, creating a splendid and brilliant civilization.

That was until the greenskins appeared.

The emergence of greenskins brought a catastrophic disaster upon the dwarves. After centuries of war, the dwarves retreated to the World's Edge Mountains, and even their capital, Karaz-a-Karak, fell to the greenskins. The once convenient tunnels became the greenskins' pathways, bringing misery to both dwarves and humans. Now, these tunnels are filled with greenskins, some dark elves who hide and expand them into cities, and dwarf expeditionary forces trying to reclaim and reuse parts of the tunnels.

Who knows what might emerge from this pit? Friendly dwarves, hated dark elves, or cursed greenskins? Ryan couldn't take the risk.

"I'll notify the Nords to send people to use gunpowder to collapse this hole later. For now, let's go upstairs," Ryan said, leaving the bloody basement.

As they climbed the stone stairs, Ryan suddenly became curious and asked, "Esther, do you all dislike close combat?"

"Because close combat is inherently barbaric and violent. An honorable duel should be one person with a bow and a quiver of arrows, showcasing their skills and speed, right?" Esther complained. "Using melee weapons is crude and violent, and it's easy to get injured."

"Hey, hey, you're talking to a White Wolf Knight..." Ryan muttered, feeling a bit frustrated. The White Wolf God Ulric despised ranged weapons, advocating for close combat as the true way for men to fight. White Wolf Knights avoided using ranged weapons to not displease Ulric, and Ryan only occasionally threw knives.

Saying this in front of the White Wolf Knights would label you as a heretic.

"So you don't have close combat units in your forest? All archers? That can't be right. Are all Woodland Guards archers?" Ryan was puzzled. Esther was from the wood elf territory, and although wood elves were mysterious, it was clear that no army could be entirely composed of archers without it being a death sentence in war.

"Woodland Guards are all archers, but the close combat units you mentioned are called Eternal Guards. They wield large shields, spears, and scimitars, but each of them is also a skilled archer," Esther explained, shrugging as he followed Ryan. The gray-white stone walls were damaged in many places due to years of neglect, and cold wind blowing through the shooting holes made the half-elf shiver. "I can't tell you more, but just know that Eternal Guards are equally proficient with bows as Woodland Guards."

"But training Eternal Guards takes longer, right? If training a Woodland Guard takes ten years, an Eternal Guard might take thirty years? In that time, two beastmen could breed twenty beastmen warbands. Now I understand why your armies are superior in quality but still struggle against beastmen. You can't sustain long-term warfare. Am I right?" Ryan climbed steadily, casually commenting.

"Exactly. Although we've been victorious in wars against the corruption for decades, our population and army numbers are declining. Moreover, the treemen are increasingly corrupted. It's hard to imagine that the once kindly and wise treemen elders from the tales are now raging berserkers," Esther said, shaking his head in disappointment. "We've had to form more patrols and Eternal Guard units to make up for the lost combat strength."

Ryan nodded silently. Treemen were crucial to the wood elf military. Ordinary treemen stood several meters tall, with ancient treemen reaching dozens of meters. A single swing of their arms could send multiple human soldiers flying. Their magically and rune-reinforced bodies were resistant to firearms and arrows, making them the backbone of the wood elf army.

They didn't continue the conversation as they reached their destination.

Or rather, the path ended. The tower's stairs were severely damaged, with a seven to eight-step gap between them and a solitary wooden door on the opposite side.

After a brief discussion, they decided to split up. Ryan sent Esther back to inform the caravan that the fortress wasn't suitable for resting. Once the half-elf left, Ryan focused on the door across the broken staircase.

Seven to eight steps were impossible for a normal person, even the agile half-elf couldn't cross it.

But I am different, I am my father's son.

Ryan took several steps back, then sprinted forward, leaping across the gap. His powerful psychic energy gathered around him, lifting his heavy chainmail and body like a spring breeze. He landed on the other side with a thud.

The heavy, decaying wooden door was forced open by Ryan's brute strength. The wooden latch shattered under his power. As the door swung open, Ryan stepped back, raising his warhammer, ready for battle.

Nothing happened. The attack he anticipated didn't come. Inside, the room was simply furnished with a table, a basic wooden bed, a sealed window, and a skeleton sitting in a chair.

Judging by the cobwebs and dust, the skeleton had been there for at least two years. The body had decomposed completely, its hand resting on a book.

"The skull is intact, indicating he was human," Ryan muttered.

The Empire's fascination with skulls was sometimes hard to explain. All knightly orders had skulls in their emblems, and the sacred crown symbolizing the Emperor was skull-shaped. Both the Emperor and the Elector Counts, who represented human strength, loved adorning themselves with skull motifs.

