After cursing the unreliable Emperor of the Empire a few times, Thorgrim returned to the main topic.
"You said you found traces of Skaven underground? Recently, the surrounding Mountain Strongholds and patrol teams haven't reported any news of large rat gatherings, so it should be at most a small clan that failed in their internal struggles, or a vanguard unit of a certain clan. In that case..."
"Let me go with big brother!" Gromril interjected. His first campaign ended in defeat, and he almost lost his life, leaving him with a burning anger.
"Has Iron Chisel agreed to assign the Anvil Guard to you for emergency duty?" Without rushing to answer Gromril, Thorgrim asked about something else.
"They arrived the same day! They're quite good!" Gromril replied.
"Hmm, when it was first formed, the Clansmen he conscripted were all true elites. Although they've lacked practical experience in these past years, their original foundation should still be there." Thorgrim nodded.
"With them protecting you, I can rest a little easier, but... Grenson!" Thorgrim called out towards the door.
"At your service, High King!" Grenson, the Eternal Hammer Guard Captain Gromril had met before, strode into the room at the sound.
"Master Gromril is going to join the army on campaign. I ask you to take ten of your brothers to protect him!"
"Huh? Your Majesty, isn't that against the rules? We, the Eternal Hammer Guard, are only responsible to you! The last time we protected Prince Grom was because he was your eldest son. Master Gromril..." Grenson's words were cut short.
"Besides being the youngest Rune Master and my youngest son, Gromril is also the Chosen of the Goddess of the Ancestor Goddess!"
"Alright, as you wish! In the name of the Ancestor Gods, I swear that anyone who wishes to harm Master Gromril will have to step over our corpses!"
Receiving a positive reply, Thorgrim nodded again. "Oh, about the last assessment, I did a little investigation. The report is here! Take it and read it yourself. Overall, the problem isn't big!"
He pulled a document from the pile on the table and handed it to Gromril.
Thorgrim then looked at Grom: "When do you plan to depart?"
"Tomorrow morning, Father. Although the situation there isn't changing by the minute, it's better for me to return as soon as possible. Yesterday, I was worried that returning during the day might be discovered by Greenskin scouts, leading to a night raid on the stronghold, which is why I rushed back in the middle of the night!"
"Hmm, for a novice, it's never wrong to be cautious. That's it then! Take good care of Gromril!"
With Thorgrim's approval, both brothers were very excited. Walking out of the room, Gromril originally wanted to pull Grom along to return to the clan to chat more, but Grom mysteriously refused him.
"I have some other things to attend to. You go back and get some good rest! Meet me at the western gate of the fortress at dawn tomorrow with your guards! I'll also tell Grenson."
"What are you going to do? Recruit other soldiers? Maybe I can go with you!"
"Hahahahaha! Recruit? You could say that, but you can't help me. Go back now, we have a long journey tomorrow!"
Gromril shook his head. He tucked the document into his chest and returned to his residence with his guards. Upon entering the gate, he saw the Anvil Guard training in pairs, having taken off their armor for hand-to-hand combat.
"Johnson, gather the brothers. I need to announce our departure tomorrow morning!"
The Captain of the Anvil Guard ran over at the sound. "Just call me Johnson, honored Chosen of the Goddess. What did you say? Departing tomorrow morning?" The thudding sounds of the guards' bodies colliding and their shouts made it hard for him to hear clearly.
"Yes, I will be accompanying my elder brother, Grom-Skullcrusher, to the front lines of Karak-Varn. You will be coming with me, won't you?"
"Of course! My battle-axe is already thirsty! This is our duty! Our oath is as firm as a rock!"
Johnson snapped to attention with a 'boom' and shouted loudly, "Brothers, gather! We have a mission!" At his command, the Dwarves, who had been scattered around the courtyard, quickly gathered into a dense formation.
After a brief reorganization of the formation, Johnson stepped back behind Gromril and gestured for him to announce the orders. This was Gromril's first time addressing his subordinates. He cleared his throat with two coughs; Johnson's booming voice, like thunder, put a lot of pressure on him.
"Everyone, my grand-uncle, Iron Chisel Master, has assigned you to me, so I won't be polite! We will gather here tomorrow morning. Everyone, bring your gear. We're going to Mountain Lake Fortress to kill Greenskins and rats!"
"That's great! For years, squatting in the fortress with no battles to fight, even the rats in the sewers looked like Stormvermin to me!"
"Finally, I won't have nothing to talk about at the pub! My old friends now call me a doorman!"
"This time we're following the Chosen of the Goddess. It won't do to be unkempt if the Goddess notices us! I'll go to the barber shop later to take care of my beard!"
Hearing the news of their departure tomorrow, the guards not only showed no reluctance but were all extremely excited, wishing they could leave immediately.
Seeing their performance, Gromril secretly nodded. It seemed this unit had not been ruined by an easy life, and his personal safety was quite assured.
After dismissing the team and sending them home to pack their bags, Gromril returned to his room. Balin, who had also received news of the campaign, was eager to participate. In Dwarf race society, establishing merits on the battlefield was undoubtedly a shortcut to gaining prestige and status, more so than improving professional skills.
Gromril himself had little to pack. He prepared two sets of clothes and put on the newly acquired iron chisel ring, and he was basically done. He didn't plan to read the document yet, to avoid being distracted during combat.
Balin, however, was very excited, bustling about and packing two large bags, bulging with who knew what.
The afternoon passed quickly. After dinner, the old dwarf Grenson arrived at Gromril's residence with nine other members of the Eternal Hammer Guard. They were taciturn, with hammers always in hand and armor always on. They found a place to settle down and quietly waited for their departure tomorrow morning.
Early the next morning, before dawn, Gromril got out of bed. Seeing his subordinates gradually assembling at the door, he and Balin walked out of the room together.
Looking at his forty Anvil Guard and ten Eternal Hammer Guard, Gromril felt good. These were truly the elites of the Dwarf race! Unfortunately, they were all on loan; his only true Clansmen was his advisor, Balin, by his side.
Gromril raised a hand to stop Johnson's booming voice, which was poised to erupt. He didn't want to disturb the sweet dreams of the surrounding Clansmen so early in the morning.
"Brothers, let's go! Our destination is the West Gate. Everyone, lighten your steps!"
A group of fifty-two Dwarves set off in the dim light, without any lamps.
Arriving at the west gate of Karaz-A-Karak, Gromril saw a group of Dwarfs already gathered there. They were busy loading various supplies onto several carriages.
Seeing Gromril, they all looked up and greeted him. "Good morning, Master Gromril!"
"May the Ancestor Goddess bless you, esteemed Chosen of the Goddess!"
Gromril returned their greetings while looking around, but he didn't see his elder brother Grom. "Where's my elder brother?" Gromril asked a servant, pulling him aside.
"Uh, His Highness the Prince had some important business to attend to last night, so he might not have woken up yet, but he should be on his way now!" Gromril shook his head upon hearing this. He remembered his elder brother emphasizing the importance of punctuality to him when they were children.
Soon, all the Dwarfs recruited yesterday had arrived, and Grom also hurried over, surrounded by the Iron Hammer Guards.
"Have the numbers been tallied, Noel?" he asked the servant, his eyes dark with fatigue.
"And the supplies purchased yesterday, oh, they've arrived too! Alright then, let's set off!" With that, his elder brother Grom led the Hammerers at the front of the procession.
This small squad consisted of 80 Ironbreakers, 20 Iron Drakes recruited yesterday, Grom's 20 Iron Hammer Guards, and Gromril's fifty men. They advanced on foot through the underground tunnel in a single file.
The group protected Gromril and several carriages loaded with supplies in the middle. Gromril was surrounded by the Eternal Hammer in the inner circle and the Anvil Guard in the outer circle, keeping him thoroughly protected.
The team's marching speed was not fast, limited by the Dwarfs' short legs, but their excellent stamina made up for it. They walked for an entire morning with almost no rest. When they sat down for lunch, Gromril knew they had advanced fifteen kilometers according to the road markers.
Gromril sat cross-legged. Although as a rune magic wielder, he wasn't wearing heavy armor and didn't carry much luggage, only his weapon in hand, the morning's forced march still left him somewhat exhausted.
