Chapter 582: The Battle of Aivendeldan
“Aivendeldan Unbreakable?”
“In the presence of the offspring of the Great Ghuush, nothing is beyond destruction!”
The Ogre riding atop the dragon beast raised his Great Axe high into the air, roaring with fury, his massive yellowed fangs bared in a feral snarl.
“Roar—!”
Ignoring the dozens of Ogres before him, veins bulging along his arms, he brought the axe down with a thunderous swing.
Thunderclap from Clear Sky split the heavens, and a blood-soaked hurricane surged forth, sending shockwaves of terror through everyone nearby.
The air tore open with Bloodlight, and even the Ogres in front of him were not spared—limbs shattered and flying through the air, crimson blood spraying in wild arcs.
“Boom!”
Dust exploded upward, metal shrieked, and the Bloodlight impact struck the complex magical runes etched into the fortress’s front gate. The glowing sigils flickered and dimmed, one by one, as if the very magic binding the gate was being torn apart.
Batu Skullcrusher’s eyes burned with bloodlust. He swung the Great Axe again, and一道 Bloodlight tore through the air, cleaving everything in its path—Ogres, Elves, War Chariots, and even the mighty City Wall—into two halves.
With a piercing, metallic screech like shattered spines, gaps, each several meters long, ripped open across the front gate. The watch face of the gate was smeared with a thick, mixed layer of blood.
Now, Batu Skullcrusher stood with one eye crimson, his body drenched in gore, resembling a living embodiment of Ghuush himself.
“Today, I will shatter Aivendeldan’s City Wall—and with it, the millennial fate of our Ogres!”
He leapt high from his dragon mount, soaring nearly a hundred meters into the sky, then plunged down like a falling star toward the towering, iron-bound gate.
King Aid of the Dwarves raised his War Hammer, screaming: “Stop! No—!”
But it was too late. The Dwarves and Elves atop the wall were powerless to block. Behind Batu, a towering, blood-red silhouette—nearly a hundred meters tall—materialized, vaguely humanoid, unmistakably Ogre-like.
With Batu’s movement, the shadowy figure behind him raised its own Battle Axe and brought it down.
“Boom—!”
A colossal shockwave erupted, rolling outward like a wave of retreat. Dust and debris filled the air, and the entire City Wall trembled violently, roaring like a dying beast.
The Ogres below staggered backward, collapsing like trees. Even the Elves and Dwarves atop the wall trembled, their legs weak with fear. Some, overcome by panic and the wall’s violent shaking, fell to their deaths.
Yet despite all odds, the Front Door—a gate enchanted with countless prohibitive magics, thought unbreakable by even high-level spells—was split open by a single, brutal stroke.
For the first time in thousands of years, the legendary City Gate of Aivendeldan, forged by master artisans of the Legendary Dwarves, had been breached by the Ogres.
Batu lifted the Great Axe high in one hand, laughing maniacally.
“Hahaha! Look, my people! Do you see this? This is the Strength of Father God Gwush! This is the Power of the Ogres!”
“No one matches Batu-sama!”
“For the Great Father God, onward to Aivendeldan!”
The Ogres erupted in frenzied cheers, surging toward the breach, scrambling to be the first to step into the heart of Aivendeldan.
They longed to be the heroes who would fulfill their race’s ancient dream—the ones who would earn the favor of Gwush, the ones who would wield the same Powerful Strength as Batu Skullcrusher.
In their desperation, they shoved and fought even on the battlefield.
“I came first!”
“Get out of the way!”
“Let me go! I’ll be the Hero of the Ogres!”
But the defenders of Aivendeldan would not allow it.
“We will die before we let you pass!”
“For Molradin!”
“For Dwarf Glory!”
“Our families, our friends—they’re inside! We will not let these cruel beasts enter!”
Dwarf warriors slid down ropes from the wall, leaping from heights of tens of meters. They landed on their shields, rolled to absorb the impact, and charged like armored shells straight into the Ogres’ ranks.
