The Fortress

The impact left Toru's hands completely numb. A deep dent appeared on the shaft of his polehammer, nearly knocking it from his grip, while his opponent stood completely motionless, looking thoroughly at ease. "What monstrous strength!" The seasoned dwarven general's face darkened as a sense of dread settled over him. That had been a blow delivered with all his might, wielded through a heavy weapon like a polehammer—yet the other parried it without breaking a sweat. It could mean only one thing: the orc before him possessed strength that far outstripped his own, enough to completely crush him. At this realization, Toru felt a twinge of regret over having rushed forward in reckless anger. He slid the head of his polehammer down at an angle, attempting to smash his opponent's hands away. The hammerhead scraped fiercely against the iron haft of the double-headed axe, showering sparks from the point of contact. "Heh heh..." Yet Monk merely grinned, flashing the yellowed tusks at the corners of his mouth. The black cloth over his face suddenly snapped, and a gleam of blood-red light flashed within his hollow eye socket. As a formidable Eye of Gruumsh, his blinded eye possessed many extraordinary powers, allowing him to perceive what he could not otherwise see. "Oh no!" The dwarf was aghast at the sight of that crimson light. A bone-deep terror seized his very soul, rendering him completely unable to control his own body. In an instant, visions of dwarven corpses piled high like mountains and an Evindeldan soaked in blood flashed across his mind. Yet in that momentary lapse, Monk abruptly yanked back his double-headed axe, throwing the dwarf off balance and sending him stumbling forward several paces. By the time Toru snapped back to his senses, Monk had already brought his double-headed axe around in a sweeping arc through the air. The blood-drenched blade swept forward with a gale of gore, and the dwarf felt only a sudden chill at his throat. Squelch— Blood erupted from his neck into the air like a surging geyser. The dwarf's headless body fell to its knees with a heavy thud, only to topple forward a moment later. Meanwhile, Monk caught the severed head—its face frozen in terror and bewilderment—by its braided hair and hoisted it into the air. He nodded in satisfaction, completely indifferent to the blood coating his body. "A dwarf like this should just barely do as an offering to the All-Father." Thus fell the commander defending the "Orc's Tombstone." A dwarven hero who had once slain a fire giant in single combat had died at the hands of this orc with scarcely a chance to fight back. The dwarves still fighting on the battlements watched the hero they regarded like an elder brother perish before their eyes. Their vision blurred with rage and grief. "Toru is dead!" "Quick, surround him! Butcher that damned orc and reclaim Toru's head!" "Filthy bastard with the foul blood of Gruumsh! How dare you desecrate our kin's corpse? Kill him!" "He's all alone! Charge together! Even if it costs our lives, we avenge Toru!" Rallied by the sight of Toru's severed head, the surviving dwarven warriors on the wall converged, forming a tight circle around Monk. Their faces twisted in grief and fury, their eyes bloodshot, wanting nothing more than to tear the orc limb from limb. "Hurry, support Lord Monk!" "These filthy dwarves want to surround Lord Monk! Orcs, slaughter them to the last!" The surrounding orc warriors moved to join the fray, but Monk held up a hand to stop them, an exhilarated smile spreading across his blood-spattered, hideous face. "No, stay back. I want to savor this..." "Hahaha! Do you hate me? I love that look in your eyes—so full of pure hatred, yet utterly powerless to kill me!" Monk toyed with the dwarven head in his grasp, pinching its bearded jaw so that the mouth opened and closed as though it were speaking. "What was this runt called again? Oh, right, Toru. Dwarves, look! Toru is speaking! He's saying—you bunch of useless cowards, not a single one of you has the guts to avenge him! Hahahahaha!" Seeing their fallen hero's head desecrated and mocked in such a manner, the dwarven warriors could endure no more. "Butcher him!" "Damned orc bastard, I'll smash you flat!" Roaring at the top of their lungs, the dwarves raised their warhammers and round shields and charged. Several dozen dwarven warriors closed in on Monk, walling him in completely. Yet Monk casually tossed the head aside, gripped the double-headed axe with both hands, and bellowed in delight, "Come on then!" Whir— Monk swung his axe in a furious spin, creating a vicious tempest of flying blades around himself, sucking dozens of dwarven warriors straight into the vortex. The piercing screech of axe blades tearing through the air, the clatter of shattered armor, and the sickening rips of cleaving flesh sounded one after another. Then came the shrill screams of the dwarves, the wails of the dying, and the faint spatter of spurting blood. In mere breaths, all the dozens of dwarven warriors who had swarmed him lay dead. Not a single one remained standing around Monk. Half-severed torsos, cleaved limbs, and ruptured entrails littered the ground