Bear School Astartes
Chapter 1142 - 1121: Desire and Struggle
The elves defending with their backs to River Valley City received abundant support from the humans behind them, significantly reducing their losses.
The Qilin and Rong Buqiu were also helping them in a timely manner.
So the elves managed to stabilize their positions amidst the onslaught of the Beastmen, resembling a black tide.
However, in another direction, the dwarves who chose the Lonely Mountain as their stronghold were not faring well.
Although on the temporary city gates set up by Sorlin and the others, Philipp, Qi Li, Bombo, and a dozen other dwarves were desperately shooting arrows from bows and crossbows, how much shooting density can just over a dozen people achieve?
The haphazardly crafted armor of the Beastmen, almost barely hammered into shape, was fragile in the face of true Dwarven craftsmanship.
The dwarf arrows easily pierced through the iron-black-like armor, lodging into the bodies of the Beastmen.
But this was far from enough.
A volley from a dozen dwarves brought down a dozen Beastmen, but soon more Beastmen surged forward.
"Form up! Regroup!"
Dane shouted as he stepped back, yet even so, he remained at the forefront of all the dwarves.
The heavily-armored wild boar mount he rode on had just been toppled and killed by several Beastmen working together.
Dane’s first call was clearly to rally his Ironfoot Army.
And his second shout was directed at the temporary city gates of the Lonely Mountain: "Where is Sorlin!? My brother! Why isn’t he fighting with us?!"
Among the dwarves, Dane was also the most infuriating, stubborn, hot-headed, and rude.
But no one could deny his courage, nor the fact that he was a great warrior and leader.
At this moment, on the brutal battlefield, he roared with his beard and hair bristling, like an old tiger refusing to concede despite being wounded.
The dwarves inside the Lonely Mountain clearly heard Dane’s angry shouts, their cheek muscles tensed from gritted teeth.
"Open the gates!"
"Let’s go down and fight with them!"
"Live and die together!"
Gorion was the first to speak out, then everyone chimed in, and soon a dozen pairs of short legs were about to rush towards the gate.
But from the darkness deep within the Lonely Mountain, a voice rang out.
"Do not move."
All the dwarves who had been so impassioned just now turned incredulous eyes toward that direction.
...because it was Sorlin’s voice.
"No one is allowed to act rashly! Guarding the Lonely Mountain and its treasures is our greatest responsibility!"
Ignoring these devoted friends and subordinates who trusted him wholeheartedly, Sorlin staggered and turned away.
These dwarves were assembled by Sorlin, joining the expedition from lives that had already found stability, new paths of stability.
Sorlin took on the leadership during the most difficult times for the Lonely Mountain Dwarves.
His grandfather had been beheaded by Azog, his father disappeared in the ensuing revenge, and the Lonely Mountain Dwarves had already lost their homeland and possessions to the dragon, and now even the leader to make decisions was gone.
And it was Sorlin who led his people to persevere through the immense psychological gap and real hardships.
From dwarves sitting atop mountains of gold, they faced reality and became dwarves striving for sustenance.
The lives of the Lonely Mountain Dwarves gradually stabilized, though difficult, everyone knew it wasn’t easy. So they built a hall in Sorlin’s name, called the House of Sorlin, to commemorate his contributions.
So even knowing they’d face year-long labors and dangers in the wild, and ultimately confront Smaug’s dragon flames, twelve dwarves still chose to follow Sorlin.
But now... all twelve dwarves feel they’re starting to not recognize Sorlin.
Sorlin sat dazedly on the throne, wearing the luxurious cloak of his grandfather, with his grandfather’s gold iron crown on his head.
Behind his throne was a precipice, looking down to encompass the entire Treasure Hall.
A dreamy and enchanting golden yellow, under the glow of this gold, even the stench of dragon seemed less of a problem.
Sorlin felt a headache mounting, yet he couldn’t help but be entranced by the golden glow.
His hand supported his forehead; a warrior who could once wear a stuffy, cumbersome helmet in battle all day and remain unbothered, now felt his head weighed down immensely under just a crown.
"How long... have I been sitting here?"
The murmur that escaped startled even Sorlin himself.
The voice was too muffled, too hoarse, too... unlike something a human throat could produce.
It sounded more like... Smaug!
At that thought, Sorlin instinctively shuddered.
The day the dragon was driven out of the Lonely Mountain, Sorlin had taunted it with insults alongside its fiery breath, wearing away its reason.
The dragon’s voice back then left an unforgettable impression on him.
"Sorlin!"
A voice accompanied by footsteps approached from afar, full of momentum.
The throne of the Lonely Mountain was built at the end of a lofty stone bridge, the entire span without railings, and the King on the throne could overlook his wealth and kingdom.