Even though his body had changed, it would still take some time for him to adapt to this intensity of marching. Taking the bread, dried meat, and water handed to him by Balin, Gromril chewed heartily. The severe physical exertion made the food taste delicious.
Balin was also extremely tired. This was the first time this civilian Dwarf had participated in a forced march, and he was carrying two large bags of luggage. After arranging two simple sentry posts, his elder brother Grom sat down with them, holding his food.
"This is the Silver Road province, at the foot of the Everpeak. Ironbreaker squads patrol here daily, so it's very safe! If we were truly adventuring outside, we wouldn't dare to be so relaxed. Even when eating, one hand would be on our bread and the other on our weapon!"
Although his elder brother Grom seemed a bit tired, the recruited elite troops and the impending victory made him exceptionally excited.
Gromril chewed his dry rations, feeling the soreness in his lower limbs, and spoke, "Elder brother, don't we have horses? Why don't we form cavalry? Four legs are always faster than two!"
"Shush! Keep your voice down!" Grom took a swig of beer.
"Don't let the Longbeard Elders hear you, or they'll start grumbling again. According to the teachings of the Ancestor Gods, we of the Dwarf race are Sons of the Mountains, and we should measure the land with our own two feet."
"But…" Gromril was interrupted before he could finish.
"Of course, that's only one reason. Another is that we lack suitable mounts. With our legs, many powerful ones are impossible to straddle." The two brothers laughed as they looked at their legs, which they had laboriously crossed.
"The horses are right there, you can try riding them. It's not a big problem to walk slowly, but if they start to run, they'll just throw you off. Don't ask me how I know!" Grom took a large, almost vindictive bite of dried meat.
"And these are just ordinary packhorses. Real warhorses are even more troublesome. Further afield, in Bretonnia, there are the tall horses left behind by those Pointy-ears. Now those are impressive!"
Gromril nodded. A large part of why Bretonnia's cavalry was renowned in the Old World was because they possessed Elven warhorses and half-Elven warhorses left over from the Elven colonial period. These horses had superior stamina and speed.
"Don't we even get a chance to ride griffons, hippogriffs, or demigryphs? I heard Father say that in Kislev, they even ride bears." Gromril wasn't giving up yet.
"Why don't you think a little bigger? Go to the Pointy-ears' old home and get yourself a dragon!" Grom was amused.
"Look, can you even do a split wide enough for a bear's back? But then again," he remembered something and changed the subject.
"It's not like there's absolutely nothing we can ride. Rock rams and war boars are actually viable. Hahahaha, just thinking of you, the Chosen of the Goddess, riding on a pig's back makes me want to laugh!"
"Uh, uh, let's put the pig matter aside for now and talk about rock rams!" Gromril also felt that riding a pig would be visually unappealing. If he actually did that, his title of 'Pig Rider Warrior' would probably spread faster than 'Chosen of the Goddess'.
"Rock rams, ah. It's true that some rangers and herders tame these for travel, but there are many problems.
The first is that they can't carry heavy loads. If our heavily armored warriors ride them, the rams can't bear the weight. And if they don't wear armor, they're too vulnerable to losses! Even though the Pointy-ears haven't fought much these years, their ranged firepower, with arrows raining down like water, would turn unarmored warriors into pincushions!"
Grom took two more sips of water. Talking while chewing bread was somewhat of a burden.
"The second is that rock rams are timid and easily startled. Think about who our main opponents are. Many of the Greenskin cavalry ride wolves, which naturally counter rams. The ratmen are not only numerous, but their elite units can also unleash various fires, noises, and toxic gases. Our warriors aren't afraid, but the rams are! If they get startled and charge back, imagine the trouble!"
"In the past, some lords did try to form rock ram cavalry, but they weren't very valuable and were gradually abolished.
If you really want one, there are plenty of rock rams near Mountain Lake Fortress. When we go back, I'll arrange for rangers to catch and train one for you! You are the Chosen of the Goddess, so the Longbeards won't say much about you riding a ram for travel. If all else fails, just say the Goddess demanded you ride one!" With that, the two brothers chuckled mischievously.
After lunch and a brief rest, the Dwarfs set off again. Grom hoped to reach Karak-Varn by the end of the day.
In the afternoon, Gromril sat in a carriage, claiming he needed to meditate to train his rune power. The surrounding Dwarfs, of course, had no objections.
By dinner time, the group had covered two-thirds of the journey and once again sat down to rest. As Balin complained about the boredom of the journey, an old veteran suddenly made a silencing gesture.
After a brief silence, he spoke: "I hear the sound of blades and axes chopping nearby!"
"Go, half of you follow me to check it out, and half stay here to protect the supplies! Gromril, you…"
"I'm going too!"
Grom nodded. He picked up his warhammer and walked at the very front.
The Dwarfs present were all well-trained elites. They quickly formed a dense formation. Grom-Skullcrusher and his Iron Hammer Guard formed the vanguard, while the Ironbreakers protected Gromril and the Iron Drakes in the middle.
The Dwarfs sprinted at full speed with their short legs. Soon, they heard the piercing sound of sharp weapons scraping against steel and the muddled, strange 'squeak, squeak' cries coming from a side passage.
"Skaven!" All the Dwarfs reacted, and Gromril's hand instinctively tightened around his warhammer.
"Die, you filthy rats! Hold on, my Clansmen! Grom-Skullcrusher is here!" Grom-Skullcrusher roared, swinging his two-handed warhammer as he charged into the passage.
The narrow passage was a bit crowded. Gromril, heavily protected, waited a long time before he could squeeze in.
He stood on his tiptoes and strained to look, seeing Grom-Skullcrusher communicating with a squad of Ironbreakers. On the ground lay a pile of scantily clad corpses.
Gromril pushed his way to the front. "What happened?"
"A bunch of Slave Rats that appeared out of nowhere! When I rushed in, they were almost all killed by the patrolling brothers! The junk in their hands couldn't even leave a mark on meteorite iron armor! I yelled so loudly for nothing!" Grom-Skullcrusher exclaimed.
The corpses on the ground were all Slave Rats, and just as the name implies, they were the lowest rung of Skaven society.
Slave Rats usually perform all the menial tasks, from mining and digging tunnels to producing food—of course, when the clan's food reserves are insufficient, the Slave Rats themselves may also become food for the clan.
Most Slave Rats are born into slavery; they are at the bottom of society due to their lowly bloodline or physical deformities. At the same time, the Skaven are also happy to enslave captured Clanrats from the defeated side in their endless wars of infighting, causing the number of Slave Rats to grow daily.
On the battlefield, they are usually driven forward to be cannon fodder for enemy ranged units. If they withstand the assault, their sheer numbers can exhaust the enemy.
As true expendables, they only have tattered spears and rusted blades. Even a brave human farmer could take on several at once.
"Why did I only hear the clang of weapons and the rats' squeals just now? It even gave me a fright; I thought for a moment that our Clansmen were in a bad situation!" Gromril asked curiously.
"Heh! little dwarf just doesn't understand anything!" The leader of this squad of Ironbreakers spoke up, his voice sounding a bit muffled beneath his face mask.
"Underground, even small sounds can travel very far. If we also shouted loudly, we would most likely attract more enemies, not our own kin! The first rule of Ironbreakers is to remain silent in combat!"
Gromril nodded at his words; knowledge and experience grow through such processes.
"If there's nothing else, everyone get back to your duties! We still have to continue patrolling. I will report the matter of rats appearing in the geo-network after this mission is over!" This Ironbreaker captain's temper was as hard as the stones in the Mountains. Even when facing two High Princes, he chose to continue upholding his duty.
Out of respect for these veterans, Gromril and his group made way and watched them depart.
Returning to the carriage, seeing that everything was normal, both brothers felt relieved. The group set off again, but after this interlude, Gromril noticed that almost everyone had become tense.
"Brother, don't ever think that all rats are such trash! The Mountain Strongholds that have been overrun by rats over the years are no fewer than those lost to our old rivals, the Greenskins. You must not let your guard down when you encounter them in the future! Be wary of black-furred rats, and pay even more attention to grey-furred ones, as they have spellcasting abilities!"
With memories of the game from his previous life, Gromril knew that besides these ratmen, there were also disgusting behemoths and Skaven technology that was deadly to both enemies and themselves.