everywhere, until the blood on the ramparts threatened to form a flowing stream. Stepping across the heap of bodies, Monk climbed to the crest of the wall. He held Toru's head high, its dead eyes still staring open, and looked down over the orcs who had now overrun the entire wall. "Brothers! "Ahead lies Evindeldan, the capital of the dwarves! "Keep pressing forward! The great All-Father Gruumsh watches over us! With dwarven heads and dwarven blood, we shall make our offering to the All-Father!" Pious devotion burned in Monk's lone remaining eye. He cradled the dwarf's head in both hands and lifted it toward the sky. Bang! The fresh head burst apart with a crack, dissolving into a hazy mist of blood that coalesced in midair into the shape of a single eye. It was the sign that their deity—the great One-Eyed God Gruumsh—had gladly accepted the sacrifice! "For All-Father Gruumsh!" "Blood shall drown the earth, and the orcs shall rule the world!" The orcs erupted into a frenzy, raising their blood-drenched weapons high and unleashing a roar that echoed like a crashing tidal wave. The ground before this stretch of wall known as the "Orc's Tombstone" was indeed piled high with orc corpses, and thousands of fresh bodies lay within the River of Bones below. Yet now, having paid a gruesome price, the orcs had taken the wall. They stood as the true victors. This was the sixth time in several thousand years that they had broken through this barrier. And this time, their foes were accompanied by neither troublesome elves nor godblood—only dwarves wielding iron hammers. *** A mountain goat leaped and scrambled with nimble agility across the sheer cliffs, running as if on wings to carry the dwarven rider onto the battlements of Evindeldan. The dwarven knight swung down from the goat's back and dropped respectfully to one knee before King Ed, who stood clad in full armor, warhammer in hand. "Your Majesty, the orcs have breached the outer wall. They are massing their forces and advancing on Evindeldan." King Ed nodded faintly, then gazed into the distance and let out a soft sigh. "Bjorn, you were right. The outer wall has indeed fallen to the orcs. "And... faster than during any beast tide in history. Even a warrior as mighty as Toru could not halt their advance." Bjorn stepped forward, shaking his head with a bitter smile. "Your Majesty, I truly wish I had been mistaken. "From what I have learned, Batu Skullsplitter has united hundreds of orc tribes across the Ugo Steppe, numbering more than 1.6 million in total. "The orcs have come with overwhelming momentum. Their ambition goes far beyond swallowing our Mountain Kingdom—they likely intend to... conquer all of Feanso." King Ed knitted his brow. "Will the gods do nothing to stop them?" Bjorn lowered his head. "Your Majesty, I sent Master Eugene to Mount Celestia to seek aid from All-Father Moradin and the righteous deities. But with the heavens and earth severed as they are now, the help the gods can bestow is severely limited. "Furthermore, from what I understand, the orcs' One-Eyed God employed some hidden means to veil our All-Father's sight, cutting off any watchful gaze from Mount Celestia. "A heavy mist hangs over the Ugo Steppe, and the Red Blood Tribe mobilized with unimaginable speed. Even our scouts failed to detect them in time." The four-hundred-year-old veteran, who had weathered countless wars, looked weary, his voice growing raspy: "Your Majesty, I suspect the orcs want a swift victory, to take Evindeldan before the world can turn its eyes upon us." "How long must we hold Evindeldan before All-Father's aid can arrive?" "Seven days at most, assuming nothing goes awry with Master Eugene." "Very well." Listening to the distant howls of the orcs, the dwarven king was weighed down with grave worry, yet his tone remained resolute. "The foundations our Mountain Kingdom built over thousands of years, the glorious history of the dwarven race—it must not end in my hands. "Even if this is a battle we cannot win, I will make those orcs pay for it in blood." King Ed tightened his grip on his heavy warhammer, the symbol of the Mountain Kingdom's supreme authority and his mantle as Moradin's mortal representative. Dwarven scouts mounted on griffons circled high in the sky. After shooting down several vultures and giant eagles, they were able to observe the disposition of the orc host. Orc shamans were waving their bone staves and chanting incantations. Accompanied by deep rumbles, solid rock extended out from both sides of the Path of Glory, widening the way for the massive war beasts kept by the orcs, including wasteland landwyrms and fang beasts. Even more orcs, goblins, ogres, and hill giants poured through the passage, assembling in the valley before Evindeldan in a dense, roiling surge like a flooding river. In just a few hours, the orc army had fully gathered. Tens of thousands of orcs advanced toward Evindeldan. On the ramparts, King Ed stood ready with his elite dwarven warriors, awaiting the enemy's appearance. Behind the fortress's arrow slits, along the sheer cliffs, and within concealed tunnels, dwarven warriors glared out with eyes full of burning hatred. At this