The warriors, however, were not happy about the fact that they, who stood at the front lines in constant danger and were prepared to sacrifice their lives, were treated the same as those who were not. They furiously bewailed their monarch as they downed their drinks, shouting in outrage with raised fists that he took them too lightly and that his name was the only part of him that was the least bit manly or grand.
The only response the monarch Aurvangr ever gave to these complaints and angry voices was a flustered laugh.
Though there was a small amount of dissent, the kingdom was running well on the whole. It was a peaceful time. The kingdom enjoyed prosperity and was full of happiness, and though there were small misfortunes, there were always people who could afford to lend a helping hand. No one ended their lives by the roadside, angry, suffering, and resenting the world.
But the storm came.
It was a catastrophe, an invasion by hell’s demons. The most famous southern countries of the Union Age fell one after another, burned to the ground, and the demonic forces closed in upon the Iron Country.
Though numerous titles existed to refer to that king of demons, there was no one who knew his true name. He was called the Undying Bladefiend, the King Among Kings. The Purest Evil, the Inexhaustible Darkness, the Rider of Warstorms, the Cackler…
The High King of the Eternals.
Their defeat was beyond questioning. The southern kingdoms of Southmark had all been known as powerful countries capable of standing as the first line of defense against the forces of evil, and the High King had toppled them with the ease of tearing thin paper. How many days could they last against such an enemy, even in the underground halls of the famous Iron Mountains?
Furthermore, the latest word was that there were ancient dragons among the High King’s forces, and this news had turned every warrior among them pale and speechless. It was at that time that a messenger came from the demons.
“Will you serve the High King?” the demon said.
He explained that the High King liked swords, and that he could make his own forces but not weapons. Then, he made them an offer, saying that the mountains of iron would be left alone if they could serve him with the skill of their craftsmen. He suggested that if warriors existed to protect the people, accepting his offer would be the right choice.
Saying he would hear their answer in three days, the demon departed, leaving the dwarves behind with bitter looks on their faces.
An explosion of debate followed. A gag order was placed, but the rumor of the demon’s message spread in no time at all, and soon everyone was talking about it. In fact, throwing them all into disarray might have been just another part of the demon’s plan.
The monarch alone was silent.
The dwarves were an insular people to begin with, and some among them said that if the only difference was going to be who they sold their weapons to, they didn’t see the problem. Mothers with infants made pleas as well, saying that their children would die if they were dragged into a war.
The monarch alone was silent.
Of course, there were also many people who insisted that demons could not be trusted and that they should fight to the death. But when it came to how to fight them, everyone had a different opinion and no conclusion could be reached.
Everyone was in chaos, and everyone was emotional, screaming, and wailing.
There was even bloodshed. No one knew what to do.
The monarch alone was, as always, silent.
And the day came, with the silent monarch’s lieges unable to decide on anything. It was then that Aurvangr spoke for the first time.
“I will decide,” he said, and stepped in front of the demon who had returned to hear their response.
“And what is your answer?” the demon said.
“This.” Aurvangr drew his blade across the demon’s neck with lightning speed, lopping his head off. The demon collapsed with a heavy thud.
The enchanted sword Calldawn, passed down in the Iron Country for generations, gleamed with a perfect shine, allowing none of the demon’s blood to taint its surface.
“This is the steel you wanted. The weapon you wanted. And you shall have it!” The small, thin dwarf-lord raised his sword high into the air.
The people cheered. The warriors were choked with tears. Realizing that they had terribly misjudged their monarch, they prostrated themselves in apology and shame for their ignorance.
Then, the fallen demon’s head began to laugh. “The dragon is coming.” It was an ominous, thick voice, and bloody foam spilled from his mouth as he spoke. “The dragon is coming! The dragon is coming! Valacirca! Calamity’s sickle descends upon you!” The demon screamed madly, only the whites of its eyes visible. “Nothing will survive!”
Aurvangr stamped on the demon’s head and crushed it. Then, he muttered. “I won’t let that happen.”
Preparations for battle proceeded quickly. The dwarven warriors surrounded themselves in iron, with helmets, armor, axes, and shields.
“We will draw in hell’s demons and kill them all beneath the earth,” the monarch Aurvangr declared. “Let these underground passages be their graves.”
The people and the warriors all obeyed his words, and made preparations to kill the demons. They set up fiendish traps and complex labyrinths, readying for the demon siege.
They finished in only a few days, and once they were done, Aurvangr gathered them in the great hall and gave them an order.
“All of those who are not warriors, and all warriors who are young and inexperienced: leave the Iron Mountains now.”
When the people heard this, there was an outcry. They had been intending to die with their monarch. Did he think of them as dead weight? They wanted to be be allowed to stay.
Despite the din of anger, disappointment, and pleading voices from the crowd, Aurvangr remained quiet. He allowed the people to have their say for a while, and once the roar of the crowd seemed to have lessened, he struck the floor with the end of Calldawn’s scabbard. The sound echoed around, and the din became a murmur.
Having found the right moment to continue, he rested his hands on the end of the sword’s handle, raised his head high, and said, “My people: I am going to die. All the warriors who stay behind will likely die as well.”
Everyone fell silent. Aurvangr’s words were the words of a dying man.
“But we must not permit the death of the Iron Country.” His words were full of quiet determination. “My people: I think of you like my own children, and therefore, it rends my heart to give you such a selfish order. But I must order you regardless: live on!”
The monarch spoke without stopping. “Even if you lose your homeland, and are tarnished with humiliation and regret, I command you to descend the mountain and live on! That is the battle I order of you! You do not run today, you take command over a different battlefield!”
His voice echoed throughout the great hall. “As lord and warriors we shall protect our pride, protect our names, and die in these mountains where the spirits of our ancestors slumber! And you will abandon your pride and put all your being into life! You must never allow the fire of the furnace to die!”
He drew a deep breath, and shouted one more time. “Men, live on! Live and fight! Until we return to glory again! That is my final order!”
Those were the last words the survivors ever heard spoken by the Iron Country’s final ruler.
He took the warriors and left the great hall, and after readying themselves for their battle, they confronted the tremendous demon army and the ancient dragon without fear. Every one of them fought valiantly, and every one of them died.