In his eyes, Skaven were more difficult enemies to deal with than those Greenskins who were high on Waaagh! and only knew how to charge head-on.
The group moved quickly through the darkness of the underground tunnel. After another rest, Gromril finally saw the exit. Stepping out of the tunnel, Gromril saw the moon already hanging in the night sky.
"Hold on, fellows! Our outpost isn't far from here!" Grom-Skullcrusher stood on a rock, cheering everyone on.
Outside the tunnel, the environment suddenly became much wider. The Dwarfs changed formation again, forming a circular array and continuing forward. Suddenly, several wolf howls came from a distance!
The draft horses pulling the carriage were startled and began to run in circles. The Dwarfs also quickly became tense. Gromril saw a dozen small black dots running in the distance. As they approached, he realized these were goblin Wolf Riders, and their speed was as swift as the wind!
"It's useless, they're too fast, save your ammunition!" Grom-Skullcrusher stopped the Iron Drakes who had raised their Handcannons.
"These guys want to attack our transport convoy again, but this time they've run into Grimnir's axe blade!"
The goblin Wolf Riders gradually slowed down. They were not unintelligent creatures. Seeing that this group of Dwarfs was not a lightly armed transport convoy but heavily armed elites, they did not want to test whether their dire wolf's teeth would chip against meteorite iron armor.
The two sides stood off for a while, about a hundred meters apart. Grom-Skullcrusher's team did not have ranged firepower like Quarrelers or Thunderers. Gromril felt that his master-level Flight Runes and Iron Drake Handcannon were too slow and easily dodged, so he did not make a move.
The Greenskin side did not have the advantage in numbers, and their strength was even less comparable. After watching from a distance for a while, they retreated. The group sped up, and half an hour later, a Dwarf outpost appeared in sight.
The Dwarfs in the outpost, from their elevated position, had spotted the approaching group earlier. Soon, the outpost gates opened, and a group of Dwarfs poured out.
Gromril saw that the leader was an old man whose beard reached his instep; his age was similar to that of Master Iron Chisel.
"Prince Grom-Skullcrusher, you're finally back! This old man has worried about you a lot these past two days!" The old dwarf patted Grom-Skullcrusher's shoulder and said,
"This one, he looks familiar! Oh, oh, it's Prince Snorri! I've been traveling outside these past years and rarely returned to the clan, so it's been a while, I almost didn't recognize you!" The old dwarf looked at Gromril with great affection.
"Prince? Hahaha, that's ancient history!" Upon reaching the stronghold, Grom-Skullcrusher also relaxed.
"Allow me to formally introduce you to this person – the Ancestor Goddess's chosen, the youngest Rune Master in the history of the Mountain Kingdom, and the High King's own son, Master Gromril! Of course, he is also my younger brother!"
Listening to these words, the expressions of the Dwarfs in the outpost froze on their faces, and the old dwarf's pipe even dropped.
The Dwarfs who had come with Grom-Skullcrusher laughed at the sight; hadn't they reacted the same way when they first heard the news?
The old dwarf froze for a moment before tremblingly bending down to pick up his pipe. When he stood up again, he seemed to have aged a few more years.
"Ancestor Gods above! I truly thought you were joking with me!" He paused.
"When I was with the exploration team searching for ore veins in the east, I heard an old saying, supposedly from the Cathay Empire: 'Heroes emerge from the young!' At the time, I didn't pay it much mind, thinking that to truly achieve something, one needed a beard and experience. Now, it seems that saying was indeed correct!"
"Let's go, let's go inside first! It's not right to keep everyone standing outside in the middle of the night!" Grom called to the convoy, and the group orderly entered the outpost.
The convoy went to unload, while Gromril, Grom, and several high-ranking Dwarfs from the outpost entered the meeting room. Grenson, Captain of the Eternal Hammer, also followed.
"Let me introduce you, this is Goldfinder, our clan's esteemed Prospector-General, and also the Vice President of the Miners' Guild. Back in the day, he worked side-by-side with our grandfather!" Grom said, looking at the old dwarf.
"Hahaha, back then, I served as that old man's deputy for over a hundred years. When your father, Thorgrim, was elected High King, he boasted to me that the location of your ancestors' tomb was excellent, and that future generations would achieve even greater things.
I thought he'd had too much beer! How could there be a Dwarf more noble than the High King in this world? I never thought the Ancestor Gods would bestow their divine favor again after so many years, choosing the Chosen of the Goddess!" The old dwarf finally recovered, taking a deep drag from his pipe, his emotions a bit stirred.
"On our way back, we encountered a group of Slave Rats in the tunnel. This is not a good sign! Have there been any abnormalities here these past two days?" Grom asked, sitting in the main seat.
"You've returned just in time, Grom! We just finished a meeting to discuss sending someone to Karaz-A-Karak to report if you hadn't returned by tomorrow!" Goldfinder spoke.
"After you left, we followed your instructions and suspended underground mining activities. However, the Greenskins' reaction has been strange. They've changed their previous behavior of holding fast to their fortress and refusing to come out; instead, they've actively come out to harass us.
This afternoon, that Greenskin Warboss even led a bunch of lads in an attempt to assault our outpost. Since you weren't here, I didn't dare to form up outside. We drove them back with several volleys from the Crossbowmen, Thunderer, and Ballista."
"Hmph! They're asking for it. Good, let's settle the score!" Grom slammed his fist on the table.
"Pass on my orders: let the main force rest well, arrange shifts for sentries to prevent night attacks. Wake up at seven tomorrow morning, eat at eight, and after a full meal, come with me to crush those brainless green things!"
With that, Grom prepared to stand and leave. He let out a big yawn; after several days of continuous travel, even a resilient race like Dwarfs found it hard to bear.
"Brother, don't be so hasty, please hear me out!" Gromril, who had been silent since entering, spoke. Hearing him, the Dwarfs who were about to leave stopped. They had enough respect for this young Chosen of the Goddess.
"Oh? Does my brother have something to say?" Grom asked with interest. In his memory, Gromril had always been engrossed in rune scrolls since childhood, with little interest in war.
"Brother, think about it: what do the Greenskins want by actively sending out cavalry to harass us, and even using their main force to attack our outpost?"
"Of course, they want to fight us! Are they trying to surrender to us? We don't take Greenskin prisoners!" Grom replied.
"Then what is our relationship with the Greenskins?"
"That's a foolish question! We've been sworn enemies with the Greenskins since the time of our ancestors! Are you trying to claim kinship with them? If you go, you go, but don't take our Drazklad Clan with you!" Grom was utterly confused.
"Yes, can we do what our enemies want us to do? If we grant their wish, wouldn't that be a sorrow for our kin and a joy for our foes?" Gromril quoted a saying.
"That's right, every time we launch an offensive to seek a decisive battle with the Greenskins, they always close their gates and refuse to come out!"
"Not fighting when they don't want to, and fighting when they do, we absolutely cannot let those idiots have their way!"
After hearing Gromril's analysis, the surrounding Dwarfs all cheered.
"If you ask me, the Greenskins' sudden abnormal behavior must mean there's some problem inside their fortress! Either they're running out of supplies, or they've started fighting with the Rats!"
Connecting the Slave Rats seen on the road with the news of Skaven traces found by Miners underground, Gromril gave his judgment.
"Makes sense!"
"Truly worthy of being the Chosen of the Goddess!"
"Hmph! I was thinking the same thing!"
"Oh, come on! You were the loudest one calling for a decisive battle just now!"
After hearing Gromril's words, the surrounding Dwarfs all expressed their agreement.
Grom's face lit up with joy. He drained his cup of beer and said, "Well done! My brother has grown up! I've read a lot about military strategy in books too, but every time I encounter a situation, I still just want to grab my hammer and charge!" He was genuinely happy for Gromril's growth.
"So, what do you suggest we do next?" Grom decided to hand the leadership over to Gromril.
In front of so many elders, Gromril was slightly nervous; this was also his first time participating in a military meeting.
