The sudden appearance of a new army caused tension among the Bretonnians. The knights and greenskins were evenly matched, and though Ryan's command had given them a slight edge by deploying the Old Guard, a sudden attack from the flank would likely lead to disaster, even for this battle-hardened army.
Humans, while not as resilient as elves, were far more tenacious. Especially with King Ryan at the helm!
"My king, what is that?" Calard returned from the thick of battle, having already slain fifteen greenskin warlords or shamans. His fearsome reputation had grown so much that greenskins now fled at the mere sight of him, shouting, "The Warlord Slayer is coming!"
Calard enjoyed this nickname, much like the long string of greenskin heads dangling from his horse's saddle.
"Listen to the horn! That is the Dwarves' army!" Ryan turned his gaze toward the northern slope. Raising his warhammer, he roared, "Soldiers, my knight brothers, reinforcements have arrived! The Dwarves are here to support us!"
"Long live the King!" The knights' morale surged, and with renewed vigor, they pushed the greenskins back.
Atop the Titan's Gate, Skarsnik's face darkened. The Warlord of Eight Peaks cursed Queek Headtaker and his Skaven forces, labeling them useless for not committing to the fight. Squinting toward the approaching army, Skarsnik's expression soured even more.
"Ironpeak Dwarves," he muttered with frustration. "The Anvil Brotherhood and the Royal Blackhammer Guard."
The thunderous blare of Dwarven horns echoed across the battlefield as a disciplined army marched down the northern slope, raising the Ironpeak banner high. They formed up in perfect ranks, advancing like an unbreakable wall of steel.
"Advance, sons of Grungni!" the Dwarven lords commanded proudly.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" The Angrund Clan Dwarves erupted in cheers, their morale reignited by the sight of their kin. Even Belegar, King of Eight Peaks, was filled with excitement. "At last, Ironpeak is here! And he himself has come."
Leading the charge was Kazador Dragonhammer, the King of Ironpeak, a legendary warrior clad in ancient rune-forged armor. His face was stern and emotionless, showing only the cold resolve and hatred he held for the greenskins. Having lived for centuries, Kazador had lost his wife and son in the long years of war. Even after retaking Black Crag and receiving the severed head of Gorfang Rotgut as a trophy, the king's youthful zeal had long since faded. He remained powerful and relentless, but what drove him now was cold determination rather than fiery passion.
Close by was the king's personal bodyguard, the Royal Blackhammer Guard, who marched alongside their king. Kazador's nephew, Kazrul, proudly carried the Ironpeak banner, shouting the kingdom's battle cries.
Beside the king strode Sorik Ironbrow, one of the most renowned Runesmiths in the Dwarven world. Though Sorik was second only to Kragg the Grim, the master smith of Karaz-a-Karak, his entire life had been dedicated to recovering lost Dwarven fortresses and the ancient rune-lore of their ancestors. It was he who had convinced King Kazador to personally lead the Ironpeak army to support Belegar's campaign to reclaim Eight Peaks.
Like many master Runesmiths, Sorik was stubborn, refusing to take on apprentices for centuries. It wasn't until Kragg took on a new student—Delrun Fainsen, now the Royal Chief Smith of Ryan's court—that Sorik reluctantly accepted a few pupils. For this battle, he had brought all of them with him.
"Hey, Belegar! Sorik Ironbrow is here!" Unlike the grim Kazador, Sorik loudly boomed his arrival as he gazed upon the fires of war at Eight Peaks. "Let's smash these green vermin and disgusting rats together with your knight allies!"
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" The expeditionary forces once again roared in triumph. Both the knights and the Dwarves felt their spirits soar, while the greenskins began to falter. After hours of brutal combat, they had failed to break the expedition's lines, suffering heavy losses in the process. The greenskin morale, worn down by the relentless battle, was beginning to wane. Even the toughest among them were starting to fear the shining knights and their deadly precision.
As Sorik's shout echoed across the battlefield, he turned to Kazador. "My king, give the order. The enemy cannot withstand an attack from both sides."
"Good. It seems Belegar and his people have a real chance to retake Eight Peaks now," King Kazador replied as he accepted a flask from his attendant. He took a hearty swig of beer, much to the dismay of the surrounding Dwarves who watched the precious liquid spill onto the ground. The king tossed the flask aside, grabbed his warhorn, and blew a thunderous blast.
The sound was not one of a weary old king, but of a mighty ruler at the peak of his strength.
