Chapter 372| Then Don’t Fight Them On Their Terms

​Chalk dust and the thick stench of sulfur fought for air inside the Dwarven makeshift command center.

​The once-magnificent marble floor now vibrated in a rhythmic pulse. The boom of Siege cannons echoed from the direction of the West Gap. Every tremor shook loose shards of stalactites, raining down on the giant stone table in the center of the room.

​The chaotic shouting match between the Northreach delegation and the Stone Council was instantly silenced. Their second layer of defense had just been breached.

​Roland Sudrath leaned against the edge of the table. His dark blue coat was torn at the shoulder, stained with dirt and the remnants of leather bindings. His white shirt was soaked in cold sweat.

​Yet, his gray eyes glared sharply, piercing through the dim glow of the ancient stone map before him.

​"Show me the structure of the collapsed tunnel, Rianor," Roland’s voice cut through the rumble, calm yet dominating.

​On his left, Rianor pushed up his glasses with his index finger. His movements remained precise, completely ignoring his dust-covered gray shirt. He tapped a module on the Arcanotech Bracer strapped to his left arm.

​Bzzzt!

​A neon-blue glow projected a thin holographic visual over the stone map, merging the topography with acoustic wave scans.

​"The West Mine Gap is no longer a standard mining shaft," Rianor reported clinically.

​His index finger pointed at the projection. "The destruction patterns and fractures indicate the tunnel walls were forcibly widened. This was done to clear a path for vehicles weighing over thirty tons. This isn’t a patrol, Roland. It’s a calculated leveling operation."

​BANG!

​The Dwarven King slammed the haft of his warhammer into the floor. The golden runes etched across his arms and shoulders pulsed rapidly, radiating such intense heat that steam billowed from his grizzled gray beard.

​"Those walking slabs of steel..." the King growled, his voice as heavy as grinding tectonic plates. "The Iron Empire knows our warriors excel in narrow tunnels! So they brought those damned steam engines to crush us flat!"

​"Tch. Then don’t fight them on their terms," Roland cut in with absolute authority.

​The young diplomat stood tall, sweeping his gaze across the room. "We divide into three focus points: establish a chokepoint in the narrow gap, evacuate the civilians deeper inside, and cripple their Steam-Tanks before they reach the settlement."

​Captain Thorne stepped forward from the shadows. His right hand rested casually on the hilt of his dagger. "Give me two squads of Dwarven Rune-shooters and shield bearers. I’ll lead the vanguard at the tunnel entrance."

​In the dim corner of the room, Riven Sudrath’s giant frame radiated a suffocating killing intent. His torn black shirt exposed scar-riddled, cable-like muscles.

​His gray eyes scanned the holographic map before his massive index finger tapped a narrow chokepoint at the tunnel’s bend.

​"The frontline is just throwing away lives if those tanks aren’t stopped," the Grand General stated heavily. "A team needs to infiltrate from the upper route, cut through the infantry lines, and flank their logistics."

​Riven turned to the elders. "I need your most suicidal rune-shooters, and one person who understands the Empire’s steam engines inside out."

​Rianor immediately turned his head. Staring straight at Yara.

​The mechanic girl flinched. She stood hugging her chest, her gray apron stained with soot. Her face was as pale as paper.

​Yet, the moment her brown eyes met Rianor and Riven’s gazes, her fear slowly dissolved. Her mechanical instincts took the wheel.

​Yara approached the stone table. "The I-Iron Empire’s Siege-Class steam engines... they use high-consolidation coal combustion," her voice trembled initially before sharpening.

​"The frontal armor is ten centimeters thick; your axes won’t scratch it. But... the exhaust system is a fatal flaw."

​Yara pointed to the rear chimney valve on the holographic projection. "If the steam pressure in the compression tube is contained, or the valve is forcibly plugged while the engine is at max RPM... the pressure will blow back into the main combustion chamber. The tank will either stall completely or explode from the inside out."

​"Hmm. That’s the target," Rianor replied coldly. He shifted the projection toward the main stone pillar in the west gap. "To hold off the second and third tanks, we bring down this pillar. The debris will cut the first tank off from its infantry support."

​"Hah! And who’s going to act as bait to hold off the first tank while you lot sneak around?!" the one-eyed elder protested skeptically.

​BZZZZT!

​A wave of heat erupted from the head of the table. The Dwarven King shouldered his white-runed warhammer. A blinding glow of sacred ancestral energy radiated from the weapon.

