Chapter 648: Overwhelming Assault
Yet the nightmare had only just begun. For the Dwarf defenders on the磨砺之路 (Rough Path), what they faced was merely the opening act of an endless horror.
With detailed intelligence supplied by Kai Xiusu, the Military Engineering Division of the Empire of Ashen had mastered the fortress’s internal structure. They crafted tactics with surgical precision—targeted, merciless, and utterly devastating.
For the Empire, accurate intelligence was the key to victory. Once they knew the enemy’s layout, the outcome was inevitable.
“Boom—”
The engine roared. Steam hissed. The Iron Beast let out a deep, rumbling growl as it crushed through the path’s rugged ground.
Dwarf-set tripwires, hidden spikes—traps designed to cripple advancing armies—were ground into dust beneath the tank’s unyielding treads, as if mere toys.
Arrows laced with poison, flaming stones, and iron spines raining from above—none could breach the thick armor of the steam-powered behemoth.
In past wars, the Dwarves had used these very tactics to decimate Orc hordes, earning countless experience points (XP) through brutal combat. But now, against the Imperial Army, every trick proved useless.
Instead, the Empire’s gunfire raked the shadows. Dwarves hiding in the dark were cut down in droves—casualties mounting with every volley.
“Koda, hurry—third hidden chamber!”
“Quick, trigger the rolling boulders!”
“We’ll smash these iron monsters to scrap, or they’ll break through!”
“Damn it—how the hell are they moving this massive metal beast? What in Molradin’s name is this thing?”
Dwarf warriors darted through the narrow passages, shouting anxiously to one another, summoning every skill they had. But the Iron Hunks—these monstrous machines—left them utterly helpless.
Hearing the relentless barrage of bullets, staring at the pile of Dwarf corpses piled high beneath the path, Koda trembled. Yet, pushed by his comrades, he staggered forward to the hidden chamber, where he had to activate the trap mechanism.
Huddled in the lookout post atop the valley, Koda whispered, “It has to work. My rolling boulders—no beast, not even the strongest giant, could survive them. These iron hulks can’t possibly—”
With a sharp clack, the lever was pulled. The trap mechanism snapped into motion.
Crack!
A chain reaction unfolded—massive monoliths, each weighing hundreds of tons, began to roll from the summit of the Rough Path. Dust erupted. Stone fragments flew. The ground shook violently. A deep, thunderous roar echoed through the valley.
“Boom—”
The boulders tumbled down, roaring toward the steam tanks, their momentum growing with every roll. The valley was too narrow for evasion. There was no room to dodge.
Koda’s heart pounded. He muttered under his breath: “Come on… crush them. Drive these Empire invaders out of the High Mountain Kingdom.”
In past battles, Koda’s rolling boulders had decimated entire Ogre battalions. A single monolith could flatten dozens of enemies, turning them into pulp.
But then—something changed.
The steam tank slowly rotated its main turret. The cannon’s muzzle locked onto the oncoming monoliths. A blinding flash erupted from the barrel.
Boom!
The explosion tore the boulder apart midair. Shattered debris rained down, scattering across the valley—Dwarves stared in stunned disbelief.
The entire valley trembled. Debris and dust rained from the hidden passages above.
Inside the cockpit, a Goblin sat at the gunner’s station, grinning wildly:
“Boss! We hit it!”
“Damn it!” The tank commander—a dragon-vein gnome named Bill—slapped the Goblin hard across the back of the head. “I told you not to fire inside the valley! You want to bury us all under rubble?”
The Goblin rubbed his head, shrugged, while the tank observer yelled:
“Boss, next wave’s coming!”
Bill barked: “Activate Charge Defense!”
More monoliths rolled down. As the frontmost steam tank bore the brunt, Bill’s crew faced crushing pressure.
Just as the boulders neared the tank’s armor, sharp steel spines shot out from its sides—razor-edged, glowing with a constant Dispel spell aura.
Clang—
At the moment of impact, the monoliths cracked violently. Then, in an instant, they shattered into dust, scattering midair.
“By Molradin’s bones… by the Artisans’ God… what is this?” Koda gasped from the lookout, his mind reeling. These iron hulks defied logic. They were beyond anything he had ever imagined.
He’d heard of the Fadalan Empire’s steel constructs—but even they never deployed a hundred at once.
But the Empire was different. Now, they surged forward in relentless waves, smashing through the Dwarves’ defenses like a storm.
And at the end of the path stood the Dwarf heavy infantry—men with massive shields, standing like living walls. Could they hold against the Iron Tide?
In his mind, Koda saw the scene from the cave: corpses piled high, riddled with rifle holes, blood and gunpowder stench thick in the air.
His heart sank. Despair washed over him.
Could they really stop this army?
Beyond the valley, Drool stood, watching the relentless gunfire. To his adjutant, he asked:
“First wave—thirty tanks, all in?”
“Yes, General. All units have entered the Rough Path. Current status is optimal.” The adjutant replied calmly.
Drool grinned—a cold, terrifying smile. He activated his walkie-talkie, whispering:
“Timing’s right. Let’s serve these Dwarves a taste of Empire’s special barbecue.”
The order came. On both sides of the steam tanks, metallic barrels extended—smelling of gasoline.
Koda’s gut twisted. Something was wrong.
Having endured machine gun fire and cannon blasts, the Dwarven artisans knew not to underestimate these strange metal conduits. And now, the stench of burning oil filled the air.
Koda murmured: “No… no, it can’t be…”
Boom!
