The soil at the bottom of the deep pit had long been stained black and red, as the battle between the dwarves and skaven entered its most frenzied stage.
The "Crunch" of short axes cleaving bone, the "thwack" of musket balls tearing through flesh, and the sharp wails of the skaven intertwined with the roars of the dwarves, echoing repeatedly between the steep pit walls, as if even the night sky above was thickened by the stench of blood.
Hundreds of Stormvermin rats finally broke through the piles of slave rat corpses, charging towards the dwarf shield wall with the "Clank" of their iron plate armor.
Their short-handled war axes whistled as they chopped down, smashing heavily against the iron shields of the Warriors, sending Mars flying and numbing the dwarves' arms.
One Stormvermin rat seized the opportunity to wedge its war axe into a shield gap, and with a forceful twist, it actually tore a gap in the iron shield. Although it was quickly shot dead by a Musketeer, the clanrats behind immediately surged into the gap like a tide, wildly stabbing at the dwarves behind the shield with their rusty short knives.
"Hold them! Don't let them through!" the Warrior captain roared, drawing the short musket from his waist and pressing it against a clanrat's head before pulling the trigger.
With a muffled "Bang," the rat's brains splattered all over his armor, but more skaven climbed over their comrades' corpses, and soon two dwarves were engulfed by the rat swarm, their shrill screams quickly drowned out by the chaotic sounds of battle.
The Argali Riders on both flanks became mobile killing machines.
The tall Giant Rams, armored with heavy barding, charged through the rat swarm like tanks. Each thrust of their horns could pierce two or three slave rats, and when their hooves came down, they could crush skaven into a bloody pulp.
The long spears in the riders' hands were already stained black with blood, some even broken at the Spearhead. They then drew the axes from their waists, chopping down from above, each swing raising a splash of blood.
One Argali Rider's mount was entangled by several Stormvermin rats, its leg wounded by a war axe. The rider unhesitatingly dismounted, his axe whirling into a silver blur, instantly cutting down a swath of surrounding skaven. But more skaven still surged forward, quickly engulfing him.
"These bastards!" Kadrin's reddish-brown beard was matted with black blood, his once neat braids long since undone and covered in dirt and rat fur.
His short axe was already blunted, yet he still wielded it like the scythe of death, each blow splitting a skaven's body in two.
Just now, three Stormvermin rats had ambushed him together; he had snapped the neck of one, and smashed the heads of the remaining two with his axe handle. But his left arm had also been gashed by a war axe, leaving a deep, bone-visible wound, and blood streamed down the gaps in his armor, staining his trousers.
He scanned the battlefield with bloodshot eyes, seeing more and more dwarves surrounded by the rat swarm, seeing the Musketeer formation begin to break, seeing the number of Argali Riders dwindle—these were the elite of the Redbeard Clan, his brothers whom he had led out, and now they were to be buried under the claws and fangs of the skaven. This made his fury almost burst through his chest.
This was truly a senseless battle!
"Butchers! Charge with me! Our target is that green-furred rat!" Kadrin suddenly roared, his gaze fixed on Snitch on the other side of the battlefield.
That green-furred Stormvermin was hiding behind the Stormvermin rats, occasionally waving his short axe to command, clearly the skaven leader—if he was killed, the skaven would be leaderless, and this battle could end!
"Kill!" The thirty Butchers behind him responded in unison, their voices filled with fanaticism.
Their naked upper bodies were covered in black blood and dirt, and the red runes on their bodies glowed with an eerie light in the dimness. Their massive Butcher's Axes were wielded with powerful force, each blow carving a bloody path through the rat swarm.
Kadrin led the charge, his short axe batting away a pouncing clanrat, then he kicked away another slave rat that tried to bite his ankle.
His wound burned, but he felt nothing, only one thought in his mind—kill that green-furred rat, avenge his brothers!
One Butcher was ambushed by eight Stormvermin rats, his axe caught by their war axes. He unhesitatingly let go of his axe, extended his thick arms, and clamped onto the heads of two Stormvermin rats, twisting with all his might. With a "Crack," he snapped their necks, then turned and killed two more, then stomped another's head, but was himself struck in the chest by the war axes of two other Stormvermin rats. Black blood gushed out, yet he grinned, using his last strength to hurl the rat corpse in his hand at the enemy, crushing a group of clanrats before collapsing to the ground.