With the rallying cry of their king, the Ironpeak army charged down the slope, striking at Skarsnik's flank. Kazador himself led the charge, his rune-axe cleaving through the enemy. Behind him followed rank upon rank of grim-faced Dwarves, advancing with unshakable resolve.
Though the Ironpeak army numbered fewer than three thousand, far outnumbered by the greenskins, their discipline and skill were unmatched. The greenskins scrambled to prepare, but even with time to brace, they were overwhelmed by the two-front assault. Even Skarsnik knew that if something didn't change soon, they would be utterly defeated.
The situation had grown dire. Skarsnik realized that Queek Headtaker had no intention of committing his remaining forces. The Warlord of Eight Peaks made his most critical decision of the battle.
He ordered Uglok the Skullcrusher, leader of the Black Orcs, to charge with the elite Black Orcs and his personal Night Goblin unit, the "Madcap Maniacs."
The Black Orcs were a terrifying force. No one knew their exact origins, but Skarsnik had learned from the Chaos Dwarfs that the Black Orcs were likely a failed experiment in enslaving Orcs, resulting in a breed that was stronger, larger, and even more cunning. These towering beasts clad in heavy armor wielded massive axes, and unlike regular Orcs, they rarely fought among themselves, preferring to mock their weaker kin.
The Night Goblin Maniacs, meanwhile, were armed with deadly flails. Their enormous spiked balls could smash through any armor, be it Dwarven plate or knightly enchanted mail. As the Black Orcs and Maniacs surged forward, they crushed everything in their path.
Spinning their deadly chain balls, the Night Goblins created a storm of death, cutting down both men and Dwarves. Accompanied by the blare of war drums and the sound of clashing steel, Skarsnik personally joined the fight, standing at the front of his army. Behind him, the Black Orcs, led by Uglok, tore through the front lines, slaughtering the peasant infantry.
In mere minutes, an entire regiment of peasants was wiped out. The survivors fled in terror, leaving behind their dead and wounded. Bertrand quickly ordered the Old Guard to take their place, but even these elite troops struggled against the Black Orcs. One entire company of the Old Guard was decimated in less than five minutes, with over sixty men hacked to pieces, not a single one left alive or wounded—only corpses.
With the combined assault of the Black Orcs and Night Goblins, the knights and infantry began to crumble. Regiment after regiment was slaughtered, with the Black Orcs cutting through their enemies like wheat, while the Night Goblin flails forced the knights to retreat. The entire army showed signs of collapse, and the Ironpeak Dwarves were still only halfway down the slope. Skarsnik personally led his troops to intercept the Dwarves, attempting to prevent their advance.
Under the crimson sky of Eight Peaks, the battlefield was soaked in blood and fire.
"The second regiment has been annihilated!"
"The army of the Duchy of Brionne is in full retreat!"
"The second company of the Old Guard has fallen!"
"The Unicorn Guard can't hold out any longer!"
"King Ryan! We can't hold them!"
One urgent report after another reached Ryan, who gripped his reins tightly. Yet, despite the dire situation, a grim smile spread across his face as he turned to Count Julian. "Skarsnik has lost. This battle is ours."
"My king?" Julian asked in confusion.
"The mountain... never moves." Ryan's expression turned fierce and determined as he raised his warhammer and set his eyes on the Evil Moon banner flying above Skarsnik's forces. "The mountain has moved. The tale of the Warlord of Eight Peaks ends today."
"Veronica!" Ryan shouted.
"Understood!" The enchantress Veronica, standing atop her magical chariot, began chanting her spell with the rest of the sorceress coven.
"Olyka!" Ryan called next.
"I'm ready, master!" The Dark Elf held her staff of Urithan as powerful magic swirled around her.
"Begin!" Ryan pulled out the scroll of the Grand Spell "Frozen Domain" that Aurora had sent him. "Finish them!"
The Madcap Maniacs had cut deep into the Bretonnian lines, their flails tearing through anything in their path. They
had already slaughtered an entire regiment of peasants, along with dozens of Old Guard troops and knights. But suddenly, they felt the air change.
"So cold! Why is it so cold? My teeth are chattering!" one goblin shrieked. Frost novas exploded across the Maniacs' ranks as hundreds of icy tendrils and shards of ice whirled through the air. The temperature plummeted rapidly, and the goblins froze in place, their bodies becoming motionless ice sculptures.
"Meteor Strike!" Veronica's voice rang out, and from the stormy sky, three massive flaming meteors, each over twenty meters wide, hurtled down toward the battlefield, smashing into the Maniacs and Black Orcs with earth-shattering force. The explosions rocked the very mountains themselves.
