Four shimmering figures appeared behind the King of Eight Peaks. They were the heroic spirits of the ancestors.
"By the power of Valaya, the ancestral spirits have returned to the mortal world." The White Dwarf, Grim Burloksson, wielded his war axe, each strike filled with the ancient strength of ages. Valaya's power extended from the White Dwarf, illuminating the battlefield.
Like a god descended from the heavens, the White Dwarf swung his massive glowing axe, cutting down the surrounding greenskins with ease. The blood of orcs stained his cloak, forming rivulets down his braided beard. With a thunderous blow, yet another greenskin warlord fell before him.
On the battlefield, light flashed, the call of the ancestors and the echoes of the past reverberating. Every member of Clan Angrund felt the warm whisper and stern reprimand of their forebears, voices comforting like the fires of a chimney, yet as steadfast as the deepest stone beneath the earth.
A powerful change covered the battlefield. First, a dwarf spirit, wearing a dragon-winged helm, appeared behind Belegar.
His long beard revealed his identity, and the hammer in his hand shone with ancestral light. His voice was familiar yet distant, as though his presence was a mere illusion. But as time passed, the spirit became increasingly real.
"That's the Rune King!"
"The ancestors above!"
"By Grungni's mines, it's really the Rune King!" The warriors of Clan Angrund were moved to tears, gathering around the spirit of the Rune King, shouting the names of their ancestors.
Under the gaze of all, the Rune King spoke: "The shame of defeats from centuries past will vanish like smoke! Join me, and Clan Angrund shall rise again!"
"Ahhh!"
The second ancestral spirit appeared—Halkenhaf Stonebeard, the legendary dragon slayer and the greatest warrior in the history of Clan Angrund. He raised his battle axe high: "This time, whether it's trolls, orc brutes, or vile goblins, none shall stand in my way!"
The dwarves' morale soared, but it was not over yet. The third ancestral spirit, the greatest rune-smith in Clan Angrund's history, Throni Ironbrow, appeared. He remained silent, for there was no need for words. This ancient dwarf rune master had once fought alongside the ancestral gods and was revered by all dwarves as a near-deity.
Finally, the fourth ancestral spirit, the genius engineer of Clan Angrund, Dram Hammerfist, appeared. Taking up Harthaf Golddigger's rifle from the White Dwarf's hands, the hot-tempered ancestral spirit roared: "We were once outnumbered, we gave everything but still lost! Today, we swear—that will not happen again! Clan Angrund will rise once more in the mountains!"
The four ancestral spirits, four champions of Sanctuary, joined the battlefield.
At last, countless rune marks erupted from Belegar. At that moment, the King of Eight Peaks officially ascended to the Sanctuary realm.
"Raise your weapons, dwarves, and advance! The time for vengeance has come!" Belegar finally moved, raising his sacred hammer with newfound power: "For Eight Peaks!"
"Ahhhhh!" A fierce gust swept across the battlefield, the ground trembling beneath their feet, each sound a thunderclap in the sky. The air was filled with a deep, lasting roar as the dwarves charged forward with Belegar, led by the White Dwarf and the four ancestral spirits.
The oathkeepers of Angrund and the Iron Brotherhood formed the battering ram behind Belegar. In response to the White Dwarf's call, they launched a counter-charge at the greenskins, leaping high and smashing down upon the orcs' heads. On this day, dwarven war hammers and axes would taste blood.
The succession of blows left the greenskins shattered and fleeing, their morale finally breaking.
On the northern hillside, cannons thundered. King Kazador of Iron Peak Fortress had just cleaved a greenskin in two with his mighty axe when his nephew Kazril came running to his side: "Uncle, look! The Angrund clan is counterattacking!"
"They follow their king!" Kazador's face remained stern as he glanced at his nephew: "Young beardling, hold your banner high. The dwarves of Iron Peak are no less fierce than Belegar's!"
"Yes!" Kazril proudly held up Iron Peak's banner.
Meanwhile, Iron Peak's army was engaging the greenskins led by Skarsnik himself. King Kazador could feel the shift in the tide—Belegar's counterattack, combined with the losses inflicted on the elite Black Orcs and the Eight Peaks Marauders by the Knight King's assault and magic, had severely weakened Skarsnik's forces. Their morale was flagging.
