Chapter 94
Chapter 94
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 94
Chapter Title: 31. Words Alone Won't Do (1)
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With Bail Ballerhard's rangers—who knew the terrain like the back of their hands—leading the way, we headed west.
After three straight days of marching, a barren wasteland filled with reddish soil came into view. Four more days passed, and far in the distance, a massive fortress built from red stone finally appeared.
"We've arrived at the fortress-city of Galbaram!"
At the words of Yorden, the ranger who'd been guiding us, I paused for a moment to take in the sight of the fortress.
The dwarves had donated it to commemorate their friendship with the kingdom, and even after four centuries, it still stood guard over this harsh, barren western frontier.
The only difference between then and now was that a masterpiece crafted with the painstaking care of legendary masters had been turned into an eyesore by human hands.
Around the fortress—encircled by haphazardly piled walls and towers—shanties and all sorts of buildings sprawled out in ugly disarray.
"What a mess."
I could only imagine the dwarves jumping out of their skins in horror if they saw what they'd donated reduced to this state.
It was just as I'd expected.
"The dwarves aren't here."
The king had clearly said their delegation was staying at Galbaram Fortress. Yet the fortress's overseer and commander of the Western Legion claimed they'd left.
When I asked why, the answer was a real doozy.
They couldn't stand looking at what the fortress had become, so they'd departed.
The group was baffled, but I just chuckled.
I could picture those stubborn artisans, unchanged even after four hundred years.
"They wouldn't have gone back home just like that. So where are they now?"
The commander stared at me blankly.
He seemed surprised by how casually I'd asked.
Of course he was—anyone would be thrown off hearing that an official delegation had ditched their post over something so absurd.
But not me.
To me, this was par for the course with dwarves.
They were the type who wouldn't abandon their craftsman pride even on the battlefield.
"Two days west of the fortress, there's a small hill. The delegation's been camping there since a month ago."
After giving me that info, the commander asked if there was anything else he could assist with.
I requested a guide to lead us to their campsite in the wasteland and some supplies.
"I'll have everything ready by tomorrow."
Even as he said it, the commander's expression was lukewarm at best.
Reopening ties with the dwarves—long severed—could bring the kingdom untold riches, yet he showed no enthusiasm.
It made sense, really.
Multiple envoys from the capital had already visited, yet no one had managed a proper conversation with them. And now here I was, of all people, showing up to meet the delegation. No wonder he had zero motivation.
Put simply, he had no expectations of me. Just like the king, who assumed I'd fail anyway.
I paid it no mind.
After resting the full day to recover our strength, I gathered my group.
"Anyone here think they can hold their liquor against anybody?"
The out-of-left-field question left them staring at me in confusion.
Then they started rolling their eyes, glancing at each other warily.
A bizarre tension filled the air, totally out of place.
The first to break it wasn't even a knight—it was a ranger.
"In Winter Castle, they say if you're talking heavy drinkers, you're talking Yorden."
As Yorden stepped forward with that line, the others who'd been hesitating rushed ahead competitively.
"I can drink at least as well as Yorden."
"I've never been drunk, so I don't even know my limit."
"I don't refuse drinks because I can't handle them—I've never refused because I might get wasted."
As if they'd never been sizing each other up, they all started bragging about their drinking prowess.
"Not just anyone becomes a Royal Knight."
I had no idea what his knightly qualifications had to do with drinking, but even Kals Yulihi chimed in.
Almost everyone stepped up—even Gerwein, who looked at me like I was his mortal enemy.
I couldn't believe it. I'd known men had a history of betting their lives on stupid drinking games, but this was next level.
And it wasn't just the men.
Thwack.
I blinked in surprise at the woman standing before me.
"Arwen?"
"I don't enjoy it, but I doubt I drink any worse than these guys."
Her calm, confident tone made the men twitch their eyebrows.
Her words had hit their pride.
"Almost everyone's in. Adelia, you joining?"
Adelia shook her head, saying she'd never touched alcohol.
"Then you don't know what you're missing."
The Sword Marquess I remembered was a legendary drinker, so I lumped Adelia in with the boozers too.
Curious about booze she'd never tried, she didn't refuse.
Clap.
With everyone gathered, I clapped my hands.
Galbaram Fortress soldiers grunted as they hauled in barrels and set them down.
"Let's see."
I cracked open the lid of one barrel left by the soldiers.
"Whew. Smells potent."
A sharp alcoholic aroma spread everywhere.
Just the scent was enough to make your head spin.
