Reborn As Noble

Meanwhile, in the Halfling Kingdom

The marble floors of the Halfling Royal Palace shook slightly as King Gurdan slammed his thick, armored fist onto the armrest of his stone throne. His sharp, battle-hardened voice echoed loudly through the grand room, causing everyone—advisors and soldiers alike—to flinch.

“WHERE is the commander who led the 120,000 troops to destroy the third dwarven stronghold!?” Gurdan shouted, his eyes burning with anger. “It’s been THREE days! Not a single report, not a single message!! Nothing about whether they succeeded or failed!”

The war room grew quiet, the tension feeling heavy like steel.

One nervous advisor stepped forward, kneeling with his head bowed.

“Y-Your Majesty… we’ve sent a messenger to their last known camp near the third dwarven stronghold. He left before dawn… we expect to hear something by tomorrow or the day after.”

Gurdan clenched his teeth.

“Three days of silence… from one of our greatest armies. This is not because of incompetence, this smells of disaster!!!”

He stood up from his throne, his heavy, plate-covered armor creaking as he moved.

“Don’t talk about failure,” he growled. “They were led by the elite… our strongest group of soldiers. If they were to fall, then…”

He hesitated.

No, that couldn’t be. Even the dwarves wouldn’t be able to wipe out a force this large in just one day.

Gurdan slammed his fist down again, furious. The heavy rings on his fingers clanged against the stone surface.

“BRING ME THE GENERAL!!” he shouted. “NOW!”

“Y-Yes, my liege!” his trembling aide quickly ran out of the chamber.

“How dare those fools—those worthless commanders—fail to report!” Gurdan growled, his fists clenched in fury. “Three days! Three damn days! And not a single word!”

He kicked a nearby chair, making it crash to the ground.

“If I’m late… if I’m even a moment too late—!!”

His voice shook with contained rage.

“Gumarak will fall. He’ll be eaten. That piece of shit Human King Edmund… that son of a bitch will steal what’s ours!”

The room fell silent. No one dared to speak or even breathe.

Gurdan’s dark eyes narrowed as he stared at the battle map on the table.

“Get me answers,” Gurdan hissed quietly, deadly serious. “Before I burn my own generals at the stake.”

The heavy doors swung open with a loud creak.

General Zuron walked in, his armor scratched from travel, and looked serious. Without waiting, he dropped to one knee before the throne, head bowed.

“General Zuron!” Gurdan shouted loudly. “Tell me—WHY haven’t our forces taken the last dwarven stronghold!?”

Zuron stayed still, choosing his words carefully.

“Your Majesty… maybe the troops met unexpected resistance.”

“Resistance?” Gurdan’s voice boomed like a mountain collapsing. “Resistance?!”

He stormed down from his throne, his boots making loud thuds on the marble floor, his eyes burning as he stared at his general.

“There’s NO WAY those dwarf bastards could’ve resisted us!” Gurdan shouted, pointing a finger at Zuron’s chest. “We sent 120,000 elite halfling warriors! They were well-fed, well-armed, and outnumbered the defenders twelve to one!”

He slammed his hand onto the war map.

“And who were they fighting?! Ten thousand dwarves, starving and cornered! We cut off their roads! Their supply lines! Even their messengers! No help from the Elves. None from the Beastkin. We blocked every path!”

Zuron clenched his jaw, kneeling still.

“There’s no logical reason for this, Zuron! None! Unless some ghost army suddenly appeared out of nowhere and wiped them all out?!”

The chamber grew tense and quiet.

The aides and officers nearby held their breath as Gurdan’s fury simmered just below exploding.

Finally, Zuron looked up, serious.

“Your Majesty… I don’t think it was the dwarves who stopped them.”

Gurdan narrowed his eyes.

“…What do you mean?”

Zuron hesitated.

“There’s something—someone—else involved.”

Gurdan’s roar echoed through the hall like thunder off mountains.

“DO YOU THINK I’M A FOOL, ZURON!?” he shouted, hitting the war table with his gauntleted fist, making goblets and ink pots crash to the floor.

“I’m sure—sure—that bastard commander of ours is inside that stronghold right now… drinking stale wine and messing around with whatever dwarf women are still alive!”

His face twisted with rage, spittle flying as he growled, “Thinking he’s a king! A ruler of the dwarves! That bastard thinks victory is already his!”

He pointed furiously at the war map, veins bulging in his head.

“DO YOU REALLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE SOME FORCE STRONGER THAN OUR 120,000 TROOPS JUST APPEARED?! There’s NO army bigger than ours!! Not even that beastkin king—Lioness, the beastkin king—would dare provoke us if we brought our full strength into his territory!”

Gurdan’s eyes burned with rage.

“I will rip out that commander’s tongue myself and devour his soul if he’s just sitting around, playing conqueror, while I wait here like a damn idiot for a report that never arrives!!”

He spun sharply toward one of the nearby officers.

“Send word! I want riders sent out IMMEDIATELY! If that fool has gone into the stronghold without crushing the dwarves completely, I’ll have his head mounted on my gates!”

Zuron stayed still, knowing full well that arguing with Gurdan in this state was like trying to stop an avalanche with a spoon.

“NOW, ZURON!!!” Gurdan’s voice thundered again, shaking the very pillars of his stone throne hall.

“Y-Yes, my lord!!” Zuron stiffened, head bowed low, sweat running down his temple.

Gurdan’s eyes blazed with fury, each word spat out like venom.

“How many troops do we have left?! Answer me straight, General!”

Zuron took a deep breath.

“About six hundred thousand, Your Majesty. Not counting the new recruits from the northern provinces and hill tribes.”

“Six hundred thousand…” Gurdan sneered. “And not a single good commander among them! Where are the others!?”

He walked to the edge of the throne, pointing a shaking finger at Zuron.

“I want you—you—to pick two new commanders personally! Strong ones! Ones who don’t sit around waiting for birds to bring news!! Give each of them a force of one hundred thousand, and send them out tonight!”

Zuron clenched his fists and bowed again.

“Understood, Your Majesty! I’ll choose from the best in the capital and move immediately!”

Gurdan’s teeth clenched tightly.

“They’re not going to that stronghold. No, they’ll bypass it. We’re going straight for the capital! Once Gumarak falls, those dwarves can starve or rot in their holes!”

He turned back to the huge map carved into the stone floor. His boots made heavy, menacing sounds with each step.

“Those worthless commanders who took the stronghold—**if I find them drinking dwarven wine and messing around with starving concubines instead of sending messages—**I’ll crush their necks myself!”

His eyes narrowed sharply.

“And if any of them let Gumarak escape or fall into Edmund’s hands… I swear by the ancestors, I will burn their entire bloodline from the history of this world!”

Zuron stayed frozen, a cold sweat trickling down his jaw.

“MOVE!!” Gurdan roared again.

“YES, MY LORD!!” Zuron spun around and sprinted from the throne room, already shouting orders to his aides.

The hall went quiet again, but Gurdan’s heavy breathing remained. His eyes stayed fixed on the dark mark over the dwarven capital on the war map.

“We’ll take Gumarak. Before that crazy human king does.”

He clenched his fist, eyes narrowing with bloodlust.

“Even if I have to drown the mountains in their blood.”

( End Of Chapter )

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