"Boom!"
Another explosion shattered the night; in an instant, gunpowder smoke filled the air, flames erupted, shrapnel flew, and a mist of blood hung in the sky.
Dozens of orcs were blown into mangled heaps of flesh, dismembered limbs flung far and wide. Even charred skulls rolled onto the ground, spinning several times before coming to a stop.
But the surviving orcs remained utterly unshaken, not even bothering to glance at the carnage. Instead, they eagerly picked up the scalding shrapnel scattered across the ground—for this scene had played out continuously for days.
It was now the third day of the orc assault on Aivendel.
The Ashen Empire's artillery fire roared ceaselessly, with bipedal wyverns shrieking through the skies, raining bombs down like a torrent.
