Translator: CinderTL
The orc army continued its advance until it halted before Mountain Throat Fortress.
Thirty thousand cavalrymen formed ranks, their warhorses neighing and the orcs' bowstrings taut.
On the fortress's towering black rock walls, dwarf warriors stood in defensive formations, clad in chainmail, wielding heavy hammers and short crossbows, their faces grim.
Leading the dwarf forces was General Mogdin, draped in an iron-gray cloak and gripping a battleaxe, his gaze cold as he surveyed the scene below.
Abal remained at the rear, ordering Yujin to advance and demand answers.
Yujin, clad in light armor, spurred his warhorse forward until he was three hundred paces from the fortress walls. Raising his voice, he shouted, "Mogdin! Open the gates! I demand to speak with your Clan Chief!"
Mogdin peered down at him and replied in a booming voice, "Clan Chief Imar is not here. I am the commander in charge. Speak your grievances to me."
Yujin's voice rose sharply, his anger boiling over as he denounced the dwarves:
"You have betrayed our alliance! You swore an oath to the Chieftain's Tent that the Rocky Mountain Pass would never be opened to Aldor! Yet now? You've not only allowed the human army to march through unhindered, but you've also slaughtered our warriors and presented their heads as groveling gifts! Where is your honor? Where is your word?"
"The Chieftain's Tent gave Imar his current status, but when he was driven from his clan, begging for scraps like a stray dog among the various factions, the only one to extend a hand was Great Chieftain Abal. He restored Imar to his position as Clan Chief and entrusted him with the iron mine and tunnels! And how does Imar repay this kindness? By daring to trade our blood for human forgiveness!"
Yujin's voice grew increasingly impassioned. "I never imagined Imar would submit to Grayman! Has he forgotten the humiliation Grayman inflicted upon him? He personally told me how, when he sought aid in Alden Town, he received nothing but scorn from that human brat! Spirit of the Steppe, now Imar chooses to become that human brat's lapdog!"
The dwarf soldiers on the city walls exchanged uneasy glances. Some lowered their heads, while others gripped their weapons tighter.
Yujin roared, "The Stonemason Clan are a bunch of ingrates who forget the kindness of others!"
Mogdin let out a cold laugh.
"Kindness?" He glared down at Yujin, his voice suddenly turning harsh. "You speak of the Chieftain's Tent showing kindness to Imar? Very well, then let me settle this account on behalf of all the subjects of the Stonemason Clan today!"
Leaning on his staff, Mogdin stepped forward and pointed at the orc cavalry arrayed below the city walls, his voice booming like thunder:
"Over the years, how many weapons have we forged for the Chieftain's Tent? Fifty thousand swords, a hundred thousand arrows, ten thousand suits of heavy armor! It is our furnaces, burning day and night, that have allowed your cavalry to sweep across the Grassland and invade human lands. Your strength lies not in the speed of your horses, but in the blades we forged!"
"And what about the precious minerals we've surrendered? Half of our iron ore, thirty percent of our copper! Our people toil in the mines until they cough up blood, while you shamelessly enjoy the fruits of our labor!"
As Mogdin's scathing words rang out, the dwarf soldiers on the city walls straightened their backs. Some murmured in agreement, while others glared fiercely at the orc army below.
Mogdin continued, "You claim Imar owes you? Hasn't our blood and sweat over all these years repaid that debt a hundredfold? No—a thousandfold! You merely gave him a handful of warriors, yet you seized the very lifeblood of our entire clan!"
Abal flew into a rage, Mogdin's words a grave insult to his honor.
He stood on the high ridge, his face ashen, fury blazing in his eyes. No further explanations were needed; betrayal was betrayal, no matter how the dwarves tried to sugarcoat their treachery with tales of hardship.
"Attack the fortress!" he roared, drawing his curved blade with a thunderous clang. "The Stonemason Clan! Leave no one alive!"
A mournful horn blared, and thirty thousand cavalry dismounted in a surging tide. Though cavalry were ill-suited for siege warfare, the Great Chieftain's command was absolute.
Hundreds of elite warriors hoisted crude wooden siege ladders, advancing under the cover of archers toward the fortress walls. War drums thundered, battle cries shook the earth, and yellow sand and dust billowed from the chaotic advance of the orc warriors.
Above them, Mogdin coldly raised his hand.
"Prepare the iron thunder."
As the first wave of orcs charged within thirty paces of the walls and began scaling the ladders, a dwarf voice rang out from above.
"Release!"
Dwarf soldiers lit the fuses of black iron spheres and hurled them down with all their might.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A series of muffled explosions erupted at the base of the walls, accompanied by blinding flashes and thick smoke. Each grenade detonated like an iron cauldron shattering on the ground, unleashing deafening blasts. Shrapnel and stone fragments sprayed outward in a deadly fan, reaching distances of up to ten paces.
An orc warrior climbing a ladder was struck by a nearby explosion. Three iron fragments instantly pierced his left arm, blood gushing as the force of the blast sent him tumbling from the ladder. He crashed to the ground, rolling and howling in agony. Another warrior, though spared from direct shrapnel, was stunned by the shockwave. Blood streamed from his ears as he curled up on the ground, clutching his head, unable to rise.
Though the siege ladder remained intact, the soldiers climbing it were terrified into losing their grip and falling. Some twisted their ankles, others were knocked unconscious. The smoke from the explosions and the screams of the wounded swiftly eroded the morale of the attacking force.
The surviving orcs retreated in terror, some dragging their injured comrades, others staring blankly at the shrapnel-riddled corpses on the ground. The mangled flesh of the dead men's chests made it clear they had been killed by close-range shrapnel wounds.
Abal, watching from the rear, saw his pupils contract sharply.
"Grenades..." he murmured.
He knew this weapon all too well.
In countless battles between Aldor and the human armies, these exploding iron spheres, though less powerful than cannonballs, had proven devastating in crowded formations. Their shrapnel tore through flesh, their thunderous blasts terrified warhorses, and close-range explosions could even cause temporary deafness, sowing fear that shattered the will of many.
Now, this weapon had fallen into the hands of the dwarves! Had human influence penetrated so deeply?
He waved his hand, issuing the order: "Withdraw! The entire army retreats one mile!"
The cavalry swiftly regrouped, hastily carrying the wounded and the dead as they retreated. The battlefield was left strewn with corpses and overturned siege ladders, the air thick with the stench of sulfur, blood, and charred flesh.
As the orc army withdrew, a messenger galloped toward them, his horse foaming at the mouth and nearly collapsing. The messenger tumbled off his mount, rushed to Abal, and knelt on one knee, his voice trembling with urgency:
"Great Chieftain! Something... something has happened at Blackwater Lake!"
Abal whirled around. "Speak!"
The messenger stammered, "The humans... the garrison at Blackwater Lake Fortress has mobilized again! This time, there are at least fifteen thousand men, equipped with cannons, advancing deep into the Grassland along the same route as before! They... they must be trying to reclaim the western Grassland's water sources."
(End of the Chapter)
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