In the days that followed, the Blackrock Clan operated non-stop, like a tightly wound gear.
Every day before dawn, Gazlowe would corner Kurzadh at his tent entrance, clutching a crumpled beast-hide ledger that crookedly recorded the tribe's resources and manpower
"The mushroom field needs 50 hobgoblin Sappers to pick mushrooms," "The Blacksmith Shop is short 2,781 iron ore chunks," "The wall guards are still missing 19 hobgoblin archers"
He had to personally approve every single item.
"Boss, the orc nob who just transformed yesterday are demanding a fight again!" Gazlowe stood on his tiptoes, his small eyes full of anxiety. "They say practicing axes every day is too boring and they want to go out and chop some Long-Haired Monsters for fun. If we don't let them fight soon, they might just tear down the practice field's wooden stakes!"
Kurzadh rubbed his throbbing temples, troubled in his heart.
These green-skinned youngsters had been cooped up for too long
from building the city walls to upgrading the mushroom field, they hadn't had a proper fight in half a year. The axes in the orcs' hands were almost rusty, and the hobgoblins' arrows were nearly moldy.
If they weren't given something to do, they truly could cause chaos.
"Have Bone Tree take 50 orc nob and 150 Orc Boyz to sweep the forest edge and capture a few beastmen to use as targets!" Kurzadh gritted his teeth. "Tell them they are only allowed to capture them alive, no killing, save them for the new recruits to practice on!"
Gazlowe quickly nodded, tucked the ledger away, and ran off.
Just as Kurzadh was about to catch his breath, Scarface ran over, carrying his great axe and looking excited: "Boss! The city wall's moat is finished. Should we try flooding it? I also had the hobgoblins make some wooden sluice gates to control the water flow. If the enemy attacks, we can fill it up and stop them from crossing!"
"Good! Let's go look now!" Kurzadh's spirits lifted, and he temporarily cast his worries aside.
Following Scarface to the foot of the wall, he saw a moat five meters wide and three meters deep dug at the base, with both ends connected to a distant stream. The hobgoblins were busy installing wooden sluice gates, while the hobgoblin Sappers were laying bricks along the bank to prevent mudslides.
"Open the gates!" Scarface commanded, and the hobgoblins forcefully pulled the handles of the wooden sluice gates.
With a rushing sound of water, the stream flowed through the channel into the moat, quickly filling it halfway.
Sunlight scattered across the water, casting shimmering reflections, which complemented the black-green city wall. It looked like a silver ribbon, firmly protecting the wall in the center.
"Magnificent!" Kurzadh couldn't help but praise.
With this moat, plus the wall's bastions and platforms, even if human heavy infantry came to attack, it would take considerable effort.
However, he did not notice that in a corner unseen by him, a dangerous shadow was closing in on the Blackrock Clan.
Deep within the Forest of Gloom, in a secluded oak grove, five hundred heavily armored Mountain dwarves were marching slowly.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, shining on their polished armor and reflecting a cold, hard glare, yet it did not betray their presence
the dwarves' steps were light, treading on the fallen leaves like cats, their breathing barely audible.
At the very front of the formation were one hundred heavy infantrymen.
They were a head taller than ordinary dwarves, with shoulders wide enough to push aside tree branches. They wore steel heavy armor half a foot thick, the plates engraved with dense defensive runes. They wielded heavy axes or great hammers as tall as a man, the blades and heads stained with dirt, clearly having marched for a long time.
With every step, the heavy armor issued a slight "Clank," but this was masked by the rustling of the leaves.
Flanking the heavy infantry were twenty Warriors on each side.
These were the elite among the dwarf warriors. Their beards reached their knees, braided with copper rings. Their heavy armor was lighter than that of the heavy infantry, and they carried delicate short Musketeer at their waists, the barrels gleaming dark. At the same time, the axes and greatswords in their hands also radiated a terrifying light.
Their eyes were sharp, scanning the surrounding woods like falcons; no rustle of grass could escape their notice.
In the middle of the formation were eighty dwarf Musketeer.
They wore light leather armor and copper-pointed helmets, holding long matchlock guns, the barrels engraved with "Accuracy" runes.
Don't think they only specialized in ranged attacks
each Musketeer had a sharp hand axe hanging from his waist, the blade polished bright, his close combat ability no less than that of ordinary infantry.
They maintained an orderly formation while marching, keeping their muzzles pointed down to prevent accidental discharge.
Behind the Musketeer was the leader of the squad, Kadrin.
He rode a short-legged horse, making him significantly taller than the other dwarves. He wore the Redbeard Clan's specialized iron-plated leather armor, the plates a vivid reddish-brown, matching the color of his beard.
