Chapter Fifty-Two: The Dwarf's Secret Warehouse

Everyone had entered the underground chamber; the dwarf carried an oil lamp and ascended the stone steps. He no longer used the spell of illumination, relying instead on the lamp’s glow. It was a black iron kerosene lantern with a glass cover, able to burn steadily in darkness or amidst wind and snow.

“Did you block the door properly?” Old York whispered. “This is our last refuge. If the Icelanders discover the entrance, we’ll have nowhere left to hide.”

Lucas looked up at the ceiling and patted the walls of the passage. “Are there any other exits in this warehouse?” he asked.

“No, there aren’t. This place was originally just a natural cave underground. York found it and transformed it into his secret warehouse,” Old York replied.

“I wondered how you could dig out such a large chamber by yourself,” Lucas said. “Since it’s a warehouse, there should be some unused junk. I’d like to use wood or anything else to block the entrance, barricade it as tightly as possible. That way, if anyone tries to force their way in, we’ll hear it.”

“Hmm…” Old York hesitated.

“Is there nothing we can use?”

“There is, there is.” Old York nodded. “Wait a moment; York will call some people to help me fetch it.”

“I’ll go call them,” said Baldur.

Baldur and the dwarf headed down the passage, leaving the lamp on the stone steps. Lucas gazed at the light and sighed. For now, it seemed they had found a place to hide. Yet he knew well that hiding did not mean safety.

The Icelanders had somehow melted the frozen sea and the Prague River, and sailed their warships into Tania’s territory. War had begun, history’s turbulent current was rolling in. Lucas had thought they were unfortunate, but now, perhaps they were the lucky ones.

Those truly unfortunate had already encountered the Icelandic war bands—like Bronte Village, which had been looted and left strewn with burnt, rotting corpses. It was clear now: soldiers had passed through there. It was not a random robbery or massacre, but an inevitable outcome. No one could have foreseen the King of Iceland suddenly launching an invasion against Tania in this bitter winter.

If the Icelandic warships had reached Alvador, then the northern border’s defenses had likely been breached. While Tania’s soldiers dozed, believing this winter would pass as uneventfully as every other, the Icelanders landed their ships under cover of darkness, seized the northern frontier in a flash, and advanced south, intent on devouring all of Tania.

But the new King of Iceland—was he willing to betray his pact with the Twilight Church and consort with necromancers? Did he not fear the Church’s crusaders marching against him? Or perhaps the king felt confident he could even withstand the Church itself.

Lucas’s thoughts raced. He had no idea where to flee, nor how far the battle lines had shifted.

Where should he go next? Would Tania be lost forever? Should he simply surrender, raise his hands, bow to the Icelanders, and pray for mercy as a captive? Even slavery seemed preferable to being hunted and killed.

Yet the necromancer—would he not turn them into zombies?

Lucas’s spirits sank to their lowest ebb. Even with the wandering knight beside him, he could not muster hope. An iron-ranked professional, a mysterious knight from afar, a dwarf skilled in alchemy, and a hundred or so Tania villagers—this was all they had, most mere burdens. How could they resist thousands of soldiers?

This was a war between nations; individuals were as insignificant as grains of wheat on the steppes. He was lost, unable to move forward, but seeing the wandering knight’s calm, silent demeanor, he forced a smile.

“Sir Veyd, that dwarf is Old York, whom I mentioned before,” Lucas said, trying to steer the conversation away from heavy topics. “He runs an alchemy workshop in Alvador. It’s not large, but adventurers like to buy potions and tools from him.”

“Old York has a peculiar temperament, but rest assured, he’s a good man. He doesn’t say much, but over the years, he always looked after me, a newcomer, giving me a few extra copper coins.”

“We rescued him from the Icelanders; he’ll surely help you with any identification you need.”

“If there’s anything you wish to ask, consider it now. Since I first came to Alvador seventeen years ago, he’s been called Old York. He’s lived many years, knows many obscure things, and in my memory, adventurers seeking his expertise have never been disappointed.”

Veyd nodded, patting Lucas’s shoulder. The wandering knight remained composed. Lucas gave a bitter smile and, for no reason, suddenly asked, “Sir Veyd, can we really keep moving forward?”

Veyd was silent, neither confirming nor denying. He wished to give the Tania man hope, but hope without certainty only led to greater despair.

Lucas fell quiet, gazing up at the stones blocking the entrance, unmoving. Only when the dwarf and others returned with wood and rocks did he stir.

“These scraps are all we have—make do with them,” Old York said. There were some wooden crates and dry straw, a few chair legs, and some natural rocks.

“And, Porter,” Old York took a bottle from his pocket containing pale green potion. “York heard your injuries were severe. This is the highest-grade healing potion I can make. Drink it. Let’s hope it works.”

Old York reluctantly handed over the potion, muttering, “This stuff sells for fifty silver a bottle—use it sparingly, don’t waste it.”

“Thank you,” Lucas replied with a smile, snatching the potion away. He was back to his usual self, hiding any sign of abnormality.

But only Veyd knew that when Lucas had gazed upward, he resembled a withered stalk of dead wheat in the fields.

Lucas drank half the potion, then helped the others barricade the entrance with debris.

“Let’s hope we can sleep well tonight,” Lucas said.

The dwarf picked up the lantern again, and Veyd descended the stone steps. Firelight flickered ahead through the narrow entrance.

Stooping to pass through, the space opened dramatically. This was a natural cavern, with stalactites above. The villagers had settled down, using wool sweaters and cloth to form carpets, and placing alchemical crucibles on the ground with wood burning inside.

The place showed signs of modification; besides the vast open chamber, there were some tightly locked doors. Complete sets of alchemical apparatus were arranged along the perimeter. Glass retorts, condensers, and collection bottles formed a distillation setup. Mortars and pestles made of crystal sat on stone tables, though all were covered in dust, apparently unused for a long time.

“Old York, allow me to introduce you formally,” Lucas cleared his throat, drawing the dwarf’s attention.

“This is Sir Veyd, from a distant land. For certain reasons, Sir Veyd has lost his voice, so I’ll speak for him.”

“I know little of Sir Veyd’s identity and past; we met during the migration. Thanks to this brave and powerful gentleman, we reached Alvador. That squad of Icelandic soldiers was defeated by his valor. Strictly speaking, Old York, it was this knight who saved your life. He is the one you owe your gratitude to.”

“Sir Veyd?” The dwarf looked up at Veyd’s iron helm.

Veyd beckoned, placing his right hand on his left shoulder and bowed slightly, performing a Netherland greeting.

If the dwarf was knowledgeable, he’d recognize the gesture.

“A Netherlander?” The dwarf did, indeed, recognize it.

Veyd nodded.

The dwarf squinted at him for a moment, then relaxed. “York is the alchemist, appraiser, and owner of Sageleaf Workshop. Do you need York’s help?”

Veyd nodded again; there was much he wanted to know. For example, the robes adorned with birds and wreaths, the twenty-sided die engraved with organs, how to use a magical trinket fixed with a barrier, and the sword inscribed with runes—what powers did it possess?

He also wished to learn how to raise a young, frost-wielding spirit, though perhaps that was beyond the dwarf’s expertise.

Nonetheless, this aged dwarf seemed capable of answering at least some of his questions.

In truth, this had been his original goal when setting out on foot. He had not expected to be swept into the Tanian’s flight and the war, but merely wished to visit a nearby town and seek news.