"In my opinion, it would be better to wait two or three more days and observe. Anyway, we just received a batch of supplies, so there's no need to rush. If small, fast-moving units harass us, we'll ignore them. If they still dare to attack the outpost with large forces, then we'll continue to greet them with ranged weapons,"
Gromril paused to organize his thoughts, then continued, "Besides maintaining vigilance to prevent night attacks, we also need to send out more scouts to gather clear intelligence. As the saying goes, 'Know yourself and your enemy, and you will never be defeated.' Who is in charge of the Ranger unit?"
A middle-aged Dwarf dressed in unusual attire responded and stepped forward. He wasn't wearing the common heavy steel armor, but rather leather armor covered by a cloak, and his face was full of traces of wind and frost.
Rangers are an anomaly among Dwarf troops. Unlike the Clansmen who usually operate underground, they typically live far from the fortresses in the wilderness. This unit is often composed of hunters and herders, and also some clans whose original Mountain Strongholds were captured but who refused to join other Mountain Strongholds as dependents. They are also common in Dwarf settlements in human society.
These units are equipped with a variety of weapons, ranging from bows and crossbows to firearms, battle axes, and traps.
Rangers usually operate in small groups, undertaking tasks such as sentry duty, intelligence gathering, flanking maneuvers, destroying war machines, and even assassination.
Although they are an indispensable part of Dwarf forces, and stories of legendary Rangers are often prized topics of conversation at the tavern, they do not receive much respect from Dwarf society.
"Arrange for your men to monitor the Greenskins' movements, and be sure to protect yourselves!" Gromril issued the order.
The Ranger Captain nodded, his years of solitary living having made him a man of few words.
"Let my Miners handle the movements and numbers of the Skaven!" Goldfinder continued.
"Hmm, I think it might be better to let the Ironbreakers go! We have plenty of manpower now, and it's best not to take risks before we have a clear understanding of the rats' specific situation." As a first-time commander, Gromril decided to be cautious.
"Then let Strongshield arrange it! I've heard of his reputation as an Ironbreaker Captain before he joined the Anvil Guard! That loudmouth!" Brother Grom spoke, and Gromril naturally had no objection.
"That's settled, meeting adjourned! Tell the sentries to stay alert and watch out for night raids!" Grom yawned and headed back to his room.
"These young lads today are nowhere near as resilient as they used to be! Back when I was mining with your grandfather, ha, going a day and a night without sleep was commonplace!" Goldfinder grumbled as he left, and the other Dwarfs filed out one by one.
Back in his room, lying on the hard plank bed, Gromril let out a long sigh.
"My first battle since transmigrating! I can't disgrace myself, having lived two lives!" He washed his face, put on his ring, and, with his warhammer in hand, drifted off to sleep, the hard feel of the weapon bringing him some sense of security.
The next morning, Gromril was awakened by the Dwarfs' training chants. Getting out of bed, he stumbled.
The soreness from yesterday's march had only fully set in this morning. Gromril sat on the bed, massaging himself for a long time, then found some cloth strips to wrap around his legs before leaving his room.
"Valaya above! Right now, give me just one Warpig and I'd ride it!" He tried his best to control his body as he walked towards the mess hall, maintaining a forced smile and returning greetings to every Clansmen he passed.
Breakfast in the military camp was simple. For a Dwarf leader, not having special treatment and enjoying the same meals as his subordinates was a very important quality.
Gromril broke open his stone bread and soaked it in dried meat soup, chewing and swallowing with effort. Just then, Grom sat down beside him with the same meal.
"Can you get used to it?" his brother asked while chewing bread. "It took me some effort the first time too!" He nodded after receiving Gromril's affirmative reply.
"Hmm, if it's really too difficult, I also brought you some side dishes. If you ration them, they can last for a while. These past two days, we've sent all the Rangers out to gather information, so there's no fresh meat, otherwise it would be better!"
The two brothers quickly finished breakfast and headed together to the watchtower at the outpost. The Dwarf on guard saluted them and offered them the best vantage point.
Brother Grom looked out from the height, stroking his beard across his chest, a look of satisfaction on his face.
"Look!" He pointed, and following his finger, Gromril saw a mountain path. The path wound upwards, with some defensive structures along the way, and at the end of the path was a Dwarf-style fortress, but now it was adorned with a bunch of crooked totems, and its walls were covered with distorted drawings. From its scale, Gromril judged it to be a Greenskin encampment.
"That's the fortress!" Grom said. "Over the years, as our race's population has dwindled, the fortress on the mountain has been abandoned. An exploration team built a new mining station here, close to the meteorite iron vein and the geomantic network, saving a lot of travel time."
"This group of Greenskins must have been influenced by that damned fat goblin's Waaagh! They crossed the mountains and arrived here, scattering the Miners at the original mining station in a surprise attack, and then settled in the mountain stronghold. Look, they've ruined a perfectly good castle!"
Brother Grom opened his flask and took a swig: "It's getting cold, have a sip to warm yourself up!" Gromril drank as instructed.
"Whoa! What kind of alcohol is this, it's so strong!" Gromril asked, feeling the burning sensation in his throat.
"Bergman No. 1! The legendary brewer's strongest creation!" Grom also took a sip. "Drinking this while the cold mountain wind blows, I feel like I want to become a herdsman!"
"Hahahahaha! Herdsmen can't afford this, my dear brother!" Gromril laughed aloud, surprised that a Dwarf would have such a thought.
"I received news and, under my father's command, organized a unit and rushed over. I first gathered the scattered Miners, recaptured the outpost with a night raid, killed all two teams of Greenskins left behind, and then I organized the upgrade and reinforcement of the outpost while leading my troops to fight the Greenskins on the mountain!" Grom got back to the point, continuing to explain the situation to Gromril.
"At first, the situation wasn't too good. Those orks had a unit of Warpig Boyz and several teams of goblin Wolf Riders! They were originally a mobile unit, after all. The cavalry's charge from above was too strong; my team almost got overwhelmed several times until we built a batch of chevaux de frise overnight, which improved things."
Following Grom's direction, Gromril saw some fortifications built to resist cavalry near the foot of the mountain path.
"As I gradually gained a foothold, the Miners resumed work. Whenever the Greenskins tried to rush down to harass us, I would lead my brothers in a tug-of-war with them!" Recalling those days, Grom's mouth twitched involuntarily. Gromril could imagine what it was like to face Warpig Boyz charging down from the mountain!
"But things got better once the mine started producing. Through ore trade, I replenished my troops and even got two Ballistas! If we weren't fighting uphill, and cannons weren't so hard to deploy, I would have bought those!" Grom's expression gradually relaxed.
"I had continuous logistics and support from our Everpeak and Zhufbar, while the Greenskins on the mountain were like rootless water, dwindling with each battle!
A while ago, the tide of attack and defense turned. I led my brothers to charge up the mountain, relying on ranged fire cover, trying to deal with them, but we ran into a bit of trouble…" At this, Brother Grom hesitated.
"Oh? Was the Greenskins' resistance too fierce?" Gromril guessed.
"No, that's not it. Ever since their leading Greenskin Warboss had his arm broken by me in a duel, they haven't dared to face us directly."
"Are their ranged forces very strong then?" Gromril asked again.
"Not that either. Greenskins only have some broken archers. Although they have a goblin Shaman, his small Waaagh! spells only serve as harassment. No big deal."
"Then what happened?" Gromril was a bit confused.
"Ugh! It's all our own ranged units' fault! They used to shoot downwards for defense; they hadn't participated in offensive operations for too long, and their trajectory angles were all wrong!"
"Uh huh, and then?" Gromril asked blankly.
"Then? Grimnir's beard! More shots hit our own backsides than hit the Greenskins! I thought we were being ambushed from behind and scrambled back down!"
"Hahahahaha!" Gromril couldn't help but burst out laughing upon hearing about his elder brother's embarrassing experience on the battlefield. He moved behind Grom and lifted his cloak, but his elder brother pressed his hand down.
"Don't look! I wasn't shot in the back! Your elder brother always charges at the front! It was the clansmen in the rear who suffered."
In almost all army charges, the elites are at the front, with ordinary soldiers following behind. Therefore, those at the very end are usually common Dwarf Warriors. Their ordinary plate armor is less effective at resisting friendly fire, and a higher proportion of them are injured.
Gromril stopped laughing, looking at his elder brother's mischievous gaze. This also explained something he had found strange earlier—many of the injured Clansmen were lying in bed.
