Chapter 647: The Beginning of War
"Woooo—"
At the top of the Dwarven Royal Palace, the horn forged from the shinbone of a giant beast was blown once again, unleashing a powerful, thunderous roar.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
Dwarven messengers rode goats along steep cliffs, relaying the message to dwarf warriors scattered across the land.
Instantly, all dwarves who heard the horn were startled and began heading toward the royal palace.
—They had finally come. The armies of the Ember Empire.
A dwarven warrior sleeping with his hammer jolted awake, spat fiercely, then calmly began donning his meticulously crafted armor.
A dwarf mining for gold wiped sweat from his brow and resolutely turned back.
A dwarven smith plunged a red-hot blade into water—the cold water instantly boiled, letting off loud, crackling steam.
"The Ember Empire... what a show of force. No wonder they conquered Northern Aether."
Edd stared at the overwhelming, doomsday-like advance of the imperial army, unable to suppress genuine awe.
He lowered his head and smiled bitterly: "I used to worry that evacuating Zain was a mistake. Now... our chances of victory really do seem slim."
In his centuries-long life, Edd had never seen an army like this.
Behind him, the dwarven elder Bjorn walked out slowly and consoled him: "Your Majesty, why worry?
We've made every preparation. All we can do now is give our utmost. The rest is up to the future—to our descendants."
Edd smiled and said, "Still, I'd like to see just how far we can go. At the very least, we'll show these dragonspawn that dwarves are a tough nut to crack!"
He paused. "Have the priests at the dwarven altar made contact with the All-Father?"
Bjorn shook his head and sighed: "Still no word. It's said that during the last battle at Blackstone Mountain, the orc pantheon launched an assault on our gods—cutting off all access to the material plane."
Edd looked up at the sky and sighed: "Then this time... we'll have to rely solely on ourselves."
The famed "Lord of the Mountains" gripped his warhammer tightly, feeling the power surge within him. Determination gleamed in his eyes.
Unknowingly, dwarven warriors had already begun arriving—following the sound of the horn—from Avenderdan and across the Highland Kingdom, gathering in the plaza before the towering statue of Moradin.
The elderly, women, and children had been evacuated with Prince Zain. Those who remained were the finest of the Highland Kingdom—its bravest, most fearless warriors.
"The dragonspawn are coming?"
"Where? I'll smash 'em all! Fucking orc-bred bastards waking me up from my nap!"
"Seriously! I was forging a longsword when the horn blew—scared the shit outta me! Ruined the blade, too!"
The plaza buzzed with noise as dwarves chattered away, unbothered by the looming battle—some even talking about daily life.
Edd lowered his head and scanned the coarse, bearded faces before him. As Lord of the Mountains, he knew every single dwarf here—by name.
These were his people, his warriors. They were ready to die with him.
Like most dwarves, they were crude, boisterous, and rowdy—but their hearts were harder than stone and purer than gems.
For over a hundred years, he had fulfilled his duty as king, defending the land alongside his people. Neither the Holy Fadlan Empire, hill giants, nor orc armies had made the dwarves yield.
Now, Edd would lead them into a battle with almost no chance of victory.
Facing the assembled warriors, Edd fell silent for a long moment before solemnly declaring, "Sons of mountain and stone, citizens of the Highland Kingdom—war has come!"
The dwarf king raised his warhammer and pointed toward the distant horizon—where shadowy clouds had begun to appear.
"Behold! There lie our enemies! Dragonspawn from the north, who crushed Northern Aether just months ago. Now they seek to conquer us!
They want our fortress, our homes, our treasures—and to enslave our kin. Tell me—can we allow this?!"
"No!"
"Smash their skulls in!"
"Orc-bred scum! Attacking our fortress?! I'll make 'em pay!"
The dwarves roared in outrage, denouncing the empire with fury and disdain.
"Aye! We will never allow it!"
Edd pointed at the ground beneath him and said gravely, "Blackstone Mountain—this has been the home of the Shield Dwarves for millennia, the land of our ancestors.
We mine these mountains, forge weapons in their depths. They are our greatest treasure. And now—we must give everything for them."
The king raised his warhammer high, rage blazing in his eyes, and bellowed, "For Avenderdan!"
"For Avenderdan!"
"By Moradin's hand! For the Shield Dwarves! For Avenderdan!"
The dwarves lifted hammers and axes, shouting thunderously—like the roar of mountains.
Meanwhile, the Empire's army advanced rapidly toward Avenderdan, cheering for the Ember Empire and their Emperor.
One side was the invaded. The other, the invaders. And yet, in this moment, the two forces shared a strange resonance.
"Quick, get the defenses up—we'll make those arrogant dragonspawn pay!"
"Are the ballistae mounted yet?!"
"Who the hell moved the cover stones?! You orc-bred bastard!"
"..."
South of Avenderdan, the dwarves worked feverishly, erecting fortifications and defense mechanisms.
For millennia, their greatest threat had always come from the north. As a result, most of their defenses were concentrated there—leaving the south relatively weak.
