A thunderous boom ripped through the stonework as a cannonball struck directly among a cluster of orc royal warriors.
One warrior, flung clear by the blast, smashed into a wall so hard that steel shrieked against stone. His armor crumpled inward, his lungs crushed, and blood gushed from beneath his helmet. Staggering back to his feet, he turned to look where he had once stood—only to see a crater in the floor, jagged and smoking, littered with the torn corpses of his companions. The explosion had even blasted a hole straight through to the chamber below the castle.
"The defense circle… it's broken?! Broken?!" The thought ripped across his mind, colder than the blood soaking his armor.
All around him, shells slammed into the ancient walls, showering rubble, choking dust, and splintering beams. The mighty fortress shook as though the earth itself were splitting. Orc soldiers scattered in terror, their discipline unraveling into chaos.
"The defense circle is broken! The defense circle is broken!" they screamed, their voices echoing like the cries of animals before slaughter.
For a century, the great barrier had been a moat of the soul, the one certainty that gave the empire its arrogance. To see it shattered in moments was like watching the sky collapse.
Another barrage landed. The entire castle bucked violently, throwing soldiers off their feet. Some tumbled screaming from the fifty-meter walls, their bodies breaking with sickening cracks upon the stones below.
"The gate! The gate has been broken!" came a desperate cry, sharp as a death knell.
Terror hollowed every heart.
"Forward! Attack!" Waumu bellowed.
The earth orc heavy infantry surged first, axes and spears flashing, eyes wild with the taste of vengeance.
"Traitors!" a wolf orc defender howled from the ramparts, only to be impaled by a rain of spears. His corpse was slammed against the wall as dozens of red-eyed earth orcs pressed their assault.
From above, defenders heaved down cauldrons of boiling oil. Screams rose as more than a dozen earth orcs were drenched, their flesh seared black as they writhed on the ground.
Fox Adviser, frantic and pale, brandished his sword. "Hold! Hold! There are three gates to the castle! Do not falter!"
But he knew the truth. He was Longdangor's most trusted confidant, and none had tormented the earth orcs more viciously than he. If the castle fell, he would not be spared—of that he was certain.
The earth orcs, bolstered by sheer numbers and fury, tore through the defenders layer by layer, forcing their way to the second gate.
"Loose arrows!" cried a captain. From hidden slots above, orc archers fired in desperate volleys. Arrows thudded into flesh; an earth orc staggered, gurgling, before collapsing with an arrow in his throat. But still they came.
"Stand aside!" a Ross soldier roared, hoisting a bazooka onto his shoulder.
The missile streaked forward with a shriek and detonated against the gate. The blast ripped the wooden doors from their hinges, splintering them apart.
The heavy gates crashed inward, crushing the defenders behind them. Screams rang out as wolf orcs and tiger orcs were buried beneath the debris.
With brutal efficiency, the earth orcs led the charge, and the Ross soldiers followed, rifles crackling, grenades flashing. Together they stormed through the second, then the third gate. The impregnable heart of Halma was being gutted, gate by gate.
Inside the palace hall, Fox Adviser's face blanched. "It's over," he whispered. The moment earth orc boots thundered across the marble, his courage shattered.
He shouted orders, rallying the orc royal warriors to form a shield wall, but his own feet betrayed him. He fled toward the rear corridors, heart pounding with one thought only: escape.
"Just make it out—just make it out alive…"
Once, he had imagined himself a loyal minister, prepared to die for Emperor Longdangor. But now, when death breathed at his neck, all his lofty notions crumbled. He wanted life, no matter the cost.
His desperate run ended suddenly. In the chaos, an arrow whistled out of the melee, slamming into his throat.
Fox Adviser staggered, eyes bulging in disbelief. He clutched the shaft, choking as blood poured down his chest. He collapsed in the hall, his ambition and cunning silenced forever.
In the throne hall, a dozen orc royal warriors remained—towering giants three meters tall, clad in impenetrable plate that covered them head to toe. They roared, axes and spears four meters long cleaving down with the strength of great knights. Their sheer might stalled thousands of earth orcs, holding the entrance with a handful of warriors.
Behind them cowered the emperor's seven sons, tiger-headed princes whose faces twisted in horror. They had never expected this fortress, the eternal heart of their empire, to fall. Yet the walls bled and the gates lay shattered, and the humans marched inexorably closer.
The royal warriors fought like demons, their armor slick with blood, their roars echoing as they swung their colossal weapons. Earth orcs who dared approach were crushed into paste, their bodies scattered like broken dolls.
"Too strong," whispered an earth orc soldier, trembling. "Is this… is this the true power of the royal guard?"
Just then, a lone Ross infantryman stepped forward. Ordinary in build, dirt and powder staining his uniform, he raised no axe, no sword—only the MG42 gripped in his hands.
The orc warriors laughed, blood dripping from their tusks.
"Another insect come to die? Pathetic humans!"
"Look at those frail arms—what can you possibly do?"
"Come then! Show us your courage before you perish!"
They bellowed with mocking laughter, their voices filling the hall.
The soldier sneered, lifted his weapon, and uttered four words that cut sharper than any blade:
"Times have changed, noble gentlemen."
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