"In that battle, my men suffered considerable losses. Although there were no fatalities, dozens needed bed rest. More importantly, morale took a significant hit, and I could only return to a stalemate with the orks on the mountain."
Grom took another sip of wine. "You know what happened next; Miners reported traces of Skaven, so I rushed back to Karaz-A-Karak to recruit people."
After listening to his elder brother's entrepreneurial story, Gromril couldn't help but feel a little emotional. Although Grom's tone was light, as if having achieved something, Gromril knew the difficulties hidden within it.
"Let's go, don't stand in the wind here! Let's go back to the meeting room and wait for news!" After descending the watchtower, the two brothers toured the outpost.
Gromril found that although the outpost was small, it was fully equipped.
In addition to essential buildings like the mess hall, barracks, and guard posts, there were clearly designated armories and granaries. There was also a blacksmith's shop capable of simple weapon repairs and producing arrows and firearm ammunition. Gromril even discovered a forge for rough smelting of meteorite iron ore.
Watching his elder brother, Grom, methodically arrange windproof cloaks for the sentries, visit the wounded, organize soldier training, and mediate minor disputes, Gromril realized he had much to learn before becoming a qualified leader.
True warfare isn't won by conceiving a clever ploy and then smashing a few heads on the battlefield.
Two days later, inside Karak-Varn on the mountain, several greenskins gathered in the central hall.
Greenskins is a collective term for orks tribes, goblins, and grots. They are the embodiment of wildness, short-tempered, and live primitively. Their sole purpose in life is war. If there are no external enemies, Greenskins will inflict violence upon their own kind.
Periodically, a powerful Greenskin warlord will unite the Greenskin tribes and launch a massive external assault called a Waaagh!
The term "Waaagh!" comes from an imitation of the Greenskin war cry. When it erupts, rampaging orks , goblins, and grots destroy everything in their path, leaving behind pure chaos.
Orks are tall, burly, and extremely aggressive. They grow continuously throughout their lives, and their skin color gradually darkens with age. They are the main force of Greenskin armies.
goblins are much smaller than orks , but they possess cruelty and cunning, which their larger kin lack.
goblins excel at technological engineering. The Greenskins' designs are simple and effective, and although their war machines appear crude and primitive, they are incredibly destructive in use.
Grots are the smallest members of Greenskin society. They are weak and foolish, and their role in war is negligible.
The center of the hall, originally the Dwarf Lord's throne, had now been transformed into a Greenskin-style seat. The chair was covered with a Wyvern hide and adorned with various totems, a chaotic arrangement that exuded a wild aura.
Sitting on the chair was a tall orks Warlord. He looked so formidable that even sitting, he exuded a powerful presence, though his left arm, suspended in a sling, marred this powerful aesthetic.
Because Greenskins revere violence, most warband leaders are strong, burly orks. Only a few goblins manage to rise to power through their own strength or through cunning, but every successful one is a formidable enemy.
Grom the Fat, mentioned earlier, was a goblin. He ate a piece of Troll flesh in an eating contest. Since Trolls have extremely fast regeneration, he should have been bloated to death.
However, Grom's body developed a miraculous adaptability; his digestive capacity caught up with the Troll flesh's regeneration speed. Although his belly became very large, it ultimately didn't explode. With the massive nutrients provided by this Troll flesh, his physique continuously grew.
Through a physique comparable to an ork's, bizarre vehicle-building and driving skills, and some cunning schemes, he eventually grew into a legendary Greenskin warlord.
"Make up yer zoggin' mind, Boss! If we wait any longer, we ain't gonna leg it outta 'ere!"grumbled a Gobbo sittin' to da Warboss's left.
From his patterned cloak and the staff in his hand, it was clear this was a goblin Shaman.
Greenskins also have spellcasters; they can cast Waaagh! magic by invoking their own gods—Gork and Mork.
Both orks and goblins have the potential to become spellcasters, but due to population size and intelligence factors, goblin spellcasters are more common.
In Greenskin mythology, Gork represents the brutal side, and Mork represents the cunning side, but this is not absolute. Gork can be both brutal and cunning, and Mork can also be both cunning and brutal.
"Yeh, Boss! Couple days back, me Wolf Rider ladz said da stunties down da mountain got more boyz now — lots more! Over a hundred zoggin' tin cans rolled in! Only you an' yer big smashy ladz, or da Warpig Boyz, can krump der turtle shells!"squeaked a Gobbo Boss sittin' below da Shaman, down in da muck where he belongs."Me lot — choppin' or shootin' — can't do nuffin' to 'em!"
Boss Fierce Axe bashed da stone armrest o' his chair wiv a big green fist, ready to shout, but a tall Ork to his right cut in:
"Boss, maybe... we oughta pull back a bit."
"Wot?! You scabby git!" roared Fierce Axe."Wot'd you say when we raised dis WAAAGH?! Ain't even been long, and yer already squiggin' yerself?"
"Lemme talk, Boss!" the Ork Captain growled, teeth grit."Da tunnels is crawlin' wiv more o' dem rat-things. Took da ladz down a few times — we smashed 'em, yeah — but dey messed up our mushroom fields. Food's runnin' out! Ladz are gettin' rowdy, ain't listenin', breakin' stuff, fightin' each other..."
Seein' boss' face twist up like a bad fungus brew, da Captain snarled and kept goin':
"Some o' da big ladz... dey say you ain't Waaagh! enough no more. Say you ain't strong enough to lead. Say maybe... you ain't our Boss no more!"
With a "bang!" Boss Fierce Axe stood up from his chair.
He swung his axe in a circle with his right hand: "Oi — gather da ladz! I'm gonna show 'em wiv a proper krumpin' dat I, Boss Fierce Axe, am still da biggest an' strongest Greenskin 'ere! WAAAGH!"
Soon, all the greenskins in the Mountain Stronghold gathered in the hall and the plaza outside the entrance, pushing and shoving, making noise, and completely lacking any order.
Boss Fierce Axe stood in front of a chair, holding his axe with one hand, and roared,
"Oi — I 'eard some ladz ain't happy wiv me ruln' an' wanna nick me seat an' sit in dis chair! If ya got da guts, step ferwards! Come at me! I'll krump ya good an' show 'em I, Boss Fierce Axe, am still da biggest an' strongest Greenskin 'ere! WAAAGH!"
Hearing such a roar, several greenskin Big 'Uns, noticeably taller, pushed their way out. Without a word, they charged at the Boss on the platform.
Boss Fierce Axe's skill hadn't diminished much due to the injury to his left hand. He swung his battle-axe in wide arcs, battling the charging Big 'Uns. Moments later, he had knocked down all his challengers.
Although he had two new wounds on his leg and back, he threw his head back and let out a battle cry: "WAAAGH! Gork be praised! I, Boss Fierce Axe, am still da most Waaagh! Greenskin 'ere!"
With that, he swept a contemptuous gaze over the greenskins below, "Wotta?! Who else then!? Who's got da guts ta challenge me? Step up if yer brave — I'll krump ya proper!"
No one uttered a sound. After a brief silence, the audience also let out a "Waaagh" roar. As all the greenskins roared, their Waaagh energy converged and was transmitted to Boss Fierce Axe through the Warp.
His injuries began to heal rapidly, and his already two-meter-plus frame seemed to be growing even larger.
Boss Fierce Axe tore off his bandages, waved his left hand, and felt his body refilling with strength. The greenskins below cheered at this miracle, excited that their Boss had re-established his authority.
Boss Fierce Axe was also very pleased with this. He dismissed his troops and called his original high-ranking officers back for a meeting.
The Dwarf Rangers on the surrounding mountains clearly observed this scene through their telescopes. Some stayed behind to continue monitoring, while others quickly slipped down the mountain.
Once reseated, after a display of strength, the two goblins and one orks who had been sitting below now looked noticeably more respectful.
"Move out, I sez — good idea! Dere's Stunties down da mountain an' more o' dem rat-things under da ground. Da ore we dig up don't even smelt proper no more, jus' a bunch o' rock fer krumpin' stuff! We might as well leave dis busted 'ole. But where we gonna go?"