Kadrin saw this scene, his eyes so red they almost dripped blood.
He quickened his pace, his short axe swinging faster, splitting every skaven in his path, whether slave rat or clanrat, with a single blow.
A Stormvermin rat lunged from the side, its war axe aiming straight for his head. Kadrin dodged sideways, simultaneously kicking the opponent's knee. Seizing the moment the Stormvermin rat stumbled, his short axe swung upwards, directly splitting its head in two, splattering him with black blood and brains.
Snitch quickly spotted the charging Kadrin and the Butchers, scared out of his wits.
He had originally thought he could exhaust the dwarves with sheer numbers, but he hadn't expected these dwarves to be so insane, especially that Redbeard dwarf, who was like a demon crawled out of hell!
"Stop-halt them! Quick-quick, stop them!" Snitch screeched, tail lashing as he pointed-shoved the Stormvermin around him.
"Charge-rush, now-now!"
But those Stormvermin rats were already intimidated by the Butchers' ferocity, hesitating to advance, which allowed the Butchers to seize the opportunity, cutting them down one by one.
Kadrin was getting closer and closer to Snitch. He could clearly see the dirt on his green fur, the fear in his eyes, and the trembling of his hand clutching the short axe.
He grinned, revealing blood-stained teeth, and raised his short axe high, ready to deliver the final blow to this despicable skaven.
But just then, an unusually large Stormvermin rat suddenly burst out from the side, its war axe whistling as it aimed for Kadrin's back.
Kadrin heard the wind, but it was too late to completely dodge. He could only turn sideways, and the war axe still struck his shoulder, splitting a gash in his heavy armor, and blood instantly gushed out.
"Lord!" The Butchers behind him cried out in alarm, rushing forward to protect Kadrin.
Kadrin, however, waved his hand, then countered with a punch that knocked the Stormvermin rat to the ground, followed by a chop that severed its head. Gritting his teeth, he pulled out the axe fragment from his shoulder, looked at Snitch with bloodshot eyes, and raised his short axe again: "Bastard... I will cut you down today!"
Snitch looked at the frenzied Kadrin, terrified, and turned to flee, but his leg got entangled by a dead slave rat, causing him to stumble.
Kadrin seized this chance, enduring the intense pain, and charged forward, his short axe slamming down towards Snitch' head—this blow was not only for his fallen dwarf brothers but also for the glory of the Redbeard Clan!
Snitch looked at Kadrin's blood-red eyes and the descending short axe, finally realizing he couldn't escape.
The killing intent in the Redbeard dwarf's eyes was like poisoned ice, chilling even the air.
He suddenly pulled out two short knives, coated in black oil, from behind his back. Their blades gleamed eerily in the dim light, and his sharp rat teeth gnashed: "Squeak! You want to kill me? First ask, ask if my knives agree!"
Before he finished speaking, Snitch's body suddenly shot out like an arrow from a bow—the skaven's innate agility was maximized in him, his stout body skillfully dodging Kadrin's chops, his two short knives, one left and one right, aiming directly for Kadrin's throat and lower abdomen.
Kadrin hadn't expected this green-furred rat to be so swift. In a hurry, he could only bring his axe back to block. With a sharp "Clang," the short axe and short knives collided, and Mars splattered onto Kadrin's face, making his skin sting.
"You dead rat! You've got something!"
The two instantly engaged in a fierce battle, the heaviness of the short axe and the agility of the short knives clashing in a life-and-death struggle at the bottom of the pit.
Kadrin pressed with brute force, each chop whistling through the air, leaving deep cracks in the ground where his axe blade struck; Snitch, relying on his agile movements, aimed his short knives specifically at gaps in the armor, grazing Kadrin's flesh several times, leaving trails of blood.
The skaven and dwarves in the center of the battlefield instinctively avoided this area, but there were still unfortunate ones caught in the crossfire—a slave rat that tried to charge was swept by Kadrin's axe wind, its body instantly split in two; another clanrat attempted to ambush Kadrin, but was mistakenly struck in the chest by Snitch's short knife, black blood gushed out, and it twitched on the ground a few times before falling still.
"You red-beard fool-thing!" Snitch spat, whiskers twitching with rage. "I have many-many ways to kill-slay you, yes-yes!"
Snitch shrieked in provocation while dodging, suddenly pulling a handful of poisoned needles from his waist. Seizing a moment when Kadrin was swinging his axe, he shot them fiercely at his eyes.
