A long, resonant horn sounded from atop the dwarven palace—crafted from the shinbone of a colossal beast, it unleashed a magnificent, rolling roar.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
Dwarven messengers mounted on mountain goats darted through the crags and cliffs, carrying the alert to dwarven warriors scattered throughout the stronghold.
Every dwarf who heard the horn felt their heart clench, and they promptly set off toward the royal palace.
They had finally come: the army of the Cinder Empire.
Dwarven warriors who had been dozing with warhammers clutched in their arms bolted upright, spat fiercely, and then deftly strapped on their meticulously forged armor.
Dwarves quarrying gold deep within the mine shafts wiped the sweat from their brows and turned back along the tunnels with resolute strides.
In the smithies, smiths continuously hammering glowing steel plunged red-hot blades into troughs of cold water, sending up hissing bursts of steam and sharp crackles as the frigid water boiled instantly...
***
"The Cinder Empire... What an overwhelming display. No wonder they swept through North Aethel."
Watching the imperial army advancing in the distance like a catastrophic tide that blotted out the horizon, Ed could not help but sigh from the bottom of his heart.
With that thought, he lowered his head with a bitter smile. "I was worried that having Zayn evacuate was a mistake. But looking at this now... our chances of victory truly are exceedingly slim."
In all his centuries of life, Ed had never witnessed an army like this.
Behind him, the veteran dwarf minister Bjorn stepped forward at an unhurried pace and offered comforting words. "Your Majesty, why torment yourself with worry? We have made all necessary preparations. All we can do now is give our utmost. As for how things turn out, we leave that to our descendants."
Ed chuckled softly. "Still, I would like to see just how far we can push them. At the very least... we must teach these dragon thralls that dwarves are a bone far too hard for them to gnaw!"
He paused for a moment, then asked, "Has the dwarven altar reestablished contact with the All-Father?"
Bjorn shook his head with a sigh. "Still no word. Word is that after the Battle of Blackrock Mountain, the orc pantheon launched an assault against our dwarven pantheon, cutting off every conduit from the divine realms to the Material Plane..."
Ed looked up toward the sky, a look of helpless resignation crossing his features. "It seems this time, we truly are on our own."
The renowned Lord of the Mountain gripped his warhammer tightly, feeling the surge of power coursing through his veins, a resolute gleam shining in his eyes.
Before long, following the call of the bone horn, dwarven warriors hurried in from every corner of Evindeldan and the far reaches of the Mountain Kingdom, gathering in the great square before the towering stone statue of Moradin.
The elderly, the sick, the women, and the children had largely evacuated Evindeldan under the leadership of Prince Zayn. Those who remained were the elite of the Mountain Kingdom, the bravest and most fearless dwarven warriors.
"The dragon's army is coming?"
"Where are they? I'll smash them into paste! By Moradin's beard, what orc-spawned bastards dare disturb my good sleep at an hour like this?"
"Tell me about it! I was right in the middle of forging a longsword, got startled half to death by that horn, and ruined the whole blank!"
Boisterous shouts and grumbles filled the square. The dwarves buzzed with chatter, completely devoid of any pre-battle dread, some even casually gossiping about mundane household affairs.
Ed looked down, his gaze sweeping across those rough, bearded faces with their varied expressions. As the Lord of the Mountain, he knew these dwarves better than anyone—he could even name every single one of them.
These were his people, his warriors, and the comrades willing to walk into death by his side.
Like most dwarves, they were crude, rough, and boisterous, yet their hearts were sturdier than stone and purer than uncut gems.
For over a century, he had faithfully fulfilled his duties as their king, standing shoulder to shoulder with his folk to repel foreign invasions. Neither Holy Fadlan, nor hill giant tribes, nor orc hordes had ever forced the dwarves to bow.
And now, Ed was about to lead them into a battle that seemed virtually unwinnable.
Gazing at the warriors assembled below, Ed maintained a solemn silence for a long time before speaking with deep gravity: "Children of the mountains and stone, folk of the Mountain Kingdom... War has come!"
The dwarven king raised his warhammer, pointing toward the distant horizon where stormcloud-like shadows had begun to gather.
"Look! There lies our enemy—the dragon thralls from the north! Months ago, they crushed North Aethel in an unstoppable rampage, and now they seek to conquer us!
