Bear School Astartes

Chapter 1127: Chapter 1107: The Wizard Returns

The intimidated Sorlin actually had little to say.

Just as Lann expressed, if delaying tactics were used with reasonable people, it could indeed be feasible.

But once there’s no desire to delay, the choices Sorlin can make are few.

Retain the gold, or obtain the Aken Gemstone.

Even though Sorlin is not in the right state of mind now, he is ultimately not foolish.

When Lann came out of the Treasure Hall, he faced the dwarves’ expectant little eyes.

"How is it? Sorlin, he... he..." Balin stammered nervously. "Has he improved?"

"If actively or passively letting go of the treasure would alleviate the dragon sickness, it should be effective."

Lann nodded towards the Old Dwarf, causing a circle of dwarves to instantly breathe a sigh of relief and then burst into joyful laughter.

Bofur and Ouin jumped up and high-fived.

Their emotions are always simple when they’re happy.

"But I can’t stay any longer." Lann said as he kept walking, "It’s better to clarify things with the elves and humans soon; everyone is really tense right now."

"Oh, by the way, Philipp and Qi Li." Lann slightly turned his head as he walked forward and called out to the two nephews of the King of Lonely Mountain.

"Next time I visit, could we clean up a bit? A hall filled with cobwebs and dragon stench, you dwarves can’t treat guests this way, right?"

Philipp and Qi Li exchanged glances and happily agreed.

"Of course!"

"Just wait until we clean up!"

They were glad Lann still considered them friends.

Emerging from the depths of the Lonely Mountain, Lann, together with the returning Rong Buqiu, jumped down the temporary gate constructed by the dwarves and headed towards River Valley City.

On the road, Elu Cat first hugged Qilin’s neck, stretched lazily as if returning to a familiar bed.

Then promptly lay on Qilin’s head.

Its small paws touched Qilin’s smooth broken horn, making ’tsk tsk tsk’ sounds from its mouth.

"Qilin, your horn is broken again, meow."

Immediately, the Ancient Dragon let out a dissatisfied hiss, translating almost to:

"Why say ’again’? This time it’s due to attack! Not being struck!"

"Can an attack be called ’broken’?"

"It blasted out!"

A series of confusing words made the atmosphere between Rong Buqiu and Lann joyful.

-----------------

Bard rode back to River Valley City, but the heavy and angry expression on his face gave everyone waiting for him a bad premonition.

Thranduil rode his deer and stood at the city gates, calmly welcoming Bard.

He foresaw the failure to negotiate.

He had seen countless dwarves and dragon sickness before, very aware of what Sorlin would become, hence he never had high hopes.

Emotions of panic started to arise in River Valley City because everyone knew without gold, most of them wouldn’t survive the winter, let alone rebuild their homes.

Moreover, Sorlin in Long Lake Town had debated Bard publicly and promised to share the treasure.

Ultimately, he broke his promise at their most difficult time, causing the refugees of Long Lake Town to burst with anger ignited by fear almost instantly.

The crowd’s noise grew louder.

People were saying dwarves were ungrateful, and if they wouldn’t fulfill their promise, they would arm themselves and go to the Lonely Mountain to claim it.

And the usually rational Bard had nothing to say at this time, watching rumors spread among the people.

Or rather, letting them spread was better.

After all, a group of fishermen originally going to war needs anger as a mental driving force.

The armament reserve depot in River Valley City had long been distributed among the people.

Though due to unfavorable storage conditions and time passing, little usable remained, it was enough to arm a hundred-person team.

"I still don’t understand."

Bard stood with a worried face in front of Thranduil’s tent, watching the townsfolk start practicing with weapons.

"The gold we want is insignificant to the Lonely Mountain; your national treasures hold no special meaning to dwarves. Why are they even willing to risk war?"

Thranduil had already taken off his armor, putting on his luxurious robe.

His camp was set up in the central square of River Valley City.

He then picked up two wine glasses and handed Bard one, sipping his own.

"You’ll understand the stubbornness of dwarves after more encounters. You can’t comprehend their thought process; best not to waste efforts on these things."

Bard still wore a bitter expression, not fearing battle, but...

He looked outside at the Long Lake townsfolk passionately committed for their and their families’ livelihoods.

At this moment, the ruins of Riverdale City, once desolate and cold, are now bustling with life unseen for decades.

Elves in dignified, orderly patrols are changing shifts in the city, their synchronized steps beating like drums.