Kadrin reacted extremely fast, tilting his head. The poisoned needles grazed his cheekbone and flew past, embedding deeply into the dirt behind him, their tails still trembling slightly.
"Despicable bastard!" Kadrin roared, his short axe suddenly changing from a chop to a sweep, smashing heavily into Snitch's shoulder.
With a "Crack," Snitch's shoulder blade was shattered. He cried out in pain, his short knives falling to the ground. He rolled to the side with the momentum, dragging his injured arm, trying to crawl away.
Kadrin wouldn't give him the chance, striding forward, his short axe raised high, ready to cleave this skaven into a bloody pulp.
Just then, three Stormvermin rats suddenly lunged from the side, their war axes aiming straight for Kadrin's back.
Kadrin could only abandon the pursuit of Snitch and turn to block. With three sharp "Clangs," he absorbed three heavy blows, his arm tingling, and blood once again gushed from his wound.
Snitch seized the opportunity to scramble behind the Stormvermin rats, clutching his injured shoulder, his eyes filled with terror and malice.
On the other side of the battlefield, the dwarf Musketeers were executing a textbook tactical suppression.
The Musketeer leader was an old dwarf with a wrinkled face. He immediately spotted a raised mound at the bottom of the pit—it was two meters higher than its surroundings, offering a clear view, perfect for overlooking the entire battlefield.
"All of you, climb up there! Set up your guns! In groups of three, fire in turns!" the old dwarf roared, being the first to climb the mound and prop his musket on a rock.
"Yes!"
The Musketeers responded swiftly, climbing onto the mound using their comrades' shoulders, then helping each other up until all were on the mound, quickly forming three rows of musket formation.
"First group, fire!" At the old dwarf's command, the front row of muskets spat fire, and the "Bang bang bang" of gunfire echoed at the bottom of the pit.
Lead bullets rained down on the rat swarm, the slave rats in the front lines falling in droves, black blood forming streams on the ground.
Before the skaven could react, the second group of muskets fired in quick succession, a new round of lead bullets harvesting lives.
The elevated musket formation became the skaven's nightmare. The surging rat tide was instantly suppressed, many slave rats too terrified to move, lying prone on the ground, yet still pierced by lead bullets.
Snitch watched this scene, trembling with rage but helpless—he hadn't brought any fast-moving rats, so he could only watch as the Musketeers slaughtered his kin.
The shield wall formed by the dwarf Warriors and Disputants remained solid.
Despite the overwhelming numbers of skaven, who assaulted the shield wall like a tide again and again, they were unable to break through.
The Warriors wielded short axes, constantly chopping through the shield gaps, each swing taking a skaven life; the Disputants, meanwhile, carried heavy hammers, occasionally smashing the nearest Stormvermin rats, deforming their armor and shattering their bones.
Two dwarf Warriors were dragged into the rat swarm and quickly overwhelmed, but their comrades immediately filled the gap, and the shield wall remained as unbreakable as steel.
The Argali Riders, however, seemed somewhat frustrated.
The confined space at the bottom of the pit prevented the tall Giant Rams from launching charges. They could only occasionally charge into the edges of the skaven formation, impaling a few clanrats with their horns, then quickly retreating, fearing being bogged down by the rat swarm.
One Argali Rider, eager for glory, ventured deep into the rat swarm. As a result, his mount's leg was slashed by clanrats, and it crashed to the ground. The rider was instantly engulfed by skaven, only a brief roar was heard before silence.
The Butchers, like a group of uncontrolled behemoths, followed Kadrin into the heart of the skaven territory.
Their naked upper bodies were covered in black blood and shredded flesh, and the red runes on their bodies glowed with an eerie red light, intensified by the bloody atmosphere.
Relying on their astonishing combat skills, they fiercely engaged a large number of Stormvermin rats, but also suffered the greatest casualties.
Kadrin watched the fallen Butchers around him, his eyes so red they almost dripped blood.
He wielded his short axe, each chop fueled by vengeful fury, splitting every skaven in his path, whether slave rat or Stormvermin rat, with a single blow.
His armor was already soaked with blood, his wounds burned, but he felt nothing, only one thought in his mind—slaughter all these skaven, avenge his fallen brothers!
Meanwhile, the will of the skaven had long since collapsed.
