Chapter 576: The Dragon's Interruption
At a distance of several hundred paces, the Ogre Cavalry hurled short spears and loosed arrows toward the heavy “Iron Tin Cans.”
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Sharp metallic echoes rang out as the arrows struck the dwarves’ finely crafted armor—shattering on impact and ricocheting away.
These were the elite cavalry of the High Mountain Kingdom. Even their mountain goats wore heavy armor. Ordinary arrows stood no chance of piercing through such defense.
The Dwarf Heavy Cavalry did not counterattack. They remained silent, gripping their war hammers tightly, lowering their heads as they charged forward—waiting for close combat.
Boom—
In an instant, the steel flood of the Dwarf Heavy Cavalry collided violently with the frenzied wave of the ogre cavalry, crashing and intertwining in a storm of clashing forces.
“Crush these dwarves!”
“Kill these Changya bastards!”
For reconnaissance efficiency, most of the Ogre Cavalry wore only light leather armor—or even fought bare-chested.
But the dwarves were encased in thick iron plating, wielding massive war hammers. Their charge carried far greater force than the ogres’.
In a single, brutal exchange, hundreds of Ogre Cavalry were crushed flat by leaping mountain goats, their dire wolves trampled beneath iron hooves.
Then, the dwarves surged forward like a wall of forged steel, relentlessly advancing, grinding every ogre cavalryman beneath them.
“Crush them!”
Aid raised his war hammer high and brought it down with all his might.
Boom!
The ground trembled beneath the King of the Dwarves. Blood and torn leather armor erupted in all directions. Ogres and dire wolves screamed as they were hurled backward through the air.
“Ogres!”
“You’ve picked the wrong enemy! We are the Shield Dwarves of the High Mountain Kingdom—”
Aid swung the war hammer again, carving arcs through the air. A sudden hurricane of wind erupted, hurling sand and dust into a monstrous dust storm.
“No—!”
“Help me!”
“Ghuush above, what is this thing?!”
Hundreds of ogres and dire wolves were lifted into the sky by the gale, writhing and screaming helplessly, trapped in the storm’s merciless grip.
The shattered leather armor, lost curved blades, and discarded short spears whirled through the air like deadly shrapnel, slicing through flesh and bone.
“Never! We will never bow to filthy beasts!”
Aid roared, driving the war hammer down with a final, thunderous blow. Everything in midair—ogres, dire wolves, and debris—was obliterated in an instant.
The jagged fragments rained down like a storm of blades, pinning the remaining ogres to the ground.
The Dwarf Heavy Cavalry’s assault was merciless—like a massive hammer striking deep into the ogre ranks, tearing a gaping rift in their formation.
But in truth, the dwarves numbered only five hundred. The ogres boasted nearly ten thousand wolf cavalry alone, with countless other irregular forces swelling to the tens of thousands.
Soon, the dwarves’ charge slowed. Their mountain goats stumbled under the weight, their steps heavy and labored.
Dozens of ogres would close in on a single dwarf, surrounding him. Though the dwarf swung his war hammer with fierce determination, he could barely keep up.
No matter how finely crafted their gear or how great their strength, facing ten times their number proved overwhelming.
A piercing horn blast rang out. Dire wolves howled in unison. The ogre cavalry attacked from all sides, attempting to split and surround the dwarves on the battlefield.
“Damn it—these Changya are too many! Where’s the direction to Aivendeldan’s city wall? I can’t see through this cursed dust!”
A dwarf heavy cavalryman gripped his war hammer, teeth clenched, scanning the battlefield. His mountain goat’s hooves danced nervously, its movements erratic.
Dire wolves raced across the sand, circling isolated dwarves like vultures, kicking up dust that obscured vision. All he could see were fleeting shadows darting through the haze.
Suddenly, a monstrous shadow descended from the sky. The dwarf barely had time to turn.
Swish—
The blood-stained dual-headed axe flashed through the air, its blade gleaming. The dwarf felt a cold blade slice across his throat—his head flew into the air.
His mountain goat shrieked in panic, trying to flee, but was severed in mid-leap by a spinning dual-headed axe hurled by an ogre.
The goat dragged its front half across the ground, screaming in agony. The cut was clean—its internal organs spilled out in a gory mess.
“Even the dwarven heavy cavalry… nothing special.”
Mongke stretched out his hand, fingers open. The axe spun through the air and landed perfectly in his palm.
His black dire wolf snarled greedily, licking the warm blood of dwarf and goat, letting out a low, pleasurable whine.
Boom!
Another thunderous boom shook the earth.