moment, all fifteen thousand fighting-fit dwarves of Evindeldan stood assembled here, guarding their ancestral home. Soon, the earth began to tremble. A continuous, heavy thrum resonated as a mottled wave of yellow and green flooded the open ground before the valley. High above, countless vultures and giant eagles braved the dense volleys of dwarven arrows, circling back and forth. Batu sat upon his throne of bone, pointing his massive greataxe toward the majestic fortress built into the mountainside. Greed flashed in his eyes. "So this is Evindeldan. What a magnificent place." The orc chieftain rose from his throne, his voice booming until it echoed throughout the mountains. "My people, crush these dwarves and take their fortress! "Only by doing so can we please the great All-Father Gruumsh! This city will be where our conquest of the world begins!" "Slaughter the dwarves! Take the fortress!" "For All-Father Gruumsh!" "The great orc race shall rule the world!" In an instant, the orcs erupted once more, sending a sky-shattering, fanatical war cry rolling across the mountains, making the peaks tremble. "O great scions of Gruumsh— "Go forth and slaughter to your hearts' content! With the mighty bodies granted to you by the All-Father, tear apart any foe that stands before our conquest! "Sever the heads of the dwarves! Pierce the hearts of the elves! Cleave off the arms of the humans...!" The shamans brandished their bone staves, conjuring a thick crimson mist that billowed before the fortress, driving the orc warriors into an even wilder, fearless frenzy. They jammed into the open expanse, surging in relentless waves toward the towering, impregnable fortress. Watching the surging horde of orcs, King Ed's expression hardened into grim resolve. "All forces hear my command—loose!" Thousands of dwarves drew their bows and released as one toward the sky. A dense rain of arrows descended in a deluge, turning the vanguard of orcs into pincushions in an instant. Yet the hill giants and half-orc giants pressed forward with enormous shields, marching steadily ahead to deflect the falling shafts. High atop Evindeldan's towering walls, however, monstrous steel ballistas several meters tall—forged by the dwarven master craftsmen themselves—had long been trained on them. Dwarves strained against the winches to draw the steel bows, their blood boiling. "Right there! Aim at that giant! Kill him!" Whoosh— With a piercing shriek, a massive bolt over two meters long ripped through the air. It punched clean through the shield, nailing the giant and the half-orc giants behind it dead to the earth. Nearly every dwarf was a skilled craftsman, and Evindeldan, the capital of the Mountain Kingdom, was the gathering place for the finest handiwork of countless dwarven master smiths. Ingenious siege engines and architectural marvels were too numerous to count. They were the dwarves' greatest reliance against the orc horde. Along the slopes of Blackrock Mountain, dwarves dropped the barrier gates, sending massive spherical boulders rumbling down along prepared tracks. Rumble, crash— The roar of rolling stone echoed out. The orcs immediately realized something was wrong and spotted the gargantuan boulders hurtling down the mountainside toward them—yet it was already too late. "Curse them! The crafty dwarves released rolling stones!" "Run! Don't get crushed!" Boom! Boulders several meters in diameter plowed into the ranks, easily pulverizing dozens of orcs, goblins, and ogres into a paste of crushed flesh. "Wait, watch the sky!" From the towering turrets of the fortress, catapults designed by Master Trillant discharged one after another, hurling iron spheres trailing thick flames. "Get down! Down!" "It's the dwarven catapults!" The iron spheres traced graceful arcs through the air before dropping with deadly precision right into the orc army. Boom! The glowing, red-hot iron spheres crashed into the orcs, gouging massive craters into the earth before detonating with immense force. Shattered shards of searing iron and sheets of erupting flame killed hundreds of nearby orcs, leaving the ground covered in blackened corpses. At the highest point of the main wall, defensive wards inscribed by generations of master dwarven wizards suddenly flared to life, creating layered, shimmering barriers outside the fortress. The arrows shot and javelins hurled by the orcs were turned away, falling harmlessly against the ward. Before the walls of Evindeldan, blazing fires roared, stone spheres rumbled downward, and wooden kegs packed with explosives and potent liquor detonated in midair. The dwarves' bizarre siege engines wrought absolute havoc, acting like harbingers of death that inflicted staggering casualties upon the orc horde. What the orc army faced was not merely the fifteen thousand dwarven warriors within the fortress, but the crystallization of thousands of years of dwarven wisdom accumulated in Evindeldan. Yet the orcs were simply too numerous. Even after the dwarves had brought every trick to bear and exhausted their stockpiled munitions, they had slain only some ten thousand of them. And the army Batu Skullsplitter had brought numbered two hundred thousand.