Iron Tower City had been built two hundred years ago. Expanded by generations of Viscount Iron Tower, the entire mountain had been hollowed out and reinforced with molten iron, becoming a permanent military fortress.
In the underground palace, a Dwarf stroked his white beard, held a wine cup, and drank great gulps of wheat ale.
"Father, all the Citizens have been armed—more than twenty thousand people. Together with the three thousand troops in our hands, General Kota's five hundred horned ram riders, and one thousand Iron Hammer Warriors, we should be able to hold Iron Tower City," a young Dwarf reported uneasily beside Viscount Iron Tower.
"What do you mean, 'should'?" Viscount Iron Tower smashed his wine cup into his youngest son's face and shouted furiously.
Aidan Iron Tower wiped the wine from his face and stood silently where he was, allowing his father to vent his emotions.
His two elder brothers, three elder sisters, and six nephews had all died in the war two months ago. Having lost his finest heirs and nearly all his grandsons, his father had become increasingly irritable and paranoid.
Half an hour later, Viscount Iron Tower had tired of cursing. He had a servant bring him another cup of wine, drained it in one gulp, and wore an expression of utter pain.
"Aidan, leave Iron Tower City with General Kota tonight."
The young Dwarf raised his head and looked at his father in disbelief.
"Pass down the Iron Tower name. This is my final demand of you. I do not ask you to make the family flourish. I only ask you to preserve it."
"Father, actually, you..."
"Shut up." Viscount Iron Tower stared at his youngest son and said in a low voice, "A warrior never speaks of retreat. I have my own honor