Chapter 268

The dwarves' pace was slow and firm. Under the leadership of the flag, they stepped on mud and filthy blood, moving forward, forward, and forward again.

The roars of humans and Orcs fighting, the sounds of weapons clashing, and the wails before life was extinguished gradually became clear in the heavy rain.

The distance between the two sides was not particularly far to begin with.

The Wolf Riders, shouldering the interception mission, certainly could not watch the humans and dwarves reunite.

Amidst terrifying and cruel howls, the Wargs split into small teams of three or five, constantly running and howling around the dwarves, their scarlet eyes staring fixedly at the prey, constantly launching probing attacks.

However, the spears shimmering with cold light in the dwarves' hands were always able to force them back, making these cunning and deadly fellows return without success.

Soon, ear-piercing horn sounds came from the west direction. That was the order from Lagash.

A large group of Uruks clad in iron armor, numbering no less than the dwarves, stood before the dwarves holding wooden shields and iron hammers. In the heavy rain among these mountains, they were like a silent, gloomy black wall, blocking the way between the humans and the dwarves.

Yet the dwarves' pace of advance did not stop.

"Advance, continue to advance."

Thorin's roar reverberated in the mountain range. Under the king's order, the sharp spears gradually approached the enemy, and the battle was on the verge of breaking out.

"Swish," "Swish," "Swish," "Swish."

Several pitch-black shadows of unknown origin suddenly smashed toward the dwarves from the air, smashing several small gaps into the dense square formation they had formed. Taking advantage of this opportunity, the originally silent Uruks suddenly roared, and then moved their feet to run rapidly.

At the same time, two huge figures also parted the rain curtain and arrived near the dwarves. They were two cave Trolls holding clubs. Under the order of the horn, they bypassed the area where the fierce battle was ongoing in the middle to support the Uruks intercepting the dwarves.

Moreover, when these two fellows approached the battlefield, they also casually scooped up the Snagas beside them and threw them toward the gathered dwarves like cannonballs, opening the prelude to this inevitable battle, until the Snagas around them ran away completely.

Facing the sudden attack, the dwarf warriors with extremely rich combat experience quickly pulled the fallen clansmen into the middle of the formation. The thick-skinned dwarves wearing armor certainly would not lose their lives just by being hit by Snagas. Soon they could recover and throw themselves into the war.

However, those grey fellows who hit the steel armor were not so lucky. Head broken and bleeding, tendons broken and bones fractured, brains splattered—this perfectly interpreted their miserable state at this time.

At this moment, several burly Uruks, with the cover of many companions, approached the dwarves at full speed. The animal-skin heavy shields tied to their left arms constantly danced, blocking the spears stabbing at them, while the iron hammers in their hands, wrapped in cruel wind, smashed toward the iron shields that could only reach their chests.

Even the tallest dwarf only reached the chests of these Uruks. After all, these reinforced Orcs had a stature second only to humans.

"Clang," "Clang," "Clang," several sounds rang out. The dwarves hit with full force by the Uruks retreated repeatedly, but their stable lower bodies allowed them to quickly stabilize their figures. The longswords, full of gaps but still sharp, also stabbed fiercely toward the enemies before them under the cover of shields.

Suddenly, a great sword shimmering with blue light appeared between the two formations. The sword light, like a swimming dragon, swish-swish-swished, hacking the heads of several Uruks before him, along with their iron helmets, into two halves.

The person who came was Thorin holding Orcrist. The dwarf king often charged at the very front of his clansmen.

"Throw!!"

Kili's roaring voice rang out in the dwarf square formation. Dozens of spears drew a large white line in the rain curtain, flying toward the two cave Trolls running wildly, pinning them firmly on the road of their charge, unable to dodge.

After the Battle of the Lonely Mountain, Trolls had already become the priority target for dwarves to kill. That terrifying power posed a huge threat to dwarves gathered into a square formation.

As long as there was an opportunity, the dwarves would not let the enemy get to their side.

"Awooo~~~"

The Wargs, who were originally looking for opportunities on the side, also howled and drew black shadows in the rain, launching a suicidal attack on the dwarves.

Soon, grey wolf shadows died miserably under the dwarves' spears. At the same time, there were also dwarves bitten by the fangs of the evil wolves, dragged out of the battle formation, and then pitch-black weapons stabbed in from the gaps in the armor, fatal and cruel.

For a time, roars and whimpers rose and fell, and lives splashed and scattered like raindrops.

And not far away, those Snagas who had barely gathered also began to gradually walk toward the battlefield. Perhaps they did not have the courage to block the dwarves head-on, but these bloodthirsty and cruel fellows did not mind stretching out their despicable and dirty knives in the chaos.

Facing the enemies surrounding them from all directions, the dwarves also had to stop their pace of advance and put in twelve points of spirit to deal with the battle at this time. However, their actions were not without effect; a large group of Orcs was attracted by them.

This greatly reduced the pressure on their allies, allowing this battle to last longer, long enough for the reinforcements to arrive.

