A Weak Lord in Crisis

He didn't have time to think and immediately stated his title: "I am Baron Richard, Lord of High Mountain Keep of the Pompey Empire, here to reinforce our Dwarf friends against the bandits, accompanied by Miss Annie of the Voya Merchant Guild."

A rare murmur rippled through the usually quiet, stolid Dwarves.

They were surprisingly good at picking out key points. While they had never heard of High Mountain Keep, nor did they know anything about Baron Richard's background, the Voya Merchant Guild was definitely an old acquaintance to the Dwarves. It was one of the few allies they could still trust, and a shared history of dividing spoils was a bond strong enough anywhere.

The voice quickly responded, "Please forgive the suspicion of a group of poor folk. We need to see Miss Annie."

"Hold on a moment." Richard thought, Good thing I'm so resourceful and managed to coax this Half-Elf girl along.

He retreated to the starting point, extending an arm for Annie to hold onto. He whispered, "The Dwarves insist on seeing you."

"Alright."

Facing the solemn atmosphere of hundreds of people silently watching, not everyone could possess his kind of courage. Annie's steps faltered nervously, and the ground was slippery from the rain. Over just a few hundred yards, she would have fallen multiple times if not for someone supporting her.

"Don't panic. This Mountain Shield in my hand is thick enough to withstand even a ballista shot or two."

The Lord's tone and expression were sincere. It was fine when he didn't speak, but as soon as he did, Annie suddenly felt an urge to turn and run.

"I am Annie of the Voya Merchant Guild." Annie mustered her courage, poked her head out, shouted, and immediately pulled back, crouching behind the shield.

Truth be told, she was starting to regret it. It had been exciting to chant slogans about retaking the iron mine, but now facing the dangerous reality, the well-born Half-Elf lady began to miss her comfortable feather bed.

"Miss Annie, is that really you?" The feigned gruff voice instantly broke, sounding like a scrawny adolescent whose voice was just breaking, commonly known as a squeaky voice.

"You're... Robbie?" Annie and the Dwarves were indeed uncommonly familiar, as she could recognize the speaker just from his voice.

"It's me."

Richard just stood there, listening to them exchange several lines of pleasantries, thinking, Why aren't they letting me in already?

"Miss Annie is our friend. Let her and her followers enter." Robbie seemed to hear Richard's thoughts and ordered the Dwarf warriors to open the entrance.

Robbie? More like 'Shabby', Richard fumed, feeling inexplicably demoted several ranks as he clutched his chest.

Annie waved her hand backward, and the High Mountain Keep guards followed, filing in through the breach in the wall. Richard, with a bitter, long-suffering expression, brought up the rear.

Beyond the wall was an empty space, with two wooden watchtowers standing isolated in the center, their ballista bolts pointing high into the sky.

Further back were rows of small stone houses, crudely built, but laid out in perfectly standard horizontal and vertical lines. The ground was paved with river sand into smooth paths, creating a surprisingly Dwarf-like sense of neat beauty.

It was deep night, but lights glowed in many of the stone houses.

In the open space, besides Dwarf warriors, many women and children were scurrying about, helping the injured. The wounds inflicted by the Bearfolk's brutal blows were horrifying, but they seemed long accustomed, or perhaps numb, to them.

In a corner, several dying individuals were screaming, expending their last bit of life force. Blood mixed with rainwater flowed from beneath them. Everyone knew they were beyond saving, merely not dead yet. In such cases, the only "mercy" their comrades could offer was a sharply pointed, prismatic dagger—a quick way to bleed them out and alleviate their suffering.

"May the God of Forging protect us." Several Dwarf warriors took off their helmets and greeted them, exhaustion evident on their faces.

It was clear they were joyful to be reunited with friends, but this could not dispel the grim cloud hanging over the tribe. To be honest, their situation was even worse than the Lord had anticipated.

"Miss Annie, I didn't expect you to return at a time like this." The owner of the squeaky voice emerged from the crowd.

Richard's impression of Dwarves was always that they had long, full beards, weathered faces, always wore armor, and were perpetually scruffy.

Looking around, most of the male Dwarves in sight fit this description, but this Robbie completely shattered his stereotype.

He wore a clean, beige cotton robe, with not a single stubble on his chin, and his fair face could even be described as delicate.

If not for the Dwarves' characteristic short and stout build, the Lord would have doubted his lineage.

"Where's your father?" Annie's gaze searched behind Robbie, as if looking for someone who wasn't there.

"Father, my three uncles, and two elder brothers all died in battle. I am the chieftain now." Robbie sniffled, tears welling up, but he strenuously held them back.

"I'm sorry. May they rest in peace." Annie continued, "But Robbie, didn't I leave all the Holy Water with you before I left? Why aren't you using it now?"

Holy Water was a product of the Church of Holy Light, somewhat at odds with the Dwarves' worship of the God of Forging. They constantly criticized each other, claiming the other's main deity was merely a subordinate god. She thought the Dwarves were unwilling to use the Holy Water for this reason, which would be tantamount to murdering their own kind.

"It's all gone, long gone." Robbie lowered his head like someone who had done something wrong.

"How could it be so fast? Were you just pouring it away?" Annie asked in disbelief.

"It ran out yesterday during the day. Those wildfolk were like madmen. Our casualties were too high, there was nothing we could do." He clutched his head, both distressed and at a loss.

"Regardless, thank you for your help." An older warrior bowed to Annie, hand over his chest, adding the polite words that Robbie should have said, "Those few bottles of Holy Water saved the lives of many of our warriors."

Since no one was paying attention to him, Richard chuckled silently under the cover of darkness. He noticed that Robbie's mouth seemed to have a jinx; ever since he started speaking, the morale of the surrounding Dwarf warriors had been slowly declining.

Sacrificing one's life depended on who one was fighting for. A leader's personal charisma could sometimes play a decisive role in the morale of their subordinates, and Robbie was somewhat lacking.

He was like a child who hadn't grown up yet, seemingly clever and intelligent, but far from strong enough to shoulder responsibility, a fact the Dwarf warriors apparently also knew.

"Robbie, be strong." Annie even bent down and patted his head.

As if finally finding an outlet, the tears Robbie had been trying to hold back could no longer be contained. They traced two wet paths down his face, gathering at his chin and dripping down.

"What are you laughing at? Are you laughing at me?" He looked up at Richard, his voice choked with sobs.

The Lord had overlooked one thing: Dwarves, whose ancestors toiled in dark mines, had night vision even better than ore.