Chapter 130: Grudges

Inside the cabin sat a large, older lion.

King Musafa.

He was wearing shorts and a coat and nothing underneath it. His muscular torso was completely exposed, revealing several old battle scars across his chest and shoulders.

“AAH, Ximba my son! You wanting to see me?!” the big lion boomed cheerfully while adjusting his shorts after finishing his… earlier activities.

“Yes, King Musafa,” Ximba said, bowing respectfully.

Musafa groaned loudly.

“Oh come on, no one else here,” he said. “Stop calling me that.”

“As you wish… father,” Ximba replied.

“That’s better,” Musafa nodded.

“Come, sit.”

The old lion lowered himself into a chair beside the small cabin table and poured wine into two glasses. Ximba walked over and sat in the chair across from him.

Musafa slid one filled glass toward his son.

“So,” Musafa said casually.

“What is it, son?”

“It’s about Nyanjara Town,” Ximba began. “Teemon reports that Scarf is acting even more suspicious lately. More and more correspondence is going in and out from Nyanjara… directed toward tribes like the rhino tribes, hyenas, hippos, and other mercenary tribes.”

Musafa sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“Ximba… there’s still no proof that Scarf is the one sending those correspondences.”

“Father, I know he is your younger brother,” Ximba replied carefully. “But he has always been vying for your throne.”

“That’s exactly why we’re heading to Nyanjara Town right now,” Musafa said. “Secretly. To make a sudden inspection.”

He lifted his wine glass and took a slow sip.

“We are already doing what you insisted we should do.”

Ximba hesitated before answering.

“Father…” he sighed. “Bringing three members of your harem is not exactly subtle.”

Musafa waved his hand dismissively.

“Hey, a lion has his needs,” he said. “You will understand that when you’re bigger.”

Ximba stared at him. He decided not to comment further.

“Either way,” Musafa continued, swirling the wine in his glass, “whether Scarf is doing something funny or not… everything will be revealed when we reach Nyanjara.”

"And if he does intended to do something funny," Musafa grin, "I would gladly teach him a lesson for him to remind him of his place, HAHAHAHAHAHA"

---

Ximba’s Cabin

Moments later, Ximba returned to his own cabin. Inside, two figures were already waiting for him. One was a muscular warthog warrior standing near the wall. The other was a small meerkat dressed in dark clothing that very clearly tried to look like something a ninja would wear.

Both of them stood up immediately when Ximba entered.

“Your Royal Highness,” the meerkat said, bowing slightly. “How was it?”

“It’s the same as usual, Timun,” Ximba sighed. “He still takes it casually.”

The warthog crossed his arms.

“Well… His Majesty Musafa has always been someone who values family,” he muttered. “I guess he doesn’t want to be too rash with the mayor of Nyanjara—his own brother.”

“It seems like it, Poomba,” Ximba said.

He then turned his attention toward Timun.

“Timun, I’m sorry, but I need you to do something for me.”

“What is it, sir?” Timun asked.

“Head to Nyanjara Town first,” Ximba said. “Make sure that Scarf and any of his men doesn't know that we are visiting.”

“Yes, sir,” Timun replied immediately.

Ximba reached into his coat and took out a sealed letter.

“Also, please deliver this letter to Count Tigger in Nyanjara Town,” he said. “It would be good if we have an ally there in case something goes wrong.”

Poomba frowned slightly.

“Isn’t he retired, sir?”

“Retired,” Ximba replied calmly, “but still dangerous.”

He paused for a moment.

“And I have a bad feeling about what’s waiting for us there.”

---

Nyanjara Town, Mayor’s Mansion

Meanwhile, back in Nyanjara Town. Inside the luxurious estate belonging to the town’s mayor, a commotion was unfolding in the main hall.

“Please! The Mayor would want to hear this news as fast as possible!” the dwarf shouted.

A large hand suddenly swung forward.

THUD.

The punch sent the dwarf crashing to the floor.

“Don’t you dare raise your voice here, dwarf!” the owner of the hand snarled.

It was a massive wolf beastman with a heavily scarred face. The Captain of the Town Guard.

The wolf looked down at the dwarf with cold irritation.

“Not only did you arrive past midnight, you also caused a ruckus,” the guard said threateningly.

He leaned slightly closer.

“You’re lucky the Mayor already instructed us to receive you when you came back.” The wolf’s lip curled. “But he didn’t say anything about not hurting you.”

His eyes hardened.

“So don’t push your luck and wait here until I report to the Mayor.”

The dwarf whimpered on the floor, clutching his face as pain throbbed through his nose.

Without another word, the wolf captain turned and walked toward the staircase leading upstairs. Several other wolf guards remained behind, silently chuckled watching the dwarf.

Rondo Stoneale slowly pushed himself back to his feet. Blood dripped from his nose. His eyes burned with fury as he glared at the departing captain.

Curses… you filthy, lowly beastman. How dare you do this to me.Rondo Stoneale.

His fists trembled.

I shouldn’t even be here… in this cursed backwater full of flea-ridden animals.

