"Cough, cough..."
A dirt-covered hand reached out from the soft pile of earth, prying away the stones pressing down on his body.
Kadrin suddenly raised his head, coughing out sand and dirt from his mouth, his bloodshot crimson eyes filled with veins.
His heavy armor was dented, his helmet lay to one side, revealing a blood-stained red-brown beard, and several broken vines still clung to him—the collapse had been too sudden. If not for the double cushioning of his heavy armor and the earth, he would have been crushed into a pulp.
He struggled to crawl out of the pile of dirt, looking around.
The bottom of the deep pit was a mess, scattered with broken weapons, deformed armor, and a large amount of soil. In the dim light, dirt-covered figures could be seen writhing with difficulty.
"Get up, all of you! Don't play dead!" Kadrin roared hoarsely, his voice piercing the silence of the deep pit.
Soon, dwarves one by one climbed out of the dirt piles: Warriors gripped their short muskets, shaking off the dirt, the runes on their armor still glowing faintly; Disputants carried one-handed swords and dwarf crossbows, and although they had many scratches, their eyes were still sharp.
Butchers, their bare torsos covered in dirt, were unaffected as they wielded their massive axes, even wearing excited, ferocious grins; Musketeers checked their firearms, ensuring the barrels weren't clogged with dirt; even the largest Argali Riders, leading their startled mounts, emerged from the dirt—the Giant Rams' barding had several dents, but they still stood steadily, occasionally using their horns to push away nearby stones.
Only a few unlucky dwarves, struck on the head by falling boulders, had already ceased breathing, their bodies half-buried in the dirt, appearing particularly tragic.
"My Lord, where... where are we?" A Warrior walked up to Kadrin, looking around in confusion.
The deep pit was dozens of meters in diameter, with steep walls covered in excavation marks, clearly not naturally formed.
Before Kadrin could answer, he suddenly heard a sharp "Squeak! Squeak!" sound.
He looked in the direction of the sound, only to see dense shadows writhing in the darkness on the other side of the deep pit—hundreds of Stormvermin covered in iron plate armor, seven or eight hundred clanrats armed with short knives, and over a thousand emaciated slave rats, staring at them with crimson eyes. The leading green-furred Stormvermin held a dirt-covered short whip, his eyes full of greed.
"It's skaven!" Kadrin instantly understood, anger erupting from his chest like fire. "These despicable bastards! To dig tunnels and ambush us!"
He looked at his fallen dwarf comrades on the ground, his fists clenching with a cracking sound.
These dwarves were the elite of the Redbeard Clan, they should have died in a charge, in a bloody battle against the greenskins , not like this, crushed to death by the skaven's despicable tunnel traps, without even a chance to fight back!
"For glory! Kill these bastards!" Kadrin suddenly drew the short axe from his waist and roared towards the skaven.
The other dwarves also reacted, raising their weapons in anger.
Warriors loaded their short muskets, Musketeers set up their long rifles, Butchers wielded their massive axes, and Argali Riders urged their mounts forward, their hooves digging deep marks in the ground, ready to charge at any moment.
Snitch, looking at the fine armor and weapons on the dwarves, his eyes lit up.
He had been annoyed about not finding Katushir, but now a group of "equipment delivery" dwarves had arrived—any one of these heavy armors, muskets, and weapons, if brought back, would make the Clan Chief look at him with new respect, let alone so many!
"Squeak-squeak! Slave-rats, charge-attack!" Snitch shrilled, claw waving wildly at the horde behind him.
"Strip-peel the stunties of all gear-things! Take-take everything—yes-yes!"
Thousands of slave rats, like mad, roared and charged towards the dwarves.
They had no armor, no decent weapons, some even just held a stone, but relying on their numerical advantage, they surged forward like a tide.
The clanrats, holding short knives, followed behind the slave rats, preventing these cannon fodder from fleeing the battle.
"Shields up!" Kadrin commanded, and the Warriors and heavily armored infantry immediately stepped forward, forming a solid shield wall with their round iron shields.
With a "Clang," the first slave rats to charge crashed into the shield wall, instantly cracking their heads and bleeding, yet they remained persistent, gnawing at the shields with their teeth and scratching at the armor plates with their claws, emitting a grating "Creak."
"Musketeers, fire!" Kadrin continued to order.
The Musketeers behind the shield wall pulled their triggers, and the "Bang! Bang! Bang!" of gunshots echoed in the deep pit.
Lead bullets whizzed through the air, accurately hitting the slave rats at the very front, tearing them to bloody shreds.