But even so, Kazador knew better than to underestimate the Warlord of Eight Peaks. He ordered his forces to press forward cautiously, avoiding rash decisions.
"Hey! Greenskins, try this!" Thorek Ironbrow raised his rune hammer, striking the Anvil of Doom with great force: "Boom!"
The greenskins could feel the earth tremble.
"Master Rune of Stone!"
"Master Rune of Steel!"
"Master Rune of Wrath and Ruin!"
Thorek's power was terrifying. As the dwarf rune master struck the Anvil of Doom in the name of the war god Grimnir, the power of the runes darkened the sky above Eight Peaks, splitting the ground and unleashing fire and brimstone.
Skarsnik watched as his massive greenskin horde was reduced to ashes before his very eyes. His kingdom was becoming a sea of flames, countless greenskin boys slaughtered for nothing. The Warlord of Eight Peaks finally decided to enter the fray himself, charging into the greenskin ranks, shouting the battle cries of the Crooked Moon tribe. He urged the greenskins and goblins to find the courage to fight once more, for only by fighting to the end could they find victory; otherwise, they would all be butchered.
Suddenly, Skarsnik pulled out a whistle from his tunic and blew it. Hundreds of night goblins by his side followed suit, whistling in unison.
The shrill sound echoed across the battlefield, and to the surprise of the expeditionary army and Iron Peak's forces, the fleeing greenskins regained their morale. They began to rally around Skarsnik!
A new banner of the Crooked Moon tribe rose behind Skarsnik!
"For Gork and Mork! For the Eight Pillars!"
"Waaaaagh!"
The greenskins' morale was restored!
Seeing the greenskins rally, Belegar Ironhammer burst out laughing. The King of Eight Peaks roared: "Well done! This is the Skarsnik I know, the Warlord of Eight Peaks! Without this level of skill, how could he have ruled the Badlands for decades? Fought me for decades?"
"But today, he will meet his disgraceful defeat!" The White Dwarf appeared at Belegar's side, shouting: "Warriors, follow your king, charge!"
"For Belegar! For Eight Peaks!"
"Soldiers, the time for a counterattack is now, charge with me!" Ryan mounted his griffon Impris, the Knight King shouting: "Finish them off!"
"For the Lady and the King! For Bretonnia!" The knights gathered under their king's command, surging toward the greenskin horde.
The northern wind howled, banners fluttering.
Fire raged on all sides, tens of thousands of soldiers engaged in fierce, life-and-death combat.
Blood flowed, piling up the dead.
The human knights charged fastest, with Juan Carlos leading a squad of Solar Knights, breaking through the greenskin ranks. A massive orc warlord named Slokh Brokenfang, mounted on a war boar and armed with a massive battle axe, charged straight for Juan.
In this face-off, Juan seemed small compared to the towering orc warlord. After just one exchange, Slokh's battle axe deflected Juan's sword, and it looked like the warlord was about to deliver a killing blow.
But Juan remained calm, smirking as he dropped his sword and pulled two dwarven rune-engraved four-barrel pistols from beneath his saddle. He fired directly at Slokh's head.
Bang! Bang, bang, bang!
The orc warlord collapsed from his boar, his head blasted apart. Juan's attendants rushed in to decapitate him, and Juan lifted the orc's head, shouting: "For Myrmidia!"
"Myrmidia protects me!" The Solar Knights' morale surged as they charged toward Skarsnik.
Meanwhile, the Warlord of Eight Peaks was dueling King Kazador of Iron Peak. Skarsnik's sword clashed against Kazador's hammer, Steelpeak, a weapon forged from the purest meteoric iron and passed down through the generations since the days of Grungni. The runes on the hammer gleamed in the cold wind, as it was crafted precisely for such battles.
Although Skarsnik, as a Sanctuary-level warrior, was stronger than the Legendary-tier Kazador, the Warlord was not skilled in close combat. Facing the battle-hardened dwarf king, the two were evenly matched, with Skarsnik even slightly at a disadvantage. His pet squig, Gobbla, was similarly struggling against Thorek Ironbrow, who was using lightning and fire summoned from the Anvil of Doom to keep the creature at bay.
