As the scouts reported, a massive wave of goblins and greenskins was slowly but surely approaching the expeditionary army. Under the winter sun, a sea of malevolent green and black spots covered the hills surrounding Arsenal Fort. The air was filled with stench, and the grotesque totems and battle banners fluttered wildly in the bone-chilling wind.
Upon learning that a dwarf and human army was marching toward Arsenal Fort, Goblin Warlord Git Acidbelly immediately began plotting how to give his bearded enemies a brutal lesson. Arsenal Fort's surroundings were a natural trap, and Git strategically arranged his army in a crescent formation. He had managed to deceive the dwarven scouts into believing that there weren't many greenskin forces stationed nearby.
"Those short-legged fools probably think we're going to defend Arsenal Fort, huh?" Git Acidbelly sneered, imagining his grand victory and envisioning himself crushing dwarf skulls beneath his feet.
This thought reminded him of the legendary greenskin warlord Grom the Paunch. Every goblin aspired to be like Grom, a true legend and one of the few goblins who could stand against the mighty orcs. Grom, warlord of the Broken Axe tribe, was revered among goblins, and stories of his strength continued to be told in every greenskin camp.
Grom's heroic tale spread far and wide. Whenever a shaman conjured Grom's image with magic, even the most unruly goblins would stand at attention, close their yapping mouths, and refrain from their habit of furiously picking their noses. Grom was like a divine being to goblins—an embodiment of power, savagery, and greatness, things they could never hope to be.
Grom earned such respect through his incredible feats, like devouring troll meat to gain power. While troll flesh would normally cause a goblin's stomach to explode, Grom endured, becoming even stronger. He ravaged the World's Edge Mountains, the Badlands, the Black Mountains, and even Middenheim. He declared himself the Great Paunch King in the Misty Mountains of Drakwald Forest and led a fleet of greenskin ships to invade Ulthuan, where he was eventually killed by the High Elf army on the shores.
"I will be as great as Grom!" Git Acidbelly thought triumphantly.
"We're surrounded, King Belegar!" Blackheart Reep was visibly nervous, though he tried to maintain his composure. The mercenary leader knew that being surrounded by greenskins in the Badlands was a dire situation, and even dwarves couldn't withstand prolonged sieges. "What should we do?"
"Calm yourself, Mr. Reep," Belegar responded calmly, gripping his Angrund Hammer and Shield of Resistance. He looked at Reep with a patronizing smile. "Marching like this, it would've been strange not to be surrounded."
"Uh, so what now?" Reep was feeling uncertain. Their forces numbered around ten thousand, about equal to the greenskins, but who knew if the enemy had more tricks or reinforcements up their sleeves?
"What now? We face them head-on! Dwarves do not fear or retreat!" Belegar signaled to his troops. "Prepare for battle, dwarves, and our human brothers! The time to fight has come."
Both the dwarves and humans responded with loud cheers. Belegar swiftly organized the army into battle formation. Leonardo's Leopard Company from Lucini was placed at the front, flanked by dwarven forces. Dwarven crossbowmen and thunderers prepared to unleash their firepower on the approaching enemy.
Belegar's most elite forces, the Angrund Oath Guards and the Brotherhood of Steel, formed the center, with Belegar personally commanding them. The Kislovite Sea Soul Guards were also under Belegar's direct leadership. Blackheart Reep's light cavalry and General Ivan's horse archers were stationed behind the flanks, ready to counter any attempts by wolf riders or chariots to outflank the dwarven lines. Juan Carlos, leader of the Knights of the Fiery Sun, stood by with his knights, ready to support any part of the battlefield that needed reinforcements.
With preparations complete, a tense silence fell over the battlefield. The human soldiers, bolstered by recent victories, knew how to handle greenskins, but they remained cautious in the face of the enemy's overwhelming numbers. They shouted the names of their gods and battle cries to steady their nerves.
The dwarves, however, stared out at the sea of green with a different emotion stirring within them.