"Your Highness, what exactly is going on here?"
As I opened barrel after barrel, Kals Yulihi stepped up to ask.
"Gotta separate the real drinkers from the pretenders."
I answered nonchalantly, and Kals shot back in disbelief.
"Out of nowhere like this?"
"What, no confidence? Then sit it out."
Kals bristled.
"I'll stake my honor as a Royal Knight on it."
"You're not one anymore."
"That's how confident I am."
As I bantered with Kals, Yorden called from behind.
"Shall we start now?"
Somehow, everyone except Kals had already grabbed full cups.
"Some of you already have."
I pointed to a dim corner, and the group turned as one.
Gerwein—already gloomy-looking, even more so after the capital—sat there like he carried the world's burdens, already knocking back his drink.
"Can't lose."
"First one's gotta go down in one!"
Fired up by the sight, the men slammed their cups to their lips.
Arwen was right there with them.
Gulp.
With precise movements, she drained her cup in one go. Then she scooped more from the barrel and took another swig.
Stung by the challenge, the men gulped down their drinks, throats bobbing, and refilled.
"This isn't a speed contest. It's about who drinks the most."
I tried explaining the rules, but no one in the hall was listening.
Only Adelia timidly sipped her cup while watching me.
"Keep track one by one—count the rounds each survives."
"Want me to write it down?"
"Nah, just rough count."
At my words, the non-participants nodded and started tallying for their charges.
"Ahh! That's the stuff!"
"Who the hell's cheating under the table!"
Now they were clinking glasses on their own, turning the hall into a full-blown drinking bash.
I left them to it and stepped out.
Western Legion soldiers spotting me jumped to bow their heads.
I ordered them to keep the booze flowing whenever it ran low.
**
Lately, the Western Legion's commander had been weighed down by heavy worries.
Precious guests who could bring vast wealth to the kingdom if ties were restored had left the fortress on some ridiculous excuse. He agonized over whether he'd slighted the delegation somehow and fretted that the kingdom might suffer massive losses because of him.
He'd spent sleepless nights pondering how to lure them back and smooth things over when the fourth envoy from the capital arrived.
But this envoy was none other than the kingdom's notorious headache—the king's eldest son.
The 1st Prince's reputation wasn't as bad as before. He'd heard the tales of the prince's feats in the north, like everyone else.
Still, those were just rumors of a warrior's bravery. He couldn't imagine the prince had what it took to sway the finicky dwarves.
"A guide to lead them, and a hundred barrels of strong liquor. Quality doesn't matter."
The commander simply acknowledged the request.
He could see right through the prince's thinking.
The prince must've heard dwarves were heavy drinkers.
He had no high hopes.
He'd already gifted them top-shelf booze multiple times. But liquor alone couldn't force a summit.
He figured the prince would fail too.
If rare vintages hadn't worked, what good would rotgut for soldiers do?
Still, he prepared the booze as requested.
But instead of offering it to the dwarves, the prince used it for his own group's drinking party.
Unbelievable.
The commander clicked his tongue. The prince had a new reputation, but his character hadn't changed.
He couldn't fathom why the king would send such a wastrel as an envoy.
Maybe the kingdom had given up on rekindling dwarf ties altogether.
"Sigh."
As he paced his quarters in frustration, a knight rushed in with a report.
"Commander! You need to see this!"
At the urgent tone, he asked what happened—total chaos, apparently.
Even so, as royal blood, he hurried to where the prince and his men were.
Bang!
Bang! The crashing sounds startled him as he burst into the hall.
"Urk! Who's the bastard!"
"Fell flat on his face alone!"
A flushed-faced man sprawled out was babbling nonsense, while the guys around him laughed uproariously.
"Bull! That's twenty-nine!"
"Nah, I counted clear. That one was twenty-two, this twenty-three."
"This punk's trying to cheat me."
Men with slurred, twisted tongues were yelling at each other.
"Sniff. I miss you, Jon. Why'd you go first, Jon."
"Quit moping, you fool. If you go like that, I'll..."
Others were hugging and bawling like babies.
And off to the side stood the 1st Prince.
"Those two are out. No more drinks for them."
The prince tsked as he watched his men's antics.
"For now, Yorden, Kals, Arwen, Gerwein. Oh, Adelia's still kicking."
"She's been nursing that one cup for a while."
"Yeah? Well, she's still in, anyway."
The commander couldn't stand watching the prince chuckle to himself any longer and cleared his throat.
"Your Highness. What exactly are you doing?"