"You'll die here today, Warlord of Eight Peaks. Your hatred will be settled, and your body will be thrown into the flames and
turned to ash." King Kazador pressed Skarsnik back with several heavy blows. If not for the poison coating Skarsnik's sword, the king would have already crushed him.
"Is that so?" Skarsnik sneered. "Do you think my resistance is meaningless?"
"Your resistance? Good, I like it! Because we don't accept any surrender!" King Kazador's hatred for greenskins ran deep. His Ironhammer Guard was slaughtering the greenskin army. Without the Black Orcs and the Eight Peaks Marauders to hold back the king's elite forces, Skarsnik's remaining troops couldn't withstand the onslaught of Ironhammer warriors and Ironbreakers.
At this point, calling back those two elite forces was impossible. Ryan was personally leading his knights, cutting down the few remaining Black Orcs and Night Goblins with swift, storm-like strikes. The once-formidable units were nearly annihilated. As the two leaders exchanged words, Ryan and Karad had already slain three more Black Orcs, beheading them. Even the fearless Black Orcs were fleeing in terror from the two terrifying warlords.
"Hey!" Skarsnik, as a goblin, lacked the physical strength to match Kazador. After several more rounds, the Warlord of Eight Peaks retreated from the duel, abandoning the fight. A grin spread across his face: "Resistance has meaning, you fool of a beard!"
Just then, from the south of the battlefield, horns and chaotic war drums suddenly sounded.
A massive wyvern appeared in the sky, with the greenskin warlord Gorrik Redtooth riding atop it. The savage and foul-smelling lizard roared menacingly. Following Gorrik Redtooth came an army of eight thousand from Karak-Dron Crag!
The reinforcements from Karak-Dron Crag had arrived! The greenskin warlord Gorrik Redtooth, answering Skarsnik's call for aid, had led his army to the battlefield, appearing to the south and threatening the expeditionary army's flank!
"Waaaagh!"
"Waaaaaaagh!"
The appearance of reinforcements ignited a massive roar from the beleaguered greenskin army. The battle was still in full swing, and if Gorrik's forces could strike the expeditionary army's flank, the greenskins might still turn the tide of battle.
Skarsnik excitedly brandished his sword, shouting: "He's here, he's here! That big guy, our Crooked Moon tribe's reinforcements, the warlord from Karak-Dron Crag, he's here, he's here! We've won!"
"Waaaagh!" The battlefield echoed with the joyous roars and cheers of the greenskins.
King Kazador's face turned serious as he glanced at Skarsnik, then looked up at the sky and let out a cold "hmph": "Do you think you're the only one with reinforcements, fool?"
"What?" Skarsnik turned his gaze to the sky. The Warlord of Eight Peaks' pupils shrank.
The sound of pure horns rang out, and high above, a squadron of Pegasus Knights appeared. Duke Francois of Winford, a Sanctuary-level warrior, led the charge. Drawing his unicorn sword, he immediately engaged Gorrik Redtooth in battle: "For the Lady!"
"My father-in-law is here!" Ryan shouted excitedly. "Soldiers! The Pegasus Knights of Duke Francois have arrived!"
Meanwhile, two figures appeared on the battlefield, standing in the path of the advancing greenskin army from Karak-Dron Crag, blocking their entire force.
One was a dwarf, shirtless, with countless runes etched into his skin. His fiery red hair was styled into a Mohawk, and his beard had been unusually trimmed. Wielding a rune-engraved battle axe, he radiated ancient power—clearly, a mighty dwarf slayer.
The other was a human, with golden hair and a handsome face. Dressed in enchanted full plate armor, he wore a crimson cloak and wielded a rune sword.
"Who… who are you? Tell me your names!" a greenskin from Karak-Dron Crag shouted at the two figures.
"Since you've asked so sincerely."
"We'll be merciful enough to tell you."
"To prevent the world from being destroyed."
"To protect the peace of the world."
"Sworn to fight alongside the greatest slayer!"
"The curious and brave bard!"
"Gotrek!"
"Felix!"
"We are the wandering duo! Glorious, magnificent adventures await us!"
"That's right, now come and fight!"
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