Under the gray light of day, thousands of Orcs surged into the streets like a bursting dam of muddy water.
Their rough feet trampled the ice and snow-covered roads, rusted axes and blades scraped against walls, and their fetid breath mixed with warg saliva made the air thick and foul.
Tarnes' eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the Orcs' filthy feet tread across the cold ground, drawing ever closer to him.
Dain's soldiers had already memorized all trap positions. Though wearing heavy plate armor, they remained agile, disappearing into Lake-town's streets in just a few moves.
"Keep pursuing!"
The leading Orc commander rode on his warg's back, raising his serrated blade high with a roar: "Tear apart the Dwarf scum! Gnaw their bones clean!"
Under their commander's roars, the Orcs seemed to already see Dwarves being torn to pieces by them.
However, they didn't know they had already stepped into the death trap Tarnes had carefully prepared for them.
What answered the Orc commander's roar was a sharp whistle.
"Fire!"
Tarnes' cold command came from atop a building in the ambush zone.
In an instant, death poured down like a torrential rain.
On rooftops flanking the ambush zone, ten ballista mechanisms snapped simultaneously. Arm-thick iron bolts shrieked through the air, penetrating Orc formations.
The first rank of charging warg cavalry didn't even have time to scream before being pierced through the chest, their foul blood and organ fragments splattering on the Orcs behind. One iron bolt consecutively penetrated three Orcs before embedding in a stone wall, leaving the final Orc's corpse dangling in midair like a twisted banner.
Many Orcs died on the spot without even understanding what happened, their eyes wide with terror and disbelief.
Those Orcs fortunate enough not to die were sent flying by the massive impact of ballista bolts, tracing arcs through the air like kites with cut strings before crashing heavily to the ground with agonizing wails.
Their bodies writhed in pain on the ground, black blood continuously flowing from wounds, soaking the earth beneath them. Their heart-rending screams echoed over Lake-town.
"It's a trap! Retreat! Quick retreat!"
An Orc rider who had reacted immediately turned his warg around, roaring.
But his roar was cut short as an iron bolt grazed his left ear, taking off half his skull. The frightened warg went mad, carrying him into a pile of wooden barrels by the roadside.
But the Orcs' retreat was impossible, as Lake-town's gates thunderously closed under Storm Soldiers' control, the sound of iron locks hitting the ground like funeral bells.
The Orcs nearest Lake-town's gates couldn't see what specifically happened at the front. They could only hear their comrades ahead suddenly screaming, then the forward momentum suddenly became blocked.
Orcs at the back wanted to continue charging forward, but those at the front who had encountered the ambush were scrambling to escape Lake-town. Some hot-tempered Orcs even swung weapons at comrades blocking their way.
Chaos, disorder, bullying the weak. This was the nature of Orcs.
The Orc commander naturally realized they'd fallen into a trap but couldn't understand why this had happened.
Wasn't Lake-town under Lord Bolg's control? Had Lord Bolg already died?
Realizing this, the Orc commander's eyes revealed fear. It didn't know who had killed Lord Bolg, even disguising itself as Orcs to lure them.
But it knew very clearly that humans capable of killing Lord Bolg could definitely kill it too.
Though it had fallen into humans' and Dwarves' trap, and Lord Azog would certainly punish it, as long as it could desperately deliver this news, though it would probably lose arms and legs, its life should be spared.
Fortunately, Lake-town's gate wasn't an iron gate but a heavy wooden door.
If they really wanted to destroy it, it wasn't impossible.
So the Orc commander shouted loudly: "Retreat! Scale the walls, destroy the gates!"
"Heh."
In the environment of continuous screaming, a cold laugh came very abruptly.
Bernahl appeared leisurely by Lake-town's gates, the Serpent-Hunter staff planted on the ground, its serpent eyes glowing with ominous red light.
"I thought this was a competition with Tarnes to see who killed the most enemies, but he gave me a gate-watching job instead." Bernahl shook his head slightly while kicking away an Orc that charged at him.
The kicked Orc suddenly felt a strong suction force, then its body became extremely weak, even breathing became difficult.
Not just this absorbed Orc. Other Orcs around it were also sucked over and became very weak, unable to breathe normally or stand.