"They want to seize our fortress, trample our homes, plunder our wealth, and enslave our kin! Tell me—can we allow such a thing to happen?"
"Never!"
"Bash their skulls in!"
"Orc-bred bastards! How dare they march on our fortress! I'll carve them a proper lesson!"
The dwarves erupted with fury, bellowing ferocious battle cries as they vied to voice their contempt and disgust for the empire.
"Right! We will never allow it!"
Ed took in their outraged faces, then pointed a finger down at the stone beneath their boots, his voice ringing with resolve. "Blackrock Mountain has been the home of us shield dwarves for millennia. It is the cradle where generations of our ancestors lived and laboured.
"Upon these peaks, we quarry stone and forge our steel. These mountains are our greatest treasure. And now, for them... we must give everything we have."
Finally, the dwarven king held his warhammer aloft, the fiery fury of the mountain blazing in his eyes as he roared with all his might, "For Evindeldan!"
"For Evindeldan!"
"By the All-Father Moradin, fight for the shield dwarves! Fight for Evindeldan!"
The dwarves hoisted their warhammers and great battleaxes, letting loose a deafening roar that rumbled with the crushing weight of shifting mountains.
At the very same moment, the imperial army was roaring cheers for the Cinder Empire and their emperor, surging rapidly toward Evindeldan.
Invader and defender—the two opposing sides on the brink of slaughter—found themselves in strange, uncanny resonance.
***
"Hurry! Fortify every position! We'll make those arrogant dragon thralls pay with their blood!"
"Lads, are the ballistas mounted yet?"
"Who dragged away the stones from this breastwork? Who was it? You orc-bred cur!"
"..."
Dwarven warriors crowded the southern approaches of Evindeldan, frantically reinforcing fortifications and mounting defensive siege engines in a frenzy of activity.
For thousands of years, the primary threat to the dwarves had come from the orcs to the north. Consequently, most of their city's fortifications faced northward. Over time, compared to the repeatedly repaired and reinforced northern walls, the southern defenses had become considerably weaker.
Fortunately, Evindeldan was built directly into the mountain, possessing a natural advantage of treacherous terrain that made it easy to defend and agonizing to assault.
Much like the north, the southern approach required traversing a long, narrow canyon before reaching the actual walls of Evindeldan.
Most past invaders had been halted outside that stretch known as the Path of Glory, unable to even touch the outer perimeter of Evindeldan, let alone breach the formidable fortress itself.
As the dwarves laboured frantically, a series of muffled rumbles, roars, and an overwhelming din suddenly drifted in from the plains outside.
"What is that noise?"
"Quick, look!"
"What is it? Stop bothering me! I'm trying to figure out how to mount this catapult!" The elderly dwarf Kord, absorbed in assembling the mechanism, barked in irritation when someone tapped his shoulder.
As a master craftsman renowned far and wide, Kord bore a heavy burden, responsible for vast swathes of the defensive works.
Yet the dwarf behind him did not relent, his voice rising in panic and awe. "That's... the army of the Cinder Empire? Those are the dragon's thralls?"
Seeing his companion's reaction, Kord finally realized something was amiss.
Curious, the dwarf peered outward, only for his jaw to drop in disbelief at a sight he would never forget for the rest of his days. Down upon the earth, steel behemoths roared forward, kicking up billowing clouds of dust.
And in the sky above, wyverns beat their leathery wings in formations so dense they resembled sprawling thunderclouds, nearly blotting out half the heavens and casting shifting patches of gloom over the terrain below.
"By the All-Father Moradin... how can such an army exist?!" Kord cried out involuntarily.
"Moradin preserve us!"
"Gods above, what... what are those things? That's our enemy?"
The dwarves stationed along the southern Path of Glory stared in sheer disbelief at the oncoming imperial war machine. On their bearded faces, a rare mix of shock and dread surfaced.
"No, don't panic! Dwarven craft is peerless under heaven!" Kord forced a facade of composure, trying his best to reassure those around him.
"Right! Exactly! No matter what they are, the moment they step into the Path of Glory, our clever traps will tear them to shreds!"
"They can never take Evindeldan!"
Having dwelt deep in the mountains for generations with little outside contact, these dwarves had no conception of the violent upheavals the empire's military-industrial apparatus had brought upon the world in recent years.
Soon, however, they would learn that lesson in blood.