Following him were fifteen bodyguards, all the most elite Disputants of the Redbeard Clan
they were equipped with single-handed swords and dwarf crossbows. Their heavy armor was sturdier than that of the Warriors. Some carried round iron shields, engraved with roaring rhino heads, while others shouldered heavy Warhammer, ready to engage in combat at any moment.
Kadrin's gaze swept over the woods ahead, his expression grave.
He held a parchment map, marked in dwarven script with the location of the Blackrock Clan and the route of the Khyprian road.
This map had been purchased by Harald, the Clan Chief, for a large sum from a human merchant caravan. It detailed the Blackrock Clan's troop distribution
though, of course, it couldn't be perfectly accurate, as the greenskins' scouts were not incompetent, but it was better than nothing.
"Three thousand..." Kadrin felt a heavy weight in his heart.
Although the five hundred men he brought were elite, the greenskins outnumbered them six to one and had the advantage of the city wall. The chances of victory were slim.
But thinking of the solemn instructions of Clan Chief Harald, and the honor of the Redbeard Clan, he tightened his grip on the hand axe at his waist
dwarves could die, but they could not retreat!
The latter half of the formation consisted of thirty Butchers.
These dwarves were stripped to the waist, revealing solid muscle, their skin covered in red runes that looked like dried blood, savage and terrifying.
They wielded massive Butcher's Axes, the heads wider than their bodies, the edges flashing with cold light, and the handles wrapped in cloth strips soaked in beast blood.
Despite the massive size of their weapons, the Butchers carried them easily on their shoulders, their steps steady, their eyes filled with fanaticism
for them, combat was life, and slaughter was honor.
At the rear of the column were thirty Argali Riders, responsible for holding the line.
They rode towering Mountain Giant Ram. These sheep were sturdier than warhorses, covered in steel barding, their horns sharpened like two curved scimitars.
The Riders wore the same heavy armor as the heavy infantry, wielding long spears and carrying longswords at their waists. Although their march was somewhat slow due to the speed of the Giant Ram, they resembled moving fortresses, emanating a tank-like sense of oppression.
"Lord Kadrin, the entrance to the Khyprian road is just ahead. Any further, and we'll be in the Blackrock Clan's territory," a Warrior whispered, leaning close to Kadrin. "Should we send scouts to check the situation?"
Kadrin nodded and raised his hand, signaling the column to halt.
Two Warriors immediately stepped forward, removed their heavy armor, and, wearing only light leather armor, slipped into the nearby woods like monkeys, quickly vanishing from sight.
The wait felt exceptionally long.
Kadrin sat on his Giant Ram, unconsciously rubbing the hand axe at his waist, his mind replaying the words of Clan Chief Harald: "Wipe out the Blackrock Clan, reclaim the Khyprian road, and show the other clans the might of our Redbeard Clan!"
But he knew how difficult this was.
Greenskins were not Chaos beasts, to be defeated by brute force alone, they had a unified leader, solid city walls, and vast numbers of troops.
The caravan guards had mentioned last time that these greenskins could also make something called "Cement," which could bond bricks more firmly than Kurzadh, making them unbreakable even by battering rams.
"My Lord, the scouts are back!" a bodyguard suddenly shouted.
Kadrin looked up and saw the two Warriors emerging from the woods, their faces showing alarm.
"My Lord, there is a blue-brick city wall at the mountain pass ahead, at least twenty-five meters high. There is also a moat at the base, and archers are patrolling the walls!"
"Twenty-five meters?" Kadrin's heart sank. He had seen the walls of human castles, which were no more than twenty meters high at most. How could these greenskins build such a tall wall? "What else did you find?"
"The city gate is made of wood, but it looks very sturdy. There are many protruding platforms on the wall, which seem to be used for shooting arrows," the other scout added. "We also saw over two hundred greenskins leave the tribe and head toward the outer edge of the forest. They looked like they were going hunting."
Kadrin fell silent.
Two hundred greenskins leaving meant the tribe still had nearly three thousand troops, still six times their number.
Moreover, the wall's defenses were sturdier than he had imagined
a moat, bastions, and platforms. These designs did not seem like something greenskins could devise; they resembled the work of humans or dwarves.
"My Lord, should we continue?" a Butcher couldn't help but ask. The red runes on his bare shoulder glowed eerily in the sunlight. "These greenskins are not easy to deal with, and we are too few."
Kadrin clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white from the effort.
He looked back at the five hundred dwarves behind him
the heavy infantry's armor gleamed, the Musketeer's muzzles pointed forward, the Butchers' axes thirsted for blood, and the Argali Riders' mounts nervously pawed the ground.