All this was caused merely by the weapon skill of Bernahl's Serpent-Hunter staff, which could attract enemies while draining their stamina.
Meanwhile, a second sharp whistle sounded.
Igon on the walls and Tarnes in the buildings heard the whistle and simultaneously shouted: "Light the fires!"
At the same time, hearing Igon's voice, Bernahl let out a hoarse laugh, his Serpent-Hunter staff striking the ground heavily again, the silver serpent at its head suddenly opening crimson eyes.
Following Tarnes' and Igon's commands, those flame-throwing devices cleverly positioned in concealed spots along narrow passages were lit one by one.
Instantly, with thunderous roars, blazing flames erupted from the device nozzles like awakened fire dragons, forming flame pillars several arms thick that spread wildly throughout Lake-town's streets.
Where these flame pillars passed, the ground was instantly charred black, and the air temperature soared dramatically, as if even space would be distorted by the heat.
Explosive flames instantly consumed the entire main street, fire tongues licking Orc armor, roasting hide and flesh into a foul, scorched stench.
Surrounded by sudden flames, Orcs instantly became burning fireballs.
They screamed, rolling on the ground trying to extinguish the flames, but the fire spread extremely quickly with strong adhesive properties. Once contaminated, it was difficult to extinguish, like a curse.
Many Orcs struggled desperately in flames, their skin burned black, muscles roasted with a nauseating scorched smell, finally burned to charcoal in extreme pain, leaving only blackened corpses.
One Orc screamed as it rushed toward a waterway, but Dain's lieutenant burst from the water, war hammer sweeping to smash its head into its chest.
"For the Iron Hills!" Dain's roar exploded from behind the fire wall.
Dwarf soldiers charged from buildings, war hammers and axe blades dancing in the firelight.
They specifically targeted Orc kneecaps, dragging these tall monsters to the ground before crushing their throats with hammer heads.
One one-armed veteran Dwarf laughed maniacally as he embraced the Orc commander's warg, using his remaining right hand to stab a dagger into the wolf's belly, letting wolf fangs tear at his shoulder until mutual destruction.
The Storm Legion Tarnes brought was as efficient as death gods. Five Storm Knights wrapped in storms, their halberds cutting down Orcs like wheat wherever they passed.
A hundred Storm infantry formed triangular formations, using barbed hook-spears to sever Orc hamstrings before shield-bashing them into the fires. The soldiers' silver armor gradually became covered with black blood, yet none retreated a single step.
They even had energy to support Dwarves in danger.
One Storm Soldier seized the opportunity, quickly approaching an Orc before slashing at its waist.
Simultaneously, another Storm Soldier used his sword to block the Orc's attack, saving a Dwarf who had been knocked down.
The Orc screamed as its body was cut in two.
"Thanks." The rescued Dwarf warrior gave brief thanks before charging back into the Orcs with his battle axe.
The dying Orc commander struggled to rise, its single eye fixed on Tarnes atop the building.
"Scum! You dare deceive Lord Azog's servants!"
It broke the iron bolt in its shoulder armor, staggering toward a flame-throwing device to destroy it.
However, a black shadow descended from above. Thorin leaped from the building, gripping a sword borrowed from Fili.
The sword pierced the Orc commander's neck, the blade emerging through its throat.
"The blood debt of the Iron Hills must be repaid!"
Breathing heavily, he twisted the sword hilt, and the Orc commander's throat bones cracked as it collapsed.
Orc stragglers' screams spread from burning alleys all the way to waterways.
Three charred Orcs kicked through wooden walls, diving into Lake-town's intersecting canals.
Winter ice water instantly soaked their hide armor, yet they ignored the bone-chilling cold, shaking their wet heads as they swam toward the lake center.
Because there were several broken fishing boats moored there, their only path to survival.
But they didn't know the shadows of masts were already filled with killing intent.
"Loose arrows!"
Bard's hoarse voice penetrated the mist.
Kneeling at the bow, the moment his bowstring twanged, an iron-headed arrow was already embedded in the foremost Orc's right eye.
That Orc convulsed as it sank into the water, dark blood spreading among floating ice.