Townsfolk are bustling back and forth, transporting firewood, food, weapons, armor, arrows... Everyone who can work is working, with shouts and greetings echoing constantly.

A few townsfolk who were guards back in Long Lake Town are starting to organize the armed townspeople into small formations, quickly and roughly training them. It’s a last-minute preparation.

In order to survive, they inevitably need that gold, which means they must fight the dwarves. But if it really comes to a fight, how many will die?

At this moment, a commotion suddenly arises from the distance on the street. A white-haired elder in tattered gray robes, with bloodstains and exhaustion on his face, is riding a horse towards them.

His superb riding skills, though allowing him to avoid any of the busy townsfolk on the crowded, damaged street, nonetheless caused a stir.

Bard noticed that Thranduil wore an expression of spotting a troublesome figure and encountering unexpected events.

"Oh, you’re here."

The elder, upon reaching the square of Riverdale City, dismounted without stopping and headed straight towards Thranduil’s command tent.

The elf guards passing by ignored him as if they didn’t see him at all.

Thranduil slightly adjusted his demeanor and expression, smiling as he greeted him.

"Mistlandir, it’s been a long time."

"Let’s skip the pleasantries, Thranduil."

Gandalf, holding a different magic staff than before, walked briskly towards the Elf King and Bard.

It was as if the scars and dishevelment on his face were all an illusion.

"I came here to warn you, the dwarves and the humans!"

Gandalf said earnestly, his appearance and the aura of wisdom accumulated over years made Bard feel, at first sight, that he was a wise and reliable person.

However, Thranduil was very different.

"Go ahead, I’m listening."

The Elf King said, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, clearly speaking insincerely.

"You must set aside your grievances with the dwarves first! The war has already begun, and the orc army from Dorguldu is swarming towards here!"

"Everyone here is in danger!"

Gandalf said with a hand on his hip, his originally neat silver scarf hanging around his neck, now messily dragging on the ground.

Looking utterly disheveled.

Thranduil remained indifferent to Gandalf’s words, but Bard furrowed his brow.

After all, he had only recently transitioned from fisherman to leader.

Any disturbance at this moment made him tense.

Thus Bard stepped forward, staring intently at the old man before him.

"What are you saying?"

"You still don’t know them well, Bard." Thranduil interjected before Gandalf could respond, speaking in a relaxed tone, seemingly unconcerned about the ’danger’ the old wizard mentioned.

"Wizards are like a thunderstorm rolling in during a cold winter, quite a commotion, but when have you ever seen it truly rain?"

"My goodness." Gandalf retorted, supporting his back, looking angrily at Thranduil, "When did my advice become so trivial?"

"The orc army is already on the move, and they could be upon us at any moment! They’ve mobilized with full force, yet you haven’t realized the threat!"

Thranduil looked coldly at the infuriated Gandalf.

"Since you suggested we shouldn’t target the dwarves first, I haven’t wanted to listen. After all, I also know that those dwarves in the Lonely Mountain are your friends. Securing us first for the safety of your friends, doesn’t that sound reasonable?"

"I admire your loyalty to friends, Gandalf. But do you know why I’m anxious to get this done?"

"You say the orcs could be upon us at any moment, but the question is: how could they move so fast? That’s an army departing from Dorguldu."

"Secondly... where are the traces of that army?"

Gandalf opened his mouth but couldn’t say anything.

Firstly, as the initiator of the dwarves’ Reconquest Expedition Team and a friend of the dwarves, his position is indeed awkward now.

Then, he truly doesn’t know the whereabouts of the army departing from Dorguldu.

Gandalf once ventured alone into that grim and terrifying old castle to draw out the true enemy.

He succeeded, and the Great Dark Enemy’s power had indeed not recovered to its peak.

Under great pressure, it didn’t even kill him outright. It only severely injured him, suppressed his power, and imprisoned him.

Out of some twisted amusement, it summoned the leader of the Northern Beastmen, Azog the Desecrator, in front of him.

Letting him lead the army in full force, Gandalf witnessed the entire assembly of the orc army.

It was precisely because of this that he was extremely worried about the situation at the Lonely Mountain and rushed over non-stop after escaping.

He arrived only to find humans, elves, and dwarves on the verge of clashing.

Gandalf suddenly felt numb.

The enemy hadn’t even appeared, yet they were already about to fight each other.