"Twisting Void!" Olyka followed up with her own spell. The Dark Elf tore open the fabric of reality, unleashing a swirling void of Chaos and darkness that consumed entire ranks of Night Goblins and Black Orcs, pulling them into the endless abyss, never to return.
"It's time!" Ryan lifted his warhammer high. "Knights, forward! For the Lady! For Bretonnia! Fight to the death!"
"For the Lady and the King! For Bretonnia!" The knights gathered behind their king, their voices echoing across the battlefield. Though covered in blood, they followed Ryan with unwavering pride as they charged into battle. "Forward!"
The thunder of hooves and the gleam of lances filled the air as Ryan's army of over a hundred knights formed a steel tide, crashing into the remaining Black Orcs and Maniacs. Blood-red fleurs-de-lis bloomed on the battlefield as the knights fought fiercely against their enemies.
Lances pierced through armor, axes cleaved through plate, and chain flails smashed through helmets. Ryan himself led the charge, and though many knights fell—crushed into pulp by the goblin flails or hacked apart by orc axes—they fought without regret, for they believed they were fighting for the kingdom, for the Lady, and for their sacred honor.
In the midst of the chaotic battle, Uglok the Skullcrusher clashed with a knight. This knight wore finely crafted Dwarven plate armor and boldly issued a challenge to the Black Orc warlord.
"I am Baron Olivier of the Richard family!" Olivier charged at Uglok, wielding a greatsword in place of his shattered lance. He swung his sword even faster than his war cry.
Uglok laughed, mocking the knight as his axe decapitated Olivier's horse in a single blow, knocking the knight to the ground. Without a second thought, Olivier leaped to his feet, slashing at Uglok's chest. "Die, you green filth!"
But Uglok easily snapped the greatsword in half with a single swing of his axe. A swift follow-up slash decapitated Olivier, ending the brave knight's life in a spray of blood.
The valiant warrior who had followed Ryan for over a decade, introduced to him by the Duke of Marienburg, was now dead.
Uglok didn't have time to savor his victory or claim his trophy. He heard the heavy thud of an approaching figure and turned to see a terrifying sight.
King Ryan, wreathed in rage, was approaching. The knight king leaped from his griffon, swinging his warhammer with terrifying force, sending two Black Orcs flying. Ryan knew he couldn't save Olivier, but revenge was still within his grasp. Uglok, sensing the imminent duel, charged forward, eager to face Ryan. Their weapons clashed with a deafening impact, sparks flying as warhammer met axe.
The duel was over in seconds. As their weapons recoiled from the impact, Ryan dropped one hand from his hammer and reached for the hilt of the Sword of Vengeance. Encased in platinum flames and bathed in ethereal blue light, the blade sliced upward in a wide arc, severing Uglok's right arm and its attached axe in one swift motion.
Black blood sprayed from the stump.
"Grrr~urrrgh!" Uglok let out a tortured wail as he fell to his knees, clutching at the wound with his remaining hand.
"You think you're worthy to duel me?" Ryan sneered, and with a final stroke, decapitated the Black Orc warlord. "You're not."
Ryan held the warlord's severed head high, his triumphant roar echoing across the battlefield. The remaining Black Orcs, paralyzed with fear, stared at the head of their once-mighty leader, now dangling from the knight king's hand. The sight of Ryan's raw power broke their spirits, and the once-formidable greenskins began to falter, fear replacing their bloodlust.
It wasn't over. Ryan charged again, cutting down eight more warlords, twenty Black Orcs, and countless goblins as he fought his way toward the Evil Moon banner. None could stand against him. When the symbol of Skarsnik's authority and pride finally fell under his blade, the greenskin army began to collapse entirely.
"The Warlord of Eight Peaks' tale ends today!" Belegar, watching from the distance, saw the Evil Moon banner fall. The King of Eight Peaks finally made his decision. He began chanting an ancient hymn, calling upon the name of Valaya.
In response to the king's ancient song and the invocation of their ancestor, four Dwarven ancestral spirits returned to the mortal realm. "The ancestors are calling us. Dwarves, advance!"
White Dwarf Grimgor also raised his ancestor's rune-axe. Standing beside Belegar, he bellowed, "To the King! To the King!"
"Ahhhhhhh!" The Dwarves roared, their blood boiling with battle fury.
"Charge!!!"
The final push had begun.
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