Translator: Cinder Translations
...
A low, resonating horn blast echoed across the open plains, stirring the nerves of everyone present.
Orc warriors clad in full armor began assembling before Silver Moon Fortress.
Their imposing figures, nearly two meters tall, were further amplified by their bulky armor, giving them a fearsome presence.
The orcs shouted curses in broken Aldoran, hurling crude insults and making obscene gestures at the defenders.
Under Amur's command, 500 orc warriors prepared for the assault, supported by over 500 archers who would provide cover fire.
The orcs' arsenal included a variety of bows. On horseback, they favored short bows—light and nimble, though limited in range and power. On foot, they wielded longbows with devastating force, capable of piercing even thin metal armor.
Amur gazed at the tattered Fortress ahead, puzzled by the silence of its defenders.
During their westward campaign, they had encountered human warriors who, even in the face of defeat, would hurl back insults with equal ferocity.
But these defenders stood mute, as if they were carved from stone. Amur's taunts seemed to land on deaf ears, leaving him frustrated.
"Save your breath," Amur ordered, raising his hand to silence his jeering soldiers.
He stepped forward, his voice booming.
"Warriors of the plains! Under the guidance of the Great Chief, we have marched victoriously, leaving nothing but ashes in our wake. These cowardly humans are no match for us!"
"Look at that pile of rubble behind me! A handful of fools dares to stand against us, believing they can stop the winds of the plains. How laughable!"
"Today, I, Amur, your commander, will personally lead you to crush these arrogant ants. Let them taste the icy winds of our wrath!"
The speech ignited the orcs' spirits. They roared fiercely, waving their weapons.
"Kill them!"
"Loot them!"
Amur signaled for the archers to advance.
With synchronized precision, the archers moved closer to the Fortress, their heavy boots pounding the ground. They prepared to suppress the human defenders with a deadly volley of arrows.
Behind the breastwork of Silver Moon Fortress, Captain Joyce watched the orcs approach. His pulse quickened with anticipation.
Joyce had fought orcs before, as a young squire under the command of Sir Schroeder at Watcher's Fortress. He knew well the strength of a united orc horde.
But this time, anger boiled within him. The destruction of the Watcher's Fortress and the invasion of Aldorian lands had left scars that still burned.
As the orcs inched closer, Joyce held back his fury, waiting for the right moment.
The Alden Army's Third Infantry Regiment had recently been equipped with the Model 1905 rifle—a deadly firearm capable of effective hits up to 200 yards. Trained marksmen could achieve a hit rate of over 60% within 90 yards.
More devastatingly, the Fortress's six 12-pound cannons were loaded with grapeshot, ready to unleash hell.
Joyce had intentionally withheld cannon fire earlier to let the orcs approach. He wanted to catch them off guard and ensure maximum damage.
At 500 yards, the orc archers halted, their longbows ready. Slowly, they began advancing again.
Finally, at 200 yards, the orc warriors behind them also prepared for an assault.
BOOM! BOOM!
Two thunderous explosions shattered the air. Smoke billowed from the Fortress as the grapeshot tore through the orcs' ranks.
The front lines of the orc archers crumpled like wheat before a scythe. Screams of agony filled the air as bodies writhed on the ground.
Amur stared in disbelief. "Impossible!"
The Third Infantry Regiment's third and fourth cannons had fired the first salvos, obliterating the orcs' front rows.
Panicked, the surviving orc archers instinctively loosed their arrows and fled. Their volley, hasty and uncoordinated, missed every target.
BOOM! BOOM!
Two more cannon blasts followed, sending another wave of orcs crashing to the ground.
"Human sorcery!" the orcs cried out in terror.
Amur, however, quickly realized the truth. The black tubes protruding from the Fortress's defenses were not magical but mechanical weapons.
He watched as the cannons were reloaded behind the smoke.
"Charge!" he roared, raising his sword.
There was no time to hesitate. If they could endure a few more salvos, they could breach the Fortress and slaughter the defenders.
The orc warriors surged forward, their heavy armor gleaming under the sun, determined to crush their human adversaries.
(End of the Chapter)
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