The orc army continued its advance until it stopped in front of Stonethroat Fortress.
Thirty thousand cavalrymen lined up, their warhorses neighing, and the bowstrings of the orcs were taut.
On the towering black rock walls of the fortress, dwarven warriors stood in formation, clad in chainmail, wielding heavy hammers and short crossbows, their facial muscles taut.
Leading the group was the dwarf general Mogdin, who wore an iron-grey cloak, held a battle axe in his hand, and gazed down with a cold look in his eyes.
Abar did not step forward himself, but instead ordered Eugene to step forward and question him.
Eugene, clad in light armor, spurred his warhorse to within three hundred paces of the city walls, raised his head, and shouted, " Mogdin! Open the gates! I want to speak with your chieftain!"
Mogdin looked down at him and replied in a loud voice, " Chief Imar is not here. I am the commander-in-chief here. Just say what you need to say to me."
Eugene's voice suddenly rose, angrily rebuking the dwarf:
"You have betrayed the covenant! You swore to the Royal Tent that the Rocky Mountains passage would never be opened to the Aldor! But now? Not only have you allowed the human army to march in unimpeded, but you have also killed our warriors and offered their heads as gifts of flattery! What about your dignity? What about your promises?"
"It was the Royal Tent who gave Imar his current status, but when he was driven out of the clan and begged for mercy among the various powers like a stray dog, the only one who lent a helping hand was the Great Chieftain Abar, who allowed him to return to the position of chieftain and put him in charge of the iron mines and tunnels! But how is he repaying us now? He actually dares to use our blood to exchange for the forgiveness of mankind!"
Eugene's voice grew increasingly grief-stricken: "I never imagined that Imar would submit to Glaeman. Has he forgotten the humiliation Glaeman inflicted on him? He told me himself that when he went to Lakeheart Town seeking help, he only received a cold shoulder from that human boy. Spirit of the grassland! And now Imar has chosen to be that human boy's dog."
The dwarf soldiers on the city wall looked at each other, some bowing their heads, others gripping their weapons tightly.
Eugene yelled, " The Stonemason Clan are a bunch of ungrateful bastards!"
Mogdin sneered.
"A debt of gratitude?" He looked down at Eugene, his voice suddenly turning stern. "You say the Royal Tent owed Imar a debt of gratitude? Fine, then today I will settle this score for all the people of the Stonemason Clan!"
He stepped forward, leaning on his cane, and pointed to the Orc Cavalry array below the city, his voice booming:
"How many weapons have we forged for the Royal Tent over the years? Fifty thousand swords, one hundred thousand arrows, and ten thousand suits of heavy armor! It is our furnaces that burn day and night that have enabled your cavalry to sweep across the grasslands and invade humankind. You did not rely on the speed of your horses, but on the blades we forged!"
"Furthermore, how much precious mineral deposit have we handed over? Fifty percent of the iron ore and thirty percent of the copper ore. Our compatriots worked themselves to the bone in the mines, while you recklessly enjoyed the fruits of our hard work!"
As Mogdin vehemently denounced them, the dwarf soldiers on the city walls straightened their backs. Some echoed him in hushed tones, while others glared angrily at the orc army below.
Mogdin continued, "You say Imar owes you? Haven't you repaid all those years of blood and sweat? No—you've repaid him a hundredfold! You gave him a band of warriors, but you took the lifeblood of our entire clan from him!"
Abar was furious; Mogdin's words had insulted his dignity.
He stood on the high slope, his face ashen, his eyes blazing with anger. He no longer needed to hear any more explanations; betrayal was betrayal, no matter how much bitterness the dwarves tried to cover it up.
"Attack!" He drew his scimitar with a sudden burst of power, his voice booming like thunder. "Crush the Stonemason Clan! Leave no one alive!"
The bugle sounded mournfully, and 30,000 cavalrymen dismounted like a tide. As cavalrymen, they were not good at attacking fortified positions, but the orders of the Great Chieftain were above all else.
Hundreds of elite warriors carried heavy wooden siege ladders and, under the cover of archers, charged towards the fortress walls. War drums thundered, shouts shook the heavens, and yellow sand and dust churned amidst the chaotic steps of the orc warriors.
Mogdin, standing atop the city wall, coldly raised his hand.
"Prepare the iron mines."
As the first group of orcs rushed to within thirty paces of the city wall and began climbing ladders, the voices of dwarves came from above.
"put!"
One by one, the black iron balls were lit by the dwarf soldiers and thrown down with all their might.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A series of short, muffled explosions rang out at the foot of the city wall, accompanied by blinding flashes of light and thick smoke. Each grenade exploded like an iron pot shattering on the ground, producing a deafening roar. Fragments of iron and stone chips flew in a fan shape, with a range of up to ten paces.
An orc warrior climbing a ladder was hit by a close-range explosion. His left arm was instantly pierced by three pieces of metal, blood gushing out. He fell off the ladder due to the pain and impact, rolling on the ground and howling in agony. Another warrior, though not hit by shrapnel, was dizzy from the sound of the explosion, his ears bleeding. He curled up on the ground, clutching his head, unable to get up.
Although the siege ladders were not destroyed, the soldiers climbing them were so frightened that they slipped and fell. Some twisted their ankles, and some were knocked unconscious. The smoke from the explosions and the screams quickly shattered the morale of the attack.
The surviving orcs retreated in terror. Some dragged their wounded companions, while others stared blankly at the corpses embedded with shrapnel on the ground—the bodies had bloodied and mangled chests, clearly killed by close-range shrapnel penetration.
Abar witnessed this from behind, and his pupils suddenly contracted.
"Grenade…" he murmured.
He was all too familiar with this weapon.
In the battles between Aldor and human armies, these exploding iron balls, though not as powerful as cannonballs, can cause chaos and casualties in densely populated areas. The shrapnel from these weapons can tear flesh apart, the loud bangs can intimidate warhorses, and close-range explosions can even cause temporary hearing loss. The fear they create can break the will of many people.
And now this weapon has appeared in the hands of dwarves! Has human power reached such a profound level?
He waved his hand and ordered: "Retreat! The entire army retreats one mile!"
The cavalrymen quickly regrouped, carrying the wounded and the dead in a hasty retreat. Several corpses and a few overturned siege ladders were left on the battlefield, and the air was filled with the smell of sulfur, blood, and burnt stench.
Just as the orc army retreated, a messenger galloped in, his horse foaming at the mouth and nearly collapsing. The messenger tumbled from his horse, rushed to Abar, knelt on one knee, and his voice trembled with urgency:
" Great Chieftain! Something's happened in the direction of Blackwater Lake!"
Abar whirled around, "Speak!"
The messenger said in a panic, "Humans... the garrison of the human Blackwater Lake fortress has been mobilized again! This time there are at least 15,000 men, equipped with Cannons, and they are advancing into the depths of the grasslands along the same route as last time! They... they must be trying to retake the major water sources in the western part of the grasslands."