Chapter 574: Fortress
Tolu was震得虎口发麻, his grip on the Long Hammer trembling as cracks began to form along its shaft. The impact had been so violent that he nearly lost his hold—yet the opponent stood unmoved, calm and composed.
“Damn strong!” The experienced dwarf commander’s face darkened instantly. This was my all-out strike—using a Long Hammer, a weapon built for crushing heavy armor—and yet he blocked it with ease. The implication was clear: the beastman before him was far stronger than any dwarf had ever faced. He was not just a warrior—he was a force of nature, capable of crushing Tolu under his will.
Regret flickered in Tolu’s mind. He’d charged in blind rage, reckless and unwise. Now, as he slid the hammer downward in a desperate attempt to break the enemy’s grip, the hammerhead screeched against the iron shaft of the Dual-Headed Axe. Sparks—ember-like, fiery—flared with every grind, dancing in the air like dying stars.
“Hah…” Monke let out a low chuckle, his lips curling back to reveal yellowed Fangs. The black cloth across his face split open with a dry snap. From the hollows of his eyes, a Bloodlight surged forward—a jagged streak of crimson energy that sliced through the air.
As a powerful Eye of Ghush, his blind eyes saw beyond the physical. They pierced the veil of reality, revealing truths hidden from mortal sight.
“No—!” The dwarf gasped, his body seized by a violent tremor. A soul-deep Fear, a spiritual dread, surged through him. In an instant, his mind was flooded with visions: a Sea of Blood, mountains of dwarf corpses, the ruins of Aivendeldan soaked in crimson.
In that single moment of hesitation, Monke yanked back the Dual-Headed Axe. The sudden recoil threw Tolu forward, staggering off-balance.
By the time Tolu snapped back to awareness, Monke had already spun the axe in a wide arc high above his head. The blade, stained dark with blood, sliced through the air like a storm-wind. A chilling chill passed over Tolu’s throat.
Shua—
A fountain of blood erupted from his neck, spraying into the sky. The headless corpse collapsed to its knees, then fell forward with a heavy thud.
Monke calmly picked up the severed head by the braided hair, his face still twisted into a grin. Blood dripped from his fingers as he inspected the terrified, wide-eyed face.
“Not bad,” he murmured, nodding approvingly. “A dwarf like this… should be just sufficient to Sacrifice to Father God.”
Thus perished the garrison commander of Orc Gravestone—a legendary dwarf hero who had once slain a Fire Giant. And now, he died without a single chance to fight back.
On the City Wall, the remaining dwarves watched in horror as their brother, their kin, their hero, was executed like a common beast. Their eyes burned red. Their fists clenched.
“Tolu is dead!”
“Now! Surround him! Kill that damned beast! Take back Tolu’s head!”
“Filthy Ghuush bloodline scum dares to insult our fallen comrade? Kill him!”
“He’s alone! We overwhelm him! Even if we die, we avenge Tolu!”
Fueled by grief and fury, the dwarves regrouped. They formed a tight circle around Monke, faces twisted with rage, ready to tear the beastman limb from limb.
“Help Monke, sir!”
“Those filthy dwarves are surrounding him! Beastmen, purge them all!”
The nearby warriors surged forward, eager to join the slaughter.
But Monke raised a hand. His blood-smeared face split into a grin of pure excitement.
“No,” he said, voice dripping with delight. “Let me savor this. Let me feel your hatred—your rage, your helplessness. I love the way you look at me… as if you want to kill me. But you can’t.”
He toyed with the severed head, pinching Tolu’s beard and forcing the mouth open and shut, as if the dwarf were still speaking.
“Now… what was his name? Ah, yes—Tolu. Look, dwarves! Tolu’s speaking! He says… ‘You cowards! Not one of you has the guts to avenge me!’ Ha-ha-ha!”
The sight of their hero’s head mocked them, twisted and played with like a puppet. The dwarves could no longer contain their fury.
“Kill him!”
“Crush this damned beast to paste!”
They raised their War Hammers and round shields, roaring as they charged forward—dozens of them, surging toward Monke like a storm.
But Monke simply dropped the head. With both hands, he gripped the Dual-Headed Axe, eyes blazing with anticipation.
“Come on!”
