Warhammer Divine Throne

Dugen sat on the carriage, his face brimming with smiles, as six or seven carriages filed in through the hall’s gate, laden with food and various supplies urgently needed by Belgar. The dwarves standing on the carriages cheerfully greeted their fellow clansmen and generously distributed these supplies to the Angland Clan.

Wow! The scene immediately became lively as the dwarves of the Angland Clan swarmed forward to collect supplies from the caravan. These battle-worn soldiers finally felt a touch of warmth.

”It’s Dugen! It’s him! It’s our clansman!”

”He’s brought us items!”

”The barrels are filled with malt beer!”

”These are fresh vegetables! And smoked meat! So much! So many things!”

”This is barley bread!”

”The bags are filled with wheat flour and barley flour!”

The dwarves of the Angland Clan beamed with joy as they met their fellow clansmen, who brought food and many essential supplies. Over time, the once familiar clansmen were now dressed splendidly, laughing as they affectionately handed various materials to their fellow dwarves, many of whom couldn’t help but weep.

Dugen jumped down from the carriage, walked up to Belgar, and bowed: ”My King, Engineer Dugen the Ironman expresses his respects to you, bringing whatever assistance I can offer!”

”Oh! Dugen! Thank you so much, you’ve helped us in our hour of need!” Belgar sighed in relief as he walked up to Dugen the Ironman, tears welling at the corners of his eyes, and vigorously patted Dugen on the shoulder: ”It seems you’re doing well here?”

”Yes, doing well, my King. We have found a new home here, and everyone is living good lives.” Dugen looked at his clansmen’s wretched state and grateful gazes, sighing deeply; he knew the third expedition to Eight Peaks Mountain had failed again: ”My King, is there anything I can help you with?”

Belgar’s face turned red as he listened. He hesitated, opened his mouth, and pulled Dugen aside: ”Dugen, I really do need you to help me with something.”

”Please, my King, do tell.”

......

Meanwhile, in the courtyard of Laine’s castle, the outer fortifications.

”Waa ra la la~” Little Griffin Impres was rolling on the grass in the courtyard, enjoying the fine weather and in high spirits as it romped with Laine’s mount, the Pure-blooded Elf Warhorse Grape, and Unicorn Hilphain, like a large dog, playing and frolicking together.

In the courtyard, the Lake God Witch Mogiana, the female sorcerer Teresa, and Laine were all seated in the pavilion, sipping juice and watching the little Griffin dart back and forth. Laine smiled: ”Impres seems to be growing well.”

The female sorcerer Teresa lowered her head; Mogiana had recently checked her High Gothic Language homework and was evidently dissatisfied. The female sorcerer had been chastised by Mogiana in front of Laine, feeling somewhat deflated. As the religious leader of this country, the Lake God Witch naturally spoke with little formality.

After a long period of rest, Mogiana had recovered her mobility, and her spellcasting ability had slightly returned. After checking Teresa’s High Gothic Language work, the Lake God Witch looked coolly at the flying little Griffin, her cherry lips parting lightly: ”Your new mount?”

”It is not yet ready for the battlefield,” Laine shook his head as he picked up the chilled juice on the table: ”It might take a few more years to mature.”

”A few years... Laine, have you ever considered giving this little Griffin magic ability?”

”What?!”