A Gobbo chirped up, lickin' his chops:
"Respek da Boss! We should charge inta da Stunties' turf an' tail dat King Grom! Dey say 'e's already took da Stunties' capital an' smashed da palace inta bouncy castles! Followin' King Grom we'll get ta chop, kill an' loot till our bellies burst!"
Boss Fierce Axe nodded, noncommittally.
The ork also spoke, "Da Imperium o' Man? Wiv jus' a handful o' us, wot chance we got ta smash thru Black Fire Pass? Nah — I sez we pull back an' Waaagh! back inta da Badlands!"
"All da big warlords in da Badlands've already gone chargin' inta da Imperium o' Man. Ain't dat good for us? Wit Boss an' 'is choppas, an' us bruvvers, grabbin' a bit o' turf in da Badlands'll be dead easy, innit? Den we gobble up a few smaller warbands , krump 'em, take 'em — an' who knows...Maybe we'll be da biggest WAAAGH! round these parts!"
The ork began to envision a bright future.
"King Grom's da greatest greenskin dat ever lived! Followin' da big boss himself..." The goblin Shaman continued to state his reasons.
"Dat's a load o' grot-rot! Since when did a Gobbo get ta be da greatest greenskin? Our Ork Boss, Gobbard Ironclaw, he's da real big boss! Didn't ya say he's got a spot right under Gork an' Mork theirselves?!" Hearing this, Boss Fierce Axe angrily interrupted.
"Hmph! Dat's enough chatter! Tell da ladz — we're headin' back to da Badlands! How can a great Ork stoop ta follow a Gobbo? Nuttin' but squig-guts nonsense!"
After giving the order, Boss Fierce Axe rose to his feet.
"Tell da ladz ta sharpen dey gear! Mornin' we go down da mountain wiv me — gonna krump dem Stunties proper! Before we scarper, we gotta give dem dwarf-holds below a good smackin'! Even if we don't squish 'em flat, we'll bash 'em till dey hide in dere turtle shells an' don't peep out. Else dey'll come crawlin' outta der tunnels like mad rat-things an' chase us — an' by da time we gets back ta da Badlands, half our ladz'll be mangled. Den dat warband's done fer! Sharpen yer choppas! Don't be a grot — be ready ta krump!"
As the Rangers who had been gathering intelligence returned, the Dwarf high command at the outpost once again gathered in the meeting room.
"You mean, the greenskins on the mountain are starting to gather?" Grom said in a deep voice, tapping his fingers on the table.
"Yes, Prince Grom, my men also saw the greenskin Boss's arm, which you broke, recover in a flash of green light!" the Ranger Captain reported.
The Dwarfs present gasped in cold air. Boss Fierce Axe's ferocity had been fully displayed in the previous battle.
"Don't worry! Don't worry, my kinsmen, the greenskins have their filthy savage gods, but don't we have the protection of the Ancestor Gods? Mother Goddess Valaya is watching over us! We have plenty of soldiers and provisions, and our walls and fortresses are strong. The greenskins lack supplies and are not united. How could they be our opponents?"
Grom used the power of his words to boost morale. "Believe us, our grudge will surely be settled!"
"Johnson, any news from the underground Rats?" Gromril asked his Anvil Guard Captain.
"We certainly have a lot of progress! The Rats are fighting among themselves in the greenskin lair. They also want to occupy Karak-Varn and defile the lands of our ancestors!" Johnson spoke through gritted teeth.
"Those Rats are no match for the greenskins head-on, hmph, but the cowardly Rat-men are very good at schemes and tricks! They poisoned the greenskins' mushroom fields with Warpstone dust. I think this is why the greenskins are acting strangely!"
Hearing this, both Gromril and his brother were very satisfied with Johnson's reliable work. "Excellent! My Clansmen! Later, go to the quartermaster and get a large mug of ale for each of your brothers!" Grom said.
"The Ranger brothers too!" Gromril added. Compared to Grom, who followed tradition and didn't pay much attention to the Rangers, an anomaly among Dwarfs, Gromril deeply understood the importance of an intelligence team in war.
Seeing the Ranger Captain's grateful gaze, Gromril knew he had not made a mistake.
"Johnson, continue. Do you know where they came from?" Grom made no further comment on Gromril's actions; he continued to ask about the topic he cared about.
"We captured a few live ones in the chaos, Clanrats, not the lowest-grade Slave Rats. They knew a bit more, but it wasn't precise." Johnson didn't say it directly, he built up the suspense first.
Clanrats form the main component of Skaven armies. These Skaven belong to thousands of clans spread throughout the underground tunnels, fortresses, and crowded cave cities that make up the Under-Empire.
Among the Skaven, only the Slave Rats at the very bottom are greater in number than the Clanrats. Clanrats are slightly smaller than humans, have somewhat decent equipment, and have received some training.
When a Skaven Warlord gathers his forces for war, Clanrats are at the front and center of the army, occupying the main part of the battle line. They form massive groups and overwhelm enemies with their numbers and the fury of their attacks.
"This nest of Skaven is called the Claw-Fiend clan. Their original Warlord died in his bed one night. Afterwards, the clan's leaders each took their trusted retainers and established their own factions. We believe one or two larger clans might be instigating this behind the scenes," Johnson said.
Hearing this, the Dwarfs in the room shouted,
"The rat-men! They're so obsessed with internal strife!"
"Unlike us Sons of the Mountains, the bonds of blood are unbreakable!"
"Do those pieces of trash even deserve to be called a clan? I think 'The Shit Clan' would be more fitting!"
The conference room was filled with a joyful atmosphere, as every Dwarf mocked the endless internal struggles of their old enemies, the Skaven.
"Quiet, quiet!" Gromril's head ached from his Clansmen's noise. He gestured for everyone to stop, allowing Johnson to continue.
"The Warlord was assassinated in the night. This could have been the work of Clan Eshin, but that's not important. What happened next?"
"Then, the Warlord's son, with a few loyal retainers, tried to get revenge. But obviously, that little rat failed. His already small force suffered further losses, and this time he was directly driven out of his original rat-hole. It seems the clan's Warlock also abandoned him for greener pastures."
Hearing this, the Dwarfs in the conference room burst into laughter once again. Nothing brought out the Dwarfs' dark humor more than the misfortunes of the rats.
"After that, this group of remnants, these homeless rats, somehow found an abandoned underground network. After sacrificing a large number of Slave Rats, they finally dug through it, all the way to Karak-Varn."
Johnson paused here, speaking so much with his booming voice was still a bit strenuous.
"Then they started fighting the Greenskins in the city?" Gromril interjected.
"You are correct, Honored Chosen of the Goddess! They thought this time they could escape to freedom, but instead, they burrowed right into the Greenskins' crotch! Their food is already scarce; they've even started cannibalizing their own kind! The Slave Rats we encountered in the tunnel must have been those who fled rather than be eaten!"
Gromril nodded. Johnson's deductions matched his own.
"That's roughly the situation. The Greenskins in the city, besieged from front and back, will definitely try to change the status quo. It's almost impossible for them to choose to go underground and fight the rats. Firstly, the gains are too small, and secondly, cavalry can't operate well underground. That would be like asking Pointy-ears to forge iron!
Therefore, I judge that they are most likely gathering their forces to break out down the mountain, and our outpost is blocking the only mountain path." Gromril's analysis made the Dwarfs present nod frequently.
Goldfinder stroked his long beard, "So if that leading filthy thing doesn't have its brain filled with muscle, it will inevitably have to fight us head-on! Otherwise, my Miners and I will show them what 'appearing and disappearing like ghosts' means!"
The Dwarfs present all deeply agreed. Hearing this, Grom spoke up, "Then we will array ourselves at the foot of the mountain, relying on our fortifications, and have a real fight with them! We'll show those filthy Greenskins that our Mountains are not theirs to come and go as they please!"
"In the name of Grimnir! In the name of the Ancestors!" The Dwarfs in the conference room cheered.
"Dismissed! The formation will be as usual! I will lead the elite troops at the front, with the warriors arrayed behind me. The Miner troops will protect our flanks!" Grom said simply.
"Understood! My lads and I will greet those blind fools with dynamite and pickaxes!"
"Gromril, you take your men and the ranged units and stand in the back!" Grom continued.
"That won't do! I want to…" Gromril protested.