The other two Orcs roared as they dove underwater, leaving only bubble trails on the murky surface.
However, Lake-town's guards knew these waters too well. Their ancestral fishing nets had caught salmon more cunning than Orcs.
Bard drew out a harpoon: "Cast nets!"
Several fishing boats suddenly scattered, oil-soaked hemp rope nets dropping from both gunwales.
The Orcs hiding underwater were entangled by their ankles, struggling to surface only to face guards' gleaming harpoons.
One harpoon point pierced an Orc's throat, pinning it among frozen net meshes.
Another Orc cut ropes with its blade but was pierced through the back by Bard's thrown harpoon, the point emerging from its chest with half a lung lobe attached.
"One left." Bard squinted toward the northwest corner bridge tunnel, where muffled sounds of breaking wood came.
Sure enough, another hidden Orc was climbing bridge pier cracks, but slippery moss made it repeatedly fall.
When it finally reached the tunnel edge, it faced twenty drawn hunting bows.
"Lake-town's waterways..." Bard nocked an arrow, aiming at the Orc's trembling eyes, saying coldly: "Even ghosts can't swim out."
As arrow rain poured down, the Orc despairingly released its grip, falling back into the river.
It struggled to escape by diving but was speared through the shoulder blade by fishermen with barbed poles and dragged to Bard's boat like a dying pike.
Lake-town guards silently looped rope around its neck, throwing the rope end over the mast.
Bard stepped on the Orc's twisted face as the rope snapped taut, the Orc's cervical spine breaking with a clear crack echoing between Bard and the guards.
As guards cleaned bloody fishing nets, Bard gazed at the gradually calming water surface.
Burning Lake-town reflected in the river water like the Orcs' double purgatory, yet not a single ripple escaped toward the distance.
As flames weakened, true slaughter began.
Surviving Orcs huddled in street corners, pulled out one by one by Dwarves.
Dain grabbed a trembling Orc scout, war hammer against its forehead. The hammer fell, the skull shattered, and brain matter splashed on his mottled breastplate.
Dwarves silently repeated executions. No roaring, no taunting, only the dull sounds of iron cutting into flesh and bone, and wind carrying ashen moans.
Throughout Lake-town's streets lay Orc corpses and burning fires, the air thick with blood stench and scorched smells.
Orc bodies sprawled in every corner. Some were pierced by ballista bolts, some were charred by flames, and others were chopped to pieces by Storm Soldiers' and Dwarf warriors' weapons.
Burning fires spread throughout the streets, flames consuming everything combustible with crackling sounds.
Wooden houses glowed red-hot, ready to collapse at any moment, while Orc corpses caught by flames emitted nauseating burned meat smells in the fires.
Under Tarnes' orders, five Storm Knights and hundreds of Storm Soldiers under Bernahl's leadership began cleaning the battlefield.
After all, Bernahl had previously handled Bolg's subordinates, so he had considerable experience.
Since Lake-town was beside a great lake, disposing of so many Orc corpses was relatively easy. Just throw them into the lake, where fish schools would eliminate these bodies.
When the last Orc corpse was thrown into the lake, Tarnes walked to Dain's side.
The Dwarf king knelt before a fallen Dwarf warrior, using bloodied fingers to close the other's single eye.
Though this was an ambush, casualties were still unavoidable, but compared to Dain's previous ambush, this time's casualties were minimal.
Seeing this scene, Tarnes said quietly: "Your soldiers fought very bravely, solid as stone."
Dain didn't look up, only driving his war hammer heavily into the ground, some sadness showing on his face: "No, they should have been eternal as mountains."
The lake surface rippled as Orc remains slowly sank.
Bard gazed at smoke-blackened brick walls, suddenly chuckling: "At least I don't need to consider how to clear the original residents' homes from this area. Everything's been burned clean."
Thorin grunted behind him: "As allies, since you provided us with a battle environment, Dwarves will help you rebuild. This was agreed in the alliance."
"Thank you for Durin's royal house's generosity."
Bard smiled. He'd been waiting for Thorin to say exactly that.
Fine rain began falling over Lake-town. Flames completely extinguished, leaving only the soft peeling sounds of charred wood in the wind.