​"The King of the Stone Council will not hide while his mountain is torn down!" the King declared, his eyes blazing blood-red. "I will lead the vanguard myself! Our ancestors’ hammers won’t sit idle listening to the rumble of human scrap metal!"

​Roland looked at the Dwarven King, then gave a firm nod. "Time’s up. Move out!"

​The West Tunnel had transformed into a hellish crater in the belly of the earth.

​The volcanic rock walls were coated in soot. Boiling steam from ruptured pipes mixed with thick gunpowder smoke, slashing visibility down to a mere few meters.

​From a distance, the roar of metallic monsters echoed closer.

​CLANK-CLANK-CLANK!

​A wave of Iron Empire infantry surged through the dust. Soldiers clad in pitch-black plate armor moved tightly in a turtle formation.

​The steam rifles in their hands spat hot lead blindly.

​RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

​Iron bullets rained against the stone walls, sparking a shower of embers.

​Behind them, the muzzle of the first Steam-Tank breached the fog—a sharp-angled steel monstrosity with giant treads that mercilessly crushed the stone debris.

​BOOOM!

​The Dwarven soldiers’ runic mortars detonated above the Imperial formation. Several infantrymen were blown back, but the rear wave patched the gap in seconds.

​Behind a half-destroyed stone barricade, Riven Sudrath crouched low. His black shirt clung to his sweat-drenched chest.

​His right hand gripped a massive runed spear tightly—the legacy of a fallen Dwarven captain nearby.

​His gray eyes narrowed, calculating the rotation distance of the Steam-Tank’s treads up ahead.

​Beside him, Thorne slowly drew the string of a thick wooden bow. A rune-tipped crystal arrow was already nocked.

​"Its main cannon is elevating," Thorne hissed, his eyes unblinking. "They’re targeting our main pillar."

​"Hold," Riven commanded coldly.

​BOOOOM!

​The cannon fired! The shockwave punched through the air, sending a blazing iron sphere that shredded the Dwarven wooden barricades into a razor-storm of splinters.

​The second the smoke plumed, Riven shot up.

​"NOW!" he roared.

​Thorne released his bowstring, followed by two Dwarven snipers from the upper crevices!

​SWOOSH! SWOOSH!

​Orange flashes sliced through the smoke, aiming for the rear of the tank. The first arrow bounced violently off the steel plating. But the second arrow pierced straight into the joint of the exhaust chimney!

​CRACK-HISS!

​The steel chimney fractured. Boiling steam pressure sprayed wildly into the air.

​Without wasting a single second, Riven’s giant shadow vaulted atop the vehicle’s hull.

​Relying solely on steel bolts for footing, the muscles in Riven’s arms coiled tight. He raised the Dwarven runic spear with both hands high above the blazing roof of the tank.

​With pure, unadulterated destructive force, he drove the spearhead straight down into the fractured valve gap!

​CRAAAAASSSHHH!

​The spearhead punctured the internal plating. Riven twisted the haft brutally, completely obliterating the exhaust valve mechanism.

​PSSSSTTTTTT—BOOOOOM!

​The trapped steam pressure blew back!

​An internal explosion ripped through the tank’s belly. The top hatch was blown off, followed by an eruption of thick flames. Its treads locked dead with an ear-splitting screech of grinding metal.

​The first tank sat paralyzed and smoking in the middle of the tunnel.

​"IT’S DOWN!" the Dwarven troops roared in thunderous cheers.

​But the cheering died young.

​From behind the thick smoke of the first tank’s carcass, an even madder engine roar echoed. A second Steam-Tank surged forward, ready to crush the remains of its own comrade.

​Ten meters above the tunnel floor, Selene stood on a narrow stone ledge.

​Her blue robes were soaked from the extreme humidity. Her silver hair fluttered, swept by the thermal waves rising from below.

​Her pale blue eyes were closed. Her fingers danced gracefully in the air.

​Selene drew upon every drop of moisture—from the engine steam to the sweat of the soldiers below.

​"Feel the current... condense the form," she whispered faintly.

​Sssssrrr...

​The temperature of the thick smoke in the tunnel plummeted instantly. Selene condensed it into a super-slick frost mist that settled over the volcanic floor.

​The Iron Empire infantry was instantly blinded. Worse, the ground beneath their iron boots had turned into a treacherous ice rink.

​"Hold formation! Watch your footing!" a platoon commander roared from within the white fog.

​THUD! CRASH!

​The heavily armored troops slipped, slammed into one another, and fell in a chain reaction like steel bowling pins.