And Lagash, miles away, was staring with a pair of bloodshot eyes, looking at everything happening at this time from afar. His scarred black face was ferocious one moment and calm the next, his thoughts completely tied up by the situation on the battlefield.

It was very clear that this Orc commander's concentration and strategy were not as excellent as his former master Azog. Being able to choose such a place, having such excellent timing to launch a final struggle, had already exhausted this Orc's mental energy, as well as the favor from the Great Lord Sauron.

The dark clouds constantly rolling in the sky certainly could not be a natural phenomenon. Lagash did not have the ability to observe celestial phenomena; that was his prayer receiving a response from Sauron. The evil claws extremely rarely crossed thousands of miles to come to help his servant.

However, even with the help from the Dark Lord, Lagash's heart was like an old king hiding behind a curtain, extremely uneasy, because there were simply too many accidents in this battle.

Originally, he had deployed over ten thousand Orcs, dozens of Trolls, and nearly a thousand Wargs. Those over a thousand humans, once they stepped into this mountain area, could not possibly leave alive.

It was just that those heavy cavalry who suddenly appeared from nowhere, relying on a suicidal charge, directly dragged down a quarter of his troops and also destroyed Lagash's subsequent plans.

Especially those irritable and simple-minded cave Trolls, who were attracted by the battle from the beginning. After these fellows entered the combat state, they were completely indiscriminate. Relying on his prestige to pull these big fellows back was simply too difficult.

Subsequently, the dwarves' arrival routed the Orcs' flank, making Lagash's envisioned plan of encirclement by the main force, breaking the formation by Trolls, and pursuit by Wolf Riders completely disrupted.

Lagash, who really could not understand, was willing to swear a poisonous oath to the Great Eye of Sauron thousands of miles away. Before deciding to ambush, he had scouted this area no less than five times, and even the nearby tunnels had not been spared. He really could not understand where those cavalry had popped out from.

However, as the Orc with the highest intelligence and best command ability in the Grey Mountains, Lagash still made adjustments in time, using the sound of the horn to gather a large group of elites, including four Trolls who were just "soy sauce" (doing nothing) in the battle, to intercept the dwarves preparing to reunite with the humans.

Although there were a few twists and turns in the middle, the result was still good. The dwarves' pace was thoroughly forced to stop, and the situation could be considered stabilized.

Now, as long as they waited for those heavy cavalry who didn't care about their lives to lose their threat, the Trolls without combat targets could soon calm down. By then, they could still complete the plan of breaking the formation and pursuit.

And those dwarves with short legs who were riding goats—only a fool would fight them head-on. As long as they continued to cut off their supply lines in the days to come, this battle would still be a victory for the Orcs.

It was just that the silver figure waving a fiery red great sword and slaughtering on the battlefield made Lagash's eyelids jump wildly. Moreover, the opponent's swordsmanship was powerful, and he was also like a wizard, releasing electricity and fire. Just now, he even stunned two cave Trolls in a short time.

Having lived for hundreds of years, he had never seen such a powerful human. Perhaps only the Witch-king who once ruled the north could fight him.

Lagash, with his mixed thoughts, had his attention entirely on the battlefield and did not care about the surrounding environment at all. After all, this area had just been occupied by nearly a thousand Wargs, and nearly a hundred Orc elites equipped with fine gear were left by his side, constantly vigilant of the surroundings.

Lagash felt that his safety could still be guaranteed.

However, more than a dozen things like rocks were moving slowly to the north of Lagash, their movements as light as a tiger before hunting prey—gale, storm, gravel...

Soon, they closed the distance to this Orc commander to about two hundred meters.

Two hundred meters, for a Noldor Elf who had been immersed in archery for a long time, was already enough to achieve the degree of hitting the target every time, hitting wherever he pointed.

If it weren't for his lord's repeated instructions that he must have a hundred percent certainty before making a move, and even if he didn't kill him, he had to force the enemy leader away, then Holimion would have wanted to try to shoot and kill this disgusting, dirty creature from three hundred meters away.

But he did not do so, because the outcome of this ambush and counter-ambush might need a fatal arrow as a key catalyst. This slightly heavy burden made Holimion, who was highly skilled and bold, have to treat this task cautiously.

A sturdy figure flashed out from the carefully woven cloak. Long arms then pulled open the Noldor Rune Bow, from which raindrops slid. Amidst the shimmering light, an enchanted arrow of blue and white was aimed at the Orc who was observing the battlefield.

Lagash did not feel at all that he had already come to the edge of death. All his energy was focused on the battlefield.

At this time, the battle on the west side was about to be decided. Those hundreds of heavy cavalry, under the harassment of the Orcs, could not resist the huge wooden clubs in the Trolls' hands at all, and the harsh terrain also cut off the possibility of them using horses to charge out of the enemy formation.

Besides, where could they charge to? In front of them was the enemy, and behind the enemy was a cliff.

