Under the dim light of dawn, thousands of orcs surged into the streets like a collapsing flood.
Their rough feet trampled the still icy roads, rusty blades and axes scraped against walls, and their foul breath mixed with the warg's drool made the air murky.
Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly, watching the orcs' dirty, grimy feet step onto the cold ground, getting closer and closer to him.
Dain's Soldiers had already memorized the locations of all the traps. Although they wore heavy plate armor, they were still nimble, disappearing into the streets of Lake-town in just a few movements.
"Keep chasing!"
The leading Orc Chieftain, riding on a warg's back, roared, raising his serrated longsword: "Tear those dwarf scum to shreds! Gnaw their bones clean!"
Amidst the Chieftain's roar, the orcs seemed to already envision the dwarves being torn to pieces by them.
However, they did not know that they had already stepped into the death trap meticulously set by Arthur.
Responding to the Orc Chieftain's roar was a sharp whistle.
"Fire!"
Arthur's cold command came from the top of a house in the ambush area.
In an instant, death poured down like a torrential rain.
On the rooftops on both sides of the ambush area, the winches of ten ballistae simultaneously snapped, and arm-thick iron bolts, accompanied by piercing screeches, shot through the orc ranks.
The warg Riders in the first charging row didn't even have time to scream before their chests were pierced by the iron bolts. Foul blood and fragments of internal organs splattered onto the faces of the orcs behind. One iron bolt consecutively pierced through three orcs before embedding itself in the stone wall, leaving the last orc's corpse suspended in mid-air, like a twisted banner.
Many orcs didn't even react to what was happening before they died on the spot, their eyes wide with horror and disbelief.
Those orcs who miraculously survived were also knocked backward by the immense impact of the crossbow bolts, arcing through the air like broken kites before falling heavily to the ground, emitting agonizing wails.
Their bodies twisted in pain on the ground, black blood continuously gushing from their wounds, soaking the earth beneath them. Their heart-wrenching screams echoed over Lake-town.
"It's a trap! Retreat! Retreat quickly—"
An orc Rider who had realized what was happening immediately turned his warg around and roared.
But his roar cut short as an iron bolt grazed his left ear, taking half his skull with it. The warg, startled and enraged, crashed into a pile of wooden barrels by the roadside, carrying him.
But the orcs' escape was no longer possible, as the gate of Lake-town slammed shut under the control of the Storm Soldiers, the sound of iron chains hitting the ground like a death knell.
The orcs closest to the Lake-town gate couldn't see exactly what was happening at the front; they could only hear the sudden screams of their comrades ahead, and then the forward momentum suddenly stalled.
The orcs behind wanted to continue charging forward, but the orcs at the very front, caught in the ambush, were scrambling to escape Lake-town. Some short-tempered orcs even swung their weapons at their comrades who were blocking their way.
Chaos, disorder, bullying the weak and fearing the strong—this was what orcs were.
The Orc Chieftain naturally realized he had fallen into a trap, but he couldn't understand why this was happening.
Wasn't Lake-town under the control of Lord Bolg? Could it be that Lord Bolg was already dead?
The Orc Chieftain realized this, and fear showed in his eyes. He wasn't sure who had killed Lord Bolg, or even disguised themselves as orcs to lure him in.
But he knew very well that anyone who could kill Lord Bolg could certainly kill him.
Although he had fallen into the trap of humans and dwarves, Lord Azog would surely punish him. But if he could desperately get this message out, even if he would likely lose an arm or a leg, his life should be saved.
Fortunately, the gate of Lake-town was not an iron gate, but a heavy wooden one.
If he had to destroy it, it was not impossible.
So the Orc Chieftain shouted loudly: "Retreat!! Get onto the city walls, destroy the gate!!"
"Heh."
In the environment of continuous screams, a cold laugh suddenly sounded, very out of place.
Bernal suddenly appeared leisurely by the gate of Lake-town, the world devouring scepter resting on the ground, its snake eyes glowing with ominous red light.
"I thought this would be a competition with Arthur to see who killed the most enemies, but I didn't expect him to give me a gate-guarding job," Bernal shook his head slightly, while kicking away an orc that charged at him.
The orc that was kicked away suddenly felt a strong suction, and then its body became extremely weak, even breathing became difficult.
In fact, it wasn't just this orc that was sucked in; the other orcs around it were also sucked in with it, and their bodies all became very weak, unable to even breathe or stand normally.
