Goblin Warlord Git Acidbelly suddenly had a very bad feeling, an ominous sense that something was terribly wrong. The wisdom granted by Grom the Paunch made him realize he had been tricked. The bearded enemies and human shrimp had lured him into committing all his forces into their trap! While he was preoccupied with encircling them, those pesky "canned shrimps" had ambushed and wiped out his prized giants, trolls, and night goblins!
Why had they done this?
Git quickly understood a terrifying truth: the enemy had an intimate understanding of greenskin tactics.
Why hadn't he committed his giants, trolls, and night goblins at the start?
Because the dwarven frontlines were tough, with thick armor that ordinary weapons couldn't penetrate. Only his giant beasts—giants, trolls, and the night goblins wielding their deadly iron balls—could break the dwarven iron defense. These night goblins spun in place with centrifugal force, using their heavy iron balls in suicidal attacks to smash through human and dwarven formations.
But even the thickest-skulled greenskin knew that sending such precious units in at the start would only result in them getting wiped out by concentrated dwarven firepower. The strategy was always to hold them back until the greenskins locked the enemy in combat, then unleash the big guns to shatter the dwarven lines.
But now, they were all gone?
All of them?
Gone?
This meant one thing: the enemy not only knew greenskin tactics but had countered them perfectly.
"This battle is lost!" Git Acidbelly instantly concluded. "We need to retreat to Arsenal Fort immediately, or we'll lose it too! Lads, get ready—"
"Boss! Boss, look!" Before he could finish, one of his wolf riders pointed to the sky. "Look! The beards' flying machines! They're coming straight for us!"
"What?" Git barely had time to look up before four dwarven gyrocopters were diving toward them from the sky. "Take cover, lads, take cover!"
"Take cover!" The goblin wolf riders, seeing their boss panic, immediately began digging frantically into the desert soil, burying their heads in shallow pits. "Listen to the boss! Take cover!"
"Ratatatatata!" The gyrocopters' rotary guns opened fire on the goblin wolf riders below. Screams filled the air as bullets and flesh tore through the goblins. Dirt and grass flew everywhere, and the relentless fire from the gyrocopters shredded the goblins' bodies, leaving their corpses scattered across the battlefield.
Once the ammunition was spent, the gyrocopters swooped lower, dropping bombs that sent explosions rippling through the goblin ranks. The earth shook with every blast, sending goblin limbs flying. After expending their bombs, the gyrocopters pulled up and left the battlefield, leaving behind a sea of smoke and destruction.
In the thick smoke and debris, Git Acidbelly slowly crawled out of his hiding place, spitting out mud and pebbles. Struggling to stand, he cursed loudly, "Damn it, damn it!"
Around him, the battlefield was strewn with the dismembered bodies of goblins and their ruined wolf mounts.
"Whimper..." His own wolf mount had been hit by shrapnel, its leg blown off. The poor creature was lying on the ground, barely alive, letting out pitiful whines.
"Useless beast!" Git Acidbelly, in a desperate attempt to flee, tried to cast a spell, but the winds of magic were weak. Angry and frustrated, he jogged a few steps and found a wolf still capable of running. He pulled out his knife, hopped onto the wolf, and yanked the reins. "Go! Run, you stupid thing!"
The wolf, unsure of its new rider, growled hesitantly.
"Move!" Git screamed and struck the wolf's rear with his knife. Yelping in pain, the wolf bolted toward Arsenal Fort.
With Git's retreat, the greenskin army began to fall apart. Without a strong central command or the powerful monsters to lead the charge, the greenskins lost their will to fight. Panic spread among the orcs and goblins, and soon, they were pushing and shoving each other, desperately trying to flee.
Belegar sensed the tide of the battle turning in his favor. The King of Eight Peaks licked his dry lips; he hadn't had a drop of beer in hours, though all he could taste was the rancid, red-black blood of the greenskins. The stench made him spit in disgust.