Mongke turned toward the sound, his expression darkening—
There, a dwarf swung his war hammer with such force that dozens of ogres were lifted into the air, crushed into pulp by flying debris, their life forces scattered like straw.
“Aid Klein, ruler of the High Mountain Kingdom, King of the Shield Dwarves… indeed a formidable foe. But…”
Mongke’s voice dropped low, yet his lips curled into a feral grin. The fangs in his jagged face twisted into a frenzied smile.
“He has earned the right to be my opponent. His head will be the perfect sacrifice—offered to my Father God.”
Ghuush was a god of war, ever seeking new territories for his people. His followers followed his will without question.
In the ogres’ language, there was no word for “peace.” Only a guttural curse, roughly meaning “temporary truce.”
“Dwarves! I will take your head and sacrifice it to the mighty Father God Ghuush!”
Mongke laughed wildly, riding his massive black dire wolf toward Aid, his single eye glowing red.
Aid noticed the orc vanguard approaching. He turned, his expression now grim.
As ruler of the High Mountain Kingdom, he had studied countless reports. He knew of beasts blessed by the One-Eyed God.
“This… Eye of Ghuush.”
The King of the Dwarves did not act rashly. He tightened his grip on his war hammer, settling into a defensive stance, waiting for the perfect moment.
Howl!
The dire wolf howled, leaping into the air. Mongke raised his dual-headed axe and brought it down in a vertical slash.
Aid stared calmly at the charging beast. At the last instant, he raised his heavy war hammer to block.
Boom!
Debris exploded outward. Jagged rocks shot upward from the ground, impaling the massive dire wolf on the spot. Blood and guts sprayed everywhere.
The war hammer held firm in Aid’s grip, blocking Mongke’s axe with a sharp clang.
“Dwarves! Your fortress will fall! Your kingdom will be conquered! Your subjects will become slaves of the ogres!”
Mongke’s single eye pulsed with crimson light. He swung his great axe again and again—each blow a storm of blood and fury.
“And this time, even a god cannot save you! This is the might of Father God Ghuush!”
Veins bulged across Mongke’s body. His face twisted in rage. A foul stench poured from his mouth as he unleashed his full power.
Clang!
The clash of steel rang out again. A shockwave rippled through the air, threatening to whip up a dust hurricane.
But the war hammer held. The King of the Dwarves did not budge.
“No,” Aid said, his voice cold beneath his metal mask. “You’re wrong.”
His words were firm, precise.
“Even alone, even without divine protection—we Shield Dwarves will drive you back to the North. This is my promise—to every single one of my people!”
With a roar, Aid swung his war hammer with all his might. The small, stocky frame unleashed an impossible surge of strength.
Crack!
Mongke was unprepared. His axe flew from his hands, spinning through the air.
The force surged up the shaft, slamming into Mongke’s body. Blood sprayed from his mouth. He staggered, disoriented.
In mid-air, Mongke felt a sudden, terrifying premonition. His single eye flashed with a phantom image—a memory of being pierced by a stone spike.
No—!
He twisted his body mid-flight, using sheer willpower to avoid the attack.
But the stone spines erupted from the ground, shooting toward his heart—only to miss by inches, slicing past his chest.
Aid didn’t hesitate. He leapt forward, raising his war hammer high.
Boom!
Earth shook again. Dust roared into the sky, blanketing the battlefield in a thick, choking haze.
When the smoke cleared, a giant pit—nearly ten meters in diameter—had formed in the center. And within it, the battle raged on.
Aid stood firm, war hammer raised, pressing down with all his might. A golden light spilled from the weapon—the strength granted by the Dwarf God.
“Filthy ogres. Monsters born of slaughter. You were never meant to live.”
Mongke lay on the ground, teeth clenched, face contorted. Blood seeped from his lips. His rough hands trembled. The shaft of his axe was bending, nearly breaking.
Cough. Cough.
“Dwarf…” Mongke suddenly grinned, his voice hoarse. “Look at me.”
Aid looked—only to see the dull, single eye flare crimson once more.
Trapped!
The King of the Dwarves’ expression changed instantly. A wave of chaos and frenzy surged through him, like a bloodthirsty beast tearing at his mind.
Woo—
A piercing sound tore through his ears.
Before him, a mountain of corpses—dwarves and elves—rose high, piled atop a sea of blood.
Atop the bloody hill, a towering figure turned. The single eye glowed with terrifying brilliance.
Ghuush!
The Ever-Wakeful. The One-Eyed God.
Even Aid—ever fearless—shook violently. A terror deeper than flesh and bone gripped his soul, choking his breath.
In that split second of hesitation, his grip loosened. Mongke seized the chance, prying the war hammer free.