"What it looks like."
No shame on his brazen face.
"Didn't you say you'd depart to meet the delegation the morning after tomorrow?"
He asked tactfully what kind of bizarre behavior this was before such an important mission.
But the prince didn't bat an eye.
"That's why I'm running a quick test beforehand."
"A test...?"
"Dwarves go nuts for booze."
The commander sighed.
"Envoys from the capital have already wined and dined them multiple times. I've offered fine liquors daily for the past month, but their attitude hasn't budged."
The prince clicked his tongue at that.
"You shouldn't dole it out over a month. Dump a month's worth on them at once."
The commander stared blankly as the prince spoke like it was basic common sense.
Then the prince added,
"And dwarves like friends who drink with them more than gifts of booze."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Just giving it isn't enough. You gotta drink together. Oh, Kals is out too. Eyes glazing over."
The knight he'd pointed at jumped, protesting he wasn't drunk.
"You spun the ring. You're out."
"Your Highness, you never said anything about that."
"Basic drinking game rules, no?"
The protesting knight slumped in defeat.
The tsking prince turned back.
"Dwarves don't chat long with strangers. And the fastest way to befriend them is..."
His straight-pointing finger swept over the chaotic hall.
"Drink 'til you pour, drink 'til you drop."
As the commander gaped at him in astonishment, the prince shot to his feet.
"Hey! Grab her! No!"
Unlike before, his voice was frantic. The commander turned.
A woman there glared at the table, head bowed.
"Damn it!"
As the prince vaulted the table toward her, a chilling sob reached his ear.
"Why'd you have to go and do that to me..."
It sounded like stifled weeping.
"Adelia! Stop!"
At that moment, red and yellow light trickled from the corners of her eyes.
**
Adelia's unexpected rampage cut the drinking party short, but by then we'd already weeded out who could handle a proper session with the dwarves.
The survivors were Arwen, Yorden, and Gerwein—a total of three.
Arwen was the most composed by far.
Shockingly, her face hadn't changed color despite all that booze. If not for the booze reek wafting off her, you could've sworn she hadn't touched a drop.
Yorden and Gerwein showed some buzz but held out to the end.
Kals had circulated his energy to sober up and was fine too, but I excluded him.
Dwarves despised anyone using mana at the drinking table.
Adelia was out as well.
She'd inherited her ancestor's talents but not her liver. One cup got her plastered, unleashing a horrific drunk mode.
I never imagined the otherwise gentle girl—fierce traits aside—had such a mean streak when wasted.
And the price of my ignorance was steep.
[Subjugation's Poetry] didn't work on her in that state. And her near-swordmaster frenzy was a berserk rampage we could barely contain.
The hall's furniture got smashed to bits, knights trying to restrain her ended up bruised, and I had to bust my ass holding her back.
No one dying was a miracle.
I had no desire to see that again.
"Avoid booze if you can help it."
"I'm sorry, Your Highness."
Adelia bowed her head in apology.
I had no more scolding in me, so I just gave a few more warnings.
"Last night's party was essential prep for dealing with the dwarf delegation—booze is a must."
After explaining the point of it all once the dust settled, I checked with the survivors.
Arwen and Yorden agreed readily. The surprise was Gerwein.
The vengeful blade-sharpener, who'd only awaited his moment for revenge, volunteered for the dwarf meet.
I asked why, but he stayed silent.
Not like we were on casual chit-chat terms anyway.
With the lineup set, we loaded three wagons full of barrels and left the fortress.
"Right there. Round that hill, and you'll hit the dwarf camp."
The Western Legion soldier tagging along as guide pointed to a distant hill.
"Good. Everyone else, unpack and set camp here."
I left Kals and the rest behind, pulling only the proven drinkers—Arwen, Yorden, Gerwein—onto the wagons.
We each drove one around the hill.
And there was the dwarves' camp.
Squat figures ringed a bonfire. They'd clearly noticed our approach but kept their backs turned, ignoring us.
But I could see it plain as day.
Their ears perking at the sloshing booze in the wagon barrels, faces alight with drinker glee.
"Halt."
The wagons stopped short of the camp.
"Wait here."
I hopped down, hoisted a barrel onto my shoulder, and plopped right into the dwarves' circle by the fire.
Thud.
The dwarves finally turned to look, dropping their pretense.
I popped the barrel's bung. Amid the wasteland's dry air, a nose-stinging booze scent wafted out.
Gulp.
I grinned at the dwarves swallowing hard.
"Let's polish off one barrel first."