Swish—
He spun the axe in a wide, violent arc. A storm of blades erupted around him—sharp, deadly, spinning like a whirlwind. The dwarves were caught in the vortex.
The scream of blades cleaving through air, the clang of armor splitting, the wet tearing of flesh—each sound rang out in brutal succession.
Then came the screams—long, agonized cries of pain. The cries of the wounded. The soft, gurgling rush of blood.
In just a few breaths, the entire group was dead. Not one dwarf remained standing.
Bodies were torn apart. Limbs scattered. Entrails spilled across the stone. Blood pooled, forming rivers that ran along the wall.
Monke stepped over the corpse pile, climbing the wall with a grin. He raised Tolu’s lifeless head high—eyes wide open, frozen in shock—and looked down upon the sea of beastmen who now held the entire City Wall.
“Comrades!” he bellowed, voice echoing across the battlefield. “Ahead lies Aivendeldan—the capital of the dwarves! The time has come! The Great Father God Ghush watches us! We shall offer the heads and blood of the dwarves as Sacrifice to Him!”
His single remaining eye burned with fervent piety. He lifted the head high, offering it to the sky.
Boom!
The fresh head exploded into a swirling, formless mist of blood. In midair, it shaped itself into a single, glowing Eye—the signature of their Deity.
The sacrifice was accepted.
“For Father God Ghush!”
“Let blood flood the earth! The beastmen shall lead the world!”
The beastmen roared, their voices thundering across the mountains. They raised their bloodied weapons, screaming in unison—wild, ecstatic, unstoppable.
The field before Orc Gravestone was piled high with beast corpses. The River of Bones ran thick with fresh dead—thousands of them.
But now, after unimaginable cost, the beastmen had won. They stood as true Victors.
This was their sixth breach of the barrier in thousands of years. And this time, there were no meddling elves. No Divine Offspring. Just dwarves—armed with Iron Hammers.
On the cliffs, goats leapt with ease, their hooves finding purchase on sheer rock. A dwarf knight dismounted from the goat’s back and dropped to one knee before Aed, the dwarf king, who stood armored and hammer in hand.
“Your Majesty,” the knight said, voice respectful, “the outer wall has fallen. The beastmen are gathering strength. They march on Aivendeldan.”
Aed nodded slowly, eyes distant. “You were right, Byorn. The outer wall has been captured. Faster than any Beast Tide before. Even Tolu—powerful as he was—could not stop them.”
Byorn stepped forward, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Your Majesty, I feared I had misjudged. Batu Skullcrusher has united over a hundred tribes from the Ugo Plains—over one million beastmen. This invasion is not just about annexing our High Mountain Kingdom. I believe… they seek to conquer all of Feanso.”
Aed’s brow furrowed. “And the gods? Won’t they intervene?”
Byorn lowered his head. “Your Majesty, I sent Eugene’s Division to Heaven’s Mountain to seek aid from Father God Molradin and the Justice Deities. But now, Heaven and Earth are severed. The gods can offer little. Worse, I believe the One-Eyed God uses hidden means to blind Father God’s Vision, blocking all surveillance from the mountain. The Ugo Plains are shrouded in mist. The Crimson Tribe moved with impossible speed—our scouts couldn’t even detect them.”
The old general, over four hundred years old, sounded weary, his voice cracked and dry. “Your Majesty… I believe they want a swift victory. Before the world’s gaze turns upon us, they will seize Aivendeldan.”
“How long can we hold out?”
“Seven days at most—if Eugene’s Division isn’t compromised.”
Aed stared into the distance, the roar of the beastmen echoing like thunder. His voice, though heavy with worry, remained resolute.
“The millennia of our kingdom. The radiant legacy of the dwarves. They will not end in my hands. Even if this is a war we cannot win… I will make them pay in blood.”
He gripped the Heavy Hammer—the symbol of High Mountain Kingdom’s sovereignty, the代言 of Molradin.
High above, dwarf reconnaissance riders on Griffins circled the sky. They had shot down several Vultures and Giant Eagles, giving them a clear view of the beast army.
There, Orc Shamans waved their Scepters, chanting ancient incantations. With a deep rumble, thick stone walls rose from the ground along the Glory Path—forming passages for Steppe Land Drakes, fang-beasts, and other monstrous beasts.
