Steel, Flesh, and Fire

A look of sheer fanaticism on his face, the dragonblood goblin stomped the accelerator flat to the floor as he screeched at the top of his lungs: "For the Cinder Emperor!" "Crush them—!" The ground shuddered and plumes of dust billowed into the air. Roaring in fury, the steel behemoth vented thick gouts of steam and accelerated directly toward the dwarven heavy infantry. Standing over three meters tall, the steam tank loomed larger and larger in the dwarves' vision—a moving mountain bearing down on them with terrifying momentum. "What is that—" "Moradin above..." Confronted by such a sight, even the iron-willed heavy infantrymen could not help dropping their jaws, their voices quavering. Against a steel monstrosity like this, even the heaviest plate armor afforded little comfort. When all was said and done, they were still flesh and blood. "Do not falter! Do not fear! Not one step back! Defend the Path of Tempering to the death!" "For Evindeldan!" Standing at the very fore of the formation, the dwarven commander gripped his massive warhammer and roared with all his might. Though their foe charged with overwhelming menace, not a single infantryman shrank back. As always, they locked into a tight, impenetrable phalanx across the mouth of the canyon, resolute glints shining from behind their heavy visors. These were the dwarven heavy infantry of the Mountain Kingdom: fearless, unyielding as bedrock, renowned far and wide as the "Wall of Blackrock Mountain." In past conflicts, a mere hundred of these heavy infantrymen had stood firm against over a dozen furious orc charges, inflicting nearly ten thousand casualties on the horde—an illustrious record of war. Yet this time, what they faced was the steel tide of the Cinder Empire. The violent tremors shook the earth ever harder as the steel behemoths burst through the billowing dust, bearing down on the dwarven line. Five hundred meters, two hundred meters, one hundred meters, fifty meters... Bracing his greatshield with his left arm, the dwarven commander thrust it forward, then brandished his warhammer with his right and roared, "For Evindeldan! Hold the line!" In unison, the heavy infantrymen across the canyon mouth raised their tower shields, forming an airtight wall of steel as they bellowed in chorus: "For Evindeldan!" Their war cry echoed through the gorge, majestic and resounding with thunderous power. Yet in the very next instant, the roar of massive engines drowned out their battle cries entirely, leaving their ears ringing in stunned silence. *Rumble—!* The iron beast roared forward to crush the dwarven infantry, sending dust soaring and shaking the mountains to their foundations. "Come on then! Let's see what gave you the nerve to stand in my way!" Bill shouted fanatically. Under the dragonblood goblin's controls, the mountain-like steam tank plowed headlong into the dwarven formation without the slightest hesitation. Carrying terrifying kinetic force, the sharp ramming prow at the front of the tank shattered the dwarves' heavy shields in an instant, tearing a massive breach clean through their line. *Crash!* With a sickening thud, the front rank of dwarves went flying backward, fragments of shields and shattered armor mingling in midair with severed limbs. "No!" The dwarven commander swung his warhammer, attempting to smash through the tank's thick plating, only to be struck by that immense momentum and hurled backward into the rock wall, lodging deep in the stone. Against a shield wall that had once cost the orcs thousands of casualties to breach, the imperial machine shattered it in a single breath. The tank struck through the first defensive line like a sledgehammer smashing through a pane of glass. The second and third ranks fared no better against the berserk steel monstrosity, swept up and pulled beneath its tracks. Weighing over a hundred tons, the steam tank rumbled steadily forward. Masterwork shields and heavy armor groaned and squealed under the grinding treads before flattening like paper into bloody, iron-bound wafers of flesh and steel... The dragonblood goblin cackled madly. "Hahaha! Is that all you've got?!" Outside the cockpit, he was merely a puny, frail goblin. In all honesty, any of these dwarves could have squashed him into paste with ease. Yet inside this cockpit, he was a tyrant who held life and death in his hands—a disaster-dealing beast, a slaughtering machine capable of annihilating every enemy in his path... Bill revelled in the sensation, utterly intoxicated. He firmly believed that drenching this steel behemoth in the blood of its enemies would delight its machine spirit—after all, he was a devout follower of the Machine Cult. *I must kill more enemies. Only then... will this tank unleash even greater power,* he thought. With that, Bill threw his arms up and screamed, "Burn them!" "Burn them!" "Awooo! For the empire!" The other goblins in the cabin cheered in frantic unison. From