Knight Lord: Start with Daily Intelligence.

Chapter 494 Su Li's Immense Kindness and the Reason
Su Li's smile quickly transformed into a perfectly measured solemnity, and he nodded slightly. He fully understood the dwarves' cultural tradition of placing their ancestors above all else.

For dwarves, failing to properly bury the remains of their ancestors is a great disgrace to the entire clan and even the kingdom, while welcoming back their ancestors is a more glorious thing than any military victory or accumulation of wealth.

King Cadlin's insistence on addressing this matter first, before discussing anything else, was simply his duty as a dwarven monarch who adhered to tradition.

“Of course, Your Majesty. Welcoming our ancestors home is of paramount importance. Please follow me. The ancestral hall where their remains are placed has been prepared and is awaiting your arrival.” Su Li’s tone was full of understanding and respect.

Without the slightest hesitation, he immediately changed the direction of the guidance, turning from the brightly lit banquet area, where the aroma of food could be faintly smelled, to a relatively secluded but more heavily guarded corridor on the side of the palace area.

The atmosphere of the passageway leading to the ceremonial hall of the Bauhinia Palace in the Black Forest Territory had changed. Although the main building was still in the style of the Human Empire—towering vaults and stained-glass windows depicting the deeds of human deities such as Violet, Sharya, and Mor—the more one went in, the more solemn the atmosphere became.

The corridor was no longer lined with ordinary palace guards, but with Mor Knights clad in heavy black armor, their clasps bearing the emblems of ravens and black roses, symbols of rest and watchfulness. Silent as statues, their gazes beneath their visors sharp and cold, the tips of their halberds pointing downwards, a symbol of their protection of the departed.

The air was filled with a faint aroma of myrrh, cypress, and the distinctive oils of burning eternal flame—a common fragrance used in Mauryan rituals. Myrrh, in particular, is always closely associated with funerals, death, and embalming; its bitter, smoky, and slightly sweet scent symbolizes the solemnity and eternity of death. This is the most classic incense offered to Mauryans to purify the air, soothe the soul, and guide the deceased to peace.

The massive oak doors of the chapel were tightly shut. Instead of carvings of saints, they were adorned with enormous raven wings, a symbol of the Moran divine authority. Beside the doors stood several Moran priests, clad in heavy black robes and hooded, their heads bowed, holding either heavy ritual texts or lanterns that emitted a faint, pale glow.

Upon seeing the arrival of the lord and distinguished guests, the leading priest slowly raised his head, revealing a pale and solemn face beneath his hood. He silently performed a ceremonial salute and then gestured to the guards to push open the heavy door.

The doors opened, revealing the interior of the hall.

The ceremonial hall of the Blacksin Territory is magnificent and solemn, fully reflecting the Empire's emphasis on death and the afterlife. The hall is circular, with a soaring dome adorned with murals of starry skies and mystical symbols. At its center stands a massive, eternally burning silver lamp, emitting a soft yet chilling glow. The surrounding walls are fitted with numerous niches, typically used to house the urns and memorials of important heroes or knights (champion-level or exceptionally elite).

However, at this moment, the central area of ​​the hall had been temporarily transformed. The floor was covered with a brand-new black velvet carpet. Most striking were the three temporary coffin stands, which, though hastily erected, did not appear shabby at all.

Each coffin platform was constructed of heavy obsidian-like stone, with silver patterns inlaid along its edges. Above the coffin platforms, a black silk cloak embroidered with the golden imperial double-headed eagle and the bauhinia emblem was placed.

Beneath the tarpaulin, the outlines of three skeletons were faintly visible. They were carefully placed on a platform covered with soft padding. Next to each skeleton were neatly arranged personal belongings that had been carefully cleaned and protected when they were clearing spoils in the Valley of Memories—despite the passage of time, their extraordinary craftsmanship and historical value were still evident.

The remains of three legendary dwarven ancestors rest here:
Agrim Ironfist (The Butcher King), his remains are the most imposing; even with only his head remaining, one can feel his former ferocity. Beside the massive skull, bearing obvious battle damage, lies the broken blade of a giant axe, still emitting a faint red glow, and a huge bronze horn engraved with runes of hatred—not a weapon or amulet, but the Butcher King's symbol, a broken horn from his helmet.

Baldek the Anvil, the Shield of the Mountains, was left with his left arm, which was attached to his shoulder, bearing numerous marks of defensive fractures, as if telling the story of the countless impacts he endured while protecting his brethren.

The coffin of the legendary engineer Gorenson Anvil is different. Apart from his right hand, which was left behind, there are many strange metal parts and intricate gears around his remains, the function of which is still difficult to fully understand. These are scattered items found around his remains.

Surrounding the three coffin platforms, a large number of dwarves—mainly members of the Redbeard and Grayrock clans, as well as some other dwarven artisans who had come after hearing the news and settled in Blackwood—spontaneously formed a solemn barrier.