Many slave rats secretly tried to sneak away during the fight, some even attempting to climb the pit walls to escape, only to be cut down by the Stormvermin overseeing the battle.
Snitch watched his dwindling kin, and the approaching dwarf Butchers, and a desire to retreat arose in his heart—he knew that if he continued fighting, he would sooner or later become another casualty of the dwarf axes.
He quietly retreated, a calculating glint in his eyes, and began to look for an opportunity to escape.
The brutal fighting at the bottom of the pit continued.
The roars of the dwarves, the wails of the skaven, the boom of muskets, and the clang of weapons intertwined, forming a desperate symphony of death.
The ground was piled high with corpses, black and red blood seeped down through the cracks at the bottom of the pit, and the bloody stench in the air was almost suffocating.
Kadrin stood amidst the piles of rat corpses, his short axe propped on the ground, gasping for breath, his bloodshot eyes scanning the battlefield—he knew this battle was not over, and he, with his remaining brothers, had to get out of this deep pit alive.
The slaughter at the bottom of the pit continued, the dark red blood already past their ankles, making a squelching sound underfoot.
Kadrin's short axe was completely blunted, its edge covered in rat fur and minced flesh. His armor was slashed in dozens of places, blood constantly dripping from the gaps, staining the ground beneath his feet.
But he still stood like an unshakeable iron tower amidst the piles of rat corpses, his crimson eyes fixed on Snitch not far away—that green-furred rat was the culprit of this bloody battle, the target he must kill.
Snitch clutched his broken shoulder, hiding behind the last few Stormvermin, his heart pounding as he looked at the blood-soaked Kadrin.
He knew that if the fight continued, he would sooner or later be split in half by this Redbeard dwarf.
The lead bullets from the Musketeer formation were still constantly harvesting the lives of the skaven, the butchers were cutting down rats like madmen, and the dwarf Warriors behind the shield wall also began to steadily advance. The skaven's defenses were already riddled with holes, and collapse was only a matter of time.
"Squeak-screech! Clanrat!" Snitch barked suddenly, cruel-clever light flashing in his eyes.
"Watch-watch the slave-rats close-close! No one runs-flees—any who try, kill-slay them!"
He knew he had to escape quickly, and these clanrats and slave rats were the best bait.
The clanrats were stunned for a moment and before they could react, they saw Snitch suddenly wave his hand, leading the remaining dozen or so Stormvermin, and sprinting towards the tunnel entrance on one side of the pit wall.
That was the passage they had dug earlier; although narrow, it was enough for them to escape.
"The leader ran! The leader ran!" Some slave rats saw this scene and instantly broke down, screaming and trying to follow.
Although the clanrats had received orders, they had long lost the will to fight to the death. They merely waved their short knives symbolically, completely unable to stop the frantically fleeing slave rats.
Kadrin watched Snitch's fleeing back, his teeth grinding. He wanted to give chase, but as soon as he took a step, he felt a dizzying sensation—the wound on his shoulder throbbed with excruciating pain, and excessive blood loss made his vision blur. His body had already reached its limit.
He staggered and leaned on the corpse of a Stormvermin beside him, barely steadying himself. He watched Snitch's figure disappear into the tunnel entrance, his eyes filled with unwillingness.
"Sir, don't give chase! Your injuries..." A butcher quickly stepped forward to support Kadrin. His chest had a deep, bone-deep gash, but he still clutched his axe tightly, his face full of worry.
Kadrin took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
He knew that chasing now would not only be fruitless but could also endanger the remaining brothers.
He looked at the butchers around him—of the thirty butchers, fewer than ten remained, all wounded, yet they still looked at him with determined eyes.
"Reorganize the team! Follow me and kill our way back!" Kadrin suddenly roared, his voice hoarse but carrying an undeniable authority, "These mongrels want to run? Not on my watch!"
The butchers responded in unison, turning with Kadrin and charging into the chaotic rat swarm.
At this point, the skaven had lost all fighting spirit. The news of their leader's escape spread like a plague. slave rats fled in all directions, and the clanrats were also in disarray, completely unable to organize effective resistance.
Kadrin took the lead, his short axe slashing at the skaven around him.
A clanrat tried to ambush him from the side, but Kadrin kicked him away, sending him crashing heavily against the pit wall, spitting black blood and dying; another slave rat clung to his leg, trying to bite, but Kadrin bent down and swung his axe, instantly decapitating it.
