Translator: AnubisTL
The juvenile dragons seemed intimidated by the alchemical legion, refusing to descend and engage directly. Instead, they circled nervously in the sky, occasionally unleashing weak, easily ignored ranged attacks, including the red-iron dragon who had previously displayed such ferocity.
Faced with the alchemical legion's relentless advance and overwhelming morale, the Ironforged Warriors couldn't withstand their steel onslaught. They retreated step by step, sacrificing countless hyena-men, kobolds, and a few elite warriors before temporarily abandoning their base on the Fertile Plains. A significant portion of their forces were routed and scattered.
The Fertile Plains lived up to its name, a land of rich soil and abundant resources.
In the entire southwest, the Fertile Plains was the most resource-rich region.
Having seized the core territory of the southwest, the goblins—whose greed and avarice rivaled even dragonkind—naturally refused to relinquish their hold.
During the previous battles, the Ironforged Tribe had suffered repeated defeats and retreated from the Fertile Plains. Abandoning this region was tantamount to abandoning the southwest, and it seemed unlikely they would attempt a swift counterattack.
"Establish a base camp! Begin construction immediately!"
The grand artificer issued the order.
In the smoke-filled battlefield, gnome sappers swarmed like ants, their steam shovels roaring as quick-setting cement flowed like gray blood into the trenches. Temporary fortifications rose at a visible pace, while the wreckage of golems destroyed in the counterattack was rapidly dismantled and repurposed. The flesh ripper's rotating saw blades were refitted into meat grinders for the walls, and the steel ripper's torso became the foundation for a watchtower.
A month gradually passed.
During this time, the Ironforged Tribe launched repeated counterattacks to reclaim the Fertile Plains, but each attempt was repelled by the goblins. The intensity of their assaults steadily diminished, with fewer and fewer monsters appearing each time, suggesting they were preparing to abandon the region entirely.
During this time, thanks to the many alchemists in the legion, the Gold Tooth Tribe's base had taken shape.
However, this construction had taken a toll on the goblins. Their food supplies were dwindling, nearly exhausted. Fortunately, logistical reinforcements were already en route and would arrive soon, posing no serious threat.
It was now late at night, the darkness deepening.
Grand Artificer Scott and several goblin elders were discussing their next operational plans.
Driving the Ironforged Tribe from the Fertile Plains was only the first step. They aimed to completely eradicate them and bring the southwest under their control.
Suddenly, a goblin scout rushed into the temporary camp.
"Grand Artificer, we've discovered an abyssal rift!"
Having gradually secured their foothold on the Fertile Plains, the goblin scouts had ventured further afield and discovered the abyssal rift's existence.
Apart from Scott, the goblin elders' expressions changed simultaneously.
An abyssal rift?
On the Fertile Plains?
This was a hot potato they hadn't expected! Wait... something seemed off.
A goblin elder frowned, muttering, "We may have routed the Ironforged Tribe, but thinking about it, their retreat was suspiciously swift, almost... orderly."
"Their subsequent counterattacks lacked the resolve to reclaim the Fertile Plains. They would make brief contact, then quickly retreat."
These creatures were known for their cunning and treachery.
The goblin race, in truth, possessed considerable intelligence. After recovering from their initial victories, the goblin elders felt a chill run down their spines as they gradually noticed the unsettling details.
"The Ironforged Tribe paid a bloody price."
"But the vast majority of casualties were insignificant hyena-men and kobolds."
Another goblin elder's breathing grew heavy. "The centaurs, ogres, and wyverns—their elite forces—suffered minimal losses. And the dragonkind that dominate the Ironforged Tribe remain completely unscathed."
After a brief silence, the goblin elders simultaneously felt a chilling sense of impending doom.
"A trap! It's a trap!"
"The Ironforged Tribe used the entire Fertile Plains as bait to set a trap!"
"Their recent attacks have been infrequent, as if they're waiting for something to brew."
The goblin elders, belatedly realizing the gravity of the situation, exclaimed, "It's the supplies! They're waiting for our food to run out! Accelerate the logistics! Send more golems to reinforce the supply lines!"
However, their reaction came too late.
Before reinforcements could arrive, the logistics convoy delivered devastating news: they had been attacked, and the dragon itself had led the assault.
Along the route between the Black Iron Plains and the Fertile Plains, red and white dragons swooped low, unleashing torrents of flame and frost. Their attacks melted or froze the mech golems escorting supplies into icy sculptures, while the Iron Dragon Solgorn tore open the chest of another golem.
Before long, the last golem lay in ruins beneath the red-iron dragon.
The entire assault lasted less than ten minutes.
"The goblins bask in the illusion of having triumphed over us dragons," the iron dragon sneered. "Little do they realize, they are the true prey."
Garos turned his gaze toward the Fertile Plains and said slowly, "The real battle begins now."
Meanwhile, on the Fertile Plains, Grand Artificer Scott decisively ordered a full retreat.
The goblin warriors, initially elated by their occupation of the fertile territory, were baffled and suspicious of the sudden withdrawal order.
But they soon understood why.
Before they had retreated far, hordes of monsters swarmed across the plains.
The creatures didn't immediately attack, instead maintaining a distance as they shadowed the alchemical legion, their eyes burning with predatory intent.
Only when the alchemical legion had fully withdrawn from the Fertile Plains did the centaurs charge.
By this point, the goblins were suffering from dwindling rations and reduced meals. Though they still had plenty of black oil, they could no longer squander it recklessly. The alchemy golems, lacking proper maintenance, were operating far below peak efficiency.
The Ironforged Warriors were the exact opposite.
They were like wolves and tigers, their momentum surging as they unleashed all the ferocity they had suppressed, like a beast starved for too long, its savage nature fully revealed.
The deep, resonant war song rose again, but this time it wasn't the goblin war song. It came from the Ironforged Tribe.
Lava flows through our veins, flames burn between our teeth!
We seek not victory—
To fight! We'll smash their skulls!
To kill! We'll slaughter until the rivers run dry!
Realizing the war song's power to boost morale, the Ironforged Tribe had composed one overnight.
Centaurs, ogres, hyena-men, and countless other monsters roared in unison, their howls and snarls, the thunder of Ironhoof's hooves pounding the earth, and the rhythmic clang of weapons against shields weaving into a sonic wave that pierced the night sky.
Fight! Fight for the dragon lord!
Every wound is a medal! Every drop of blood is wine!
But is this enough?
No!
Then tear open more chests! Shatter more spines!
Until the moon hides in blood-red clouds, until the sun fades into darkness!
Different creatures, different voices, united in a single war song, the sonic wave soaring into the heavens, shaking the goblins to their very core.
The Ironforged Tribe's morale surged, pressing forward relentlessly.
The alchemical legion's morale plummeted, forcing them into constant retreat.
At this moment, it was exactly as it had been before.
The difference was that the alchemical legion's retreat wasn't planned in advance; it was a desperate measure. Moreover, their mobility couldn't match that of the Ironforged Tribe.
Trying to escape? It's too late.
(End of the Chapter)
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