With War Hammers and Spears, they unleashed their masterful combat arts, massacring the enemy in an instant. Hundreds of Ogres lay dead in a pile, their bodies stacked high, blood pooling and flowing like a river.
The Dwarves stood firm, small and sturdy, their bodies forming a living wall atop the corpse hill, blocking the narrow gap.
“We do not retreat!”
“Filthy vermin—step one foot into Aivendeldan, and you die!”
Only the most elite warriors of the High Mountain Kingdom remained—those renowned heroes whose names echoed through dwarf legends.
Take Talin Dragonfang, for example. He had once fought a Powerful Wasteland Dragon Beast, broken one of its fangs from its mouth, and driven it into the creature’s heart, saving the fortress. For this, he earned the name Dragonfang, and the respect of all Dwarves.
Now, he stood at the breach, his spear—forged from the very dragon tooth—held firm, his gaze locked onto the Ogres.
Beside him stood nearly a hundred Dwarves, all hardened warriors, battle-tested and unyielding.
“Just a few Dwarves?”
“Charge! We outnumber them! These damned Dwarves won’t last!”
The Ogres roared, surging forward like a churning, chaotic tide, pressing against the wall. Thousands surrounded the hundred-strong Dwarf regiment, yet they did not falter.
With a thunderous clash of Metal meeting Metal, their War Hammers, Greatswords, and Spears struck with precision and fury.
Blood sprayed. Limbs flew. The screams of the dying echoed through the sky, a symphony of agony that made the skin of even the bravest shiver.
The Dwarves unleashed their most devastating attacks—Magic Warrior’s Runes, Frenzied Warrior’s Crushing Blows, and Paladin’s Divine Supremacy Slash—cleansing the field in seconds.
Then came the roar from the sky—Gold Dragon Titus, descending like a storm.
“Abhorrent abomination! You should not exist in this world!”
“Boom!”
A massive arm—like a falling mountain—plummeted from the heavens, crashing into the Orc army below. Dozens of Ogres were crushed instantly.
All eyes turned upward.
There, the Gold Dragon soared, wings spread wide, claws dripping with foul, black blood.
And nearby, the gigantic Ogre, trailing Black Mist, stood with one arm severed. The stump oozed thick, dark liquid.
The creature—known as the Soul of the Beast—spat out a stream of dark green mucus, its voice a guttural, broken whisper:
“Batu… Batu… Hurry… Take the fortress. This is our last chance.”
Before it could finish, the monster’s body convulsed. Every single Ogre’s corpse—and even their Spiritual Souls—ignited, burning with a fierce, black flame.
Black fire erupted from its body, from its hollow eyes, consuming everything.
“For the Ogres!”
The Soul of the Beast roared, its voice layered with the screams of billions—ancient, vengeful, the collective cry of every Ogre who had died in war.
It had sacrificed itself completely, fusing its body and soul into a weapon of annihilation.
Kai Xiusu narrowed his eyes, his expression shifting slightly.
“Chaos Flame? No… just a trace of Abyssal Essence. Hmph. So the Ogre pantheon has ties to the Bottomless Abyss as well.”
Before he could think further, the monstrous Ogre charged, its fist wreathed in black fire.
The Gold Dragon acted instantly. A vortex formed in its mouth, sucking in all surrounding fire and black mist.
Ninth-Ring Spell: Dragon’s Absorption
“Boom!”
Two colossal entities collided—once evenly matched under Kai Xiusu’s control. But now, against the Soul of the Beast, the Gold Dragon struggled, forced onto the defensive.
Yet all could see: the old Shaman had gained immense power by sacrificing himself—but this state could not last. Its defeat was inevitable.
Batu Skullcrusher, watching the sky, his single eye flickered with rare emotion—grief, perhaps, or fury.
“Comrades! The Shaman of the Crimson Blood Tribe, the great warrior of Father God Gwush—has given everything! He has burned his flesh and soul to hold back the golden lizard! We must not waste his sacrifice!”
“Charge! Conquest Aivendeldan!”
The Ogres surged forward once more, charging without fear of death, surrounding the Dwarven heroes.
