Far away, in the village of Litrfagrbyr, Mikilllfr still rose early in the morning, going about his backbreaking work as usual.
Today marked the ninth day that Mikilllfr had been preparing for battle entirely alone. Over the past nine days, he had successfully dug nine massive pits scattered across the three main routes leading into the village. These pits not only contained sharpened wooden stakes specifically designed to impale Drakes, but their bottoms were also flooded with highly flammable oil.
Mikilllfr truly lived up to his heritage as an heir of the Drakavaldr clan, the pioneers of training and breeding dragons among the dwarves. He was not only an expert at riding Drakes, but he also knew exactly how to take them down. Nevertheless, preparing for war all by himself remained an incredibly grueling task.
His dear friend, the village chief, upon hearing Mikilllfr's warning that Varrin would march an army to eradicate their home, had spent two days gathering all his valuable possessions. He then spirited his family and his people away in the dead of night, long before anyone else in the village even realized what was happening. Soon after, the remaining villagers gradually evacuated and fled, turning the settlement into a ghost town.
Actually, it wasn't completely deserted. Mikilllfr and his two beautiful elven slave girls still remained.
"Yawn..." A loud, unapologetic yawn rang out. The brown-haired elven girl strolled over lazily, stretching her limbs. Her face was a grumpy, disheveled mess; she had been rudely awakened by the clamor of Mikilllfr's labor.
At that moment, Mikilllfr was sharpening numerous wooden stakes, intending to lash them together into barricades. Catching sight of the elven girl, he quickly called out, "Nessy, pass me that rope over there."
The brown-haired elf, Vanessa, stopped walking and glanced at the rope before replying in a flat tone, "Why should I? If you want it, come get it yourself."
"If you don't want to pick it up, just kick it to me then," Mikilllfr said, extending an expectant hand while keeping his eyes focused on sharpening the stakes.
Vanessa rolled her eyes. Stepping closer to the bundle of rope, she lightly tapped it with the tip of her foot. Instantly, the heavy coil floated up from the ground as if weightless, before shooting straight into Mikilllfr's waiting hand with perfect precision.
"Oh! This is absolutely amazing, Nessy," he said with a smile, beginning to use the rope to bind three stakes together.
Vanessa yawned openly once more before replying in a drowsy voice, "If you're worth ten men, that's enough, isn't it? I don't see why you need my help. And furthermore..." She narrowed her eyes at him. "How many times have I told you? Don't make a racket so early in the morning. I'm trying to sleep."
Mikilllfr sighed softly but kept working. "It's because you refuse to promise to help me fight in this battle."
Vanessa stood there with her eyes closed, simply shaking her head back and forth to confirm her continued refusal.
Seeing her stubborn demeanor, Mikilllfr sighed again. "If you were willing to change your mind and fight alongside me, I wouldn't have to wake up and prepare all these things." He paused for a moment before continuing in a much more serious tone, "Because you alone... are worth hundreds of warriors."
Vanessa looked at him blankly, her eyes half-open in a sleepy daze, before replying coldly. "Even if I were as strong as a thousand warriors... it has nothing to do with you." She turned her face away slightly. "I mind my business, and you mind yours."
Mikilllfr frowned. "Don't forget, the Elven Queen ordered you two to support me—to help me build my reputation until I become the leader of the dwarves."
Vanessa sighed in annoyance. "The Queen didn't send me here alone." She shot him a pointed look. "Why don't you ask Cynthia to help you?"
Mikilllfr shook his head. "Cynthia is a mage. How could she do manual labor like hauling things around?"
Vanessa whirled back to glare at him fiercely. "Cynthia doesn't have to do manual labor, but I do? You..."
"Ugh!" A voice complained from behind, heralding the arrival of the black-haired elf. "Will there ever be a day where you two can speak civilly to each other?"
"Ah, Cynthia! Good morning," Mikilllfr greeted her cheerfully.
"How many days are left before Varrin arrives?" Cynthia demanded immediately, ignoring his greeting entirely.
Mikilllfr chuckled softly. "Counting today, there are two days left until we hit the thirteen-day deadline he announced." He paused briefly before continuing with unwavering confidence, "But I believe Varrin should arrive by tomorrow to prepare for the siege."
Cynthia nodded slowly. "I just finished patrolling the village perimeter." Her gaze drifted toward the silent tree line. "The traps you laid out... there are far more than I expected." She then looked back at Mikilllfr. "Did you really build all of this entirely on your own?"
"If Varrin gives me two more days, even if he brings a force of hundreds, he might still fall right into my hands," Mikilllfr declared with a determined expression, wiping sweat from his brow with his forearm.