"Well, I'll wait for victory before I think about beer," Belegar thought as he brought down his Angrund Hammer, crushing the skull of another orc. He issued a command, "Send in Baron Juan and his Knights of the Fiery Sun. These greenskins aren't going anywhere today!"
"Yes, my king!" The Angrund Oath Guards responded, smashing through the greenskins with their heavy hammers. Belegar sent out the signal across the battlefield.
"Knights of the Fiery Sun, charge with me! For the goddess Myrmidia!" Baron Juan unsheathed his fiery longsword and rallied his knights.
"Charge! For Myrmidia, the goddess of war!" The Fiery Sun Knights launched their attack. Flanking the greenskin army, the black-and-gold armored knights gleamed in the sunlight, their enchanted sunburst sigils shining brilliantly. Despite being only a hundred strong, their charge was decisive. The greenskin army collapsed into chaos. Orcs and goblins threw down their weapons and fled in all directions.
The dwarves, unable to match the speed of the fleeing greenskins, watched as their enemies escaped. However, the human cavalry mercilessly pursued them, cutting down orcs and goblins with lances, swords, and spears. By the time the chase was over, most of the greenskin forces had been annihilated, though a few small groups managed to escape.
"We've completed our task." Belegar accepted a tankard of beer from one of his soldiers. The cool, refreshing taste of the beer sliding down his throat was a divine relief. He briefly considered offering a drink to his human allies but quickly decided against it. Dwarven beer was far too strong for most humans. "Now, it's up to Brother Ryan and his men."
"Rest for ten minutes, then we march on Arsenal Fort. Brother Ryan's forces should have finished their part by now."
"Yes, my king!"
— Ten Minutes Later —
In the wilderness, the giant Kork stumbled desperately, fleeing for its life. Blood gushed from its legs, riddled with bullet holes from lances and arrows. Pain and exhaustion weighed heavily on the giant as it collapsed into the dirt, kicking up dust. Struggling to rise again, Kork was filled with fury and betrayal.
Git Acidbelly had lied to them!
The giants and trolls, including Kork, had been promised vast amounts of food if they could crush the "canned shrimps" and bearded enemies. More food than they could ever eat!
They had agreed, hiding in the hills with the night goblins, waiting for the signal.
But the signal never came. Instead, they were ambushed by an army of heavily armored knights. The night goblins tried to fight back, spinning their iron balls against the knights, but the humans seemed to know their weakness—bright light. The knights summoned wave after wave of blinding light, disorienting the goblins and leaving them helpless. Even Kork was stunned by the light, though it wasn't as effective against him.
By the time the lights faded, the night goblins were already dead, and the giants and trolls were left to face the knights alone. Kork had fought as best he could, smashing two knights and crushing another beneath his club. But the knights kept coming, their arrows and bullets causing Kork unbearable pain. He saw knights with golden chalices on their armor slaughtering his kin, advancing fearlessly and methodically.
Terrified, Kork had tried to run.
At first, it worked. The knights were too busy with the others to pursue him. But Kork was too hungry and wounded to run far. Eventually, they caught up. A terrifying beast with wings swooped down from the sky, its rider a fearsome grey knight wielding thunder and flame. With a single blow, the knight felled Kork, and his griffon tore into the giant's chest, ripping out its heart.
As Kork's consciousness faded, the last thought in his mind was the bitter realization.
Git Acidbelly was a liar!
Imperius, Ryan's griffon, feasted on the giant's flesh, filling its belly. With the destruction of the giant and troll army and the complete annihilation of the night goblin forces, Ryan wasted no time organizing his army to march on Arsenal Fort.
"You should've sent the Waywatchers to assist King Belegar," Kalad remarked, holding a giant's severed head. The Grail Knight, having learned from the best, was adept at extracting the giant's golden teeth with a crowbar and hammer. His squire took the teeth, cleaned them, and placed them in a bag. Kalad looked toward Arsenal Fort, where the enemy forces struggled in the fire and smoke. "They didn't seem to do much following us around."