Batu Skullcrusher lifted the Great Axe, roaring into the fray, his body pulsing with Bloodlight, his totems blazing like demons from the Deep Abyss.
Talin Dragonfang stepped forward, spear raised, his voice dripping with arrogance:
“Filthy Ogres… your enemy is—”
“Death!”
No words. No hesitation.
Batu swung.
The Great Axe came down like a falling star.
Talin barely had time to react—his spear raised to block—but the force of the blow was overwhelming.
The Bloodlight surged, a hurricane of blood and steel.
“Shink!”
The spear split cleanly in two. The axe smashed through the helmet, splitting the Dwarf’s head in half.
Even his sturdy, powerful body was sliced into two perfect halves.
In an instant—no struggle, no cry—the legendary warrior Talin Dragonfang was gone.
Seymour, the Elf mage, raised his staff from the wall. Light descended, granting the Dwarves Iron Bones, Energy Shields, and Strength.
But his eyes narrowed, his voice low and grave:
“Sacred Relic… That axe in the Ogre’s hand is blessed by a True God. Do not meet it head-on!”
Too late.
Batu roared, swinging the Great Axe in a wide arc.
Bloodlight slashed through the air, tearing up dust and debris.
“Filthy Ogres! By Molradin’s name, your massacre ends here!”
A Dwarf Paladin stepped forward, shield in his left hand, War Hammer raised in the right. A glowing holy barrier flared before him.
“Crack!”
The barrier shattered like glass.
The Bloodlight cut through the shield, then through the Paladin’s body—slicing him in two, without hesitation.
The two Dwarves beside him were severed instantly, their heads rolling away, their bodies still.
“Damned Ogres!”
“Aivendeldan Never Falls!”
The Dwarves surged forward again—but it was futile.
One swing.
The Great Axe swept through them like a scythe through wheat.
“Clang! Clang!”
The sound of metal meeting metal rang out—chaotic, desperate.
The Dwarves could only fight back blindly, dodging and parrying in panic.
Then—
A Silver Moon-like War Hammer rose into the air from the wall.
Aid Klein, the King of the Dwarves, leapt from a height of thirty meters, roaring:
“Foolish Fantasy!”
“Filthy Ogres! Aivendeldan is the capital of the High Mountain Kingdom—the homeland of all Dwarves! Even if I die, you will not enter!”
The air above the wall trembled. A colossal War Hammer, carved from stone, slammed down with the force of a falling mountain.
“Wrrrrrr—”
The Spines-ear boom echoed. The hammer clashed with Batu’s Great Axe, unleashing a shockwave that sent dust and debris flying in all directions.
Batu sneered, his eyes blazing.
“Aid… is that all you’ve got? With such weakness, you think you can stop the Great Father God Gwush?”
The Ogre chieftain’s muscles bulged, his shadowy phantom form roaring behind him, radiating immense aura.
Aid staggered, pushed back, his feet slipping.
But then—
A silver sword-light, like a crescent moon, sliced through the air.
Ria leapt from the wall, her stance unwavering, her Silver Sword glowing with an unblockable aura.
“Divine Supremacy Slash!”
The moon-shaped beam met the axe in a blinding clash.
Batu staggered back—his grip slipping.
Enraged, he glared at the Elf.
“Damned Long Ears!”
Ria stood firm.
Around her, the spirits of the dead—Human, Dwarf, even fallen Ogres—rose from the ground, their bodies torn, their eyes filled with rage.
“Revenge!”
“I will kill you!”
The Soul of Vengeance, a legendary power of the Holy Knight, had awakened.
Dozens of souls swarmed toward the Ogre chieftain, attacking in unison with Ria.
Aid snapped back to focus. He swung his War Hammer, its golden light flashing like lightning.
“Clang! Clang! Clang!”
The sound of metal meeting metal became a blur.
Mortals could no longer follow their movements.
Dwarf and Elf fought in perfect collaboration, striking from every angle.
And behind the Elf, wings—angelic, radiant—unfurled like a storm.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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