Those who wished to meet the king would need to cross that unprotected stone bridge to reach him.
It was Dwalin who came.
The most experienced professional Warrior of the Lonely Mountain expedition, having served in the Lonely Mountain army before the dragon’s attack.
He is Sorlin’s most loyal friend and subordinate, even able to reprimand Sorlin’s two nephews within the expedition in a paternal manner without anyone questioning it.
He can risk his life for Sorlin, and he already has several times.
Since embarking on the journey, he has always been succinct, acting more than speaking, executing Sorlin’s orders without any discount.
But today, everyone felt that if he couldn’t make it clear to Sorlin, then no one could.
"When can we abandon our own people?"
Dwalin, the tough Dwarf, frowned, looking as if he was about to cry, his bald head showing bulging veins.
"Dane’s Ironfoot Army is bleeding and sacrificing! Even the Elves are fighting bravely below!"
"War... yes! There’s a war outside."
Yet Sorlin seemed oblivious to the expression of his loyal friend and subordinate, simply staring dazedly at the hazy golden reflection from beneath the throne.
"These caves in the mountain are interconnected; we just need to, just need to move the gold deeper inside to be absolutely safe!"
"Yes! That’s it!"
Sorlin suddenly stood up.
He was dressed in luxurious fur cloak, standing alongside Dwalin who had always worn simple travel clothes, it was as if they belonged to two different worlds.
Dwalin’s eyes were filled with disappointment to the point of sadness and disbelief.
"Are you listening to me? Dane and the others are dying!"
"If they’re dead, they’re dead!" Sorlin waved his hand, "In a war, how can there be no deaths? There’s plenty of people, they’re not valuable! But what about the gold here? This gold is worth every drop of our blood!"
Dwalin’s face, usually shown as tough, quivered with a sobbing mouth corner from sadness, tears almost uncontrollable in his eyes.
He closed his eyes, "Now you wear a crown, sit high on a throne. But Sorlin... you are smaller than ever!"
"Don’t say that!" Sorlin shouted, losing control, "I am the King! Saying that is like... like I’m still that small... small Sorlin Oak Shield..."
Dwalin left, Sorlin just felt a splitting headache, with no idea when he was left alone.
He stumbled down into the Treasure Hall without knowing how.
Countless gold, silver, and gemstones piled up like mountain peaks.
He, a Dwarf, stood in the pile of Gold Coins, staggering and stepping with a clattering noise.
Although supposed to be the owner of this wealth, Sorlin felt how could he be... so small in front of this Golden Silver Sea?
His face was pale, feeling like a thousand voices whispering in his mind.
These were voices he once knew well, but now in the dazzling, shimmering Treasure Hall, these voices seemed distorted by the treasure.
Becoming indistinct, distant, like whispering mockery.
’People are dying outside, Sorlin!’
’Human life isn’t worth as much as gold!’
’Does gold mean more to you than your family’s honor?’
’Gandalf, that gold was infested by the dragon, it eats into the heart! And we all know, there’s dragon sickness in the bloodline of Sorlin Oak Shield!’
’But I trust him, a noble soul overcoming greed.’
Dwalin’s voice, Lann’s voice, the conversation between Gandalf and Elrond...
These voices seemed to be trying to drill into Sorlin’s mind, causing him to painfully kneel down.
Kneeling on this Golden Silver Sea.
Not only these voices but also the fierce sounds of battle seemingly far beyond Elbo, the dying roars of the Ironfoot Army Dwarves, the clashing of steel, all transmitted into Sorlin’s mind.
The unstable Golden Silver Sea shifted and slid with Sorlin’s movement and kneeling.
Gold Coins cascaded down, releasing the dragon’s rotten smell from the cracks between the coins.
The high gold mountain collapsed, hills sliding down, while on other sides, it heaved from accumulation...
As if beneath this endless Golden Silver Sea, there was actually another creature.
A gigantic and wicked creature, slowly moving its long tail and wings!
Like... like there was a dragon beneath!
Sorlin reached out his hand, trying to hold onto the roaring in his head, the sobbing of the dying Dwarves. As if by holding onto these, the Dwarves would not die.
But he dared not stretch his hand too far, as if afraid to awaken the ’dragon’ beneath the pile of Gold Coins.
Conflicted, fearful, struggling... Sorlin felt like he wanted to tear his mind apart.
’Sorlin, I’m worried...’
This was Balin’s voice, from before they embarked on this journey of reclamation.
’You know, your grandfather, your father, were all plagued by dragon sickness. Maybe we shouldn’t return to Elbo.’
The sliding of Gold Coins grew more frequent, the topmost Gold Coins looking like they might fall. They seemed poised to completely engulf Sorlin who knelt upon them.
"But I am not... my grandfather."