More beastmen, Goblins, Ogres, and Hill Giants poured into the valley, forming a dense, churning mass—like a river of living chaos.
Within hours, the Orc Army was fully assembled. Tens of thousands surged toward Aivendeldan.
On the City Wall, Aed stood with his elite warriors, weapons ready, eyes sharp.
In the dark windows of the fortress, on the cliffs, in hidden cavern tunnels—dwarf eyes glared with hatred and determination.
All 15,000 warriors capable of fighting had taken their posts. They would defend their homeland.
Then the earth trembled.
A deep, grinding rumble echoed across the valley. A patchwork tide of yellow-green beasts flooded the plain.
Above, Vultures and Giant Eagles circled, diving through the rain of arrows.
Batu sat upon his Bony Throne, his Great Axe pointed toward the distant, mountain-anchored fortress. His eyes gleamed with greed.
“This… is Aivendeldan. Perfect. Just perfect.”
The beast chieftain rose, his voice swelling until it shook the mountains.
“My people! Crush these dwarves! Conquer their fortress! Only then will the Great Father God Ghush be pleased! This city… will be the beginning of our conquest of the world!”
“Kill the dwarves! Conquer the fortress!”
“For Father God Ghush!”
“The great beastmen shall lead the world!”
The horde erupted into a frenzied battle cry that shook the sky.
“Great children of Ghush… go forth and slaughter! With the strength the Father God has given you, rend every obstacle in your path! Cut off the dwarves’ heads, pierce the elves’ hearts, sever the humans’ arms!”
Shamans waved Bone Staves. Thick Blood Mist filled the air, driving the beastmen into a blood-frenzy. They surged forward, packed shoulder to shoulder, desperate and fearless.
King Aed’s face hardened. He raised his hand.
“All units—” he commanded, voice low and steady, “Fire!”
Thousands of dwarves drew their bows. Arrows soared into the sky, a storm of steel descending like a downpour. The front ranks of the beastmen were pierced through, becoming living Sieves.
But Hill Giants and Half-Orc Giants advanced, their Great Shields held high, blocking the arrows.
Yet on the towering walls of Aivendeldan, the massive steel crossbows—crafted by Dwarven Artisan Masters—were already trained on them.
Dwarves strained at the winches, muscles taut.
“Yes! That giant! Kill him!”
Swoosh—
A bolt, over two meters long, tore through the air. It pierced the shield, then drove through the giant and the Half-Orc behind him—pinning them both to the earth.
Every dwarf was a skilled artisan. Aivendeldan, the capital, was a masterpiece of dwarven craftsmanship. Ingenious devices. Masterful constructions. Countless wonders—each one a weapon against the beastmen.
On the slopes of Blackstone Mountain, the dwarves lifted their barriers. Massive, round boulders rolled down the tracks, gathering speed.
Gurgle-gurgle—
The beastmen heard the sound. They turned—only to see the colossal boulders hurtling down the slope.
“Damn it! They released the rolling stones!”
“Run! Get out of the way!”
Boom!
The boulders crashed into the ranks. Dozens of beastmen, Goblins, Ogres—crushed into pulp in an instant.
“Look out—above!”
From the turrets of the fortress, Trebuchets designed by Grand Division Trilant launched fiery Iron Balls into the air. They arced gracefully, then fell with deadly precision.
Boom!
The red-hot iron balls struck the ground, exploding with a blast that tore through the earth. Shrapnel, fire, and heat killed hundreds. The ground cracked open. Bodies were reduced to blackened remains.
At the highest point of the capital wall, the Protection Ward—etched by generations of Dwarven Mages—activated. A shimmering barrier flared to life, deflecting every arrow and spear.
Before Aivendeldan’s walls, fire raged. Stones rolled. Wooden barrels filled with fire and strong alcohol exploded mid-air.
The dwarves’ strange, ingenious weapons turned the battlefield into a death trap. The beastmen faced not just 15,000 warriors—but the accumulated wisdom of the dwarven people, forged over thousands of years.
But the beastmen were too many. Even as the dwarves fought with all their might, even as they emptied their ammunition stocks, they could only kill a little over a thousand.
Batu Skullcrusher’s army numbered twenty thousand.
(End of Chapter)
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