Broken homelands, ancestral vengeance, exile, and survival.
"From distant lands, the mountains of our dreams~"
"We stand atop the peaks~"
"Can our former glory return~"
"Guided by the honor of our ancestors, we shall find our way home."
A mournful dirge rose among the ranks, and the entire formation swayed gently in unison with the song. It was as if the music stirred the deepest wells of strength within the dwarves. Belegar nodded slowly, tightening his grip on his hammer as he stepped onto his Oathstone.
The battle was at hand!
A massive horde of goblins and orcs soon spotted their foes. The appearance of their bearded enemies and the human "shrimp" sent the goblins into a frenzy. They scratched at their bodies, picked their noses furiously, and banged their weapons against their shields. Their savage roars drowned out the dwarves' somber singing. Brass horns blared, and chaotic drumming signaled the charge. The greenskins surged forward, brandishing their weapons and shields in the air.
War had begun!
The first strike of the battle came from the dwarven cannons. The artillery of the Angrund Clan spat fire at the greenskin horde, the cannonballs crashing into the sea of green. A single shot obliterated five or six goblins and an orc, tearing through flesh and bone with ease, leaving craters in the ground.
Human soldiers cheered loudly, while the dwarves offered their praises to Grimnir, the dwarven god of war.
Other dwarven cannons quickly followed suit. Dozens of cannons and a few organ guns unleashed volley after volley of devastating firepower, scattering greenskins like leaves in a storm. Each explosion tore apart goblins and orcs alike, but the horde pressed on undeterred, their weapons swinging wildly as they charged toward the dwarven lines.
"Fire!" shouted the dwarven thunderers and crossbowmen, unleashing another deadly barrage. Crossbows and guns mowed down the front ranks of the greenskins, dropping the first three lines in quick succession. But the relentless tide of goblins and orcs continued to surge forward, stepping over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Only a direct hit to a vital spot could slow them down.
In response, goblin archers and orc boyz with bows launched a counterattack. Knowing they couldn't penetrate the dwarves' thick armor, they targeted the human soldiers at the front—Leonardo's Leopard Company.
But they had miscalculated.
"Shield formation!" Leonardo, a mercenary warlord crowned in gold and clad in a golden breastplate, roared. His soldiers quickly shifted formation, raising their shields to create a defensive wall. The arrows of the greenskins bounced harmlessly off the shields, unable to harm the battle-hardened warriors of Lucini. The only sound was the steady drumbeat of arrows striking shields, as the Leopard Company soldiers coldly prepared to meet the enemy.
Dwarven engineers quickly identified the positions of the goblin archers and orc bowmen, adjusting their cannons to rain destruction upon them. Goblin archers were blown sky-high, and the survivors quickly fled in panic. Only a few orcs with bows continued to hold their ground.
Now, the greenskin horde had reached striking distance.
"Three-line formation!" Leonardo shouted, and his soldiers immediately shifted again, assuming their famed triple-line formation.
In this formation, derived from the proud traditions of Lucini, the Leopard Company arranged their forces by age: younger soldiers in the front, adults in the middle, and veteran warriors in the rear. Even the youngest among them had extensive combat experience. As goblins and orcs rushed forward, Leonardo bellowed, "Look at the eagle banner! For glory and wealth!"
"Ahhh!" The front line hurled their heavy javelins, and soon the entire first and second ranks followed suit. A deadly storm of javelins tore through the greenskins, skewering many goblins and orcs alike. The heavy losses caused some of the goblins to hesitate, though the orcs pressed on fearlessly, their foul tusks and snarling faces roaring as they crashed into the Leopard Company's line.
The battle had begun in earnest. Human spears and dwarven axes cleaved through greenskin flesh and bone, while the greenskins' crude cleavers and clubs found gaps in armor. From three directions, the green tide surged against Belegar's army, but the dwarves stood firm, their disciplined ranks unyielding. Grim, determined faces lined the dwarven front as they cut down the invaders.
