Chapter 912: The Giant-Spore Blight
Makareth had been about to complain about Isabella, but he caught himself. Thinking better of it, he corrected his tone and called her "sister."
Orion couldn’t tell if Isabella had promised him something or if the demon was just a shameless flatterer when he chose to be.
Orion and Leonidas exchanged a look, shaking their heads with resigned amusement. They all treated Isabella like a younger sister—and a formidable one at that—so they tended to cut her a lot of slack.
"Makareth, tell us what you saw out there. What’s the situation at the front?" Orion asked. He just couldn’t bring himself to call the brawny demon "Little M."
"Right now, it’s simple," Makareth said, his demeanor turning serious. "A few dragon lords are leading some Sea Race and dragon beasts, constantly probing our lines, testing our defenses."
"What they didn’t count on," he added with a wicked grin, "was just how sharp the scimitar of Demon Makareth truly is." He tossed the two remaining Dragon Crystals in his hand, the spoils of his victories a testament to his power.
"Easy there, kid," Leonidas cautioned. "Don’t go provoking one of the ancient ones. If you get cornered, you’ll bite off more than you can chew."
Since the Deputy Commander had assigned Makareth to his command, Leonidas had a duty to advise and look after him. It was an unspoken custom within the Champions Alliance.
"Don’t worry, Big Boss, I know my limits," Makareth chuckled. "I stick to hit-and-run tactics."
"Besides," he added with a sly look at them both, "if I really did get cornered, aren’t you two here to back me up?"
Leonidas laughed, shaking his head. He liked the kid’s style; his personality meshed well with his own.
In fact, Orion found he was getting along with Makareth too. The demon acted like one of the team, not putting on any airs or pulling any of the usual Abyss-born schemes. His straightforwardness was refreshing, and beneath it, there was a clear intelligence.
And so, the three of them sat there under the sun, talking shop about the war at the front.
Titanion Realm, the Dwarven Tribe.
Thunderhold City —a name given to it by outsiders. To the dwarves, it was the royal capital of Storm-Hammer.
But other races preferred Thunderhold, because the waves of heat from the countless forges that defined the city were as oppressive as a physical storm. Few non-dwarves could stand to live there. Of course, the major factions of the continent still maintained their own embassies within the city.
The dwarves did not build palaces. Their capital was a network of countless tunnels and caverns dug deep into the bedrock and the heart of the mountain itself.
A hollowed-out mountain should have been a vulnerable target, but the dwarves had reinforced the entire range with veins of smelted iron, turning their home into a steel fortress, impervious to conventional attacks.
At the very peak of the highest mountain, in a forge that radiated heat and belched sparks, the dwarven king, Brokk Silverbeard, sat at a round table with Harbek Bronzebeard and Dain.
King Brokk pushed a letter from the human kingdom across the table to his two advisors.
"Intel from the human kingdom," the king said, his voice a low rumble. "The entire population of Soaring Bird City has vanished. Based on the clues, it’s believed they were sacrificed."
He took a heavy breath. "By the forge-father’s beard, our own people stationed there did not escape this terrible fate."
It was grim news, and King Brokk’s heart was heavy with grief.
"Your Majesty, the disappearances aren’t the point," the dwarf prophet, Dain, said, immediately cutting to the heart of the matter. "The point is, who is the culprit? Have the humans caught him?"
The king shook his head. "There is no word on the killer. Our ambassadors have already had an audience with King Harold, and he has no news for them yet."
The dwarves and the human kingdom had been allies for generations, their relationship built on trade and mutual respect. After millennia, they had open lines of communication.
"Your Majesty, there is something strange about this incident," Dain murmured.
King Brokk and Harbek both stared at the prophet. Among all their people, Dain was the wisest. He was the prophet of the dwarves; his words were their guide.
"Speak, prophet. Quickly now," King Brokk urged, picking up a flagon and pouring a drink for Dain himself. The brew within was a rare tribute from the blood elf royal family.
Dain downed the drink in a single gulp, smacking his lips in appreciation. "Your Majesty, first, the location is wrong," he began. "Soaring Bird City is far from the heart of the human kingdom, and also far from the stoneheart horde and the blood elf race."
"If the mastermind behind this was targeting the human kingdom, the attack should have taken place in a more prosperous city further south, not Soaring Bird."
"So?" Harbek grunted. He was an elder of the dwarves, a key figure in the tribe. "Out with it, old man! You drank the king’s fine ale, now you should be enlightening His Majesty and the rest of us!"
In front of old friends, Harbek’s temper was as fiery as any forge.
Dain just shook his head and let out a small burp. King Brokk and Harbek didn’t understand what he meant.
"Specifically, I do not know," the prophet admitted. "However, I suggest we send envoys to visit the blood elf race and the stoneheart horde. Under the guise of trade, we can inquire about this from the side. Now that the blood elves and stoneheart are joined by marriage, and our relations with the elves are good, we should be able to learn something."
It was a sound suggestion.
"Good relations, my axe!" Harbek spat. "They’d ignore us completely if it weren’t for our fine weapons and armor! The whole continent knows the blood elves are obsessed with cleanliness and nature. You see any of their High Elves stationed here in our royal capital of Storm-Hammer?"
King Brokk sighed, unsure if Harbek was mocking the blood elves or their own people.
"It’s decided, then. We’ll listen to the prophet," the king declared, his patience wearing thin. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow, Elder Harbek, you will lead a delegation to the Stoneheart Horde. Prophet, you will lead one to the blood elf race. It just so happens the Tribe has a new batch of weapons that need to be delivered."
The king looked at the two pillars of his Tribe, both already half-drunk, and made his decision with a weary shake of his head.
Thunderhold, a remote corner.
Torin hid in a sweltering basement. He handed a bag of mysterious seeds to Mike and Wyatt, ordering them to scatter the contents in every corner of Thunderhold City, without a soul noticing.
After they departed, Torin took out the scroll and repeated the question that had been haunting him.
"Are you sure that thing will work?"
After a moment, Ogu’s calm voice drifted from the parchment.
"Rest assured, my friend. That is the Giant-Spore Blight."
"In three days, at most, it will begin to grow in every corner of Thunderhold. And no one of dwarven blood can resist it."