Chapter 326: Prelude to the Great War

The drop point was already beneath the city wall, and the Dwarfs charged inside in just a few strides, avoiding long-range damage from the WarpstoneJezzailTeam. If those Skaven Jezzails had been allowed to fire openly, the Brotherhood, lacking shields, would likely have suffered significant losses.

"Kill them with everything you've got!"

There were still miscellaneous rats from a clan in the alleyways inside the city wall; before the drop, Sinuoli had sent a rune message to Belegar, and the Angrund Clan switched from defense to offense to meet their reinforcements.

"No one is allowed to block my path!"

A tall Ancestor spirit charged at the front, swinging his Battle Axe like the rotor blades of a Helicopter, wantonly slaughtering the Skaven whose retreat had been cut off and whose morale had collapsed. This was Haerkenghafu-Rockbeard, the last Gatekeeper of Eight Peaks; in that era, his martial prowess could be ranked in the top three of the entire Mountain Kingdom.

Rockbeard and his companions successfully repelled the first few waves of attacks against Eight Peaks. At the final moment, the warriors who had guarded the fortress with him were all killed or wounded, leaving only him to fight alone. He refused to retreat and died gloriously at his post, with the corpses of rats filling the tunnel around him.

The combat effectiveness of a small clan could not compare to the elites of Clan Mors at all, and they soon began to flee under the leadership of their Warlord. In the world of the Skaven, the weak are prey to the strong; if you lose a battle but preserve your strength, your status remains, but if you win a battle yet exhaust your troops, all that awaits you is a miserable end.

Seeing this, Sinuoli did not block the path of escape, but instead held one side with his subordinates to intercept the rats passing by. Even a small clan by Skaven standards had at least a thousand members, from the Warlord's guard down to the lowest Slave Rat; it was unrealistic to wipe them out completely with a few dozen people.

"It is so good to see you! By the Ancestor Gods, you arrived before I had even finished reading the articles on the Oath Stone!"

Belegar Ironhammer took off his helmet, revealing a young face full of joy. His subordinates were also jubilant to see Sinuoli; these Dwarfs, who had left the terrifying battlefield of Eight Peaks and had only lived in peace for two years, were somewhat chaotic after being suddenly attacked by an old rival.

"Hmm, how is the situation in the fortress?"

Sinuoli deactivated his Avatar of the Gods; the fact that he could change forms had been given countless explanations in various taverns, but he himself did not intend to respond to them.

"I lost several experienced sentries, but the rest is fine. Those despicable rats couldn't have imagined with the tips of their tails that you would come so early; they are still probing." Belegar's tone sounded relatively light.

"Brothers, clean up the battlefield! Let us celebrate the victory with a feast and fine wine, and welcome the honorable Ancestor Chosen and his warriors!" He jumped onto the Oath Stone again and shouted, waving his arms.

"By Valaya! What are you talking about? A feast, a victory?" Sinuoli was stunned on the spot.

"Isn't it? You arrived, and the rats were beaten back."

"Before the Exterminator of Plagues and the Slayer of Demigods, it's a miracle they weren't scared out of their wits—that alone counts as them being elite!"

"Praise the Ancestor Gods and His Majesty Sinuoli!"

The Dwarfs of Keladeluomen and the elites brought by Snuori were all cheering; in their view, wasn't that just how things were? With a great powerhouse chosen by the Ancestor Gods sitting in command, what kind of trouble could mere Skaven stir up?

"Hey! That was Queek Headtaker, the Eight Peaks War."

"." Sinuoli's roar stopped halfway.

"You mean that guy who was crawling and rolling in front of you, unable to even pull out his weapon? He's just a show-off despite his size!" Gotrek scratched his head; the so-called Great Enemy of the Mountains was nothing more than someone who ran a bit faster.

"Uh, you mean that big rat-man? He's a confidant of the boss of Clan Mors, only emerging in the last few years. What 'Great Enemy of the Mountains'—what's the matter?"

Belegar Ironhammer handed his HolyHammer and Shield of Resistance to his personal guards, stroked his beard, and took a moment to match the name Sinuoli had blurted out with the rival in his memory.

"You, you!"

The transmigrator looked at the master of Eight Peaks, who wore an indifferent expression, and was momentarily speechless. Only he knew that in the original history, Belegar would exhaust the last strength of the Angrund Clan in the endless battles of Eight Peaks, and eventually have his own head chopped off by Queek Headtaker after a despicable gauntlet of duels.

"Pick up your weapons, put on your armor, the rats will return! I said so!" Sinuoli's cold voice echoed in the hall. The Dwarfs, who had relaxed and were preparing to celebrate, all froze.

"I only brought less than a hundred men, and subtracting those we just killed, the rats still have an absolute advantage in numbers. They will not retreat just like this; your head is very attractive."

The prestige of the King of the Southlands took effect, and the Dwarfs busied themselves. Because there were not enough men to guard the outer walls, they began to find materials to build a simple defensive line at the entrance of the hall. After Belegar arranged the division of labor, he moved back to Sinuoli's side.

"Those aircraft?"

"There isn't enough fuel, and Queek will likely deploy some anti-air forces." Sinuoli could guess what Belegar wanted to ask; once he returned, he would indeed have to consider developing transport planes—he couldn't keep making do with hanging baskets.

"And then? Hold out until your troops and King Kazador and the others arrive, then charge out together and twist all the rat heads off?" Belegar sought advice.

Sinuoli looked the young king up and down; he realized that Belegar lacked the ability to think independently. But on second thought, it seemed it should be this way; this last bloodline of the Angrund Clan had never lacked advisors since he ascended the throne.

Unlike Balin, who mainly acted as a secretary, and the taciturn Captain Gelunsen, the four Ancestor spirits were all strong individuals and managers who could handle things on their own back then, and the family of Ainiya Furen from Tongshanbao should also be able to provide plenty of advice.

"Skaven also gather intelligence; you have all experienced the capabilities of Clan Mors for thousands of years. Use the rune telegraphs more to keep in touch with the northern and southern lines; this will allow us to maintain the initiative."

The Dwarfs were busy building fortifications, while Queek gathered his remnants outside the city. After chopping off the heads of a few guys who ran faster than he did, Queek finally suppressed the fear and anger in his heart.

"Beard-things, not, not many more! Let, let the Jezzail teams find, find good positions, if, if any more flutter-moths come over, shut! shut!"

It paced back and forth, habitually assigning tasks, but did not wait for the familiar "yes, yes!". The silence in the tunnel reminded Queek again that it had lost its adjutant and most of its mid-level subordinates.

"Someone! Get, get the runts something, something good! Wait, wait until the Evil Moon is in the sky, I want Belegar, Belegar's head! And, and that stone-thing's too!"

Queek bared its white teeth; it knew it couldn't just go back like this.