Below the Khyprian road, on the northeast side of Forest of Gloom, in a dark cave 500 meters deep, damp moisture mixed with the stench of earth permeated the narrow passage.
The skaven, Snitch, irritably clutched his grayish-green hair, his sharp claws leaving several bloody marks on his scalp—the map drawn on animal hide in his hand was now crumpled like a piece of waste paper, its crooked lines and symbols almost unrecognizable even to him.
"Squeak! What in the world is this damn map draw-drawing!" Snitch's voice was sharp, with the characteristic tremor of a skaven, and the map in his hand was distorted from his grip.
He was the vanguard of the Squeak Clan, his dark brown scale armor gleaming greasily, two poisoned daggers hanging from his waist, and a miniature blunderbuss on his back—as an elite Stormvermin, he should have led his team precisely to their target, but now, they were completely lost.
The surrounding skaven dared not make a sound.
Hundreds of Stormvermin stood on both sides of the passage; these heavily armored soldiers wore thick iron breastplates, their helmets sporting two curved tusks, and they wielded barbed spears and spiked hammers, their armor plates still stained with dried blood from battle, yet they cowered before Snitch's rage, not even daring to twitch their tails.
Seven or eight hundred clanrats surrounded them further out, some carrying iron shovels for digging, others holding cloth bags of dried rations, their small eyes full of unease—everyone knew that when this vanguard got angry, he would vent his fury on the nearest skaven.
"You! Come—come here!" Snitch suddenly pointed to a scrawny skaven in the crowd, the team's cartographer, who was now hiding behind the clanrats, trying to make himself less noticeable.
The cartographer flinched in fear, then quickly scurried over, knelt on one knee, his voice trembling: "Le... Leader, you're looking for me?"
"Seeking-searching for you, yes-yes? I hunt you to gnaw-settle old scores!"Snitch snapped his claw up and cracked-smacked the cartographer across the back of the skull, sending the fool squealing and sprawling into the dirt.
"Stupid-useless thing!" he screeched. "You cannot even guide-lead us along one burrow-path! We go-go to Katushir, not this cursed-dead place! Speak-tell me—what worth-use are you to me, eh?"
The cartographer lay-sprawled on the stone, not daring to raise-glance his snout, only squeaking-mumbling weak excuses.
"L-Leader-master… I scratch-drew it as the Clawlord marked-showed… who could know-guess the under-earth veins would crawl-shift? We drift-wander wrong while digging, yes-yes…"
"Drift-wander?" Snitch hissed, fury-spit flying as he stamped down hard, his hooked claws biting through leather-hide and into flesh. "That is excuse-lie?!"
"The Clan Leader spoke-said Katushir's wall-teeth were gnawed weak by the beast-things' siege—perfect time to steal-take everything!" He leaned low, voice crawling with venom. "And now, see-see us! We scurry-circle under-ground for three days, no man-things, no loot-treasure! Delay longer, and when the human-things mend-heal their nests… what will we steal-snatch then, hmm?"
The surrounding skaven remained silent, only the "Shuffling" sound of digging came from deep within the passage—a thousand slave rats were at the forefront, carrying iron shovels and pickaxes, digging new tunnels.
These slave rats were scrawnier than the clanrats, covered only by tattered rags, and some of their claws were raw from prolonged digging, yet they dared not stop for a moment, only mechanically wielding their tools under the whip of the Overseer rats.
Snitch looked at the chaos before him, and the fire in his heart gradually subsided.
He knew that getting angry now was useless—the tunnel was already dug so deep; if they turned back and started digging again, it would take at least five more days, by which time Katushir's defenses might have already recovered, and the mission assigned by the Clan Leader would be completely ruined.
Moreover, the slave rats' stamina was also nearing its limit; if they pushed them any further, the team would collapse before even reaching their destination.
"Enough-enough!" Snitch snarled, booting the cartographer aside in a spray of dust and squeals. He hurled the map to the stone floor and ground it beneath his heel, stamping again and again.
"Forget-scrap Katushir!" he screeched. "Dig-dig onward, anywhere-everywhere! As long as we claw-burrow to the surface—human-things' nest or greenskin filth-horde—we raid-maul it all!"
"Yes-yes! Leader-master!" the skaven chittered in unison, fear loosening their tails at last. They bowed-scurried away, claws already scraping stone, relief-hiss filling the tunnel as digging began anew.