His thoughts boiled with rage.

This is all because of the demons.

This is all because of Murican.

His anger spiraled deeper. And his mind drifted back.

---

Eight Months Ago

Dwargonia, Hearthguard Cairn

Deep beneath the mountains, inside the bustling underground metropolis of the dwarves, a luxurious Dwargonian automobile rolled through the stone-carved streets.

Outside the car windows, the city was restless. Groups of dwarven civilians gathered around large government notice boards posted along the streets. Faces grim. Voices low but heated. At the center of one of the posters was a headline printed in large letters:

“GRAND MARSHALL Dwordoug Axebreaker Assassinated.”

The fancy car continued moving. Further down the street, another group of young dwarven men had gathered. This group looked far less restrained.

“SLAY THE DEMONS AND THEIR ALLIES!” one young dwarf shouted angrily.

“LET’S GO JOIN THE MILITARY!” another shouted back.

It was a city preparing for war. Dwargonia was on the verge of entering open conflict against Murica and Ravendawn.

The car eventually turned into the driveway of a large mansion. It came to a smooth stop in front of the entrance. The driver immediately stepped out and walked around to open the passenger door. From inside the car stepped out the same dwarf from earlier. Except now his appearance was completely different.

Instead of the shady attire of a brothel owner, he wore clothing far more refined and respectable—expensive fabrics, noble tailoring, and jewelry that quietly displayed his wealth.

Rondo Stoneale.

He walked toward the mansion entrance with the air of someone who expected the world to move aside for him. Inside, a butler and several house staff were already lined up to greet him.

“Welcome back, Master Rondo Stoneale,” the butler and the staff said in unison.

Rondo barely acknowledged them.

“Where’s my wife?” he demanded snobbishly.

“She is in your study room,” the butler replied calmly, “inspecting some… packages.”

Rondo’s expression shifted slightly.

“Ah,” he said slowly. “The same special packages, I presume?”

“Yes, sire,” the butler answered.

---

Study Room

Inside the study room, a female dwarf sat comfortably on a couch. She wore an extravagant dress decorated with far too many jewels. Rings glittered on nearly every finger, and several necklaces layered across her chest. The amount of gold on her body alone could probably buy a small house.

On the table in front of her were several opened boxes. Each one filled with valuables. Gold coins. Diamonds. Bracelets. Rings. Jewel-studded ornaments. She lifted one particularly beautiful necklace, holding it up to the light. The gemstones sparkled brilliantly, her eyes sparkled just as brightly.

“Ehem.”

Rondo’s voice suddenly sounded from the doorway. The female dwarf startled slightly and turned toward him.

“Oh, dear. I didn’t know you were already back,” she said.

“I see you opened them before me,” Rondo said with a small smile as he walked further into the room.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, dear,” she said quickly, standing up from the couch. “I was just very curious what the Goldenclaws were giving us this time. Teehee.”

She walked toward him, and the two of them embraced, sharing a deep kiss. When they separated, Rondo glanced over at the table again. Several boxes. All filled with wealth.

“Kukuku… they delivered something good again this time,” Rondo muttered. “Siding with them truly was the best decision I ever made.”

“How was the negotiation with Murica and Ravendawn?” his wife asked while pouring a glass of alcohol and handing it to him.

“HAHAHAHA! I did a good job back there!” Rondo laughed as he accepted the drink and gulped it down.

“AAAAH…”

He wiped his mouth with satisfaction.

“If only you could see the face of Ravendawn’s king and that female Murican minister. HAHAHAHA!”

“Oh, that’s my husband,” his wife said proudly as she leaned comfortably into his embrace. “You’ve been working so hard. All my friends are looking at me with jealousy now that I wear all these beautiful dresses and jewelry.”

“Of course they are,” Rondo replied smugly. “You’re the wife of Rondo Stoneale. The future member of the Dwargonian Grand Council! HAHAHA!”

“Oh, I can’t wait until that day comes,” his wife said, leaning even closer to him.

“Soon, my wife. Soon,” Rondo said with a wide grin.

“No matter who wins this war… the true winners will be the Goldenclaws, the church, and us!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

---

Four Months Ago

Stoneale Mansion

Several months later, Dwargonia had already signed a peace treaty with Murica and Ravendawn. But the streets were still filled with anger. This time, however, the angry crowds were not civilians. They were soldiers. The Dwargonian military.

And they were furious. They had been played like fools.

The church and its allies—the Meridinian Alliance and the Goldenclaws—had manipulated events from the shadows. Especially the Goldenclaws, who had quietly built a massive network of agents and supporters throughout Dwargonian territory.

But Grand Marshal Dwordoug Axebreaker had once made a promise. Inside a dark and cold cave, he had sworn:

“There will be a purge when I return.”

And a purge it became.

Armed with detailed lists provided by the Muricans, the Dwargonian military spent months hunting down every Goldenclaws member, supporter, and hidden asset across the nation.

One by one, house by house, network by network.

And now—

Three trucks filled with very angry soldiers had just stopped in front of Rondo Stoneale’s mansion.