Chương 203: 203：Ironclad Ground Dragons

Dozens of miles away from the Black-Rot Vine Basin lay another perilous death zone: [Spine-Sever Gorge]. The cliffs on both sides pierced the clouds, jagged and grotesque. The gorge floor was perpetually submerged in freezing underground springs, turning it into a muddy, treacherous quagmire. For a massive army, this was a strategic dead zone where the head and tail could easily be trapped.

However, for an Orc Commander desperate to funnel troops to the southern frontlines, this shortcut—which shaved a full day off the march—held an irresistible allure. At this moment, the freezing winter rain had just ceased, leaving a persistent, dense white fog blanketing the gorge floor. Atop the highest vantage point overlooking this valley of death, over two hundred feet in the air... One hundred and eighty-one archers of Greywater Village had been lying in ambush, absolutely motionless, for over two hours.

Ein lay prone behind a massive, moss-covered boulder, his eyes locked onto the churning white fog below. As the Commander of the [Second-Line Longbow Battalion], his breathing was unbelievably steady and prolonged. The Imperial military longbow rested silently on the edge of the rock. Nocked on the bowstring was an arrow fitted with a triangular armor-piercing bodkin, waiting to be unleashed. Behind him, fifty longbowmen clad in black iron half-cuirasses held their breath in deep concentration.

Flanking them were the one hundred and thirty [Half-Elf Magic Rangers], led by their female commander, Ilya. Ilya's dark green hair, drenched by the rain, plastered against her cheeks. The slave brand that had once been a mark of ultimate humiliation now sat upon her cold, stern face, adding a chilling, commanding aura of killing intent.

"They're here," Ilya whispered, turning her head slightly. The passive combination of her [Nature Mana Affinity] and [Eagle Eye Perception] allowed her to sense the deep tremors within the earth far sooner than anyone else. A chaotic, thunderous stomping echoed up the gorge, interwoven with the crude, guttural curses of Orcish dialect, violently dispersing the fog at the bottom. It was a full-strength, three-hundred-man Orc infantry battalion.

The leading Black Iron Orcs were wildly swinging their cleavers to hack away the obstructing thorn bushes. Formed up in a long snake formation, they marched completely unguarded into this fatal ambush ring. Their faces were thick with scarred muscle, their expressions exhausted and violently irritable from days of forced marching. They absolutely refused to believe that deep within the heartland of the Orcish Alliance, any human army would possess the sheer audacity to set foot here.

"Distance: one hundred and fifty paces," Ein counted down, never taking his eyes off the target.

"Prepare... Draw." Over a hundred and eighty bowstrings were slowly drawn to their absolute limits, converging into a collective, tension-filled groan atop the cliff. Faint, cyan-blue light began to dance at the fingertips of the Half-Elf Rangers. Basic wind magic—[Burst] and [Penetration]—was continuously being woven and imbued into the wooden arrow shafts.

"One hundred paces... LOOSE!" Ein roared, the first to release his grip. THWACK! The first arrow tore through the sky with a shrill, shrieking sonic boom. A microsecond later, one hundred and eighty-one arrows, brimming with absolute killing intent, rained down in a dense, apocalyptic swarm, violently smashing into the completely exposed Orc snake formation! SQUELCH! CRACK! The bottom of the gorge was instantly reduced to a gruesome slaughterhouse.

The triangular armor-piercing bodkins utilized by Greywater Village's longbowmen naturally carried a devastating gravitational acceleration from dropping over two hundred feet. They effortlessly punched through the black iron breastplates the Orc infantry were so incredibly proud of! Some arrows plunged straight down through the crown of their skulls and erupted out of their jaws, bringing brain matter and dark blood with them. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere.

Support the author by seeking out the original. The one hundred and thirty magic-imbued wind-arrows inflicted catastrophic, wide-area lacerations the instant they landed. Ethereal cyan wind blades raged and ricocheted through the densely packed Orc ranks, cleanly severing countless thick arms still tightly gripping their weapons.

"Ambush! Above us! Shields up! Raise your shields!" Bloodcurdling, lung-tearing shrieks erupted from the Orc infantry as their Commander frantically blew the warning horn. However, at the bottom of this narrow gorge completely devoid of cover, facing a concentrated, high-elevation volley, they had absolutely nowhere to hide. In just the first two rounds of suppressive fire, nearly two hundred Orc infantrymen collapsed. The once orderly snake formation was brutally severed into disjointed segments.

Corpses piled atop one another, and the foul-smelling, dark green blood rapidly dyed the freezing spring pools into a macabre blood-marsh. Everything was executing perfectly, adhering flawlessly to the high-elevation ambush doctrines drilled into them by Soren. That was until a deafening roar—one that shook the very rock walls of Spine-Sever Gorge—violently erupted from the dense fog at the absolute rear of the enemy column!

"ROOOAARRR!" As the ferocious, archaic roar faded, the thick fog was physically smashed apart by colossal silhouettes. Four overwhelmingly massive behemoths, crushing the corpses of their own kin beneath their feet, thundered into the battlefield! These were the strategic-class siege behemoths of the Blood Province: the [Ironclad Ground Dragons]! They were descendants of ancient sub-dragons.

