Translator: CinderTL
At dawn, the eastern horizon was swallowed by a moving shadow. Abal's Golden Tent Chariot gleamed in the morning light, pulled by sixteen pure black warhorses. The ground trembled beneath the wheels of this mobile palace as it rolled forward.
The main force of the Orcs surged forward like a black tide! The central formation was the most formidable. At the forefront was a phalanx of heavily armored infantry—elite Orc warriors clad in armor, wielding massive shields as tall as a man, forming a moving wall of metal. Their synchronized steps caused the ground to quiver slightly, and the forest of steel composed of battle axes and spears glinted with a deadly light in the morning sun.
Close behind them were the cavalry—heavily armored Orc knights. Their mounts were carefully selected steeds from the grasslands, their armor adorned with trophies from past battles. The knights carried three-meter-long heavy lances, and the scabbards of their curved swords were inlaid with the skulls of their enemies.
Among these elite forces, a large number of Giant Horses slowly pulled siege engines forward. These beasts, twice the size of ordinary warhorses, were clad in iron armor, and each step they took made the earth tremble. They hauled not only catapults but also three siege towers, each fifteen meters tall, their exteriors covered with soaked rawhide to protect against fire attacks.
The left flank consisted of light cavalry, riding agile grassland horses, armed with powerful bows and curved swords. These skirmishers spread out like a dark cloud, ready to flank the enemy at any moment.
On the right flank were the human vassal forces who had pledged allegiance—rebellious lords from the Yellow Earth leading their private armies. The banner of the Lamost family stood out prominently, with the well-equipped heavy infantry of the Bradley family beneath it. Their plate armor still bore the emblem of the Aldor Kingdom—a golden insignia of the sun and moon—though it had been crudely painted over with black.
Abal stood on the platform in front of the Golden Tent, his battle axe pointing toward Stonebridge Town. With this gesture, the entire army erupted into a deafening war cry. The sound startled birds within a ten-mile radius, and even the morning mist was dispersed by the shockwave.
As the sun fully rose, a continuous sound of horns echoed from the Orc formation. Three hundred war drums began to beat in unison, their rhythm like the accelerating heartbeat of a giant. The central phalanx began to shift its formation, with the heavy infantry dividing into three assault echelons and the cavalry spreading out on the flanks. This was the rhythm of an ultimatum, each note telling Stonebridge Town: the true storm was just beginning.
But as the sun fully rose, a messenger holding a white flag suddenly emerged from the Orc formation. He rode an unarmored white horse, slowly approaching the town walls.
"Orc Chieftain Abal requests a half-day truce," the messenger's voice was clear in the morning breeze, "to allow us to collect the bodies of our fallen warriors."
Major Hodgson stood behind the battlements, pondering for a moment before issuing the order: "Cease fire, let them collect their dead." He then turned to the artillery commander and added, "But remain on alert. Open fire immediately if there is any suspicious movement."
Soon, hundreds of unarmed humans emerged from the army. They silently carried the bodies of the fallen Orc soldiers, carefully wrapping each mangled corpse in blankets. The defenders watched in silence, their rifles still loaded, but no one pulled the trigger.
In the open space beneath the city walls, Abal personally received Kruger's remains. The Orc Chieftain knelt on one knee, his rough fingers brushing over the blood-stained face of the vanguard commander, a rare flicker of grief passing through his eyes.
"My claw," Abal's deep voice rumbled like distant thunder, "I swear, every human on these walls will pay tenfold in blood." He removed his crimson cloak and gently draped it over Kruger's body.
As the last corpse was carried back to the camp, a low dirge rose from the Orc ranks. Thousands of rough voices, harmonizing with the rhythm of war drums, echoed across the plains. The lament soon transformed into a war cry. Abal raised his battle axe high, his armor reflecting a blinding glare in the sunlight—the flames of vengeance would erupt fully in the siege.
At Abal's command, countless ragged human slaves were driven out from the Orc army formation. Most of them hailed from the Yellow Earth. Though Abal had crafted an image of himself as a benevolent conqueror, there were always those who committed "crimes," and this was their "punishment." Now, under the lash of whips, the "criminals" trembled as they carried sacks filled with dirt toward the trenches.
"Fire! Fire now!" Major Hodgson's roar exploded on the city walls.
The defenders' fingers froze on their triggers—those emaciated figures were fellow humans, not even conscripts but forced here by the Orcs.
The Major snatched a rifle from a nearby soldier, aiming it directly at the hesitant musket squad.
"I'll count to three," his voice was as cold as ice, "either you fire, or I will." The click of the flintlock hammer being cocked was unmistakable. The soldiers recalled the rumors from the Blackstone Plains campaign: Schroeder had lined up fleeing soldiers in groups of ten, executing every tenth man. The city walls fell into an eerie silence.
"One!"
"Two!"
Finally, the first gunshot shattered the silence. Then the second, the third... A hail of bullets rained down, and the slaves at the front fell. But more continued to advance under the coercion of the Orc overseers, weeping as they threw the dirt sacks into the trenches.
Hodgson lowered the rifle he had raised, the cold light in his eyes undiminished. He shouted to those around him, "Mercy must be applied correctly. Today's softness will let the Orcs march over the filled trenches into the city tomorrow."
...
The trenches were eventually filled at the cost of blood and tears. The Orcs' massive siege engines began to slowly advance, their heavy wooden wheels grinding over the newly filled dirt road, emitting a teeth-gritting creak.
"Load solid shot!" The voice of the Northwest Army artillery commander echoed along the walls. The gunners swiftly shoved 12-pound cast iron balls into the cannon barrels, the cold gleam of the metal reflecting in the sunlight.
"Range 600 yards, elevation 5 degrees!" the spotter called out. The gun captains expertly adjusted the wedge blocks on the carriages, ensuring each cannon was aimed at the optimal angle.
"Fire!"
The deafening roar of cannon fire erupted in unison, and solid shot after solid shot screamed through the air.
Abal witnessed a cannonball directly strike the base of a siege tower, the immense force snapping the entire wooden structure in half. Another cannonball ricocheted off the ground, piercing through three Orc slaves pushing carts before embedding itself into the base of a catapult.
"Load the grapeshot!"
As the ladder troops approached the city walls, disregarding casualties, close-range fire followed in quick succession. Hundreds of lead pellets poured down like a torrential rain upon the Orc siege forces, instantly causing carnage. An Orc Centurion pushing a ladder was riddled with holes, his breastplate covered in horrifying dents.
Abal stood on the Golden Tent Chariot, his eyes wide with shock. Having fought for half his life, the most advanced siege crossbows he had seen could only shoot two hundred yards. Yet, the enemy's metal tubes spitting fire could astonishingly destroy targets from over seven hundred yards away!
"This..." The Orc Chieftain's rough fingers unconsciously rubbed the handle of his battle axe.
He recalled the first invasion, when the defeated generals of the western expedition had described the "Fire-spitting Wands." At the time, he had dismissed it as the excuses of defeated commanders.
Now, he finally understood that those retreating soldiers had been telling the truth.
TL/N: Just imagine if the Orc Commander and Chief gets defeated by a small group of soldiers.
(End of the Chapter)
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