These were the Redbeard Clan's most elite warriors, the fighting force that Clan Chief Harald had spent ten years cultivating. To retreat here would not only betray the Chief's trust but also dishonor the dwarven glory of "Fearlessness."
"Continue forward." Kadrin's voice was low but carried an undeniable resolve. "We will circle around the side of the forest. Once near the wall, the Musketeer will breach the gate, the heavy infantry will charge, and the Butchers and Riders will cover the flanks. We must take the wall in one swift move!"
"But My Lord, the number of greenskins..." The Warrior tried to protest.
"No 'buts'!" Kadrin fiercely drew the hand axe from his waist, the blade flashing cold light in the sun. "Dwarves never fear numbers! Even if the greenskins number ten thousand, we will carve a bloody path! For the honor of the Redbeard Clan! For the dignity of Gezhik!"
"For honor!" The five hundred dwarves roared in unison, the sound causing leaves to rustle down, but the noise was swallowed by the forest's echo.
The heavy infantry led the way, their heavy axes slung over their shoulders, their armor clanking. The Musketeer held their guns and quickened their pace. The Butchers brandished their massive axes, their faces twisted into fanatical smiles. The Argali Riders urged their mounts forward, the heavy hooves leaving deep prints in the ground.
Kadrin rode his short-legged horse in the middle of the column, his eyes filled with determination.
He knew this battle was fraught with peril. Perhaps he would never return to Gezhik, never see Clan Chief Harald again, and never drink black mushroom spirits again.
But he had no regrets, as a warrior of the Redbeard Clan, fighting for the tribe's honor and dying on the battlefield was the best possible end.
The column moved like a torrent of steel toward the Blackrock Clan, the dwarf warriors softly singing a dwarf war song.
"Hearken! From the deeps where the Forge-Heart glows bright! The mountain's fire awakens, to challenge the night! The Anvil's Thunder rumbles, the very stone must bend, A Dwarfen Oath is sounded, a war that knows no end!
Redbeard's Beard is frosted, but the fire in his eye, Is hotter than the coal seams, beneath the freezing sky! Our axes seek no quarter, no truce, no sweet reprieve, They bite with Honour's Edge, the wounds that chaos leave!
Chug deep the foaming mead, from the iron-bound vat! Let fear turn to frozen grit, we stand where others spat! For Gezhik's Bones are our bones, the bedrock of our hold, Our Vows are forged in magma, harder than Adamant Gold!
Do the Goblins claw the entrance? Let them find the Dwarf's Reply! A hammer-stroke of ages, beneath the mountain sky! Do the Chaos Maggots crawl? To defile the sacred stone? With Grungni's blessèd axe-blow, we cleave them to the bone!
The War-Cry rings! It shatters the nesting rock-bird's peace! Each honored scar upon us, a record that won't cease! Seen by the Ancestors' eyes, recorded, sharp, and true, A gleaming, golden chapter in the Book of Deeds we do!
The Mining Pick can splinter the bedrock of the world! The Warhammer's Fury smashes a thousand banners furled! Redbeard's sons stand fast now! Our spirit will not break! We guard the sacred homeland for Honour's eternal sake!
Let the foeman's filthy lifeblood stain the iron ore below! Our mustaches shall drip sweet with the Victory-Ale's flow! Gezhik's Mountain is forever! Our mighty name is sung! By every hammer blow struck, by every battle won!
Even if buried deep beneath, a rock in the stone! We are the living foundation that blocks the jackals' path, alone! Even when our souls return to the Ancestors' Hall so bright, Our descendants must bring good news—that we won the fight!
BLOW THE HORN! Let the War Banner be planted high and proud! Across the enemy's ruined nest, shouted to the cloud!
THE IRON OF THE REDBEARD CLAN IS FOREVER HOT! THE BLOOD OF THE REDBEARD CLAN FOREVER BURNS!
STAND FAST! FIGHT HARD! FOR THE KHARN! FOR THE KHAZAD!"
*******
The sun gradually began to set; the light in the forest grew dimmer, and the shadows thickened, seemingly presaging that this imminent bloody battle was destined to be filled with death and destruction.
At this moment, the Blackrock Clan was still immersed in busyness and excitement.
Kurzadh was currently inspecting the giant crossbow bolts on the city wall with Guzhana, Scarface was directing the hobgoblins to reinforce the moat's wooden sluice gates, and Bone Tree had set off toward the forest edge with the orc nob, preparing to capture a few beastmen to "relieve boredom."
No one knew that an elite dwarf force had quietly arrived at their doorstep, and a sudden, massive battle was about to erupt.
The wind blew from deep within the Forest of Gloom, carrying a hint of blood, but it was masked by the rich aroma of mushroom wine and roasted meat.