The grand stone hall was alive with the clinking of tankards, the low murmur of negotiations, and the occasional booming laugh of a drunken dwarf. A roaring hearth at the center bathed the chamber in warm, flickering light, illuminating the heavy wooden table where I sat across from the Dwarven lord.
Between us sat half-finished mugs of ale, a roughly drawn map, and a long list of demands that were quickly becoming a problem.
I leaned back in my chair, tapping my fingers against the table.
[Grey]: Gold and weapons are nice, but land, titles, and information? Those are what I actually need.
The dwarf lord, a broad-shouldered, steel-eyed veteran, exhaled heavily, stroking his thick, braided beard.
[Dwarf lord]: Lad, ye ask for things that ain't mine to give, Gold an' weapons, aye, I can make that happen. But land? Titles? Secrets? Those require the king's command.
I narrowed my clockwork eye.
[Grey]: Come on, We killed a dragon and wiped out a bunch of Chaos Dwarves together—I'd say that earns me at least some information, a good pile of gold, and a well-built wagon.
[Dwarf lord]: Aye, ye mentioned gold. Aye, ye mentioned the wagon. But what ye didn't mention was wantin' to use our ancestors' forging techniques and runes for a wagon more armored an' armed than this bloody keep. Ye tryin' to build a fortress on wheels, lad?
[Grey]: Something like that.
The surrounding dwarves murmured, exchanging glances. Some looked impressed. Others, are skeptical. A few—particularly the older, more traditional-looking ones—seemed outright offended.
[Grey]: Ok I will add more factory blueprints for more kinds of weapons have you ever heard of RPGs or tanks or maybe airplanes
The murmuring around the table halted. Some of the dwarves stared at me as if I'd just sprouted a second head. Others looked concerned. One even choked on his ale.
[Dwarf lord]: Lad… I don't know what half those words mean, but they sound like a damned headache.
[Grey]: Think about it. Weapons that can fire explosives across the battlefield, moving fortresses with massive cannons, and machines that can fly through the air. Imagine the power you'd have—true dwarven superiority.
The older dwarves crossed their arms, their frowns deepening. The younger ones, though? They looked intrigued.
One of them, a smith with soot-stained hands, rubbed his beard.
[Dwarf smith]: Ye mean like an organ gun but bigger?
[Grey]: Much bigger.
Another dwarf with a gauntlet tapped the table, he was a gyrocopter pilot.
[Dwarf pilot]: Flying machines, eh? Ye mean like gyrocopters?
[Grey]: Way bigger. Way faster. With firepower that could level a mountain.
A hush fell over the hall. Then, the dwarf lord exhaled, rubbing his temples.
[Dwarf lord]: Lad… I'll be honest. Ye sound like a madman.
[Grey]: Not denying that
[Dwarf lord]: …But I like what I'm hearing
[One month later]
[Grey]: I have to say you guys have gone too far
I crossed my arms, eyeing the monstrosity they had created. The thing wasn't just a wagon anymore—it was a fortress on wheels.
A heavily armored, rune-inscribed, cannon-bristling monstrosity that looked like it could plow through an entire battlefield without stopping. The massive drill at the front gleamed under the forge light, its spiraled teeth designed to tear through rock, armor, and probably reality itself.
Dwarven engineers and runesmiths stood proudly beside it, their beards stained with soot, their faces beaming like proud fathers watching their firstborn take its first steps.
I exhaled.
[Grey]: You do realize this is just a wagon, right?
The Dwarf Lord grinned.
[Dwarf Lord]: Aye. And a hammer's just a tool—'til ye swing it hard enough.
I gestured to the full crew—eighteen dwarves, each one geared like an elite soldier. Some were artillery specialists, others engineers, and a few looked like berserkers who'd been waiting for an excuse to go on a rampage.
[Grey]: You're sending an entire crew with me?
The Dwarf Lord chuckled.
[Dwarf Lord]: Of course, lad. Can't let our work go untested, aye.
His eyes gleamed with excitement as he glanced at the newly forged tanks, artillery pieces, and rifles lined up in the background—products of the modern blueprints I had provided.
[Dwarf Lord]: Besides, the Empire of Man needs a proper introduction to dwarven craftsmanship.
I sighed, running a hand down my face.
[Grey]: So let me get this straight… I came here looking for a simple wagon, and now I'm leaving with a landship, an entire squad of dwarven commandos, and enough firepower to start a small war.
The dwarves all nodded proudly.
I looked back at the ironclad monstrosity.
[Grey]: …I am so getting blamed for this.
[Later...]
I stared into my mug, letting the strong dwarven ale burn down my throat. The past week had been a blur of gunfire, explosions, and green-skinned screams. Apparently, our "wagon" had steamrolled through six or seven Ork tribes—literally—before we even reached the Empire's borders.
Now, I was slumped over in the bar section of the landship, drinking nonstop while the dwarves laughed, sang, and negotiated trade deals with the Imperial border officers. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, gunpowder, and dwarven victory.
Just as I was about to pour myself another drink—
BOOM.
The entire landship shook violently, knocking over barrels and rattling mugs. The rowdy bar fell silent for half a second before battle instincts kicked in.
A dwarf engineer ran in, face pale beneath the soot.
[Dwarf Captain]: "Undead! The border is under attack!"
My head hit the bar with a dull thud.
[Grey]: "…Why is it always something?"
I stood up, grabbed my coat, and downed the rest of my drink in one go.
Outside, the sight that greeted me was... unpleasant.
[Chapter end]