All of this was caused by the Battle Skill attached to the world devouring scepter in Bernal's hand, which could attract enemies and simultaneously plunder their stamina.
At the same time, a second sharp whistle sounded.
Igon and Arthur, who were separately on the city wall and inside the houses, heard the whistle and simultaneously shouted: "Light the fires!"
At the same time, Bernal, hearing Igon's voice, let out a hoarse laugh. He slammed the world devouring scepter in his hand down again, and the silver snake at the top of the scepter suddenly opened its crimson eyes.
Following the commands of Arthur and Igon, the flamethrower devices, cleverly placed in concealed spots along the narrow passages, were lit one by one.
In an instant, with a loud "whoosh," scorching flames, like awakened fire dragons, gushed out from the devices' nozzles, forming pillars of fire as thick as several men embracing, spreading wantonly through the streets of Lake-town.
Where these fire pillars passed, the ground was instantly scorched black, and the air temperature rapidly soared, as if even space itself would be distorted by the high heat.
The explosive flames instantly engulfed the entire main street, tongues of fire licking at the orcs' armor, baking the beast hides and flesh to a foul, charred stench.
The orcs, surrounded by this sudden inferno, instantly became burning fireballs.
They screamed and rolled on the ground, trying to extinguish the flames on their bodies, but the flames burned extremely fast and had a strong adhesive quality. Once they caught on, they were as difficult to put out as a demonic curse.
Many orcs struggled desperately in the flames, their skin burned black, their muscles roasted to a nauseating charred smell, and finally, in extreme agony, they were burned into charcoal, leaving behind only charred corpses.
An orc screamed and lunged towards the waterway, but Dain's adjutant surged from the water, sweeping his warhammer, smashing its head into its chest.
"For the Iron Hills!" Dain's roar exploded from behind the wall of fire.
The dwarf Soldiers burst from the houses, warhammers and axe blades flying in the firelight.
They focused on the orcs' kneecaps, dragging these tall monsters to the ground, then crushing their windpipes with hammerheads.
A one-armed dwarf veteran laughed maniacally, embracing the Orc Chieftain's warg, plunging his dagger into the wolf's belly with his remaining right hand, letting the wolf's fangs tear at his shoulder until they perished together.
The Storm Legion brought by Arthur was as efficient as the Grim Reaper; five Storm Knights, enveloped in the storm, cut down orcs like stalks of wheat wherever their blades and halberds passed.
One hundred Storm Soldiers formed a triangular formation, using barbed hook-sickle spears to sever the orcs' hamstrings, then striking them with round shields to push them into the sea of fire.
The silver armor worn by the Soldiers gradually became covered in black blood, yet not a single one retreated half a step.
They even had the energy to support the dwarves who were in danger.
A Storm Soldier seized the opportunity, quickly approached an orc, and then swung his sword at its waist.
At the same time, another Storm Soldier used his longsword to block the orc's attack, saving a dwarf who had been knocked to the ground by that orc.
The orc let out a miserable shriek, its body severed into two.
"Thanks," the rescued dwarf warrior briefly thanked, then once again lifted his Battle Axe and charged into the orcs.
The dying Orc Chieftain struggled to get up, its single eye fixed on Arthur on the roof.
"Scum! You dare to deceive the servants of Azog the Great!"
He broke off the iron arrow stuck in his shoulder armor, then staggered towards a flamethrower, attempting to destroy it.
However, a dark figure descended from the sky; Thorin leaped from the building, tightly grasping a longsword he had taken from Fili.
The longsword pierced through the Orc Chieftain's back of the neck, the blade emerging from its throat.
"The blood debt of Iron Hills must be repaid!"
He gasped, twisting the sword hilt, and the Orc Chieftain's throat bone crumbled, collapsing to the ground with a cracking sound.
The screams of the routed orcs spread from the burning streets all the way to the waterways.
Three charred orcs kicked open a wooden wall and leaped into Lake-town's crisscrossing canals.
The icy water of deep winter instantly soaked their beast-hide armor, but they ignored the biting cold, shaking their wet heads as they swam towards the center of the lake.
Because there were several dilapidated fishing boats moored there, which were their only way out.
But they did not know that the shadows of the mast were already filled with killing intent.
"Fire!" Bard's hoarse voice pierced through the mist.
He knelt on one knee at the bow of the boat, and the moment the bowstring vibrated, an iron-tipped arrow had already embedded itself in the right eye of the foremost orc.