With every gunshot, several slave rats fell, yet it did not deter the advancing horde—they trampled over the bodies of their comrades, still charging madly forward, their eyes fixed only on the equipment on the dwarves.
"These bastards really aren't afraid of death!" a Butcher couldn't help but curse, a swing of his massive axe splitting three pouncing slave rats in half, black blood splattering across his chest.
Kadrin calmly observed the battle.
Although the dwarves, relying on their excellent equipment and tight formation, had temporarily repelled the skaven's attack, the sheer number of slave rats was too great, like an endless tide. The shield wall was already beginning to show signs of weakening, and if this continued, the skaven would break through sooner or later.
"Argali Riders, charge!" Kadrin decisively ordered, "Flank them from both sides, encircle the skaven!"
"Yes!" The Argali Riders responded in unison, urging their mounts towards the skaven's flanks.
The tall Giant Rams were like moving fortresses, their barding knocking aside the charging slave rats, and a swing of the Riders' long spears could pierce through several skaven. They quickly tore two openings in the skaven's formation, beginning to form a semi-circular encirclement.
"Disputants, fill the gaps!" Kadrin ordered again, "Hold the shield wall, don't let the skaven get close to the Musketeers!"
Fifteen Disputants immediately rushed to the gaps in the shield wall, carrying one-handed swords and warhammers.
Their heavy armor was sturdier than that of the Warriors, and their weapons had greater destructive power; one swing of a hammer could crush a slave rat into a pulp.
One Disputant wielded a warhammer, clearing a space among the slave rats, while another precisely pierced a clanrat's throat with a one-handed sword. Their teamwork was seamless, and they quickly stabilized the shield wall.
Snitch watched the situation gradually come under dwarf control, his heart growing anxious.
He hadn't expected these dwarves to be so elite; thousands of slave rats couldn't even break through their shield wall, and instead, the Argali Riders were flanking them.
"Stormvermin—advance-attack!" Snitch snarled through clenched fangs.
"Shatter-break the stunties' shield-wall! Tear it down, now-now!"
Hundreds of Stormvermin immediately responded. Covered in heavy iron plate armor and wielding short-handled battle-axes and round shields, they charged towards the dwarves like small tanks.
Their strength was far greater than that of the slave rats; crashing into the shield wall, they made the sturdy shield wall tremble slightly.
"Watch out!" Kadrin shouted, personally rushing forward, a swing of his short axe cleaving off the head of a Stormvermin.
Black blood splattered on his face, yet it did not affect his movements at all; instead, it made him even more excited.
The Warriors also drew the short axes from their waists, engaging the Stormvermin in close combat.
The Musketeers behind the shield wall, meanwhile, changed targets, firing at the clanrats—these skaven were the Commanders of the slave rats, and if they were killed, the slave rats would become a scattered mess.
The battle in the deep pit became even more brutal.
Dwarf axes and muskets, skaven teeth and claws, intertwined into a bloody tableau.
Black blood stained the ground, broken weapons and corpses lay scattered everywhere, and the sharp shrieks, heavy impacts, and roars of muskets echoed between the pit walls, lingering for a long time.
Kadrin wielded his short axe, each strike taking the life of a skaven.
He looked at the dwarf warriors around him; some were already wounded, yet still persisted in fighting; others were surrounded by skaven, yet would rather die than retreat—this was the glory of the dwarves, unyielding to death, fighting to the bitter end!
"Kill! For the Redbeard Clan! For Gezhik!" Kadrin roared again, his voice filled with grim determination.
He knew this battle had to be won.
Not just for their fallen comrades, but for the honor of the dwarves.
As long as they killed these skaven, they could climb out of the deep pit. He was no longer thinking about how to attack the orcs, but about how to lead the dwarves to survive!
Snitch, watching more and more Stormvermin fall, began to contemplate retreat.
He hadn't expected his opponents this time to be so formidable; if the fighting continued, let alone stripping them of their equipment, he might even lose his own life here.
He quietly retreated a bit, a hint of calculation flashing in his eyes—if all else failed, he would use the slave rats as bait and escape with the Stormvermin and clanrats.
The bloody battle in the deep pit continued.
The dwarf shield wall remained solid, the Argali Riders' encirclement grew tighter, and the Musketeers' gunshots rang out continuously; the skaven's slave rats dwindled, the Stormvermin suffered heavy casualties, and only the clanrats were still desperately holding on.
Kadrin looked at the unfolding battle, knowing victory was at hand.
He took a deep breath, raised his short axe, and prepared to give the final charge command—just a little longer, and these despicable skaven would become ghosts beneath their axes!