Translator: CinderTL
"The timing is perfect," Mogdin muttered to himself.
He waved his hand, signaling a dwarf messenger to step forward. The messenger, carrying a short staff representing his diplomatic authority, strode toward the fortress's partially closed front gate.
He stopped a short distance away, raised his head, and bellowed in deep, guttural Aldorian:
"Sons of the Stonemason Clan, guardians of the ridge, hammer of the Rocky Mountains—Lord Mogdin, by order of the clan chief, hereby delivers this ultimatum to the illegal wall-builders!"
He amplified his voice: "You have erected this fortress without permission, desecrating the Stonefather's domain. This fortress must be dismantled!"
"Within three days!" The dwarf held up three thick, stubby fingers. "Every wall must be torn down, every fortification burned, and you must crawl back to whatever hole you crawled out of!"
"If you comply, you may leave with your lives. But if you choose defiance—" He gestured toward the silent dwarf legion behind him. "The mountain will crumble, the walls will shatter, and your bones will become the first layer of foundation stones for a new wall!"
With that, the messenger turned and strode back to his lines.
His words hung in the air, leaving the fortress construction site in deathly silence.
The soldiers stopped their work, gripped their weapons tightly, and fixed their gazes on the silent, furious dwarf legion massed at the northern mountain pass.
The Engineer Captain frowned and muttered, "They wouldn't actually attack, would they? The wall isn't even dry yet..."
Just as Mogdin's lips curled into a smug smile, convinced that his thunderous ultimatum had terrified the humans into submission—
"Ha!" A suppressed laugh burst from the watchtower.
Like a lit fuse on a powder keg, the entire fortress erupted into deafening laughter.
"Ha ha! Did you hear that? They told us to go back where we came from?" An artilleryman slapped his thigh. "Is that all they've got? A bunch of short-legged dwarves standing in a line with hammers, thinking they can scare us off?"
"Hey! Did you guys come to fix the sewers? What's with the threats?" another shouted, straining his voice. "Want us to lend you some shovels?"
The laughter swept through the camp like a tidal wave. Some mimicked the dwarves' deep voices as they mocked the ultimatum, while others deliberately hunched over, leaning on their shovels to imitate the dwarves' gait, sending more into fits of laughter.
To the humans, the dwarves' stocky, short-legged bodies were inherently comical. When paired with their solemn threats, the effect was even more absurd.
To the assembled dwarves, the laughter was nothing short of blatant mockery.
Mogdin stood at the head of the formation, his War Markings seeming to instantly flush with blood, turning from bronze to a livid, iron-blue. His fists clenched so tightly that the knuckles turned white from the strain.
"They... they're laughing?" he murmured, his voice trembling.
"Yes, Lord Mogdin! The humans dare to mock us!" a young warrior beside him roared, raising his axe high. "Let us charge! We'll nail their tongues to the walls!"
The entire dwarf legion stirred with agitation, their low, guttural roars rumbling like thunder beneath the earth. War axes crashed against shields, producing deafening thud-thud-thud sounds.
These mountain folk, who valued their dignity above all else, had never been so publicly and contemptuously ridiculed. Not even the orcs had dared such insolence—let alone the humans, whom they despised!
Mogdin snapped his head up, his gaze fixed on the figures inside the fortress, who were still doubled over with laughter. Reason crumbled under the searing heat of his rage.
"The ultimatum has been delivered!" he roared, his voice so thunderous it seemed to crack the very rocks. "Yet they choose to laugh at us! Then let blood wash away this shame!"
He raised his Warhammer high, his roar echoing through the valley: "By the Warhammer above, charge! Smash their stone walls! Rip out the tongues of those damned humans!"
"Hooah!" A thousand dwarf warriors roared in unison, surging forward like a molten lava flood.
The laughter within the fortress abruptly ceased, replaced by urgent bugle calls and officers' furious shouts.
"All units, take your positions! Prepare to engage!"
The dwarf warriors advanced like an iron tide, their war boots pounding the earth with the thunderous rhythm of a thousand muffled drums. They formed a wedge formation, the front rank raising thick black iron shields etched with ancient Runes that gleamed coldly under the overcast sky.
They brandished their axes and hammerheads high, chanting the Stonemason Clan's war song—a raw, savage anthem that defied arrows and towering walls. In the dwarves' inherited war lore, no matter how numerous the arrows or stones, no ranged weapon could ever weave a truly steel-rending net of death. They believed that once they reached the walls, the fortress would fall.
Yet as they charged within a hundred meters—less than a hundred paces from the fortress walls—a sudden, catastrophic change erupted.
A series of blinding flashes erupted from the fortress's gray-white walls!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Deep, thunderous explosions tore through the air, as if the thunder god himself were hammering the earth at close range. Simultaneously, thick white smoke billowed from the walls, swirling upward like ghostly tendrils.
The first rank of charging dwarves collapsed as if struck by invisible giant hammers.
A shield-bearing warrior's chest exploded in a crimson spray, sending him flying backward. Another's head snapped back violently, blood gushing from the back of his skull. A thick iron shield was pierced clean through, its bearer's arm and shoulder blade shattered, sending mangled limbs and shrapnel scattering.
The dwarf vanguard descended into chaos, their formation instantly shattered. They had never heard such terrifying sounds, nor witnessed such precise and lethal destruction.
The humans' weapons were devastatingly powerful. The heavy armor the dwarves prided themselves on proved as fragile as paper against these tiny, high-velocity metal projectiles.
"What was that?!" A warrior roared, kneeling to help a fallen comrade. He found the man's chest caved in, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Not arrows! Not crossbow bolts!" another dwarf cried out in terror. "It's... it's fire! They're spraying fire!"
The dwarves in the rear ranks hesitated, their advance slowing. Instinctively, they crouched low, trying to shield themselves with their shields, but the flames and explosions from the city walls continued to rain down relentlessly, multiple firing ports spewing torrents of fire simultaneously.
Mogdin watched from the rear, his eyes burning crimson, yet he was so stunned he couldn't speak.
He knew humans possessed fire-spewing weapons, but he had never imagined their power could be concentrated into such a dense, swift-moving web of death.
"Charge! Keep charging!" he roared, though a tremor now laced his voice. "Their reload time is slow! Once we get close, we'll win!"
But the momentum of the dwarf charge had already shattered.
"By the Warhammer! Advance! Don't let their paper walls scare you!" Seeing his tribesmen falter, Mogdin raised his Warhammer high, bellowing furiously as he tried to rally the charge.
He glared at the warriors who had stumbled to a halt a hundred meters away. "Are you sons of Stonefather or cave rats?! Charge forward! Move! Now!"
(End of the Chapter)
---
📖Read (FF) on Pa.treon@CinderTL - c987. [+1]
🔑Early Access at $5.
💥Translated (6) Series, (4.6K+) Chapters, (6.7M+) Words.