The Stormvermin straightened their backs, the clanrats ran to relay the orders, and even the cartographer on the ground scrambled up, clutching the back of his head, and quickly hid back in the crowd.
The Overseer rats' whips cracked again, and the slave rats' digging speed increased, with dirt and gravel continuously being carried out from deep within the passage and piled on both sides, making the already narrow passage even more crowded.
Snitch leaned against the passage wall, pulled out the water skin from his waist, and took a sip of the murky water—it was water from an underground river, tasting of rust, but better than dying of thirst.
He watched the busy slave rats in the distance, calculating in his mind: as long as they could dig their way to the surface, with hundreds of Stormvermin and a thousand clanrats at hand, even if they encountered small groups of humans or greenskins, they could easily take them down.
However, he did not know that at this moment, on the surface directly above them, a formidable dwarf force was slowly marching.
Kadrin rode a pony in the middle of the formation, his eyes vigilantly scanning the surrounding forest—he was still preparing for the impending siege, completely unaware that 500 meters beneath his feet, a group of skaven were digging in an unknown direction.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting a hard, cold glint on the armor of the dwarf heavy infantry.
The heavy infantry carried great axes, their footsteps synchronized, the "Clanging" of their armor plates muffled by the rustling of the forest; the Musketeers held their blunderbusses, fingers on the triggers, ready to respond to any sudden situation; the Slayers' bare torsos were covered in dirt, yet they still wielded massive axes, a fanatical smile on their faces; the Argali Riders urged their mounts forward, the heavy hooves pounding the ground, leaving deep imprints like miniature trenches.
Kadrin raised a hand to signal the team to stop, and whispered to the Warriors beside him: "Send the scouts further ahead, pay attention to tracks on the ground, and don't let the greenskins spot them."
The Warriors nodded, and the dwarf force quickened its pace, advancing like a torrent of steel towards the Blackrock Clan, unaware that a kilometer ahead, in the treetops, three green figures were observing them with brass telescopes.
"It's a dwarf force! So many heavy infantry!" The Death Crawler whispered, a small spider crawling on his cheek, transmitting the observed images back to Keziaz.
His two companions also rode giant spiders, their bodies pressed against the tree trunks, almost blending in with the forest.
"At least five hundred of them, and cavalry and Musketeers too!" Another Death Crawler added, pointing at the Argali Riders at the rear of the dwarf formation, "Those dwarfs riding rams look formidable, their armor is even thicker than human knights'."
Spider-Eye lowered his telescope, his expression grim: "These dwarfs mean trouble, they're definitely coming for the tribe's walls. We need to hurry back and report, so the boss can prepare."
The three of them didn't hesitate, lightly patting the giant spiders beneath them.
The spiders instinctively retracted their long legs, sliding down the tree trunks like shadows, disappearing into the dense undergrowth.
Their movements were light and silent, leaving only a few swaying leaves, and soon they vanished into the depths of the forest, as if they had never appeared.
Meanwhile, the dwarf force on the ground remained completely unaware.
Kadrin was focused on adjusting their marching route, trying to bypass the Blackrock Clan's patrols; the heavy infantry stared at the path ahead, wary of any potential greenskins; the Musketeers checked the fuses of their blunderbusses, ensuring they could fire at any moment; only the Slayers at the end of the formation occasionally twitched their noses, as if catching a faint, musky scent in the air, but they dismissed it as the decaying carcasses of animals in the forest, paying it no mind.
The setting sun gradually sank into the western mountains, its golden afterglow filtering through the gaps in the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground.
The dwarf force finally reached the edge of the forest near the city wall, and Kadrin raised a hand to signal the team to stop, hiding them behind dense bushes.
A few hundred meters ahead, the azure brick city wall stood prominently, the silhouettes of greenskins faintly visible on its battlements, and the moat's surface shimmered with ripples.
Kadrin tightened his grip on the short axe at his waist, a fierce glint in his eyes—as long as they breached this wall, the greenskins of the Blackrock Clan would become their axe-fodder, and the Khyprian road would return to the hands of the Gezhik dwarfs.
However, he did not know that 500 meters beneath his feet, in the dark tunnel, a thousand skaven were frantically digging upwards.