When Ryan first arrived in this world, he thought some pirate king had started an era where everyone wanted to be the Pirate King. Later, he learned that skulls symbolized purity.

The lure of Chaos always threatened humanity. Anyone who succumbed to Chaos underwent horrific mutations and could never return to their original form. Only a pure, unblemished skull proved they had never yielded to Chaos.

Similarly, skulls were prized trophies for Chaos warriors, champions, and even daemon princes.

Intrigued and curious, Ryan picked up the book.

The book was old, with some illegible and faded sections. The handwriting was in poor Low Gothic, with many spelling errors and strange characters, but it was still readable.

Low Gothic was the language of the commoners, used by peasants, townsfolk, and low-ranking nobles. It was easy to understand and learn, though its writing and pronunciation were less standardized. If High Gothic allowed nobility from across the continent to converse fluently, the Low Gothic of the Nord Kingdom and the southern Tuscan Electorate seemed like two different languages in both writing and pronunciation.

"Imperial Year 1469, my third year on Scarville Mountain."

Ryan frowned. This was over a decade ago.

"Today, something big happened. A brother said he saw someone washing clothes at the river's source while entering the mountains. We laughed so hard. Who would come to this place to wash clothes? I thought we could laugh about this all day. Hahaha~"

"Hmm, I think my brothers are bewitched. Today, two loyal soldiers told me they saw someone washing clothes at the river's source. But when asked to describe the person, they couldn't. They only said the person was very tall, with long golden hair."

"These big-headed soldiers must be crazy! Today they told me again they saw someone washing clothes while patrolling. What the hell? Did their years of military life teach them to see people washing clothes?"

"It feels off. More soldiers are seeing this person. Maybe there's really someone living deep in the mountains."

"Maybe I should take some men to check it out."

Then there was a long blank space, with some pages torn out. The handwriting changed.

"Imperial Year 1472, our fortress welcomed an annoying questing knight from Bretonnia. These Bretonnian knights seem to have little sense. Who told him the legend of a sealed monster deep in the mountains?"

"Something's wrong. The knight has been gone for over a week with no news."

The following pages were full of scribbles, dust, and dirt, with some incomprehensible words.

"Thank God! That mysterious hermit saved us! Damn Bretonnian knight! To show his valor to his lady, he really lured a terrifying beastman warband! We fought hard but were outnumbered. At the crucial moment, our friend came to our rescue. My God, I've never seen someone so tall and powerful. My head barely reached his arm!"

"Our friend wore a large suit of armor, a black wolf fur cloak, and wielded a huge one-handed sword. He cut down the invincible braying shaman, making the Beastlord flee. The beastmen finally retreated."

"We brought out our best food and treasured wine to entertain this guest. Our friend didn't hold back, but he wouldn't tell us his name or title. He said he was a penitent, not convenient to reveal his name. He asked us about the World Tree, but we didn't know. We told him there were many elves in the southern knightly kingdom. Disappointed, he bid us farewell."

The following entries were mundane. Ryan skimmed ahead, noticing the handwriting changed again, indicating a new guard captain.

The last few pages were hastily written: "The beastmen are back, numbering in the hundreds

. They besieged the fortress. We can't hold out. By tomorrow, if no reinforcements come, we'll fight to the last man."

"We can't escape. The fierce battle attracted greenskins. They emerged from the basement and attacked us and the beastmen. This gave us a chance to breathe. Hans, in desperation, used a mechanism to destroy the stairs. I retreated here."

"We can't escape."

The diary, or rather the military record, ended there.

Full plate armor? Wolf fur cloak? Tall stature? Ryan frowned. Most who adorned themselves with wolf fur were White Wolf Knights. He pondered if he could identify this person.

Hmm... a penitent, single-handedly repelling a beastman warband, inquiring about the World Tree...

Ryan's eyes lit up.

Yes, it must be him. There's no one else.

The former leader of the White Wolf Knights, once titled "Wolflord" by Ulric himself, the legendary Logan Flint, known as "Iron Claw."

However, during the great holy war 150 years ago, Logan suffered a disgraceful defeat. The White Wolf Knights were decimated in the war against the Chaos army, and even the High Priest of Ulric died gloriously. Although no one blamed him after the war, the great White Wolf Paladin chose self-exile, abandoning his knightly badge and leaving White Wolf City. He was never heard from again.

But why was he seeking the World Tree?

Ryan instinctively felt there was a story here, likely connected to Ulric's manifestation.

What was Logan searching for? Why did Ulric descend for a beastman's head?

Ryan's mind filled with more questions.

Until the sound of a barbaric horn outside brought him back to reality. Ryan realized something was happening outside.

Right! Why hasn't Esther returned yet!?

Damn, something's wrong!