They removed their helmets, revealing rugged and sorrowful faces. Many had tears in their eyes. Muskets hung on the ground, axe handles were slammed to the ground, right hands were on their chests, heads were bowed, and they chanted ancient requiems in a low and orderly dwarven language. The sound echoed in the hall, solemn and dignified.

The priests of Mor stood quietly by, performing their duties. Holding lanterns, they walked slowly around the altar, chanting prayers for the dead, asking Mor to protect the rest of these heroes of other races, to guide their souls to a peaceful realm, and to protect them from any unclean influence.

The pale halo intertwined with the dwarves' deep chanting, creating a shared awe and respect for the end of life that transcended racial and cultural boundaries.

In the Old World, especially in the Empire, funerals were extremely important and formalized rites. The Mor Cult managed most of the funeral arrangements. Funerals typically emphasized solemnity, purity, and peace, and they had already performed the final rites for these three remains.

Each deceased person's body was carefully washed and wrapped in a shroud, while precious spices were used for preservation.

These three legendary dwarven ancestors lay in state in the ancestral hall as important deceased, receiving the veneration of relatives and friends and the prayers of priests. Burial goods (usually the deceased's weapons, tools, or symbols) were purified and placed together with them.

Throughout the ceremony, the flames (especially the eternal flame) are seen as symbols of purification and guidance, while the Black Knights of Mor are responsible for guarding the cemetery and preventing grave robbing or necromancy. The ritual aims to appease the souls of the deceased, ensuring their safe journey to Mor's divine realm, while also calming the emotions of the living and emphasizing the inevitability and tranquility of death.

After this ritual, the three dwarf ancestors, after enduring ten thousand years of torment, could finally rest in peace, no longer disturbed by magic and the undead.

King Kadrin stood at the doorway, the sight before him plunging him into silence for a moment. He witnessed the immense sincerity of his human allies—they had not only recovered the remains, but had also placed them with the highest honors and utmost respect, even entrusting the protection of the deity in their own faith who governed death. This meticulousness and respect far exceeded his expectations.

He took a deep breath, straightened his armor and beard, and then, with heavy but unwavering steps, walked alone into that silent place filled with sorrow, glory, and profound respect.

For him, this was not an inspection, but a long-overdue audience, a heavy responsibility bearing the expectations of the entire kingdom. Su Li and the others remained at the doorway, giving the king space to be alone with his ancestors.

King Cadlin's heavy footsteps echoed through the silent chapel, each step like a drumbeat striking the surface of time, producing a heart-wrenching resonance. He ignored everything around him, his eyes fixed only on the three coffin altars covered in black silk.

This dwarf monarch, known for his steadfastness and fiery temper, now moved slowly and almost staggered, as if carrying the weight of the entire mountain range on his shoulders.

He first walked to the central altar—where his bloodline ancestor, King Agrim the Butcher, rested. He stretched out his thick, gloved hand and gently stroked the cold, golden double-headed eagle emblem on the tarp, as if afraid to disturb the spirit that had slumbered for millennia.

Then, he abruptly knelt on one knee, the hard ground beneath his knee making a dull thud. He lowered his head and began a low, hoarse dwarven murmur of prayer. The voice was initially subdued, but gradually became clearer, filled with undeniable grief and a volcanic rage building up within him.

“Ancestors… the pride of the Ironfist Clan, the spirit of Karak-Kadrin…” His voice choked, “We… are too late. Your glory has been tarnished for ten thousand years, enduring wind and blasphemy in the Darklands… This is the dereliction of duty of your descendants, an unforgettable shame!”

Ancestor? Su Li raised an eyebrow. Why would His Majesty Kadrin Ironsworn refer to the Butcher King of the Ironfist Clan as an ancestor?

Outside the door, Su Li and the dwarven envoy Dorok Redbeard stood side by side, quietly watching King Cadlin's heavy and ceremonial back in the hall.

Seeing the puzzled look on Su Li's face, Dorok took a deep breath of the cypress and myrrh scent that filled the air, as if the solemn smell of a human funeral had also touched upon his deeper, more profound memories as a dwarf. He lowered his voice and, in Common Tongue with a heavy dwarven accent, whispered to Su Li about the origins of this story, his tone filled with ancient pride and lingering sorrow.

"My lord, do you see the heavy burden on His Majesty's shoulders?" Dorok's voice echoed from the depths of the earth. "It is not just about the return of the three ancestors... it concerns the long-lost legitimacy and glory of the entire Grey Mountain Dwarfs."

He turned slightly to the side, making sure his words only reached Su Li's ears.