Fortunately, Avenderdan was built into the mountain, with naturally defensible terrain.
Like the north, the south required crossing a long, narrow valley to reach the actual fortress walls.
Most invaders were stopped outside this "Road of Glory," unable to even approach the outer walls—let alone breach them.
As dwarves scrambled to finish preparations, a rumbling roar echoed across the plain—followed by thunderous growls and chaotic noise.
"What's that sound?!"
"Look—look over there!"
"What? Quit bugging me—I'm trying to install this catapult!" The old dwarf Kord, immersed in crafting, snapped irritably.
As a renowned master artisan, Kord carried heavy responsibility for the fortress's defenses.
But his companion's trembling voice grew more frantic: "That's... the Ember Empire?! That's the dragonspawn?!"
Realizing something was wrong, Kord finally looked up.
The dwarf's jaw dropped at what he saw—an image burned into his memory forever. On the plains below, steel behemoths roared forward, kicking up clouds of dust.
In the sky, wyverns flapped like dense storm clouds, casting massive shadows over the land.
"By Moradin... how could an army like this exist?!" Kord gasped.
"Moradin protect us!"
"What in the gods' name are those things?! That's our enemy?!"
Inside the southern Road of Glory, dwarves stared in disbelief. Their bearded faces were painted with shock and fear.
"D-Don't worry. Dwarven weapons are unmatched!" Kord tried to sound reassuring.
"R-Right! No matter what they are, once they enter the Road of Glory, our traps will cut them down!"
"They can't breach Avenderdan!"
These dwarves, isolated deep in the mountains, had little contact with the outside world. They didn't yet understand the scale of change wrought by the Empire's industrial machine.
But soon, they would learn—with blood.
The steam tanks gathered at the valley entrance, surrounding it like iron hills. The southern Road of Glory was narrow—at most two tanks could enter side-by-side.
But for the Empire—that was enough.
Drol stood atop the "Emperor's Wrath" tank, holding a megaphone, and shouted toward Avenderdan: "Dwarves! Be smart and surrender now!
If you surrender before the battle, His Majesty the Ember Emperor Cassius may show you mercy and lead you into a bright future..."
The goblin general's tone lacked conviction. Deep down, he didn't want the dwarves to surrender at all.
After all, conquering enemies brought glory. Accepting prisoners? Even a fool could do that.
Despite his distaste, Drol continued reading from the Imperial Council's script: "The Ember Empire comes to Avenderdan in the name of justice—to protect the dwarves and wipe out the northern orcs."
Yes—protect.
Days ago, the Ember Empire had formally declared war on the Mountain Dwarf Kingdom, claiming they were no longer capable of resisting the orcs.
The solution? Let the powerful Ember Empire station troops in Avenderdan to bring peace and defend the continent.
The flowery language enraged dwarven officials, who cursed the empire for treating them like fools. Everyone knew the dragonspawn only wanted their treasure.
What they didn't know—was that to Cassius, toppling the dwarf kingdom was just a side task. The real enemy... was the orcs.
"Silence!"
A thunderous roar echoed through the valley. From a steep cliff, a massive dwarven face appeared.
Thousands of meters away, Edd pressed a hand to the cliffside, his body glowing ochre. Through resonance with the mountains, he used their power to speak.
The dwarf king's face was furious. His beard and hair stood on end, and his rage boiled over at the empire's blatant provocation.
"Damn dragonspawn! Enough with your shameless lies! Not even worth calling deception—they're just laughable!
Hear me! Avenderdan will never yield! The Mountain Dwarf Kingdom will never yield! And the mighty Shield Dwarves will never yield!"
His earth-shaking voice rallied the dwarves, who cheered loudly. This was their king—the true son of the mountains!
"For the Lord of the Mountains!"
"Shield Dwarves never yield!"
Seeing the response, Drol grinned wickedly, nodded in satisfaction, then drew his saber and pointed at Avenderdan.
"So be it! Citizens of the Empire—crush them!"
In an instant, steam hissed. The iron beasts let out deep growls and advanced toward Avenderdan. From the muzzles of their machine guns, bright tongues of flame erupted.
Bullets rained like a storm into the Road of Glory. Dwarves hiding in caves, clutching crossbows, were caught completely off-guard—riddled with holes.
Though sturdy, dwarves were still flesh and blood. They couldn't withstand the barrage of machine-gun fire. In mere seconds, the cost was horrific.
The dwarves knew little about the Ember legions. But the Empire had detailed maps of Avenderdan—even secret tunnels and hideouts.
Master artisan Kord cowered behind a fortification, trembling. Gone was his earlier confidence: "No way... they're still hundreds of meters away..."
He could only watch, helpless, as his comrades fell one by one—bleeding, riddled with bullets, crying out in agony.
Even the rock walls of the caves were torn to shreds—bullet holes everywhere, stones flying. This destructive power far exceeded anything Kord had ever built.
And weapons like these were everywhere in the Empire's army.
Kord was in despair.