Chapter 62: Bloody Battle-Sozinho Infinito(Li Pei)

The horn of the Lonely Mountain resounded with a heavy yet stirring resonance. Hearing the horn of their ancestral land once more after hundreds of years, the dwarves could barely contain their overwhelming excitement and fervor.

With rhythmic thuds, their spears struck the earth in time with the horn's call, and their booming voices rose in a traditional dwarf song:

"Far over the misty mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old:
We must away, ere break of day,
To seek our pale enchanted gold.
The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells;
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells...
..................
Far over the misty mountains cold,
Dwarves to claim our long-forgotten gold!"

[The Dwarf Legion's morale has risen due to the 'Battle Hymn of the Lonely Mountain'. Movement speed increased, physical strength slightly increased, and stamina slightly increased.]

Singing at the top of their lungs, the dwarves began to march forward in step with the ballad. Every few paces, they brought the heavy butt-ends of their spears crashing down onto the ground, creating a thunderous boom.

Blending with the clanging of armor, it provided a powerful percussion to their song.

"Clang—thud—clang clang—thud."

The rustling sound of interlocking scale armor grew increasingly dense. The dwarves' synchronized march gradually accelerated from a step to a trot.

Slamming their heavy shields down onto the earth, the jagged lower edges of the shields bit firmly into the soil. Bracing their shoulders against the back of the shields and leaning slightly backward, they formed an unyielding triangular bulwark. Behind them, their comrades rested their longspears along the upper rims of the shields, their faces grim and cold behind their visors.

Thus, shield tightly joined to shield, they formed an unbroken wall of pure black iron.

The wave of orcs finally crashed against this dark dam, instantly splashing a vast, crimson tide into the air.

The orcs shrieked miserably, impaled upon the longspears and struggling frantically. Gritting their teeth, the dwarf spearmen dug their iron boots deep into the earth and braced themselves with all their might against their spears.

The bloody tide splattered across their bodies and the ground, staining everything scarlet.

The sickening sound of flesh being pierced echoed continuously. Just witnessing the carnage turned the faces of many apostles pale—when had they ever beheld such a brutal, cold-steel battlefield?

"Release!"

At the rear, the elven archers continued to unleash an unceasing storm of arrows. The orcs did not yield; though their crude bows could not match the elven craftsmanship, combined with the trolls' catapults, they fought back evenly. Head-sized boulders tumbled and roared through the air, crashing down and frequently knocking elves to the ground with brief, piercing shrieks.

"Bang, bang, bang."

Following a volley of dense gunfire, blood suddenly burst from the bodies of the trolls. Apostles from the elven and dwarf camps had opened fire, yet those trolls, standing nearly four meters tall, could never be brought down by a mere bullet or two.

Small-caliber rifle bullets merely elicited roars of pain from them, and even sniper shots aimed at their heads rarely achieved success; a troll's brain was pitifully small, scarcely larger than a walnut.

Most of the firearms wielded by the apostles were of common white or green quality, possessing no special properties, relying entirely on the raw impact of the bullets.

The war seemed to reach a boiling point in an instant. The heavy-shield-bearing dwarves quickly exhausted their stamina under wave after wave of relentless charges.

The horn of the Lonely Mountain grew ever more passionate. Riding atop a great ram, Dain Ironfoot swung his warhammer and roared:

"Center army, charge!"

Thud, thud, thud. The spearmen violently retracted their longspears, and dwarves bearing half-body shields stepped forward, leveling their weapons as they raised their voices once more in the Dwarf Song.

As they reached the final line of the ballad, the dwarves shouted in unison:

"Dwarves—for the horn of the Lonely Mountain, for the home lost a hundred years, charge!"

The dwarves in the front rank holding the heavy shields abruptly fell back, slamming their shields flat onto the ground before the orcs could recover from the surprise of their broken line.

Greeting the orcs were heavy-armored dwarf infantry, charging headlong with lowered spears.

The clashing of weapons merged into a continuous din as the two sides collided and became hopelessly entangled. Their formations interlocked so densely that it was soon impossible to tell friend from foe.

"Woo-woo-woo—"

From a distant peak sounded the shrill horn of the orc host, and a banner signaling the direction of the attack rose slightly.

Li Xia narrowed his eyes. That was the location of Azog, the leader of the orc legion, and the direction he signaled pointed straight toward Li Xia's own position.

Dale was the vital gateway connecting the outer reaches of the Lonely Mountain, a crucial thoroughfare capable of trapping the dwarves within the mountain.

A detachment immediately split from the main orc host and marched toward Dale. For an army numbering forty thousand orcs, detaching several thousand troops was no difficult task. In any case, the valley plains could only accommodate a battle front of some ten thousand combatants.

"Prepare! The orcs are coming!"

Li Xia shouted at the top of his lungs. The apostles swallowed nervously; the brutal carnage they had just witnessed was truly terrifying. Fortunately, it was merely nervous tension; none of them entertained thoughts of flight.

The vanguard of the orcs drew steadily closer, their heavy footsteps and brutal roars intertwining like a prelude to death.

When they finally crossed the previously marked boundary, no commands were needed. Everyone on the ramparts raised their bows. Even those lacking archer mastery had no cause for concern under these circumstances.

The ground below was paved densely with orcs; missing a target was simply out of the question.

Li Xia picked up his own yew bow, drew it fully, and released the arrow without taking careful aim. The shaft traced a bizarre arc through the air, inexplicably dodging the orcs entirely and embedding itself deep into the dirt.

???

Are you seriously mocking me by shooting blindly on pure luck?

"Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh." Numbers One and Two, his small attendants beside him, began to quiver. They appeared to be laughing.

Li Xia slowly turned his head and stared at them expressionlessly. The laughter vanished instantly. The bowstrings in the hands of Numbers One and Two vibrated in rapid succession, loosing a flurry of arrows that dropped a neat row of orcs.

Though they had ceased laughing, the sight of rows of orcs with arrows protruding from their foreheads irritated Li Xia even more than their laughter had.

"I—"

[Minion killed an orc, gained 1 contribution point, contribution +0.3%]

[Minion killed an orc, gained 1 contribution point, contribution +0.4%]

..........

"Goo... good job, Number One and Number Two!"

He had completely forgotten that when summoned minions scored kills, he would also receive a fifty percent share of the contribution.

Offering a hollow word of praise, Li Xia drew his bow and aimed properly. In truth, when he aimed seriously and did not rely on luck, he was entirely capable of hitting his targets.

The delighted cries of the apostles rang constantly in his ears—the rewards for slaying orcs.

"Damn, three contribution points and 0.8% contribution for a single kill! Kill a hundred of them, and I can trade for a decent green-tier piece of equipment, plus the contribution settlement reward. Aren't I getting rich?"

"Awesome! This is too awesome!"

The initial tension was gradually replaced by the exhilarating harvest of contribution points. The apostles grew increasingly excited, shouting wildly as they fired downward.

Occasionally, a grenade was hurled into the fray; a thunderous explosion brought a cascade of reward notifications, though grenades were scarce, limited to a mere two or three per person.

The orcs quickly devised a countermeasure, hoisting makeshift shields above their heads, which instantly rendered the green-tier bows of the apostles far less effective.

When the towering trolls charged into range, the smiles that had so recently bloomed on the faces of the apostles vanished completely.

Only now did the war truly begin.