CHAPTER 280: CHAPTER 280: IS THIS HOW A KING’S SPEECH SHOULD BE?

The roar of the plaza still echoed through the stone when Balthor raised his arm. The sound of thousands began to die down, voices fading into a silence heavy with expectation. All eyes turned to him — the dwarf who until hours ago was known only as a drunk, now crowned as king.

He stood tall at the center of the stage. The ceremonial armor reflected the orange glow of torches, the crown of blackened iron heavy on his brow. His expression was firm, serious, and his voice carried with surprising clarity across the cavern.

"Hello... I am your new king."

The words alone drew murmurs, but Balthor pressed on. "My brother, Torwan, was behind everything you suffered. The lies, the chains, the factories of despair. He used this kingdom for his own gain and left scars on every one of you."

The plaza rumbled with angry shouts and cries of grief. Balthor did not flinch. He let them speak, let the sound of outrage roll over him like a wave, before lifting his hand again.

"I ask your forgiveness. In the name of my blood, in the name of our late father, and in my own name as your king."

Gasps followed. Dwarves rarely bowed their heads, yet Balthor inclined his, just slightly, in front of his people. The gesture struck deeper than any words.

Slowly, the noise shifted. The fury softened into murmurs of surprise, into applause scattered at first, then growing stronger. Families clutched each other, some with tears in their eyes.

Above, the banners of Tharvaldur swayed as if stirred by the moment itself. The cavern — the very heart of the mountain — held its breath, listening to a king who, for the first time in years, spoke the truth aloud.

Balthor did not let the silence linger. His voice rose again, strong and unwavering, echoing off the stone walls of the cavern.

"The wounds of this kingdom are many. Families torn apart, children enslaved, lives broken under my brother’s rule. I cannot erase what has been done. But I swear to you — no family will be left abandoned. Every child who suffered will be cared for. Every life twisted by his crimes will be restored."

The crowd stirred, emotions raw. Some wept openly, their cries carrying through the plaza. Others clenched their fists, their anger not gone but tempered by the weight of his vow.

"I promise you," Balthor continued, pounding a fist against his chest, "that Tharvaldur will rise again. Our pride will return. Our name will no longer be whispered in shame, but spoken with honor as it once was."

From the balconies and bridges, dwarves leaned forward, eyes fixed on him. The firelight painted their faces in orange and gold, glimmers of hope where before there had only been despair.

Noriel stood behind him, his expression stern but approving. He knew these words were not empty — they would bind Balthor heavier than the crown on his head.

Balthor spread his arms wide. "The darkness has ended. The lies are over. From this day forward, no man, woman, or child will ever again be a pawn of greed. From today, Tharvaldur walks into the light!"

The cheer that followed shook the cavern. Stomping boots and raised fists thundered against the stone, filling every corner of the underground city with a roar of unity.

The promise was made. And the people, for the first time in a decade, believed it.

The thunderous cheer still shook the cavern when Balthor lifted his hand once more. His expression, solemn until now, suddenly broke into a grin.

"Well," he said loudly, voice booming across the plaza, "the boring part is over!"

A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, the heavy atmosphere easing in an instant. Balthor chuckled, his crown slightly tilted as if it were just another piece of armor.

"We’ve spoken of shadows and scars, of lies and betrayal. But dwarves — we are not a people of endless mourning!" His arm shot out toward the crowd, his tone lifting with energy. "We still stand, don’t we? We still breathe, fight, and drink!"

The crowd roared back, cheers rising louder than before.

"And we still have the tournament!" Balthor continued. "A celebration of strength, courage, and unity. This is not the time to drown in sorrow — this is the time to enjoy the event, to raise our heads and our mugs high!"

Balthor raised a fist, grinning wider. "Tonight! A feast for all of Tharvaldur! Food and drink for everyone — free!"

The plaza exploded. Dwarves howled with joy, chanting, stomping, some already singing tavern songs out of rhythm. The word beer rolled across the crowd like wildfire, and the echoing chant of "Ale! Ale! Ale!" shook the stone pillars.

From above, nobles exchanged looks of disbelief, while common folk embraced the announcement as if it were salvation itself.

Balthor laughed openly on stage, basking in the chaos he himself had unleashed.

The plaza was chaos — joyous, deafening chaos. Dwarves stomped their boots so hard the stone bridges above trembled. Some began to sing half-remembered drinking songs, others raised their children high as if they already carried mugs in their little hands. The promise of free ale had turned grief into celebration in the span of seconds.

On stage, Balthor spread his arms wide, grinning like a man who had just won a tavern brawl. His crown tilted slightly as he shouted over the chants, though no one could hear him anymore. The people had already claimed the moment as their own.

Behind him, Noriel pressed a hand to his face, shaking his head. "Of course..." he muttered, too low for most to hear. To him, the promise of free drink to an entire kingdom was nothing short of reckless — and yet, he couldn’t deny the effect. The dwarves loved it.

In the reserved section above the crowd, Noel laughed under his breath. The sound was brief, but genuine. He leaned on the railing, watching the chaos unfold. ’King or not, he’s still the same Balthor. Some things never change.’

Elena stood at his side, eyes wide at the thunderous chanting below. "They’re... very loud," she murmured, trying to speak over the echo.

Elyra smirked, her grey eyes glittering. "Loud, yes. Expensive too. Imagine the cost of all this beer. But... as far as investments go, it’s a clever one. Nothing wins hearts faster here than drink."

Noel chuckled again, shaking his head. The sight of dwarves dancing, soldiers embracing, and families cheering felt surreal after everything they had endured. But maybe this was exactly what they needed — not another speech, but something to remind them they were alive.

The chants of "Balthor! Balthor!" rolled through the entire mountain of Tharvaldur.