In the darkest hour before dawn, Abar made his decision.
He stood outside the royal tent, gazing at the silhouette of the rocky fortress on the opposite bank, which was faintly visible in the night, the firelight illuminating his cold and stern face.
He no longer needed to test the waters or hesitate. The Ordos had declared their control of the lake with their gunboats. The four fortresses were now linked together, and only by striking one of them with overwhelming force could this iron curtain be torn apart.
"Let's begin with Rock Fortress," the High Chieftain commanded, his voice as sharp as unsheathed iron.
The bugle call of the grasslands sounded at dawn, deep and mournful, like the roar of an ancient beast, instantly tearing apart the silence of the Blackwater Lake. The orcs' attack had begun.
From camps in all directions, a torrent of orcs began to converge. They were not elite veterans, but newcomers from various affiliated tribes of the grasslands—young warriors, hunters eager for glory, and herders fighting for the survival of their tribes.
They were dressed in different clothes and carried a variety of weapons, but their eyes all burned with the same flame: awe of the royal tent, a thirst for wealth, and a fervent desire to drive out the invaders.
Abar stood on the high platform, his battle flag fluttering in the wind. He raised his battle axe, pointing it at the rocky fortress on the opposite bank, his voice like thunder rolling across the grassland: "Kill! Take that stone fortress! Wealth, women, glory—all belong to the warriors!"
"Kill—!" Tens of thousands of orcs roared in unison, their voices soaring into the sky and startling the birds on the lake.
The charge began.
Like a black tide bursting its banks, orc warriors, carrying crude siege ladders and massive round shields covered with whole animal hides, surged toward the southern wall of the Rock Fortress. Their steps were heavy and frantic as they trod across the dew-soaked grass, their shields forming a moving wall of animal hides in front of them.
However, they had barely rushed out of the camp for less than three hundred paces when the walls of the Rock Fortress suddenly burst into flames.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The heavy artillery deployed on the fortress was the first to unleash its power, spewing flames and thick smoke from its muzzles. Heavy iron balls whistled through the morning mist and slammed into the dense ranks of orcs.
Each shell unleashed a fountain of blood, flesh, and mud, instantly tearing the charging soldiers to shreds, tossing limbs and fragments high into the air, and ripping shields and corpses away like rag dolls.
But this did not stop the tide; more orcs trampled over the corpses of their companions, howling like wild beasts, and continued forward.
When they charged within two hundred paces, the dense array of firing ports on the city wall simultaneously spewed forth tongues of fire.
"Crack! Crack! Crack!"
The Aldor soldiers' muskets formed a deadly crossfire, raining down lead bullets that struck the animal-hide shields with dull thuds, while many more pierced through the gaps in the shields or struck exposed bodies.
The charging formation began to fall into disarray, with people constantly being shot and falling, but the crowd behind them continued to push forward, using corpses and the wounded to pave the way to the city wall.
One hundred steps! Fifty steps!
The siege ladder was finally raised high, like black thorns, swaying as it was placed against the city wall. The orc warriors shouted in victory and rushed to climb it.
But what awaited them was an even crueler blow: grenades with burning fuses rained down, and screams filled the air.
On the lake, the gunboats adjusted their cannons, aiming their broadside guns at the dense crowd below the city wall, and began close-range shrapnel bombardment. Countless iron pellets and shrapnel swept across the battlefield, like the scythe of death, reaping countless lives.
Wave after wave of charges, like moths drawn to a flame, left the orc warriors' corpses piled up beneath the southern wall of the Rock Fortress. Their blood soaked the grass, forming dark red streams that flowed towards Blackwater Lake.
Siege ladders broke, shield walls shattered, but Abar's battle banner still flew high. Orc warriors continued to arrive, their eyes burning with the same fervor, charging once more over the corpses of their kin.
However, each charge was reduced to futile ashes in the deadly web woven by the Aldo army's muskets and cannons.
Three days!
The air around Blackwater Lake was indistinguishable from the smell of gunpowder, blood, or the pungent odor of burning tar.
Outside the south wall of the Rock Fortress, the grassland was no longer there, but a "corpse mound" made of corpses, broken siege ladders, shattered shields, and congealed blood and mud. Flocks of crows circled around, pecking at the exposed limbs and emitting chilling cries.
The fortress walls are riddled with bullet holes, and several crenellations have collapsed, but the main structure still stands tall. Aldor soldiers take turns guarding the walls, and the roar of muskets and cannons has become the background noise of this land; even their breathing carries the bitter taste of gunpowder.
Abar, standing on the high platform, no longer possessed the composure he had shown in the initial battle.
His black iron armor was covered in dust and bloodstains, his eyes were bloodshot as he stared intently at the fortress that stood firm amidst the smoke of battle. His fists were clenched so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palms, yet he felt no pain.
It's been three days.
For three whole days, he mobilized all the prestige of the royal court, conscripting tens of thousands of new recruits from the depths of the grasslands, who surged towards the rocky fortress like waves. He didn't care about casualties; he wanted to crush will with numbers and fill the ravines with blood.
But that stone fortress remained perfectly still, like a giant rock rooted in the earth.
Every charge was torn apart by muskets and cannons; every approach to the city walls was met with rolling logs and bombs. The density of the Ordos' firepower and the tightness of their organization far exceeded his expectations. What chilled him even more was that the lake gunboat fleet was always patrolling his flanks, ready to provide support at any time, preventing his forces from truly encircling the city.
He was anxious because time was passing, supplies were being depleted, and morale was being quietly eroded amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood.
He was furious because this was no longer a defeat on Aldo's home turf.
Even after Aldor's defeat, he could still explain his setbacks to the tribal elders by citing reasons such as long-distance warfare, unfavorable terrain, and difficult supply lines. After all, it was human territory, and the humans were familiar with the mountains and rivers, giving them a natural advantage.
But this is a grassland!
This is the homeland of the orcs! The land where their ancestors roamed for thousands of years! The wind is their messenger, the grass is their cover, and the earth is their mother!
Those humans, however, were the true strangers. Far from their homeland, deep inland, their supply lines stretched endlessly, every brick and every shell transported from the distant south. Logically, they were the ones enduring the arduous journey, the ones destined to be worn down and exhausted!
But now, these strangers have built an iron fortress in the heart of the grasslands, controlled the lake, and used storms of fire and iron to shatter the majesty of his royal tent time and time again beneath the city walls!
If he couldn't even defeat this human expeditionary force on his own land with overwhelming military superiority, what face would Abar have left to command the tribes of the steppe?
What excuses can you make after failing?
"Could it be…" He stood on the high platform, gazing at the fortress silhouette faintly visible amidst the smoke of battle, his voice low and muttering as if to himself, yet carrying a hint of wavering that even he himself was unaware of, "…that we are already falling behind this era?"