The butchers followed behind him, their axes constantly swinging. Each chop took a rat's life, and they quickly carved a bloody path through the rat swarm.
On the other side of the battlefield, the dwarf Musketeers continued to fire from the hillside.
The old captain saw the skaven begin to rout and immediately ordered, "Increase the rate of fire! Don't let these mongrels escape!" The roar of the muskets became more intense, lead bullets rained down like a storm on the fleeing skaven, each gunshot accompanied by the screams of the skaven. Swathes of slave rats fell in pools of blood, their bodies piling up into mountains.
The shield wall formed by the dwarf Warriors and Disputants also began to advance.
The Warriors, gripping their short axes, continuously hacked through the gaps in the shields, cutting down every clanrat who attempted to resist; the Disputants, wielding their heavy hammers, smashed into the skaven formations, each heavy blow knocking down a swath of skaven.
The shield wall advanced slowly like a crushing machine, and wherever it went, the skaven were either cut down or knelt in surrender, yet still could not escape their fate of death.
The Argali Riders also finally found their place.
Although the bottom of the pit was narrow, the skaven were by now in complete disarray, utterly incapable of organizing any resistance.
The riders spurred their mounts, charging back and forth through the rat swarm. Horns tossed slave rats into the air, hooves crushed the bones of skaven, and longswords swung, harvesting lives. They quickly split the rat swarm into several sections, preventing them from concentrating their escape.
"Surrender! We surrender!" Some clanrats, unable to bear the slaughter any longer, threw down their short knives, knelt on the ground trembling, and begged the dwarves for mercy.
But Kadrin had no intention of stopping.
He looked at his fallen dwarf brethren on the ground—the crushed heavily armored infantry, the Musketeers bitten to death by skaven, the fallen Argali Riders. Every face flashed through his mind.
These brothers should have died on a glorious battlefield, yet because of the skaven's treacherous trap, they died so ignominiously.
His short axe was raised again, fiercely chopping down at the kneeling clanrat: "You mongrels don't deserve to talk about surrender!"
The axe blade fell, and the clanrat's head rolled to the ground, black blood gushing out.
This scene completely shattered the remaining skaven's psychological defenses. They no longer fled, nor did they resist, merely huddling on the ground, awaiting the arrival of death.
But the dwarves showed no mercy. Axes, longswords, and muskets continued to harvest the lives of the skaven. The screams, pleas for mercy, and sounds of clashing weapons at the bottom of the pit were gradually replaced by the sounds of a one-sided slaughter.
Kadrin leaned on his short axe, standing amidst the piles of rat corpses, his face devoid of expression as he watched the slaughter before him.
His wounds were still bleeding, his body still weak, but he stared intently at the tunnel entrance where Snitch had fled, his eyes filled with cold killing intent—that green-furred rat escaped today, but he would find him sooner or later, to avenge his fallen brothers and to reclaim justice for the honor of the Redbeard Clan.
A butcher walked up to Kadrin and handed him a flask of black mushroom spirits.
Kadrin took the flask, pulled out the stopper, and took a large swig.
The spicy liquor slid down his throat, slightly alleviating the pain from his wounds and clearing his muddled mind somewhat.
He looked at the remaining dwarves around him—a force of five hundred, now fewer than three hundred remained, all wounded, yet still standing tall, their eyes filled with exhaustion and determination.
"Count the numbers, treat the wounded, collect weapons," Kadrin said hoarsely, putting down the flask. "We can't leave yet; we need to guard this pit to prevent that green-furred rat from returning to ambush us."
The dwarves nodded in agreement and began to act in an orderly fashion.
Some went to count the bodies of their comrades, preparing for an on-site burial; others went to collect skaven weapons to replenish their own equipment; still others searched for clean water to treat the wounds of their injured brothers. The slaughter at the bottom of the pit gradually ceased, leaving only the heavy smell of blood and the tired figures of the dwarves.
The setting sun's rays shone through the cracks in the pit entrance, casting golden hues upon the corpse-strewn ground, dyeing the dark red blood a strange and tragic golden yellow.
Kadrin leaned against the pit wall, looking at everything before him, his heart heavy—this sudden bloody battle had caused them heavy losses, and the plan to attack the orc walls had been forced to halt.
But he knew this was just the beginning. Next, they would still have to face the threat of the orcs and guard against retaliation from the skaven. The road ahead was still full of thorns and dangers.