Chapter 461: The Battle of Five Armies

"Today, I, Snorri Thorsson, King of the Southlands, stand here to read the articles from the Great Book of Grudges on behalf of the High King of the mountains! The year 3822 of the Grungni calendar is when Eight Peaks was first harassed!"

"Following that, there were nearly two hundred years of bloody battles! Countless moving and tragic heroes emerged throughout the Nan Shijie Bianyuan Shanmai, and the spirits of four of them are standing right beside us!"

"On November 9th of the year 4010—ancestors always tear at their beards when mentioning it—King Luen ordered the evacuation of the fortress. The Mountain Kingdom lost its most brilliant gem mine, and the thoroughfare connecting the World's Edge Mountains was severed."

"Fortunately, our kin, led by the Angrund Clan, never gave up. In the nearly three thousand years since, there have been seventeen expeditionary forces that attempted to reclaim Eight Peaks, and hundreds of scouting parties. It is precisely on the foundation of their struggle that we can stand before the Guowang Dadao so easily!"

"Friends from other races, since the Great Holy War, no army has been larger or stronger than ours! If we win, every word of our promise will be fulfilled; if we lose, there is no need for me to say what it means with wolves circling us."

"My kin, Eight Peaks is where the Divine Kingdom of the Mother Goddess lies. Under Her gaze, I repeat the oath of the expedition one last time: Victory or Death!"

"Victory or Death!"

Following the signal cannons and the roar of the mountains, the main force began to advance up the Guowang Dadao. Iblit, who had usurped the throne room of Eight Peaks, received the news immediately, and it quickly turned its brain, which was shaped like a walnut.

"Beat the drums! Assemble the lads! Sharpen all the choppas, and tighten the strings for the shootas!" After a few breaths, it hoisted the black-and-red, blood-rusted great axe at its side and let out a long howl toward the sky.

The best situation would, of course, be for the stunties and the little rats to fight until one was dead and the other wounded so it could reap the benefits, but that did not mean the boss of the Evil Moon Tribe was a coward.

The Skaven had been holding the line in front for over a month, and Iblit had been keeping a close watch on the battle. It seemed that this army of tens of thousands led by a Demigod was not as terrifying as imagined, and it did not want to be branded with some nickname like "a piece of trash worse than a rat."

All the Greenskin warlords knew that a "reputation" was the most important thing of all that they pursued. If the reputation was loud enough, even thugs from the farthest reaches would want to join this battle-hungry force, but if the reputation was ruined, let alone vying for Gangtieyan, the warlords under its command would each harbor their own ulterior motives.

"Creak, creak!"

The strategic objective of the Dwarfs was already so clear that the Greenskins naturally would not be without any preparation. Under the command of several Goblin warlords, the Greenskins pushed the Gnoblar pump wagons, which had been prepared in advance and fitted with "spiked rollers," to the end of the ramp.

The so-called spiked roller was just a log fitted with a bunch of nails; it was simple, crude, and brutal, which made them regulars in a Waaagh. Relying on the weakest subspecies among the Greenskins to provide power with crude cranks and leather belts was enough to form combat effectiveness, let alone charging from a high vantage point.

"Whoosh!"

"Rat-tat-tat!"

Before the little cousins of the Goblins could prepare for their suicide charge, the massive Ulthuan Griffons and the Dwarf helicopter squadron appeared above their heads. There was no need to even drop bombs; the air currents stirred up by the Griffons' wings turned the shoddily built vehicles back into raw materials.

"What a big fluttery moth! Release the Wyverns for me! Treat them well with good food and drink; it's time for them to put in some work!"

Upon hearing the report, Iblit did not care much; it did not feel a pang of pain no matter how many Gnoblars died. In previous campaigns, it had tasted the sweetness brought by an air force and air superiority.

Clan Mors had no air force; previous Dwarf expeditionary forces had not fielded helicopters due to costs, fuel, maintenance, and other reasons, and could only barely block the pounces of large monsters with long-range firepower.

As a sub-dragon with intelligence barely higher than a beast, a Wyvern could not communicate. Occasionally, a powerful Orc warlord could beat one into submission to serve as a mount, but using them as a real organized air force was a technique developed by the Night Goblins.

They regularly fed wild Wyverns food laced with special shaman mushroom potions to keep them in a dazed state, during which they might follow commands.

"Bo-boss! The Wyverns, the Wyverns are done for!"

"What did you say?"

Before the Mushroom Brew in its cup was finished, Iblit received the new bad news. It rushed out to look over the railing, only to see half of the Griffons standing proudly on guard, while the other half were happily pecking at fresh spoils.

"Tell the lads riding Squigs to rest! Where are the Mekboyz? Drag all that junk onto the city walls! I want to see how the stunties gnaw on the turtle shell they built themselves!"

The dense heavy armor of the Dwarf vanguard made the warlord dismiss the idea of a cavalry charge. Without spiked rollers and monsters to tear open the line, using flesh and blood to collide with a steel torrent was not a good idea.

Belegar was the first to step onto the plaza before Eight Peaks, and a few pieces of scrap launched by Goblin catapults landed at his feet. The once magnificent main gate of the fortress had now become a huge pile of illegal construction, making the rightful master of Eight Peaks grit his teeth.

"Continue the advance! Leave room for the Artillery!"

"Fire at will! We hauled so much ammunition here just for today! Fire five volleys before charging!"

Soon, Snorri appeared at the edge of the plaza standing on his Doom Anvil, and he showed a look of being unable to laugh or cry as he watched the Goblins flying all over the sky.

The "Doom Paratroopers" launched by the Chonghui Huimie Dansheqi dominated the sky. Clusters of green meat paste splattered against the Shields, and the immense inertia made even strong warriors have to endure it with great difficulty, forcing the flying units to gain altitude.

Compared to catapults, the hand-stitched animal-hide wings increased the range of the "projectiles" and gave them a certain degree of maneuverability, greatly improving the hit rate.

"Boom—!"

Nearly a hundred pieces of Artillery roared after a short calibration. The resulting tremors traveled straight to the deep underground. In that main reception hall from before, the leaders of the rats gathered to listen to the battle situation.

"You are truly, truly prescient; you are worthy of being the military god of our clan!" Tretch Craventail raised his greenish wine cup to toast Genuoduoer in the main seat.

"I dare not, I dare not! It, it is still the concerted effort of our generation that left, left the beard-things with no opportunity to exploit, so we turned to attack the mushrooms! Especially that trea, treasure of Lord Yikete, it contributed greatly!" Genuoduoer was humble in his words, but his beard kept twitching.

"Hehe, the thing developed to deal with, deal with the bone-fellows back then, it hasn't been, hasn't been updated for so many years, the power consumption is too high. I'll study it again when I go back."

"At that time, wa, Warpstone could be picked up on the side of the road! No need to be as stingy, as stingy as we are now!" Throt the Unclean could not help but interject; his flesh-warping technology also relied heavily on Warpstone.