“You may know that our current kingdom is named ‘Grey Mountain’ and honors House Ironsworn as king. But in the distant Golden Age, before the cataclysm devoured the mountains, the true rulers were the Ironfist Clan. They possessed the oldest ‘Golden Bloodline,’ were direct descendants of the High King, and were the undisputed kings of Grey Mountain. Their bravery and glory once made the mountains tremble.” Dorok’s eyes flickered with longing for that bygone era, but then dimmed.

"Then... came that damned 'War of the Longbeard.' After thousands of years of war with the elves, we dwarves suffered heavy losses and were severely weakened. Hundreds of thousands of powerful dwarven warriors perished throughout the Greyhill Kingdom. Then inevitably came the long Dark Age. To resist the tidal wave of greenskins, rats, and something even darker, the Ironfist Clan's king and his sons, all his relatives, fought to the last man... all perished on the battlefield, not one survived. The golden bloodline... was extinguished."

His voice grew increasingly low, filled with the weight of fate.

"The Iron Oath family... They were originally the most loyal servants and guards of the Ironfist royal family. Their surname, 'Iron Oath,' means 'the oath to forever guard the Ironfist.' When the royal bloodline was cut off, the family was leaderless, and the remaining tribes were on the verge of collapse, it was Karak Iron Oath, the then patriarch of the Iron Oath family—an equally brave and fearless hero—who was appointed to lead his people in this time of crisis."

“But what a heavy burden that was…” Dorok’s voice was filled with bitterness. “They didn’t inherit a kingdom, but a wasteland and endless sieges. We lost most of our land. Each dwarven fortress and clan stronghold was like an isolated island in a sea of ​​monsters, cut off from each other and barely surviving in the darkness. It was the kings of the Ironsworn family, generation after generation, who led us to hold on and prevented the last embers of the Greymountain dwarves from being completely extinguished. The fact that they didn’t lose the entire Greymountain is a miracle in itself!”

His beard trembled slightly with emotion.

"However, the road to revival is far more difficult than anyone can imagine. For thousands of years, we have struggled, fallen, and risen again; we have touched glory and also been mired in the valley of defeat. History is too small to contain the magnificent life of every warrior; yet history is also too large to bear the blood, tears, and glory of the entire Iron Fist Clan for thousands of years—a page turned gently, a stroke casually made, could very well be their entire life."

"And the greatest calamity stemmed from a tyrannical ruler—Stone Iron Oath." Dorok spat out the name heavily, as if the mere mention of it filled him with utter disgust. "He was cruel, greedy, and ambitious! Blinded by vain glory, he recklessly launched that so-called 'reclaiming of homeland' expedition, nearly burying the kingdom's last hope! That time, we truly teetered on the brink of extinction… That hateful Stone Iron Oath, his foolishness compounded our already difficult fate. To this day, his name remains branded in shame, a warning to every successor!"

Dorok took a deep breath, calming his resentment towards the former tyrant, and turned his gaze back to King Cadlin's resolute figure in the hall, his tone becoming full of hope and reverence.

“Until…until His Majesty Cadlin rose to power. He was the most powerful king since Karak Ironsworn, a true legend! His battleaxe could cleave mountains, and his wisdom could foresee crises. It was through his unparalleled strength and strategic brilliance that we gradually gained our footing and even began to reclaim some key passes and ancient mines, allowing the kingdom to breathe and grow stronger.”

“And you, my lord,” Dorok turned to Suli, his gaze utterly sincere, “all that you and the Black Forest have done for us, especially in helping our Redbeard and Grayrock brothers reclaim Frostfang Mountains, is immeasurable! It’s not just a mountain range; it’s the key to our trade routes to the Old World, a strategic pivot, and a source of vast quantities of high-quality iron ore and stone! This has greatly contributed to His Majesty Cadlin’s great cause and strengthened the entire kingdom! You are the benefactor of all of us Gray Mountain dwarves.”

As he finished speaking, King Kadrin's thunderous vow of vengeance echoed through the chapel. Dorok and all the dwarves around him instinctively straightened their backs, right hand on their chests, their eyes burning with the same fire as their king's.

Su Li listened in silence, etching these heavy historical events into his heart. He now understood even more why welcoming back the remains of his ancestors held such paramount importance for King Kadlin and the entire Gray Mountain Kingdom.

This is not only a matter of emotional refuge, but also a matter of the legitimacy, dignity, and belief in the resurgence of a kingdom.

At this moment, His Majesty Kadrin Iron Oath also raised his head, his gaze burning as if trying to pierce through the veil and look directly at the enormous skull and the broken giant axe.

“But your suffering is over. Thank you… thank you to these human friends,” he tilted his head slightly, his gaze seemingly able to penetrate the wall and see Su Li standing quietly outside the door, “thank you to the big men of the Black Forest Territory, who, with their swords and respect, rescued you from that cursed forest valley, gave you the peace you deserved, and washed away some of our shame.”