the metal nozzles along the tank's flanks, violent dragons of fire spewed forth, instantly engulfing the surrounding dwarves. The viscous incendiary mixture ignited their bodies in raging flames. The dwarven commander hauled himself out of the crater in the rock face, only to find the canyon awash with searing flames and billowing black smoke—a living purgatory on earth. "No!" "Damn it, these flames won't go out!" Around him, the heavy infantrymen writhed and rolled desperately on the ground, trying to extinguish the clinging fire. Yet their heavy plate, coated in sticky incendiary fuel, acted like an oven. The metal grew cherry-red and blisteringly hot, even beginning to warp and melt. The impenetrable armor that had once shielded them now became a scorching cage, trapping them inside to burn and roast alive. "It burns! It burns!" "Is this the best you can do? Don't celebrate too soon, you damned dragon spawn! The dwarves will crush you!" "You orc-reared bastards!" "Long live Evindeldan! Long live the Mountain Kingdom! Long live the shield dwarves!" Agonized shrieks tore from the figures engulfed in flames. Even in their final moments, these dwarven heavy infantrymen never stopped rallying their spirits, hurling curses at the brutal invaders as if wishing they could chew them to the bone. Hearing the voices of his comrades, the dwarven commander stumbled out of the rubble, scooped up his warhammer, and staggered forward. Seeing the ferocious iron monster still grinding over his fallen brethren, veins bulged along his neck and his eyes blazed with fury. Ignoring the tongues of flame scorching his vision, he charged straight through the inferno. A low roar ripped from his throat: "Behold the might of the children of the mountain!" Raising the warhammer high with both hands, the dwarven commander brought all his weight and strength down into a single strike, slamming the hammerhead squarely into the steel beast's armored hull. *Clang—!* A deafening metallic clang split the air. Under the all-out blow of a transcendent-rank dwarven warrior, the thick plate buckled inward with a sharp crack, webbed with fractures. The entire tank rocked violently, nearly tipping onto its side—a sight as absurd as an ant shaking a hill. Yet the empire's military engineers had learned their lessons from the demon war, having long since retrofitted the machines specifically to counter the sudden lunges of transcendent combatants. *Snap—bang!* The moment the hammer struck the armor, the steam tank's emergency defense array activated. Lightning crackled across the hull, and an instantaneous force field repelled outward, launching the commander into midair as tiny arcs of electricity danced across his body. Bill pointed at the airborne dwarf, his face twisted in fury. "You filthy dwarf, how dare you hurt my darling?! Turn him into a sieve!" "Right away, Boss!" The goblin gunners popped out and gripped their two heavy machine guns, unleashing a frantic hail of bullets at the dwarf. *Rat-tat-tat-tat—!* Paralyzed and suspended in midair, the dwarf had no way to evade, leaving him entirely exposed to the swarm of lead. A faint shimmer of abjuration magic radiated from his armor, but dense craters still punched into the steel, spreading like spiderwebs. As the spearhead leading the charge, the *Emperor's Wrath* was supplied with anti-magic munitions, every brass casing inscribed with intricate runes. In an instant, with a brittle shattering sound, the dwarven commander's plate shattered in midair, shards of metal scattering in every direction. "No—!" The dwarf bellowed in fury as blooms of crimson erupted across his stocky, muscle-bound frame. Even a transcendent warrior with stoneskin-like flesh was still flesh and blood; continuous machine-gun fire was impossible to withstand. Howling in agony, the commander crashed to the ground and rolled several times, blood gushing from dozens of bullet holes to pool beneath him. Gasping his last breaths, he had only moments left. The scorching rounds had ripped through his internal organs, reducing them to shreds. Gathering the last dregs of his strength, he turned his head toward the magnificent fortress built into the mountainside and rasped, "Evindeldan... will never fall." An instant later, accompanied by the rumble of its steam engine, the steel monster rolled forward without mercy. Blood splattered, staining the iron treads crimson. At the mouth of the valley, thick smoke hung heavy in the air, and crackling flames sputtered over a field strewn with dwarven heavy infantry corpses. "For the empire!" The goblins popped their heads out, shouting fanatically. One after another, steam tanks rumbled past, grinding across the dwarven bodies and plowing through the smoke toward Evindeldan. Wyverns descended into the canyon, hunting for any surviving dwarves, claws on their winged forelimbs digging into the rock as they threw back their heads and screeched. Elite imperial