Chapter 1175 - 681: Dwarf King’s Capital City of Lonely Mountain
Jianuo Mountain Range, core region,
Dwarf King’s Capital City of Lonely Mountain,
Within this vast and towering mountain range stands a majestic city in shades of gray.
It is like the Heart of the Mountain, seamlessly integrated with the surrounding jagged boulders.
This is a secret realm belonging to the Dwarf Clan, its architecture unique and rustic, with every corner reflecting the dwarves’ tenacity and unique craftsmanship.
The houses in the city are low and sturdy, no taller than two stories, with many rooftops being flat or slightly sloped, catering to the dwarves’ shorter stature and providing warmth during the harsh winter winds and snow.
These houses are built with gray stones, the gaps filled with delicate gray mortar, giving the entire city a calm and dignified gray tone in the morning light or twilight, as if part of the mountains themselves.
Yet, the city’s charm extends beyond this.
Within the rocky mountains, dwarves have used their unparalleled excavation skills to create countless intricate cave systems.
These caves serve as their residences, workshops, warehouses, and even holy sites for priestly rituals.
The caves are brightly lit, with the stone walls carved with exquisite runes and patterns narrating the history and legends of the Dwarf Clan.
Walking down the city streets, one often hears the sound of forging, a craft the dwarves are most proud of, and which is also the faith of most dwarves.
Blacksmiths, weapon shops, and armor workshops are scattered everywhere, the flames in the furnaces reflecting on dwarves’ focused and determined faces, as one by one, exquisite pieces of equipment take shape between their hammers and anvils.
The air is permeated with the unique scent of metal after forging, intertwined with the faint scent of gunpowder, creating a peculiar and enchanting atmosphere.
This smell of gunpowder doesn’t only stem from the fireworks of the forging process; it symbolizes the dwarves’ deep-seated affection for steel and fire.
At the heart of the city stands the grand and imposing Dwarf King Palace, rooted like a Rock.
Its walls are built from massive and heavy obsidian, flickering with a ghostly sheen under dim firelight, telling tales of the passage of time and resilience.
Inside the palace, stout stone pillars support the high ceiling, on which are carved brave feats of dwarven heroes throughout history, each line imbued with Strength and Glory.
At this moment, Dwarf King Preston is seated high on a throne carved from a whole piece of Basalt.
He wears a coarse dark gray garment, yet this humble attire cannot conceal his steely strong physique.
This dwarf king has a burly and robust frame, muscles knotted, each as if containing explosive power, as though a simple movement could move mountains and fill seas.
His bushy beard stands like steel needles, quivering slightly with his breath, as if each bristle holds an unyielding will. His skin has a bronze hue, coarse and tough, as if tempered metal, exuding a sense of weathered and enduring resilience.
Preston tightly grips a massive wooden mug in his hand, filled with golden ale, emitting a rich and mellow aroma.
He tilts his head, gulping down the ale, which trickles from the corner of his mouth, soaking his coarse garb, yet he cares not, reveling in the ale’s invigorating rush.
Beneath the throne, a group of Dwarf Ministers stand respectfully, hands holding various documents and scrolls, reporting clan affairs to the Dwarf King in murmurs.
Some ministers look worried, reporting difficulties in vein excavation;
Others maintain a calm demeanor, introducing resource exploration in small worlds;
A few have spirited expressions, recounting progress in trade negotiations with other races.
However, the Dwarf King appears highly impatient, a trace of irritation flashing through his bell-like eyes, brows furrowed tightly, as if finding these trivial matters utterly tiresome.
From time to time, he taps the throne armrest with his thick fingers, creating a "dong dong" sound, seemingly urging the ministers to finish quickly.
As soon as a minister’s words fall, he impatiently waves his hand, loudly declaring:
"Enough, enough, handle these trivial matters yourselves, don’t bother me!"
The voice echoes in the palace, akin to a resounding bell, scaring the ministers to bow their heads deeply, daring not speak further.
Once Preston’s figure disappears from the palace, the dwarf ministers then raise their heads.
Now, their faces no longer show the fear from earlier.
Instead, they look accustomed to it.
There is no helping it; Dwarf King Preston is simply of this nature.
Though the ministers are well aware of Preston’s habits, they must report the kingdom’s matters to him.
Preston may choose not to inquire, but they cannot refrain from speaking.
In truth, no one dares deceive this Dwarf King.
Whether it’s a personal Talent or a Divine Gift from the Dwarf Gods, Preston can sense goodwill and malice.
This is why he dares to entrust various affairs of the Dwarf Kingdom to others, without worrying about any mishaps occurring.
Though the Dwarf Clan isn’t as wise a race as humans and elves, comparatively, they appear more stubborn, single-minded.
Yet, the Dwarf Kingdom in Jianuo Mountain Range is home to over tens of millions of dwarves, among whom there are certainly those with Wisdom exceeding average levels.