That orc twitched and sank into the water, its dark blood spreading among the floating ice.
The other two orcs roared and submerged, leaving only a few strings of bubbles on the murky river surface.
However, the guards of Lake-town were too familiar with this body of water, for their ancestors' fishing nets had caught salmon more cunning than orcs.
Bard pulled out a harpoon with a backhand: "Cast the net!"
Several fishing boats suddenly scattered, and large hemp nets soaked in tung oil were cast from both sides of the boat.
The orcs hidden underwater had their ankles entangled, struggling to surface, only to face the gleaming harpoons of the guards.
One spearhead pierced through an orc's throat, pinning it in the frozen mesh.
Another orc swung its blade to cut the rope, but was pierced through the back by a harpoon thrown by Bard in mid-air, the spearhead emerging from its chest still carrying half a lung lobe.
"One left," Bard narrowed his eyes, looking towards the bridge arch in the northwest corner, from where a muffled sound of breaking wood came.
Indeed, another hidden orc was climbing up the cracks of the bridge pier, but the slippery moss caused it to fall repeatedly.
When it finally reached the edge of the bridge arch, it was met with twenty drawn hunting bows.
"The waterways of Lake-town..." Bard nocked an arrow, aiming at the orc's trembling eyes, and said coldly, "Even ghosts can't swim out."
The moment the rain of arrows poured down, the orc desperately let go and fell back into the river.
It struggled to escape underwater, but was pierced through the shoulder blade by a long pole with a barbed hook wielded by a fisherman, and was dragged to Bard's boat like a dying pike.
The guards of Lake-town silently put a rope around its neck and threw the end of the rope over the mast.
Bard stepped on the orc's twisted face, the rope suddenly went taut, and the crisp sound of the orc's cervical spine breaking echoed clearly between Bard and the guards.
As the guards cleaned the bloody fishing nets, Bard looked at the gradually calming water.
The burning Lake-town was reflected in the river, like a double purgatory for the orcs, yet not a single ripple escaped into the distance.
As the fire waned, the true slaughter began.
The surviving orcs huddled in street corners, being pulled out one by one by the dwarves.
Dain picked up a trembling orc scout, his warhammer pressed against its forehead.
The hammer fell, the skull shattered, and blood splattered onto his mottled breastplate.
The dwarves silently repeated the executions, no roaring, no taunting, only the dull thud of iron tools digging into flesh and bone, and the whimpering of wind swirling ashes.
The streets of Lake-town were littered with orc bodies and burning bonfires, the air thick with the smell of blood and char.
orc bodies lay scattered in every corner, some pierced by crossbow bolts, some charred by flames, and others dismembered by the weapons of the Storm Soldiers and dwarf warriors.
Burning bonfires spread throughout the streets, flames consuming everything combustible, making crackling sounds.
The wooden houses were burning red, on the verge of collapse at any moment, and the orc bodies caught in the flames emitted a nauseating smell of burnt flesh.
Under Arthur's command, five Storm Knights and hundreds of Storm Soldiers, led by Bernal, began to clear the battlefield.
After all, Bernal had previously been responsible for dealing with Bolg's subordinates, so he was quite experienced.
Since Lake-town itself was by a large lake, disposing of so many orc bodies was relatively easy; they just needed to be thrown into the lake, and the fish would take care of eliminating them.
When the last orc body was thrown into the lake, Arthur walked up to Dain.
The dwarf King was kneeling before a fallen dwarf warrior, closing the other's single eye with a blood-stained finger.
Although this was an ambush, casualties were still inevitable, though compared to Dain's previous ambush, the casualties this time were negligible.
Arthur saw this scene and said softly, "Your Soldiers fought very bravely, as solid as rock."
Dain did not look up, merely plunged his warhammer heavily into the ground, a hint of sadness on his face: "No, they should have been eternal like mountains."
Ripples spread across the lake, and the orc remains slowly sank.
Bard looked at the smoke-stained brick walls and suddenly chuckled, "At least I don't have to worry about how to clean up the original residents' homes in this area, since everything has been burned clean."
Thorin snorted behind him, "As allies, since you provided us with a combat environment, then similarly, the dwarves will be responsible for helping you rebuild; this was promised in the alliance."
"Thank you for the generosity of the Durin royal family."
A smile appeared on Bard's face; he had been waiting for Thorin to say that.
A light rain gradually began to fall over Lake-town, the flames completely extinguished, leaving only the soft rustle of charred wood peeling in the wind.