half-red dragon infantry poured into the valley as well, efficiently mopping up the battlefield... The Path of Tempering—a bulwark the dwarves considered an unbreachable shield—had fallen to the empire in less than an hour, having mounted almost no meaningful resistance. The dwarves who were consumed by fire, suffocated in smoke, or shredded by gunfire had learned at the cost of their lives the true meaning of an "iron tide" and a "blitzkrieg." ... Atop the grand, imposing battlements of Evindeldan, dwarven warriors clad in armor stood at the ready with warhammers and battleaxes. After Zayn departed leading the elderly, weak, and sick, fewer than ten thousand dwarves remained in the city. Nearly all were adult male dwarves who had volunteered to shoulder the defense of Evindeldan, swearing to live and die with their stronghold. Thick smoke poured from the distant gorge, accompanied by the faint echoes of dwarven battle cries, agonized shrieks, and an eerie, low rumble resembling the roar of colossal beasts. At once, the dwarves grew tense, their hearts pounding in their chests. They knew all too well what this meant: their brethren within the Path of Tempering were suffering grievous losses. How could this be? Barely an hour had passed. Going by their past experience battling orcs, the imperial army should still have been bogged down at the front of the Path of Tempering by endless traps. Could someone have surrendered? That was even more impossible. They were shield dwarves, children of the earth and mountains, standing vigil here with a resolve to die. Any cowards afraid of death had surely fled into the night long ago! Suddenly, a low rumble echoed from the gorge. Craning their necks to look, the dwarves saw several colossal silhouettes emerge through the black haze. A dreadful premonition seized their hearts. "Look! What is that?" "Wait... it's the army of the Cinder Empire! It really is those dragon spawn!" "What?" "Moradin above... h-how is this possible? How could they be so fast?!" *Boom—* Bloody and ferocious steel behemoths burst through the thick smoke with thunderous roars, entering the dwarves' full view. Immediately after, an enormous, fearsome silhouette appeared in the sky—a terrifying bipedal drake clad in hard, crimson scales, barely distinguishable from a true dragon. It was none other than the chieftain of the wyvern clans and the empire's Duke of Dragonblood—Smaug! Perched at the crest of the gorge, Smaug reared up on his hind legs, unfurling the broad wings along his forelimbs. Thrusting his neck forward, he threw back his head and let out a menacing, deafening roar. *Roaaar—!* At their chieftain's cry, hundreds of wyverns screeched in response, their cacophony echoing across the sky. Beating their wings in a flurry, they took to the air like dense storm clouds, casting mottled shadows across the open plains below. As the steam tanks rolled out of the valley one after another, elite imperial infantry followed closely in tight ranks, swiftly pouring onto the plain and fanning out into an unbroken line. Every imperial soldier bore the latest firearms and wore a crisp, vibrant uniform, looking formidable and disciplined under the fluttering banners of the Cinder Empire. Behind them, engineering corps, artillery corps, and the special player regiment marched through the Path of Tempering, taking up positions on the plain before Evindeldan. By now, this modest plain held nearly fifty thousand imperial troops, packed tightly together in numbers that nearly covered the expanse. Outside the gorge, another half of the army remained in reserve, ready to advance into the canyon at a moment's notice. Looking upon the imperial host, the dwarves could not help but swallow nervously. Unlike the two hundred thousand rabble of the orcs, the empire's fifty thousand were an undisputed elite. If nothing else, the steel monsters alone left the dwarves in awe. How many masterwork weapons could be forged from so much iron? Standing atop the battlements of the gatehouse, Ed looked down at the distant imperial army and murmured, "No wonder they conquered Aethel in just a single month and breached my Path of Tempering with barely any effort. "So... this is the army of the Cinder Empire. It truly lives up to its name." A sense of tragic solemnity welled up in Ed's chest. An army like this was not something his battered garrison of fewer than ten thousand could hope to defeat. Even so, he would carve out one final moment of glory for the dwarves, ensuring the world remembered their courage. "Come, then..." The dwarven king tightened his grip on his warhammer, resolve gleaming in his eyes. Far across the plain among the imperial ranks, Hobgoblin General Dror lifted his head and locked eyes with the Lord of the Mountain from afar. His eyes flickered with a cunning gleam, followed by a savage grin. "So that's the famous Lord of the Mountain? Hahaha, excellent! My promotion depends entirely on him."