Ryan, holding his hammer, Thor's Hammer, was about to respond when the roar of artillery from the siege lines made him pause. After the cannons finished their barrage, he resumed, "True, the Waywatchers didn't contribute much to our part of the battle. But if I had sent them with Belegar, it would have been a disaster."
"A disaster?" Kalad thought for a moment, trying to understand. "You mean because the Waywatchers wouldn't follow Belegar's orders?"
"Exactly," Ryan nodded. "Orion, the King of the Forest, entrusted that Waywatcher unit to me, not Belegar. Our command structures are different. I can entrust Juan, Blackheart Reep, and others to Belegar's leadership, but not the Old Guard or the Wood Elves. The same goes for Dugan Ironhand's Blackpowder Brotherhood or Veronica's Witch Coven. They report directly to me. Do you understand?"
Kalad nodded slowly but didn't seem fully convinced. Ryan shook his head, "It's alright. You'll understand eventually. For now, let's focus on watching Arsenal Fort fall."
At that moment, the gates of Arsenal Fort were rigged with barrels of gunpowder. Dugan Ironhand and his Blackpowder Brotherhood carefully set the fuses. The greenskins on the crumbling walls had already been driven into cover by the combined fire of the expeditionary army's arrows and cannons. The remaining orcs and goblins tried feebly to return fire with their bows, but their resistance was laughably ineffective against the overwhelming firepower of the attackers.
Grail Knight Antelme stood at the front, sword and shield in hand, leading the dismounted knights in preparation for the final charge. As the gunpowder barrels exploded, blowing apart the gates with a thunderous roar, Antelme personally led a massive charge of knights and rangers into Arsenal Fort.
Inside, the orcs and goblins put up a desperate fight. The sound of clashing blades, savage roars, and screams echoed through the fortress as the greenskins defended every corner. Bodies piled up, layer upon layer, as Bretonnia's knights unleashed their primal fury. Their eyes were bloodshot, their weapons never stopping as they killed every greenskin in sight and plundered whatever treasure they could find. Since Git Acidbelly had taken most of the greenskin forces with him, the remaining orcs and goblins stood little chance against the well-armed knights and Old Guard soldiers.
With the fortress completely surrounded, no greenskin could escape.
After about an hour of brutal fighting, the sounds of battle began to die down. The peasant infantry, who had initially been busy looting and searching for treasure, reluctantly returned to their duties when they heard the signal horns. They started clearing the fortress, gathering the bodies of orcs, goblins, and snotlings, and burning them in massive piles. Then they assembled into orderly ranks, waiting for their next orders.
Ryan Macador, King of Bretonnia, entered Arsenal Fort, followed by his chief courtier Veronica and Bertrand, commander of the Old Guard. The scene was a gruesome one—blood splattered the walls, and dismembered bodies littered the ground.
Veronica wrinkled her nose in disgust as she stepped through the carnage, her fiery red battle dress stained with patches of blood.
"Arsenal Fort has fallen. This is our victory!" Ryan declared loudly to the gathered troops. "Another great victory for Bretonnia! Praise the Lady!"
"Praise the Lady!" the soldiers cheered back, a wave of excitement and pride washing over them. Arsenal Fort held vast amounts of wealth, most of it looted from caravans and border princes. Now, it all belonged to the Bretonnian army.
"Where is Sir Antelme?" Ryan asked, signaling his soldiers to begin securing the fortress. The dwarves were instructed to repair and fortify the damaged walls, as Arsenal Fort was strategically vital and would serve as their logistical base for future operations. It could not be destroyed but instead had to be plundered and then occupied.
"My king," Antelme appeared, drenched in blood. The Grail Knight looked as though he had been pulled straight from the bloodiest depths of the battle. Ryan noticed he was carrying a large bag and suspected he had acquired many spoils of war. That was only fair—those who led the charge were always rewarded.
"We've found a group of dwarven prisoners!" Antelme exclaimed.
"Dwarven prisoners?" Ryan's eyes widened. Dwarves?
"Yes, my king. They're right here!"
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