With a sharp whistle, the engineers immediately lit the fuse.
A little while later, the earth seemed to have been torn in half.
The explosives buried in the mountains on both sides of the "collapsed valley" detonated simultaneously. The scene was beyond people's previous definition of an "explosion"; it was a roar erupting from the earth's core.
Boom!!!
A blazing white fireball shot into the sky from the bottom of the valley, instantly engulfing the giant insect that was chasing after it.
The shockwave swept out in a ring, tearing and shattering the rock layers like paper in its wake. Boulders were thrown hundreds of meters into the air, crashing against the surrounding mountain walls as if hurled by the hand of a god. The ground undulated violently, like a boiling swamp, and cracks spread outwards like a spider web, swallowing up trees and rubble.
Thick smoke, carrying flames, shot straight into the sky, forming a gigantic pillar of interwoven black and crimson, thousands of feet high, blotting out the sun.
The air was filled with an indescribable, putrid stench. Snow was shaken off the distant mountain peaks, and avalanches roared, echoing the aftershocks of the explosions, as if the entire Rocky Mountains were groaning in pain.
Behind a secluded rock ridge at the rear of the giant worm's pursuit route, the dwarf general Mogdin and his twenty men were lying in ambush to observe. At the moment of the explosion, they were struck as if by lightning, all of them thrown to the ground by the shockwave. One soldier was bleeding from his ear, clutching his head and trembling; another clung tightly to the rock wall, oblivious to the fact that his fingernails were breaking.
Mogdin struggled to lift his head, and through the billowing smoke, he saw the most horrific scene of his life.
Flesh and blood fell from the sky!
The giant insect's body was completely torn apart. A piece of its horny outer skin, several feet long, fell like a rag onto the slope a hundred paces away with a dull thud. A twisted tentacle was stuck diagonally into a crevice in the rock, still twitching slightly. Most terrifying of all was its ring-shaped mouthparts, which were blasted into the air, then spun and fell back down, crashing into the deep valley and stirring up a cloud of dust.
Milky white viscous liquid fell like raindrops, mixing with black rock fragments and forming a strange, sticky stream on the ground.
Mogdin knelt amidst the rubble, his face ashen. He watched as the "Throat of the Abyss," which he had devised to unleash—the nightmare sealed away by his ancestors for millennia—was reduced to ashes in the heavenly fire at the command of humankind.
He muttered to himself, his voice trembling, "We can't win...we can't win..."
Some of the dwarven soldiers behind him remained silent, while others bowed their heads in prayer. At that moment, each of them knew the fate that might befall them.
The aftershocks of the explosion still echoed in the valley. Derrick took off his military cap, which had become loose from the shock, wiped the dust off his face, and led a team of firearms and engineers slowly toward the center of the explosion.
The wreckage was scattered over a range of hundreds of meters. They used bayonets to clear away the rubble and slime, examining the broken keratinous fragments—hard as forged iron and nearly two inches thick.
An engineer attempted to pry open a section of the still-intact body, only to discover that the internal muscles had a reticular fibrous structure, making them extremely difficult to cut.
Derrick crouched down and reached out to touch the milky white viscous liquid; his fingertips felt slightly numb after touching it.
"What a terrifying monster," he whispered. "How could something like this grow in the mountains?"
Just then, footsteps came from the distant rocky ridge.
Mogdin led twenty dwarven soldiers down the hillside, carrying a truce flag made of strung black iron plates. Their faces were covered in dust, but their eyes were urgent as they headed straight for the remains of the giant worm.
"Halt!" the Ausser Army adjutant shouted sternly. The soldiers raised their firearms, their fingers on the triggers, pointing their guns at the group of dwarves who had suddenly appeared.
Mogdin stopped immediately, raised his hands, and shouted in broken human language, "We're not here to fight! We're here to talk about surrender!"
Derrick slowly stood up, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes shooting out a cold gaze.
"Surrender?" His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a condescending tone. "Who are you? Can you represent the Stonemason Clan?"
Mogdin took a deep breath and proclaimed loudly, "My name is Mogdin, and I am officially authorized by Chief Imar —if the 'Throat of the Abyss' is killed by humans, I can represent the Stonemason Clan to offer unconditional surrender to the Aldor!"
He pointed to the still-smoking wreckage, his voice trembling slightly: "You did it, that monster... is dead, it's incredible."
Derrick remained silent for a moment, his cold gaze sweeping over the dwarf soldiers. The pride that had been common on their faces was gone, replaced only by weariness and awe.
He slowly raised his hand, signaling the soldiers to lower their guns, but did not lift the alert.
Where is your chieftain now?
Mogdin lowered his head. "He still has some things to do in the Anvil Hall."
When the news reached them, Imar was sitting on his throne listening to the report from the dwarves who had returned with the message.
The warrior's voice trembled as he said, "The Throat of the Abyss... has been blown to pieces. Mogdin, on behalf of the clan, has submitted a letter of surrender to the human commander Derrick, and the Aldor have accepted it."
The charcoal fire in the brazier crackled and popped, sending sparks flying everywhere.
Imar slowly closed his eyes.
A thousand years of tunneling, three hundred generations of digging, the enslavement of orcs... all these things were finally coming to an end with a deafening roar he had never heard before.
He felt a deep weariness, but within that weariness was a sense of relief.
Humanity has accepted the surrender and is unlikely to destroy everything remaining in the Stonemason Clan.
But he had one last thing to do.
"Go and invite that Centurion over, and tell him I want to apologize for the unpleasantness we had a while ago."
Shortly afterward, the orc Centurion entered the Anvil Hall, his expression still somewhat displeased.
A round wine jar was placed on the table, and a rough earthenware cup was filled with strong stone barley. Imar poured him a cup himself and said calmly, "For the covenant of the past."
Centurion hesitated for a moment, then raised his glass and drank it all in one gulp.
But just as he put down the cup, shouts of killing suddenly rang out from outside the hall.
Imar's eyes turned cold, and he smashed the wine glass on the ground. The dwarf warriors who had been lying in ambush behind the pillars surged out like a tide.
Centurion, the orc, immediately realized it was a trap. He tried to fight back with his axe, but was quickly tackled by three shield-wielding veterans. Chains locked his wrists in an instant. He roared and struggled, but was struck on the back of the neck with a club and passed out.
Meanwhile, his orc soldiers were also attacked. The dwarves stormed their camp with crossbows and heavy hammers. Some of the orcs put up a fierce resistance and were killed on the spot, while the rest were disarmed and captured in the chaos.
As the bodies and prisoners were led back to the main hall, Imar stood on the high steps, looking down at the unconscious Centurion.
"You use us to guard the mountain passes, but you never truly protect us. Now I will offer your heads as the first pledge of allegiance to mankind."
Surrender is not the end. To survive in the human order, the Stonemason Clan must prove that it has completely broken with the past.
The best pledge of allegiance is the blood of one's allies.