The Dwarves' Tribute

Night had fallen over Heavenly Armament Valley, and the place was alive with celebration. Great heaps of bonfires roared, enormous livestock hung from iron racks above the flames, golden grease constantly dripping into the fire with crackling pops. The rich scent of roasted meat spread throughout the entire valley.

Ying Qin and the other Blood Qin Empire natives obediently holed up inside Heavenly Armament Valley's garrison manor, not daring to emerge. Dwarves were famed throughout the world for their rough, combative tempers, and today was the day of their great joy. If the dwarves, bellies full of barley ale, took a dislike to them and swung their great hammers at them a few times, no one could endure it.

After all, these dwarves were the Blood Qin Empire's most precious treasure. Unless they intended to break out of Heavenly Armament Valley, they had to worship the dwarves like ancestors—no one dared touch even a hair on their heads. An Xi, the so-called garrison chief, was in truth merely the head servant of this band of dwarves. His days were ordinarily miserable enough; on such a special day, they dared even less to haggle with the dwarves.

The dwarves ate, drank, sang, and danced with wild abandon. Young dwarf men and women exchanged flirtatious glances and hooked up with one another. Borrowing the blazing heat of the bonfires and the boldness granted by barley ale, pair after pair of young dwarves furtively slipped into the darkness, while bright, ringing moans from dwarf throats sounded everywhere.

Those traditional, old-fashioned dwarf elders could not be bothered with such matters. It was a good thing for the young to have vigor. The more exercise they got, the more descendants they could breed—this was the foundation of whether a dwarf clan could prosper and grow.