They stretched over ten meters long, their four limbs were as thick as stone pillars, and their bodies were encased in hardened scales capable of effortlessly deflecting ordinary swords and spears. But what was truly terrifying was what the Orcish craftsmen of the Blood Province had done to them. Utilizing long, raw-iron spikes, they had brutally hammered solid slabs of granite directly into the flesh of the Dragons' backs, forging an indestructible, external fortress shell!

Atop these broad, flat granite ridges sat wooden firing platforms. Stationed upon the back of each dragon were several incredibly burly Black Iron Orc shooters!

"Die, you pitiful dry-land worms!" Standing atop the lead, heavy-class Ironclad Ground Dragon, a grotesquely scarred Orc shooter laughed maniacally as he furiously cranked a heavy winch. He was operating a massive, heavy anti-siege ballista—a weapon traditionally used exclusively for shattering city gates! With the heavy clack of magical-gold gears engaging, a massive siege bolt the thickness of a grown man's arm was leveled straight at the rocky outcroppings sheltering Ein and his men halfway up the mountain.

FIRED! KABOOM! The steel bolt rocketed violently against gravity! The bolt struck the edge of the high ground, smashing dead-center into a massive granite boulder weighing thousands of pounds. An earth-shattering explosion rang out. The solid granite was effortlessly pulverized. A storm of razor-sharp stone shrapnel instantly filled the air, weaponized with lethal kinetic force, sweeping wildly across the ambush position.

"TAKE COVER!" Ein roared, his voice tearing, as he violently shoved two nearby longbowmen face-first into the mud. But it was too late. Three human longbowmen hiding directly behind the boulder couldn't react in time. Their torsos and limbs were instantly punctured by dozens of palm-sized, razor-sharp shards of rock.

"ARGH!" Blood geysered into the air. Half of their black iron half-cuirasses were caved in and shattered. Thrown backward by the devastating concussive force, the three men crashed heavily to the ground, leaving three gruesome, dragged trails of blood in the dirt. One of them had his carotid artery severed, his blood spraying wildly. He was visibly taking in less air than he was gasping out.

"Medical kits! NOW!" Ilya's eyes nearly split open. Abandoning her bow, she utilized her preternatural Half-Elven agility to roll through the rain of arrows and falling rocks, sliding perfectly to a halt beside the three critically wounded soldiers. She strictly remembered Soren's absolute death mandate: "Under any circumstance, do everything in your power to keep your brothers alive!" She ripped a [Field Emergency Potion] from her utility belt.

Tying a cloth tourniquet tightly above the severed artery, she shoved the coagulating potion directly into the gaping, mangled wound. Simultaneously, she channeled her [Nature Mana Affinity]. A soft, profoundly dense green radiance flowed from her hands, continuously pouring into the damaged blood vessels of the three men, forcibly suturing the internal organs and heart veins that hadn't yet completely ruptured. Miraculously, the geyser of blood ceased.

Though their breathing was incredibly faint, she had brutally snatched all three of their lives back from the jaws of the Reaper.

"Ein! Suppressing fire! Shoot those Dragons in the eyes!" Ilya ordered fiercely, her hands coated in hot blood, biting down hard on her teeth.

"I'm already trying! But it's completely useless!" Ein poked his head out of the mud crater, drawing his bowstring until it practically snapped. Hundreds upon thousands of arrows rained down in a dense barrage. But right now, the suffocating, crushing reality of the battle weighed heavily upon every single ambush troop. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Sparks flew in all directions.

Ordinary military longbow arrows and triangular armor-piercing bodkins struck the granite slabs and dense scales of the Ground Dragons—and did nothing but leave faint white scratches and chip off tiny flakes of stone. There was absolutely zero penetration! Even if they aimed for the relatively weaker joints, the descending, broad granite slabs perfectly shielded those angles. The four Ironclad Ground Dragons rampaged through the gorge, their colossal, heavily armored bodies trampling everything in their path.

The four heavy ballistae mounted on their backs, combined with dozens of Black Iron Orc longbowmen, began to unleash an absolutely overwhelming, heavy-artillery suppression upon the high ground. BOOM! BOOM! With every single volley from the heavy ballistae, massive sections of the cliff face collapsed. The ambush detachment was entirely pinned down, unable to even lift their heads. They could only cower in the muddy trenches, desperately dodging the lethal shrapnel. They had been pushed to the absolute brink!

If this continued—if the behemoths began to physically ram the base of the mountain, or if the ballistae completely leveled their rock cover—this detachment of fewer than two hundred men would face a one-sided slaughter. Faced with such a staggering disparity in heavy firepower, Ilya bit her lip until it bled.

According to the tactical contingencies set by Warlord Soren, in the event of encountering an insurmountable, heavy-artillery suppression, the commanding officers possessed the absolute authority to order an immediate withdrawal.