Steam tanks gathered before the valley, encircling the entrance like rolling metal hills. The Path of Glory south of the city was narrow, accommodating at most two tanks abreast.
Yet for the imperial forces, that was more than enough.
Dror stood atop the tank named Emperor's Wrath, holding an amplified horn and shouting toward Evindeldan: "Dwarves, you would do well to see sense and surrender to the empire without delay!
"If you surrender before battle commences, the great Cinder Emperor, His Majesty Cassius, may grant you your lives and lead you toward a radiant future..."
The hobgoblin general's call for surrender was decidedly halfhearted. While his lips recited the words, deep down he had no desire for the Mountain Kingdom to capitulate.
After all, conquering an enemy and accepting prisoners brought entirely different measures of glory. The former was the pride of the empire, while the latter was a chore any fool could handle.
Reluctant though he was, Dror continued reciting the script prepared by the Imperial Senate: "The Cinder Empire's presence before Evindeldan is solely to uphold fairness and justice across the continent of Feansu, to extend protection to the dwarves residing here, and to thoroughly eradicate the orcs of the north..."
Yes, protection.
Days prior, the Cinder Empire had delivered a formal declaration of war to the Mountain Dwarf Kingdom, claiming the dwarves were no longer capable of withstanding the northern orcs.
Under such pretenses, the mightier Cinder Empire needed to garrison Evindeldan so the continent might achieve true peace and be spared further southern incursions by the greenskins.
This hypocritically phrased ultimatum had incensed the dwarven councilors, who cursed the empire for treating them like simpletons—that damned evil dragon had obviously come for the dwarven hoard!
Little did they know that in Cassius's mind, wiping out the Mountain Dwarf Kingdom was merely a trivial matter along the way; his primary quarry remained the green-skinned orcs.
"Silence!"
A world-shaking roar erupted from the gorge. High up on the sheer cliff face, a gigantic dwarven countenance slowly materialized in the living stone.
Thousands of meters away, Ed pressed his palm against the rock wall, bathed from head to toe in an earthy amber glow. Resonating his mind and body with Blackrock Mountain, he projected his voice through the primordial strength of the peaks.
At this moment, the dwarven king's face was flushed with indignation, his hair and beard bristling in fury, incensed by the Cinder Empire's brazen mockery.
"Filthy dragon thralls, put away your shameless theatrics! Such words do not even qualify as clever lies—they are nothing but a laughingstock!
"Mark my words: Evindeldan will never kneel! The Mountain Dwarf Kingdom will never kneel! The proud shield dwarves will never kneel!"
Ed's voice thundered between heaven and earth, reinvigorating the dwarven ranks and eliciting a storm of cheers. This was their king—a true child of the mountains!
"For the Lord of the Mountain!"
"Shield dwarves never yield!"
Seeing this defiance, Dror grinned ferociously and gave a satisfied nod. Drawing the sabre at his waist, he pointed the blade toward distant Evindeldan.
"In that case, subjects of the empire—crush them!"
In an instant, amidst clouds of hissing steam, the steel beasts unleashed low, rumbling roars and began grinding toward Evindeldan. From the barrels of their machine guns, brilliant tongues of muzzle flare suddenly erupted.
A torrential hail of bullets swept into the Path of Glory. The dwarven crossbowmen concealed inside the rocky caves were caught entirely off guard, instantly shredded into bloody sieves.
Resilient though dwarves were, they were still flesh and bone, unable to endure the concentrated fury of machine gun fire. In a single exchange, they paid a horrific price.
While the dwarves knew next to nothing about the Cinder Legion, the empire possessed detailed reconnaissance of Evindeldan, fully aware of its secret tunnels and sniper alcoves.
Cowering behind a breastwork, Master Craftsman Kord trembled uncontrollably, all trace of his earlier confidence wiped clean away. "How is this possible... They're still hundreds of meters away..."
He could only watch helplessly as his comrades fell one after another, bleeding profusely, riddling bodies punctured with holes as they groaned in agony.
It was not just the dwarven warriors; even the cave walls were gouged with craters from the impacts, sending sharp shards of stone spraying in every direction. Such devastating destructive power far exceeded any mechanical ballista he had ever crafted.
And across the imperial legion, such weapons were everywhere.
Despair took hold of Kord.
Chapter 643