The corridors were narrow. My legs, which had always seemed fast, felt like logs as I advanced through the primary tunnels. The guards let me pass. On my arm, I wore the ribbon authorizing me as an elite guard in the king's service. But nothing would matter if I did not manage to return. I knew that my companion—the foolish elf—had decided to support the dwarves in an attack that only concerned dwarves. What was I to do?
Moving through everything reminded me how simple dwarven life was—always fighting. For food, for clothing, for places to sleep, to protect property and my marriage. My beloved wife, the most beautiful in all of Rocaceleste. Meeting her, her accepting me, paying all the dowry so her parents would let me marry her. Then, when I was harassed and we lived only on poor people's food, we fled. I arrived at the human city, but she was too weak. By the time I built my business, it was too late for her—but not for my son... Now, it was about saving the few who remained.
Reaching the entrance of Rocaceleste meant advancing through its tunnel, protected by narrow entrances. But the barricades were torn down, although it seemed many dwarf mercenaries fell to achieve it—more than thirty bodies in the tunnel. But the true massacre was at the city's entrance. There, many people lay. I saw red marks showing that citizens of my town had died in the process. But they were buried under hundreds of bodies. Counting severed legs, I knew we had won. Venturing into the city, I knew more people survived than fell. He required the annihilation of half the city—there were not even fifty bodies here. We had won our right, and we would have armor.
As I entered the city, I heard the arbiter. As always after such a significant battle, representatives from each side met, and the verdict was given. I wanted to run, but something stopped me. There were yellow hands of those little ones, so I detoured to the tunnel where the elf would be on guard. Indeed, she was there, holding some children, crying. Around her were the bodies of enemies and several of the city's oldest dwarves—my in-laws included, the parents of my friend Caliza. People who fought without knowing how, who killed and died for their place. I eagerly awaited the referee's words.
In the center of the city stood all the inhabitants—more than one hundred and twenty, all tired and with happy expressions. On the other side, there were at least three hundred. As the pompous referee began to speak, the citizens were disappointed, sad, while the mercenaries smiled. I listened, and my head began to heat. Not only that—my body was burning. I could not believe his words:
"After the battle between the merchant houses and the citizens of Rocaceleste, I have determined that the number of casualties between the two sides constitutes a technical tie. I have gathered you to tell you that your tactics were not honorable. Therefore, I require you to cede half of your properties to pay for your battle. If not, these dwarves may attack first. And if you defend without attacking like dwarves, you will lose, and we will send the imperial warriors to claim by force what is now being offered in the best possible way."
No! I would not allow such stupidity. I tore off the band and threw it into the center as I shouted. Everyone turned. My friends looked at me with sadness, frustration. They knew that head-on, they had no chance. But now, it was not like that—now I was here. As the band fell, I shouted that I fought for their lives and offered mine. The arbiter had not finished accepting when my magic was on its way. I would use a version of my master's magic—he called it Scorching Wind. But I could not do that, not with the power I had. So I jumped. My mace struck with the Explosion rune. The floating stone already had magma magic. With the mace's wind, I suspended a cloud of destruction. The dwarves before me, so smiling at first, began to flee. But each strike of the mace left a trail of stone and fire that destroyed their armor, their shields, skin, flesh, and bones disappeared. It was a wave of more than ten meters. The metal fragments I also heated, so these three or four horizontal strikes had eliminated half of them. My magic was running out, but I had one more. A downward strike—this one splattered burning pieces on the backs of all who fled and crushed those who stayed facing me. The referee's cry of fear mixed with my people's war cry. All threw themselves at the survivors. I let them—now it was even. Now my enemy was here, face to face.
He stammered about his power, his authority, holding a small insignia of a shield with scales. I only told him I had stripped him of his power, because he had nothing to offer my people. That we would go after his masters, since they mocked us for fighting by their rules. Now, we would fight by mine. With my hand, I tore off his insignia. I grabbed him by the beard—an unforgivable insult, as it indicated he had no genitals to hold—and threw him before the elf. I told her he was responsible for the hobgoblins. I was sure they had dealings with other dwarves, and we would go after them. I saw that woman with a look like my people's—hatred, fury, vengeance. She took her swords, broken from use, and let out a sharp cry. I let her be, like my people who were annihilating the remaining. Only one or two would escape... Correction—my friend Caliza had just reached them. His body moved with hatred. He was tired, inept with weapons, but now he was as fearsome as any seasoned warrior, forged in pain and desperation. He had overcome his fear, and now he was unstoppable. I would need him to face those dwarves who dared to make deals with creatures capable of betrayal and killing the elderly. They would meet the same end.