Belegar stood atop his Oathstone, surrounded by soldiers chanting his name and that of Eight Peaks. Though the initial greenskin assault caused a slight ripple in the defensive lines, the dwarves quickly reinforced their positions. Clad in rune-imbued vibranium armor, the Oath Guards wielded massive hammers, crushing any goblin or orc foolish enough to approach. The greenskins' primitive spears and crude blades couldn't pierce the dwarves' armor, leaving them helpless against the dwarven onslaught.
"Hold the
line! Hold the line, soldiers!" Belegar roared, swinging his mighty Angrund Hammer with each command. Every strike crushed a goblin or an orc, sending their bodies flying as if they were nothing. The King of Eight Peaks, his white beard adorned with golden rune-inscribed rings, moved like a force of nature, a bright yet fearsome figure on the blood-soaked battlefield.
Nearby, Runesmith Sludd Honesthammer set up his anvil of doom, slamming his forging hammer onto its surface. Lightning crackled from the anvil, arcing out and vaporizing entire clusters of goblins, turning them into nothing more than ash.
The green tide crashed relentlessly against the sturdy dwarven and human defense. For every greenskin that fell, two more seemed to appear, but the dwarves, like immovable rocks against a raging sea, held firm. Despite twenty minutes of brutal combat, the goblins began to waver, their confidence faltering. Only the larger orc boys remained fully committed, continuing to fight fiercely.
As Belegar smashed the skull of another orc, he felt the ground tremble beneath him. He raised his head, recognizing the unmistakable sound of a cavalry charge.
It was the goblin wolf riders! Hundreds of them were sweeping around the flanks, aiming to encircle the dwarves and attack their artillery positions. Accompanying them were goblin chariots and a few orc boar riders, all poised to strike the dwarven rear.
A cruel smile spread across Belegar's face. The greenskins had miscalculated.
"My army is no longer the same as it once was," Belegar thought grimly.
Blackheart Reep and General Ivan were already prepared. Their pistoleers and horse archers charged out to meet the wolf riders head-on. The pistoleers fired in disciplined volleys, while the Ungol horse archers let loose their arrows in rapid succession, felling goblin riders by the dozen. The remaining goblins broke and fled, howling in terror. The few boar riders were swiftly neutralized as Blackheart's men split their formation, allowing the clumsy orc riders to charge through, only to be met by devastating crossfire from both sides.
Even the goblin war chariots, which had once terrorized human and dwarf armies alike, were no match for the well-coordinated defense. Any that managed to break through were quickly dispatched by the artillery crews, who were armed and ready with handguns and crossbows.
Meanwhile, the Kislovite Sea Soul Guard had also joined the fray. Towering over the goblins, these hulking soldiers cut through the greenskins like wheat. At the same time, the dwarven cannons continued to roar, sending waves of goblins and orcs flying with every thunderous shot. The battlefield was littered with the corpses of greenskins, and their forces were beginning to crumble.
At this point, Goblin Warlord Git Acidbelly, who had been watching the battle from atop his massive wolf mount, grew increasingly agitated.
"Damn it! Damn it all! Where are my giants and trolls?" he snarled. "They were supposed to attack from the rear and smash these bearded fools and human scum into the ground! And where are the night goblins with their big iron balls? How can we break the dwarven line without them? Traitors! They must have fled!"
Just then, a goblin wolf rider raced toward Git, shouting in panic. "Boss! Boss! It's all over!"
"What?!" Git roared. "What's over?"
"The giants and trolls! The night goblins with their iron balls! They were ambushed by a whole army of tin can-shrimp! They're all dead! All gone!" the goblin cried. "And those tin cans... they're... they're..."
"They're what?!" Git grabbed the goblin by the throat, shaking him. "Speak!"
"They're heading for Arsenal Fort!" the goblin wheezed.
"WHAT?!" Git Acidbelly shrieked in disbelief.
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