​Within that veil of blindness, Thorne moved like a grim reaper.

​His dark blue uniform melted into the mist. He slid low past two panicking Imperial soldiers blindly searching for their enemy. Thorne wasn’t aiming for the gaps in their armor.

​His twin daggers flashed, severing the straps of the steam rifles strapped to the enemies’ backs.

​SLASH!

​"My weapon’s dead! Power’s cut!" the soldier shrieked in panic.

​Thorne pivoted, slashing the high-pressure steam hose on the back of another infantryman’s armor.

​Pssssht!

​The burst of cooling steam instantly caused the enemy’s pneumatic suit to lock up tight, freezing them in place like a rusted statue.

​The Imperial forces unleashed a barrage of blind fire in all directions, but Thorne had already vanished back into the rock crevices above them.

​Dozens of meters behind Thorne’s line of attack, cold sweat drenched Yara’s face.

​She knelt in a narrow alcove beside a colossal pillar. Her hands trembled as she wired a conductor cable to a stolen orange rune stone.

​"M-Mr. Rianor..." Yara panted heavily. "The frequency is too high! If this detonates spontaneously, this entire gap will collapse and bury us alive!"

​Rianor stood right behind her. The bracer on his arm projected stone density calculations.

​"Focus on your fingertips, Yara," Rianor said flatly, refusing to succumb to the panic. "We aren’t building a bomb. It’s frequency resonance. This stone only needs to send a shockwave to the fracture point I laid out. The math is precise."

​Yara swallowed hard. The deadly composure in Rianor’s gray eyes miraculously bled into her palms.

​"Alright... conductor valve at thirteen percent," her fingers clamped the final wire to the rune stone’s core.

​"Now."

​Yara cranked the valve on the pressure regulator.

​HUMMMMMM—KRRR-CRACK!

​Instead of exploding, the rune stone emitted a deafening hum, pulsing a high-frequency vibration wave directly into the colossal pillar.

​CREAAAAK... CRASH!

​The support pillar fractured cleanly along Rianor’s calculated fault line. Dozens of tons of volcanic rock collapsed, completely sealing off the tunnel access and kicking up a dust storm that reached the cavern roof.

​The second Steam-Tank slammed on its brakes. Its steel treads sparked violently as they ground against the collapsed pillar. The forces behind it were now completely cut off from the vanguard unit.

​Yara collapsed onto her back, clutching her wildly beating chest. "I-it worked... their line is broken!"

​"Only half of it," Rianor replied coldly. His eyes narrowed toward the second tank. "Look at the main hatch."

​CLANG!

​The top hatch of the second tank was kicked open from the inside. Black steam hissed out alongside a tall figure in a dark gray high-officer uniform.

​From the stone command alcove, Roland raised his brass binoculars, peering through the dust.

​Lieur crawled closer, his entire body trembling. "T-that’s him, Sir Roland..." Lieur whispered in horror. "The man who butchered the border outpost two months ago."

​Roland locked his gaze.

​The man atop the tank had his right arm replaced with a thick pneumatic steel gauntlet—fused gruesomely with the charred remains of his skin. His right eye had been swapped for a mechanical red lens that spun continuously, hunting for prey. A massive double-barreled steam rifle rested on his back.

​Captain Reksov.

​The executioner spat over the side. His voice grated like a rusted hinge.

​"The purge continues," Reksov ordered with absolute authority, lacking even a sliver of panic. "Slaughter every armored dwarf up ahead."

​His red lens whirred, then slowly halted, locking directly onto the stone crevice where the Northreach delegation was hiding. A sadistically cruel smirk tore across his face.

​"And if you spot those southern rats... bring them to me alive," Reksov racked his double-barreled rifle using his hissing steel arm. CLACK-CLICK! "But chop off one of their legs first so they don’t get twitchy."

​Roland lowered his binoculars. His jaw clenched tight.

​He recognized this breed of mad hound. Diplomacy would hold no sway over him.

​One by one, Riven, Thorne, Rianor, Selene, and the Dwarven King gathered closely at Roland’s side. Their options had now funneled down to a single, bloody path.

​Then... the stone floor beneath them trembled again. Much more violently.

​BOOOOOOMMMM!

​The tunnel walls cracked violently. From behind the rubble and thick smoke, a third Steam-Tank ripped its way through.

​Its size was almost double that of the others. Its giant searchlights flared to life, blindingly bright, aiming dead center at Roland and his companions.

​The true battle in the heart of the stone had only just begun.