The cavalry pulled off their horses by the Orcs could only fight with the weapons in their hands and those around them, then be split up, surrounded, and use their own lives to delay the enemy's time.

Heavy cavalry was not meant to be used like this. Only the most stupid commander would let such elites get trapped to death in this desperate mountain land. Such a simple truth even Lagash knew, but he did not have extra energy to consider these.

This Orc commander tried hard to suppress his restless mood and wait, waiting for a suitable opportunity to give the order.

"Swish."

Following the sound of the arrow breaking through the air, the Warg beneath Lagash suddenly stood up on its hind legs, throwing the Orc on its back to the ground. Even though it, as the Warg leader, reacted so quickly, it was still pierced through the neck by the rapidly flying arrow. After whimpering twice, it stopped moving completely.

Holimion's arrow was originally aimed at the Orc sitting on the Warg. It was just that the killing intent emitted when the Twilight Knight aimed was simply too strong. Lagash did not notice this at all, but the evil spirit hidden within the Warg felt it from two hundred meters away.

It was just that in extreme panic, this Warg leader made a wrong move, blocking this fatal blow for his companion. It could only be said that under the arrangement of fate, there were dramatic turns everywhere.

And Lagash, who was unprepared, fell dizzy and confused in the surprise. But subconsciously, he made the correct move, not only rolling and crawling to quickly escape the original area, but also not forgetting to use the round shield on his left arm to block his vital parts while fleeing for his life.

This skill of fleeing was also the capital that allowed Lagash to survive the Battle of the Lonely Mountain.

It was just that this time, his luck was not that good, because the people chasing him at this time were the elites among the elites. More than a dozen arrows struck like lightning, covering all the areas he could move in.

Finally, the shield Lagash brandished blocked two attacks that were enough to be fatal. The arrowheads shimmering with cold light penetrated the shield, only a hair's breadth away from his head. However, this Orc, who was first-class at fleeing, was not unscathed; a wound was fiercely slashed on his thigh.

The pain made Lagash quickly regain his calm. He knew that he must have encountered an ambush by the enemy's elite troops. If he were not careful, his life would probably be left here.

Therefore, dragging a wounded leg, he quickly climbed onto a Warg that had lost its companion, and then loudly commanded his personal guards to intercept those dozen or so enemies who had already rushed over.

And he himself, taking the horn blower and the flag bearer, let a part of his personal guards cover him and ran for his life toward the west battlefield, which had basically achieved victory. As long as he hid in the main force, he could still command. As long as his wolf flag was still there, the Orcs in these mountains would not scatter.

Soon, a burst of miserable howls pulled Lagash into the abyss of despair. I don't know when, but an archer unit of dozens of people appeared between him and the only path to the main force, shooting at the Wolf Riders rushing at the front. If he wanted to reunite with his troops, he had to rush through that dense and accurate arrow rain.

Facing this extremely dangerous situation, Lagash, who was already afraid of death, hesitated. He would never bet a chance with his own life. But once he left, this long-prepared ambush would inevitably end in failure. These subordinates he had gathered with such difficulty would inevitably collapse and flee, to be hunted down by the enemy.

And the prestige he had obtained with such difficulty would also inevitably fly away with the wind.

Between life and power, Lagash actually hesitated in place. It was just that at this time, the situation did not give him any time to choose. The miserable howls coming from behind constantly reminded him that time was running out.

Even the elites among the Orcs, the Wolf Riders who could serve as the commander's personal guards, did not have much room to struggle when facing the Twilight Knights. Even if their numbers were more than five times greater, it was nothing more than delaying the time a little longer.

Accurate and fatal arrows, swift and agile figures, sword light shimmering like electricity.

In a moment, at least one-third of the Wolf Riders were killed by the Twilight Knights in this gale and heavy rain. And Holimion, who was the fastest, after cleanly killing the enemy before him, once again gripped the Noldor Rune Bow, his cold, stern eyes staring fixedly at Lagash.

The previous miss was simply a humiliation for Holimion. He secretly swore, swore that this time he must kill Lagash and use this Orc's head to repay his lord's trust in him.

It was just that before Holimion could approach Lagash's vicinity, the Orc commander, caught in a dilemma, made his own choice. He fled, fled in a miserable state, fled in an ugly manner. In the blink of an eye, he abandoned his subordinates scattered all over the mountains and plains, and that black-bottomed blood wolf flag also disappeared from this mountain range.

Apparently, Lagash, during his previous scouting, had also incidentally chosen a route for himself to flee for his life, which was just used at this moment.

And at this very moment, sturdy figures appeared one after another in the northern mountains again. They were dwarves fully armed one after another. They soon gathered into a large square formation, rushing toward the flag shimmering with silver light.

That was Thorin's clansmen who had arrived. And at the same time, the torrential rain that had lasted for a long time suddenly thinned out, and the dark clouds in the sky seemed not to be so thick anymore.

Even the originally dim light was much brighter than before. ===== CHAPTER 269 =====