A deafening crack split the air. Flames erupted from the barrels—fierce, serpentine flames that surged into the hidden passages like living fire dragons.
This was the Empire’s custom-made gift for Dwarves hiding in their tunnels—Flame Jetters, affectionately dubbed “Barbecue Specials” by the military.
Not magic fire—this was a technological marvel. A mixture of napalm and thickening agents, sprayed as a flowing, clinging liquid that clung to everything.
When the trigger was pulled, a spring valve opened. High-pressure flammable fluid passed through the ignition chamber and shot out from the nozzle in a searing stream.
Whoosh!
The fire flooded the hidden passages. Dwarves hiding in the shadows had no time to react—whole bodies ignited instantly.
Even those behind stone bunkers were doomed. Gasoline splashed onto them. Flames spread. They burned alive.
“Fire! Everywhere—fire! Damn it!”
“I’m burning! Where’s water?!”
“I can’t see—it’s all smoke! Molradin, is this Hell?!”
Black smoke choked the caves. Figures—short, thick—writhed in agony, screaming as flames consumed them. They burned to ash, their bodies littering the ground like charred corpses.
And it wasn’t over. The napalm burned on, producing thick, suffocating smoke. Oxygen vanished. The smoke spread through the connected tunnels.
Dwarves coughed violently. Some choked to death. Others suffocated, their final breaths gasping in the smoke-filled dark.
“Hell… this is Hell. We’re trapped!”
Inside the tank, Bill couldn’t help but hum a tune—some old, cheerful melody, as the screams echoed through the valley.
He grinned. “Heh heh… let these stubborn Dwarves taste the fire and fuel.”
The hidden passages—once the Dwarves’ pride, their impregnable defense line—had become a living purgatory. Fire raged. Smoke choked. The cries of dying Dwarves never ceased.
Koda was lucky. He was near the top of the passage, close to a ventilation shaft. He wasn’t yet engulfed.
“No… no, this can’t be happening.”
But the crackling fire, the desperate cries, the hot, choking smoke—Koda’s mental defenses shattered.
My traps… my tunnels… they were perfect…
He didn’t know—while the Dwarves hammered metal in their mountain halls, the world had changed.
The fire dragons from the steam tanks roared through the tunnels like brutal Red Dragons, slaughtering the Dwarves without mercy.
Smoke poured from every hole in the valley. The Dwarves’ legendary hidden passages—once a fortress against giants and beasts—had become their graves.
“Charge! Charge! Crush the Dwarves! Conquest Aivendeldan!”
Inside the cabin, the dragon-vein gnomes screamed in triumph, their voices shrill with joy. They drove the steam tank through the smoke, charging toward Aivendeldan.
Koda stood frozen, staring at the massive shadows emerging from the smoke—reaching out toward Aivendeldan like skeletal hands.
“Aivendeldan… must not fall.”
Bang!
A gunshot. A small hole appeared between Koda’s brows. Blood seeped down. His body slumped, then fell from the cliff’s edge—silent, lifeless.
On the battlefield, life was cheap.
The self-proclaimed “Master Artificer,” the “Trap Division’s Grandmaster”—he died in a single shot, so easily, so swiftly.
“Got him!” A low-ranking Imperial soldier cheered.
According to Empire Staff Department tactics: tanks led the assault, while infantry followed to cover and clean up.
A cannon barrage was planned—but given the valley’s fragile structure, they feared collapse. So they skipped it.
The follow-up troops were mostly half-Red Dragons, scales armored against fire and smoke. They moved through the inferno like shadows, unbothered.
Even Dwarves who fled to the valley’s upper rim were picked off with deadly precision by the Imperial riflemen.
“Koda… Koda’s dead?!”
At the valley’s peak, another Dwarf warrior—Borne, a fellow Artisan—watched in horror as his mentor fell. Panic seized him.
Borne wasn’t a fighter. He was known among kin as “Timid Ghost.”
Now, trembling, he pressed himself into a crack in the stone, hiding from the Imperial soldiers below.
Then—darkness.
Something thick and foul fell on his face. He wiped it—cold, sticky, stinking.
“…No… not this…”
He looked up.
A monstrous Wyvern had landed above him—its two heads gaping, drool dripping from its jaws.
Roar!
The two-headed dragon unfurled its fearsome wings, releasing a stench-laden, scorching wind.
“Please! Don’t eat me! Dwarf meat’s tough—really tough!” Borne screamed, covering his eyes, scrambling into the crack.
But the Wyvern seized him. In midair, it tore him apart—limbs and flesh torn like ragged cloth. Blood and body fragments rained down.
And then—dozens more Wyverns descended from the sky, wings flapping, diving into the valley, killing every Dwarf on the surface.
The Dwarves never expected this—fire from below, death from above.
“Boom—”
The steam tanks pressed forward. They were about to break through the final barrier—the Rough Path’s final obstruction—then crash into the walls of Aivendeldan.
Inside the cabin, the observer could already see light at the valley’s exit. The distant, mountain-encircled fortress loomed in the distance.
But then—wall.
A wall of Dwarven heavy infantry.
They stood in tight formation, shining in heavy armor, shields raised, eyes sharp with resolve.
They had repelled hordes of Ogres. They had broken the tide of beasts.
But to the Empire’s tanks—three meters tall—these Dwarves were not a wall. They were barely a bump in the ground. A low hill.
From close up, the tank crew couldn’t even see them.
Bill grinned, staring at the line of Dwarves.
“Think flesh and blood can stop Empire tanks? Pathetic.”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