"Listen to me, brother. Protecting the ranged units is also a very crucial task! The enemy will definitely try to use cavalry to ambush our crossbowmen, gunners, and our valuable Ballista!" Grom stopped him from continuing.
"They aren't stupid either; my men and I will have a hard time stopping them completely! Whether we can protect our Clansmen will depend on you! This is key to our victory."
Hearing this, Gromril could only nod in agreement. He knew it was indeed the truth.
"Then it's settled! We'll gather and depart first thing tomorrow morning! May the Ancestor Gods protect us!" Grom made the final statement.
The Dwarfs present left in order. They had to go back to give pre-battle pep talks and organize their equipment. Gromril had no such task, so he returned to his sleeping quarters.
That night, Gromril tossed and turned, unable to sleep due to the impending war. This was his first time participating in battle since his transmigration, and even knowing his side held the upper hand, he was still a bit nervous.
The battlefield changes in an instant; no one knows what will happen, and no one knows how many of the smiling faces at dinner tonight will return to the embrace of the Ancestors tomorrow.
"Are you still awake, Master Gromril?" Grenson's voice came from outside the door.
"Yes, you see me in a poor light, Elder," Gromril replied softly from his bed.
"Don't feel guilty about your nervousness, my boy," Grenson said.
"It's a good thing to have reverence for war and for possible death. Do you think we—the Eternal Hammer Guard—don't feel fear, don't get nervous?"
"Isn't that so?" Gromril asked. In his memory, this iron army was almost synonymous with fearlessness and victory.
"Hahaha, of course we do! We're not facing just a few simple rats. There are nauseating, twisted, disgusting Chaos aberrations, Greenskin Warbosses who can cleave four or five Clansmen in two with one axe, and even some Pointy-ears riding dragons!" Gromril could hear the solemnity in the old dwarf's tone.
"To tell you the truth, I'm old, and I think a lot. Many times I have to rely on alcohol to fall asleep!" Grenson's tone grew even deeper.
"But when I wake up the next day, I'm still the captain of the Eternal Hammer! As long as courage and vows can overcome those fears and anxieties, everything will be alright!" The old dwarf suddenly raised his voice.
"You must know that in battle, all we can rely on is the warhammer in our hands and the comrades beside us! Hmm, perhaps for you, there's also the Ancestor Goddess's protection." Grenson continued,
"Your Clansmen fight for you, and you must fight for your Clansmen. Loyalty is mutual, and courage comes from mutual encouragement! I'll give you advice from an old veteran: As a commander, no matter what you face, you cannot show fear! If even you are afraid, what right do you have to demand courage from your Clansmen around you?" Grenson said earnestly.
"I understand, Elder! You need not doubt my courage!" Gromril replied.
"Of course! You earned the Goddess's divine favor through your brave actions; which Dwarf in the entire Mountain Kingdom doesn't know about that! Just don't mind me for speaking too much, I know some people become more protective of their lives after a narrow escape from death, so I'm just a little worried…"
"Go to sleep! We have a battle tomorrow!" Faced with the long-bearded Dwarf's mumbling, Gromril didn't know how to respond. He chose to face the impending war in the best possible state first.
Early the next morning, as the military horn sounded, Gromril got up and headed to the mess hall. There, he saw Balin, who was packing dry rations for the warriors.
Since no one knew how long the war would last, each Dwarf Warrior was also given a stone bread sandwich with meat and a leather pouch of ale for emergencies. The original mess hall was understaffed, so civilian Dwarves were also called in to help.
Pre-battle meals were improved, consisting of fresh roasted meat and oatcakes with beer.
Gromril took his portion and looked for a place to sit down when suddenly, a young Dwarf ran over.
Judging by his beard, he was about the same age as Gromril, and his equipment easily showed that he was a young Dwarf Warrior.
The young Dwarf spoke, his voice a little timid. "Respected Chosen of the Goddess! I am Edson from Zhufbar. This is my first time on the battlefield, and I… I'm a little scared!"
The young Dwarf felt ashamed of his cowardice. "The Longbeard Elders all say it's not good to do this, but I still want to ask if you could bless me?"
Gromril nodded at his words, put down his tray, and mimicking some priests from his previous life, reached out and placed his hand on Edson's head, saying:
"May the Ancestor Goddess bless you, my kinsman! May strength and courage be with you!"
Gromril offered his most heartfelt blessing, and though his voice was not loud, it seemed to instantly ease the tense pre-battle atmosphere in the dining hall.
Watching the young Clansmen leave excitedly, Gromril suddenly gained a glimmer of understanding about the meaning of a leader.
After breakfast, Gromril arrived at the outpost gate for assembly. Grom was to conduct a final review of the troops with him. The Dwarf forces participating in this battle were as follows:
Grom-Skullcrusher (Dwarf Lord)
Iron Hammer Guard: 40 men
Ironbreaker: 100 men
Dwarf Warriors: 200 men
Gromril-az Thorson (Rune Master)
Anvil Guard: 40 men
Iron Hammer Guard (Eternal Hammer Guard): 10 men
Quarreler: 60 men
Thunderer: 60 men
Iron Drake: 20 men
Ballista: 2 units
Goldseeker (Prospector Chief)
Miners: 200 men
Miners (Dynamite): 100 men
"Clansmen! Hear me!" Grom stood on a stone in the square and began.
"Today is a good day to settle grudges! In previous battles, we blunted the Greenskins' edge with our heroic performance! Their strength was further depleted in their infighting with the rats underground!
Now is the time to deliver the final blow! Let us reclaim Karak-Varn together! Let us bring the Black Water Lake's mineral deposits back under our control! Advance!"
The Dwarves' assembly did not escape the notice of the goblin Wolf Riders. They rode their dire wolves back to Karak-Varn at top speed to report to their Boss.
Upon receiving the news, Boss Fierce Axe quickly assembled his troops. "Bab — call back da ladz what's down in da tunnels huntin' squigs fer me! Dose Stuntie holds down da mountain actually came out... who da git gave 'em da bottle ta face me?!" Boss Fierce Axe roared at the ork captain.
"Every'un else, whether goblins or Big 'Uns, gather at the main gate for me!"
Because the Greenskins in the city had been harassing the Dwarf outposts while fighting the Skaven underground, they had remained in a state of readiness. Soon, the front of Karak-Varn was packed with all sorts of Greenskins.
Boss Fierce Axe emerged from the castle, standing between two totem poles adorned with Gork and Mork, and began to speak:
"Oi, ladz! I knows none o' ya wanna stay in dis god-forsaken 'ole no more! Ain't no proper fightin', ain't no mush-brew ta wet yer gullet, an' I — Boss Fierce Axe — ain't happy neither!"
Listening to the Greenskins below roar in shared sentiment, Boss Fierce Axe was very pleased.
"I knows ya lot's sick o' krumpin' dem tin cans , their meat tastes like grot-dirt an' chewin' it hurts!"da Greenskins burst inta proper rotten laughs.
"An I knows yer fed up o' choppin' dem rat-things , dey got fur so thick it gets stuck in yer chops, an' dey ain't enough fer a real WAAAGH!"
"So I sez , we's quittin' dis cursed 'ole an' fight back ta da Badlands! I'll show dem squig-brains wot a real Waaagh! Ork looks like, wiv me axe an' me boyz! Will ya follow me, or are ya all a buncha grot-scared cowards?!"
Boss Fierce Axe raised his axes with both hands and roared to the sky.
Listening to the excited shouts of the Greenskins, Boss Fierce Axe gave his command:
"Form ranks! Gork above! Let's Waaagh!"
The ork captain, leading his warpig, walked up to the Boss. "The same old plan boss?" he asked, looking at the Dwarf army gathered behind the chevaux de frise on the hillside.
"Hmm, it's the only way! Roll over them!" Boss Fierce Axe tightened his grip on his battle-axe.
"Waaagh!" He roared with all his might, and a great battle began!
The ork captain, riding his warpig, charged ahead, followed by over a hundred Boar Boyz. They galloped down the mountain path, attempting to clear a path for the Orcs behind them.
Behind the Boar Boyz were Boss Fierce Axe and his Big 'Uns bodyguard, forming the arrowhead of the second wave. Behind them were two hundred ork Boyz.