“Die!”
With a monstrous grin, the axe slashed through the air, blazing with crimson light, aimed straight for the King of the Dwarves’ head.
Clang—
Mongke’s eyes widened in shock.
The ancient helm of the High Mountain Kingdom—passed down for millennia—finally revealed its power.
A familiar figure appeared before Aid.
A broad-shouldered dwarf, with hair and beard carved from gray stone, weathered brown skin, and a silver flame-like eye.
The phantom form stepped in front of Aid—blocking the fatal blow.
It was Dumason. Son of Molradin. The god of the Shield Dwarves.
And the armor Aid wore? The legendary treasure of the Shield Dwarves—Earth’s Hidden Treasure.
But now, the helm bore a hairline crack—its final defense broken.
Aid snapped back to reality. He stared at the divine apparition, then at Mongke. His eyes burned with fury.
“Filthy ogre! Your tricks mean nothing before the dwarves! Go meet Ghuush!”
The King of the Dwarves swung the war hammer with all his might—aiming for Mongke’s heart.
Mongke dodged and weaved, using the Eye of Ghuush to predict every strike.
Aid’s hammer crashed again and again, but Mongke, though weaker, danced around the blows. The duel reached a stalemate.
Then—crack!
The dual-headed axe finally gave way. Under relentless hammer strikes, it split apart, shards flying in all directions.
Aid leapt high into the air.
Rocks erupted from the ground, rising like spikes—blocking every possible retreat path.
Boom!
The earth trembled. The sky roared.
Aid’s hammer struck—piercing Mongke’s chest, shattering the frenzied heart that pulsed with blood.
Mongke lay still in the center of the pit, breathing shallowly, his body torn. He did not scream.
In the bloody ritual, he had once torn out his own eye without a sound. Now, even as his heart shattered, he remained silent.
Mongke, the Severed Trunk, was dying.
Aid pulled his war hammer from the ground, eyes locked on Mongke’s single eye.
“Ogre. This strike… was for my people.”
Even as his life ebbed, Mongke laughed—coughing up blood.
Hahahaha… cough…
“You’re strong, dwarf. But do you truly believe your High Mountain Kingdom can win this war?”
Aid’s face paled. He scanned the battlefield—
The elite Dwarf Heavy Cavalry was nearly gone. Though they fought valiantly, they could not turn the tide.
The ogres surged forward again, piling against the city wall. Ladders rose like ants climbing a tree, scaling the fortress.
The first wave had already breached the wall. Dwarven guards were locked in brutal combat with the invaders.
This was Mongke’s plan.
Sacrificing his own life to delay the King of the Dwarves—buying time for the orc army to strike.
“No… no… Aivendeldan will not fall!”
Aid’s face turned ashen. Sweat poured down his brow. He whispered, trembling.
“I will gain immortality in the Father God’s realm… and you, dwarf, and your people… will be slaves forever. Immortality… forever.”
Mongke smirked, voice fading.
With his last breath, he gasped—then fell silent.
Aid clenched his teeth. He raised the war hammer. Debris gathered around him, forming massive boulders floating in midair.
There was still hope.
If he gave everything—everything—he could still turn the tide.
“Bow before the Ever-Wakeful! Tremble! Fear!”
Just then, a deep, rasping voice echoed.
A circle of orc shamans surrounded him, chanting in low, guttural tones.
From their bone staffs, thick black mist rose, coiling into dozens of chains that wrapped around Aid—pinning him in place.
Again… Ghuush.
Aid’s body trembled. Cold sweat poured from every pore.
The image of Ghuush loomed before him—clearer than ever.
His teeth ground together, blood leaking from his lips. He lifted his head, struggling to stay rational.
“Molradin… Have the thousand-year legacy of the High Mountain Kingdom… the glory of the Shield Dwarves… truly ended with me?”
The sky darkened, clouds swallowing the sun.
Nightmarish visions flashed before his eyes—ogres swarming the city wall, dwarven guards falling one after another.
Even Aid—enduring as steel—felt despair creeping in.
Who could save them now?
Then—
A thunderous roar split the heavens, echoing through the mountains.
Roar—
All on the battlefield—ogres and dwarves alike—looked up.
A massive golden dragon emerged from the horizon.
Its scales shimmered like molten gold. It moved through the air with a wave-like motion, as if swimming through the sky.
From its enormous, blood-filled maw, flames surged forth—crackling and roaring.
With a snap, the storm-laden sky tore open.
Gold Dragon?
Aid’s eyes widened. A flicker of desperate hope flared in his gaze.
(End of Chapter)
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