Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World - Chapter 445

Chapter 445: Provocation

TL: Etude Translations

“Ptui!”

Imar spat heavily, his disdain evident.

“I, Imar Mason, have stooped to personally dealing with filthy and stupid orcs.”

His belly was bloated with resentment, and even the small braids in his beard trembled with his anger.

“The Mason Clan, your king will eventually return to his throne and reclaim the authority that rightfully belongs to him. Then, those traitors will receive their deserved punishment.”

Imar continued to curse and swear, using his surname, his hammer, and even his beloved beard as his oath.

Accompanied by this mood, he arrived at the cabin informed by Balash, pushed the door open roughly, and blustered, “Gunther, what nonsense do you have… huh, who are you? Where’s Gunther?”

The cabin was simply furnished, with a small wooden table and four round wooden stools.

But the son of the chieftain of the Blood Bull Tribe he was looking for was not there.

Instead, an old orc he did not recognize was sitting at the table, flanked by two similarly unfamiliar young orcs.

The old orc stared at him, seemingly sizing him up.

Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Imar coughed and said, “Gentlemen, I seem to have entered the wrong cabin, my apologies.”

He was about to turn and leave when the old orc spoke.

“No, you’re in the right place. Young chieftain of the Mason Clan.”

Imar shuddered at these words.

“How do you know…”

“Ha ha! Apart from keeping the secret of how to enter the mountains, you dwarves seem incapable of keeping any other secrets, especially after drinking,” the old orc said with a sly smile.

Damn it! Imar thought to himself, now three more people in the world will mock me. No, perhaps a whole bunch of green-skinned brats?

Orcs, these barbaric beings, were worse at keeping secrets than dwarves, treating others’ secrets as jokes. They were crude, uneducated, and found amusement in others’ pain.

Perhaps his story was already a popular tale across the vast plains?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he decided to feign ignorance. Dwarves and orcs didn’t live together, so let these barbarians say what they wanted.

But it seemed too late.

“Imar, you are the eldest son of the former chieftain of the Mason Clan. But because you defied your father, you were expelled from the clan and had to cross mountains and valleys to seek refuge with the nearby Hammer Clan, am I right?”

The old orc’s words pierced Imar’s heart like a knife, his beard and its braids nearly bristling. His arm muscles bulged, and his clenched fists crackled.

“Damn it, I really regret not bringing a hammer or an axe in here. I’d crack open your old skull, and inside, I bet there’s nothing but a peach-pit-sized nonsense.”

The two young orcs exchanged a glance and smirked, not moving an inch, which further infuriated Imar.

“Oh, poor Imar. You should learn to respect your elders.”

The old orc’s eyes held pity, “But I forgive you, for I sympathize with you. I know your banishment is not just a simple exile. You are forbidden for life from entering your clan’s territory. Your right to inheritance has been stripped away. After the death of the man you call father, it will be your brother, not you, who will sit in the chieftain’s seat.”

“That’s not my brother!” Imar yelled, provoked. “Just a dirty clod picked up from some ditch.”

“Oh, poor Imar,” the old orc said pityingly, with cruel words. “No matter how much you shout here, it won’t change the facts. Now, you are nothing but a wretch living under the protection of relatives, wasting your days in drunken delusions and despair.”

“You!” The veins on the dwarf Imar’s forehead bulged.

Eugene clapped lightly, “The Hammer Clan’s arrangement for a wretch like you is quite fitting, haha! Look, aren’t you here to deal with their annoying Gunther? Balash is indeed a good cousin to you.”

“This has nothing to do with Balash or the Hammer Clan.”

“You’re quite generous, ‘Your Highness.’ May I be so bold as to ask, have they sent a single soldier to help you return home? Have they sent anyone to help you reclaim your inheritance?”

Imar replied impatiently, “Clans should not interfere with each other’s affairs.”

“Oh, even though you are their kin. The shallowness of kinship among you dwarves is beyond the imagination of us crude orcs! Look at how your biological father, uncles, and cousins treat you,” exclaimed Eugene dramatically.

“Enough!”

Imar’s patience reached its limit. His usual frustrations, bitterness, and anger suddenly erupted, his negative emotions tightly gripping his heart.

Like a mad bull, the dwarf charged at the old orc, moving so swiftly that the two young orcs behind Eugene couldn’t react in time.

Imar’s strong hands clutched the orc’s fur garment, easily yanking him from his seat.

Due to his height, Eugene was now curled up, being dragged across the floor.

Eugene’s two guards, enraged, drew their weapons—one with a dagger, the other swinging a spiked hammer—shouting at the dwarf to release Eugene, or they would ensure the presumptuous dwarf wouldn’t leave the cabin alive.

“Stand down!”

Eugene waved his hand to call off his men. The young orcs lowered their weapons and stepped back, still glaring hatefully at Imar.

Eugene’s face was flushed, his breathing uneven, seemingly as surprised as his guards by Imar’s sudden action. Was the son of a tribe chieftain this impulsive?

Imar glared at Eugene with tangible fury, “I know you’re trying to sow discord, you despicable and disgusting bastards, lowly long-haired mongrels who have no respect for sheep or horses. Do you think the great Imar cannot see through your clumsy tricks?”

“Calm down, young chieftain of the Mason Clan!” Eugene had no doubt that if provoked further, those strong hands would not hesitate to snap his neck.

Despite being only as tall as an orc’s waist, a dwarf’s strength was no less formidable than an orc’s, and Eugene dared not take him lightly.

“The reason I came to you is not to sow discord. What I want to say is…”

Imar’s eyes widened, like large copper bells.

“What the Hammer Clan cannot give you, the great tent of the plains can. Chief Abal can give it to you!”