"Tight formation!"
"Fire!"
Seeing the Greenskins swarming down, Grom and Gromril gave their commands in unison.
"Bang! Bang!" "Whizz! Whizz!"
The Thunderers and Quarrelers opened fire. Due to the long distance, neither the accuracy of the shots nor the power of the bullets was ideal. Their first volley took down fewer than ten cavalrymen, and by the time they reloaded, the orks had already covered half the distance.
"Lads! Covering fire! Shoot them hard for me!" This was the shrill voice of the goblin shaman.
He didn't charge down the mountain in the first wave but hid behind a bulletproof bunker on the hillside, directing the orks and goblins with crude bows to return fire.
The orks' arrows weren't very powerful, only making "Clink!" "Clink!" sounds as they struck the meteorite iron plate armor, but they did somewhat distract the attention of the front-line Dwarves.
After another round of Dwarf ranged fire, the remaining seventy-odd orks cavalry approached the chevaux de frise.
"Waaagh!" The Captain also roared, swinging his choppa to cut through a section of the defenses. Some riders were lucky, maneuvering their war-pigs to leap over the chevaux de frise; others didn't make it over, their war-pigs impaled on the spikes, and some crashed directly into the barrier.
The scene became chaotic, and the cavalry's charge momentum slowed.
After losing another twenty-odd orks v, they finally destroyed most of the makeshift defenses. With only half the cavalry remaining compared to when they started, they circled back and regained speed.
"Charge in! Any lad what survives gets 'imself a bit o' plate-armour!" the orks captain roared. Two crossbow bolts were stuck in his body, and the pain only intensified his ferocity.
Seeing the charging Boar Boyz, Grom already had experience. "Ironbreakers! Hold the line for me! In the name of the Ancestor Gods!"
This time, the troops holding the front line with him were not Dwarf Warriors interspersed with a few Ironbreakers; the forces Grom had recruited from Karaz-A-Karak were put to great use.
"Whot!?"
Seeing the steel wall before him, the orks captain let out an incredulous roar!
During the period of confrontation, his cavalry had long since dwindled from their initial numbers, but how were these troublesome Ironbreakers in the Dwarf army getting more numerous with each battle?
He couldn't help but feel a touch of despair. But the situation was stronger than the beast; once the charge began, even if he could control his mount, he would be pushed forward by his subordinates behind him!
"Waaagh!" The orks captain let out a desperate war cry, swinging the cleaver in his hand at the Ironbreaker in front of him.
"Bang!"
The blade struck the shield.
"Hmph!" The Ironbreaker, supported by his teammates behind him and protected by his armor, only grunted at the immense impact, taking merely half a step back.
"Pfft!" An Ironbreaker next to him chopped off a pig's head with an axe, blood gushing from the carcass.
Watching his life-bound mount decapitated, the orks captain's eyes practically spewed fire! He frantically swung the cleaver in his hand, and his subordinates then crashed into the Ironbreaker's line.
Under successive impacts, the thin line of over a hundred Dwarfs seemed to be on the verge of collapse.
"Disperse!" Grom issued a new order. The Ironbreakers quickly opened several passages.
Just as the orks were momentarily stunned, wondering if their bravery had made the Dwarfs in front of them fearful and retreat, Grom and his Iron Hammer Guard strode out from the gaps, swinging their two-handed war hammers to free these Orcs from the trouble of thinking!
Just as Grom and several Iron Hammer Guard knocked down the most stubbornly resisting ork captain, Boss Fiery Axe and his ork infantry arrived.
Watching his painstakingly assembled Boar Riders annihilated, Boss Fiery Axe's heart was almost broken; this was his capital for dominating the Badlands!
However, the Boar Riders' charge was not entirely useless; although it didn't cause much loss to the front-line Dwarfs, they successfully broke the Dwarfs' originally impregnable defense line.
Now, facing the roaring ork forces charging over, Grom no longer had time to re-form his defense line! He could only face the orks with his Iron Hammer Guard.
"Waaagh!"
"In the name of Grimnir!"
The commanders of both sides roared, and a green wave crashed against the steel wall!
"Shoot! Shoot their rear!" To avoid friendly fire on the front lines, Gromril had ordered a cease-fire when the cavalry got close. Now, it was time to open fire again.
The gunners and crossbowmen raised their weapons, arcing ammunition onto the orks in the rear who were not directly engaged with the Dwarfs, instantly eliciting a chorus of wails.
At the same time, the two Ballistas, which had remained idle due to their slow firing rate and difficulty in targeting cavalry, also opened fire.
Spear-like projectiles, almost as tall as a Dwarf, were imbued with immense kinetic energy by tough bowstrings. Their force from a single shot was enough to pierce through two Grots and still have energy left over, pinning them straight to the ground.
Seeing their subordinates rapidly being lost in the hail of bullets, both Grot commanders grew anxious.
"Fastah! Make it fastah for me!" Boss Fiery Axe waved the battle-axe in his hand, and his Big 'Uns guard tried to break through the Dwarf's defense line.
In many tribes, the largest orks gather into a mob of thugs, known as Big 'Uns. These warriors are bigger, stronger, and more aggressive than regular ork Boyz.
Those who achieve leadership among the Big 'Uns often become future Bosses or even Warbosses. They are muscular, nearly two meters tall, and wield huge choppas, making them very deadly.
"You good-for-nothings! You're worse than Grots!"
The goblin Shaman on the mountain watched his Boar Riders annihilated and the infantry's attack falter. He jumped up and down in a frenzy, venting his anger on the archers around him.
Compared to the Dwarf's ranged units, their results were negligible, with only a few unlucky Dwarfs being shot in the unarmored face and forced out of combat.
"Ahhh! Mork tells me, if this continues, there will be big trouble!"
Feeling the energy reaction from the "Big Waaagh," the goblin Shaman felt a headache!
Ork and goblin shamans differ from ordinary mages in that their magic comes from the psychic energy generated by the surrounding grots.
Every Shaman can draw magic from the Big Waaagh - the collective psychic realm of the Grots - but the magic obtained varies under different circumstances.
If orks are fighting, the Shaman's power increases by drawing ork resonance from his comrades. This is usually a good thing, but if this resonance comes from panicked and confused Orc deserters, it's a bad thing.
"Waaagh!" The goblin Shaman let out a strange cry.
"Boyz, follow me down and kill all those Dwarfs with the shootas!" Saying this, he mounted a spider, followed by about two hundred goblin Wolf Riders, who roared down the mountain.
As his mount galloped, a wicked energy was also gathering on the goblin Shaman. As he brushed past the entangled dwarf and ork battle lines at the foot of the mountain,
"Itch, you dwarfs!"
He frantically scratched his armpits, giggling like a madman, transmitting his painful dermatitis through magical energy to the dwarf warriors who rushed up to block them. The goblin shaman cast a small Waaagh spell called 'Itchy Nuisance.'
Grot magic comes in two types: those used by orks are called Big Waaagh spells, which are powerful and used for destruction.
Those used by goblins are called Little Waaagh spells, which are less powerful and only used to harass enemies.
Even with excellent magic resistance, these brave Dwarf Warriors within the spell's range felt an unbearable itch, an internal and external torment that made them want to shed their armor and find a place to scratch thoroughly.
Although they resisted the temptation with their willpower, the warriors' charging pace still slowed slightly.
Taking advantage of this gap, a large group of Grot cavalry slipped through the left flank of the Dwarf's front line, with only the last thirty or forty goblins being blocked by the recovering Dwarfs.
The Dwarfs did not attempt to pursue; they knew that with their speed, they couldn't catch the swift cavalry, and pursuing would only cause their original defense line to collapse, becoming unmanageable.
The goblin shaman, with the charging Wolf Riders, pulled away some distance. He needed to recover his Winds of Magic, and the War Wolves also needed to catch their breath. To attack the Dwarf's ranged units, they still had to break through the Miners protecting the flanks.
Goldfinder was also very experienced in combat, "Young'un on the left, don't panic! The Wolf Riders can't hurt you! Hold your pickaxes tight and don't relax! Those on the right, half of you come over!"
He simultaneously organized the Dwarfs on the left flank to stabilize their formation and drew part of the Dwarfs from the right flank to strengthen the left's defense.