His words were filled with sincere gratitude, but then another, more intense emotion surged up and replaced the sorrow. His fist clenched suddenly, his knuckles cracking with the force.

"I, Kadrin Ironsworn, swear to you in the name of the King of the Mountains, by the blood of the Ironsworn clan!" His voice suddenly rose, like thunder rolling through the hall, causing the surrounding dwarves to raise their heads, their eyes blazing with the same fire.

"The root of this humiliation—those treacherous, arrogant, and cruel long-eared bastards! Their sins have never faded in ten thousand years! They brought disaster upon you, they caused your fall and exile! This blood debt has never been forgotten! It is etched in our Book of Hatred, etched in the heart of every dwarf!"

“Revenge! Yes, revenge!” he almost roared, his voice trembling with extreme rage. “We swear by the fury of Granny, by the name of our ancestors! We will make those long-eared ones pay for their crimes! Their towers will fall, their forests will burn! This hatred can only be washed away with blood!”

The roaring oath echoed through the solemn hall, filled with the dwarven, age-old stubbornness and hatred. The priests of Mor continued to chant with bowed heads, as if they were already accustomed to the heavy promises made by the living to the dead.

After venting his pent-up resentment of ten thousand years, King Kadrin's breathing was heavy for a moment before gradually calming down. He slowly stood up and turned towards Su Li in the direction of the door. Although Su Li was not in his sight, he knew that his human allies could feel his determination and commitment.

His tone became incredibly solemn and firm, each word like a hammer striking into rock:

"Lord Su Li of the Black Forest Territory, and all our human friends who have helped us! Dwarves may be stubborn, they may hold grudges, but our noblest virtue is gratitude! It is keeping our promises!"

"Ten thousand years ago, our ancestors fought alongside humanity. Today, you have proven that humanity remains our most trustworthy ally! The dignity you have bestowed upon our ancestors is an indebtedness that the entire kingdom of Karak-Kadrin can never repay!"

He pounded his breastplate heavily, uttering a resounding oath:

"I, King Cadlin, hereby promise! The friendship and rewards of the dwarves will be as real as our treasure trove, as strong as the armor we forge! The Blackforest Territory will gain the sincerest friendship of the Grey Mountain Dwarf Kingdom and the Ironfist Clan! Our artisans will serve you, our warbands will answer your call, and our mines will be shared with you! Your enemies will be the enemies of the Mountain Kingdom!"

"This is the dwarfs' oath! It was so ten thousand years ago, and it remains so ten thousand years from now!"

His words were like a rock, firmly rooted and unquestionable. This was not merely the gratitude of a king, but the most solemn promise of an ancient and glorious race to its allies.

Inside the sacrificial hall, all the dwarves raised their fists, pounding their chests or the ground, emitting a deep and unified roar that echoed their king's oath. This sound converged into a torrent of power, as if even the tranquility of the Mor Realm had to give way, acknowledging this solid covenant that transcended races and was bound by death and dignity.

Then King Kadrin slowly emerged from the sacrificial gate. The grief and anger on his face had been replaced by a profound solemnity; his steps were firm, and his eyes burned with a tempered determination. He walked straight toward Su Li, who had been waiting quietly outside the gate.

The dwarf king raised his head, his gaze piercing as he stared at Su Li. He stretched out his thick hand and slapped heavily on Su Li's arm—a gesture of extreme approval and closeness among dwarves.

“Big friend,” his voice was hoarser yet more solemn than before, “everything you and your people have done for us… this debt of gratitude is too heavy.”

He shook his head, his beard trembling: "First, you retrieved the comb that symbolized supreme royal power, which was tantamount to returning our lost orthodoxy to us! Now, you have brought back the spirits of three great ancestors from the cursed land, giving them the dignity they deserve, a slumber as majestic as mountains."

"Lord Suli, your kindness to our dwarves cannot be measured in ordinary words. It is deeper than the deepest mine, more majestic than the highest mountain peak! It is as heavy as the bedrock of a mountain range, as brilliant as the flames at the heart of a furnace. Such kindness is enough for our bards to compose thousands of epic poems and ballads, to be sung in every dwarven hall, until the moment the mountains perish!"

He paused, his chest heaving, clearly still brimming with emotion. "We dwarves may not often express gratitude verbally, but we never forget! Kindness and hatred are etched into the deepest recesses of our memories, lasting longer than runes branded into steel."

“Words alone are insufficient to repay your immeasurable kindness.” King Kadrin’s voice was filled with pride and sincerity. “I, Kadrin Ironsworn, and the entire Grey Mountain Dwarf Kingdom have prepared some… insignificant gifts in return. They may not be enough to repay even a fraction of your kindness, but they represent our friendship and respect, as sturdy as our forged armor and as fine as our aged wine! Please allow me to explain them to you in detail once we return to the banquet hall!”

(End of this chapter)