Vanessa let out a light scoff, refusing to let her dwarven companion enjoy even a shred of confidence. "He is a Lord. If he marches an army, he has to bring thousands. Who would bring just a hundred like you assume?"
"If there are more than a hundred... Nessy, you have to help me. Your fragrance magic alone could knock down their entire army," Mikilllfr pleaded.
Cynthia suddenly voiced her own perspective. "If Varrin truly brings a force of thousands, we should flee. There is no reason to risk our lives... for an abandoned village."
"Flee? And what about my reputation, as ordered by the Elven Queen?" Mikilllfr remained stubborn, using the royal decree as his shield.
Cynthia was completely unfazed by his invocation of the Queen. "The village is devoid of people now. We can fabricate any excuse we want, but keeping you alive is the priority."
"What excuse do we even need? The moment we see their massive army, we just run for our lives," Vanessa chimed in, continuing to mock him.
"I will not flee. Even if I die, I won't run away," Mikilllfr insisted with sheer stubbornness.
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"If it comes down to it, I'll drag you away myself," Vanessa countered, refusing to let him have his way.
"Don't drag me away. Stay and fight beside me. I believe that the three of us can definitely handle Varrin and his army," Mikilllfr affirmed his resolve.
"When it comes to war, nothing is certain. If you can't win, you must retreat. That is the only certainty," Cynthia stated matter-of-factly, making no attempt to comfort him or take his side.
Mikilllfr let out a soft, mirthless chuckle. "It seems fate is never on my side." He looked down at his own hands, calloused and covered in cuts from days of digging through the dirt.
"The other guy... used to be just a clerk, yet today he is a Lord, backed by an army of thousands." His gaze shifted up to the empty village. "While I... have no one on my side, not even a single person."
The morning breeze blew past Litrfagrbyr, traveling along the path back toward the Sterkburin kingdom.
On the route heading toward Litrfagrbyr, a sudden gust of wind struck the face of Varrin Afbarahants atop his Drake, startling the groggy army leader into a state of panic.
On the outside, he looked majestic in the uniform and armor of a Lord, but inside, he was plagued by apprehension.
In truth, his army was not as grand as the rumors claimed. The 'two hundred' did not refer to the number of Drakes, but rather the number of infantrymen.
There were only thirty-seven Drakes marching with the army. Such a meager number was far too little for a mere clerk to feel confident about crushing a village to ashes.
Varrin tried to grip the reins tighter, terrified of accidentally falling off the dragon's back and being mocked by his followers. Deep down, he still considered himself lucky; having previously trained to ride dragons to deliver messages for his master was the only reason he had the opportunity to lead an army like this. He was not a Lord who had grown up with power. He wasn't even a warrior. Before all this, he was merely a clerk.
A clerk... thrust by fate into a high-ranking position. Becoming a Lord by sheer luck, how could he possibly be prepared for anything? Amidst these anxious thoughts, his wife's voice echoed in his mind once again. "No clerk... has ever managed to behead a warrior." Those words sounded incredibly logical now.
Suddenly, the front of the marching army slowed its pace until it came to a complete halt.
A trusted captain rode his Drake closer and bowed his head to report. "My Lord, a stream has appeared up ahead." He paused for a moment before adding, "We have never encountered it here before."
Varrin furrowed his brows immediately. "A new stream? ...Is it shallow or deep?"
"We cannot know for sure right now, my Lord," the captain replied cautiously. "We might need to ride the Drakes and wade across."
Just hearing that, Varrin's heart began to pound.
"Wade across?" Varrin repeated slowly. "And what if it's deep?"
The captain had no answer.
"What if the current is strong?" Varrin asked in rapid succession, as if losing control of his nerves.
The captain remained silent.
"And if the Drake loses its footing... won't I fall in?"
That silence became an answer far more terrifying than words.
"No," Varrin declared instantly. "Have the infantry cut down wood and build rafts for everyone."
The captain hesitated. "My Lord... by the time the rafts are finished, we might not arrive in time for your decree."
"If we're late, then we're late," Varrin replied without hesitation. "Wasting time is better than losing our lives."
"But... let me try riding a Drake across first..."
The captain hadn't even finished his sentence before Varrin interrupted with a sharp, commanding voice. "Go. Order the soldiers to start cutting wood immediately. Do not take unnecessary risks."
Several days later, at the village of Litrfagrbyr.
"Where the hell is that fool Varrin..." Mikilllfr muttered before collapsing onto the dirt ground in utter exhaustion. "It's already the fifteenth day."
For the past two days, he had been preparing for battle relentlessly. The massive traps around the village had increased from the original nine to thirteen. His body had almost no strength left; he had barely slept in three days.
"There you have it," Vanessa said evenly. "They are smarter than you. Without even coming to fight, you're already on the verge of dying by yourself."
Mikilllfr turned his head to look at the sky wearily. "He's a Lord," he croaked. "Didn't he say he would eliminate me in thirteen days?"
Vanessa shrugged. "You dwarves... are all crazy like this, aren't you?" She glanced at the traps lining the village. "Digging until you bury yourself in them before the enemy even arrives."
Mikilllfr grunted, pushing through his physical exhaustion. "No... that guy Varrin is terrified of me. So much so that he doesn't dare to invade." He continued to curse non-stop. "That pale-faced bastard, that coward—"
A barrage of insults spewed endlessly from his mouth. Even the name of Livita—the woman he had once loved—was woven into a curse...
Feeling annoyed by his incessant complaining, Vanessa walked away, leaving him to lie there cursing the heavens and the earth alone.
Along the path Vanessa walked, a myriad of traps were set up all over the village—deep pits, rows of wooden barricades, tripwire snares, and even dart-shooting mechanisms hidden in the shadows. It was almost unbelievable that all of this was the handiwork of a single dwarf.
Vanessa sighed softly and murmured, "No wonder... you truly cannot underestimate those who are both stupid and crazy." These words sounded like an insult, but in her own unique way, it was actually a compliment.
Suddenly, Cynthia appeared with an urgent look on her face. "Vanessa! Where is Mikilllfr?"
Vanessa pointed toward the center of the village. "Still lying over there, complaining and cursing like a madman."
Cynthia took a deep breath. "This is bad... I went out to scout the tree line." She dropped her voice to an urgent whisper. "Varrin's patrol squad has arrived."
Vanessa froze for a split second before her eyes hardened with serious resolve. "In that case, I really do have to drag him away now, don't I?" With that, she dashed back down the path she had just walked.
Cynthia sprinted after her with all her might.
When the two arrived, the cursing had ceased. There was only the loud snoring of Mikilllfr, who lay motionless on the dirt ground. He had fallen fast asleep.
Back at the Sterkburin army led by Varrin.
The scouting patrol returned to report immediately. "Inside the village... it appears there is no one left, my Lord."
"What did you say?" Varrin raised a high eyebrow. "Have they all fled? Ha ha..." A smile instantly broke out on the Lord's face.
But the patrol captain continued, "The village does seem completely deserted, my Lord... However, I spotted trap mechanisms all over the place."
The smile on Varrin's face slowly faded. "What was that... full of traps, you say?" He narrowed his eyes, his expression turning tense at once.
The patrol captain went on, "I fear they might be using an 'Empty City' stratagem to lure us in. Then, the whole village, who must be in hiding, will surround and attack us all at once."
Varrin clenched his fists tightly. "Yes... that must be it!" His voice began to tremble unconsciously. "They set up so many traps. How could it be possible that the village is empty?"
He looked around at the soldiers surrounding him. "This is a deception! They want us to think they've fled, and when we charge in—" He paused for a moment before saying in a hushed, paranoid tone, "—we will be the ones surrounded and slaughtered."
The atmosphere around the army instantly went dead silent. All eyes fixated on the Lord, waiting to hear his next command.
Varrin suddenly fell into deep, panicked thought. The more he thought, the more he visualized the traps waiting ahead. Deep pits, wooden spikes, hidden arrows in the shadows. That village... there was no way it was empty without a reason. Entering meant nothing but certain death.
The soldiers he brought with him were not that numerous to begin with. Even if they attacked and won—if they were to lose more than half their forces, who would escort him back to the city? Furthermore, over half of the troops following him this time were not people he was familiar with. If heavy casualties occurred, if he became weakened, what if they decided to mutiny?
Cold sweat seeped down from Varrin's temples, his mind consumed by anxiety. His wife's voice echoed in his head once again. "No clerk... has ever managed to behead a warrior."
By the afternoon of that day, the army of the Sterkburin kingdom turned back, without engaging in a single battle.
Later, when the residents of Litrfagrbyr returned once more, they found their village completely intact, with only numerous unused traps left behind.
From then on, rumors spread of a dwarven warrior named Mikilllfr Drakavaldr, who single-handedly defended the village of Litrfagrbyr. He was able to force the Sterkburin army to retreat to their capital, leaving them with only two hundred infantrymen and a few dozen Drake-riding warriors returning to the city.
The more the story was told and embellished, the more Varrin suffered. Consequently, the once-proud leader fell ill, becoming bedridden and unable to govern. All affairs of the capital city, Grnnstjarna, thus fell entirely under the care of Lady Livita.