Chapter 390| That Special Ops Unit Wasn’t Gunning For His Command Post. They Were Gunning For The Dwarven King.

The tremors arrived sooner than expected.

?Rianor sat in the cramped command post—barely large enough for a single stone table and two wooden chairs. The obsidian walls around him pulsed faintly with deep purple runes, serving as the only light source besides the oil lamp on the table. A topographic relief map lay spread before him, bathed in a dim yellow glow. He placed his right palm flat against the cold stone surface. The vibrations traveled through the floor—steady, heavy.

?Footsteps. Thousands of them.

?Borch materialized silently in the doorway. "Two divisions have entered the western tunnel."

?"Only two?" Rianor stared at the map.

?"The rest are holding at the cave entrance."

?Rianor lightly tapped the stone surface. Grigori wasn’t reckless. He was sending two divisions ahead—probing, not launching an all-out assault. A veteran like him wouldn’t throw his entire army blindly into the dark without knowing what awaited them.

?"Tell Riven," Rianor ordered. "Hold the chokepoint. Do not advance."

?Borch vanished into the shadows of the corridor.

?Back in the Iron Empire’s command tent on the mountain ridge, General Grigori stood at the steel folding table. A long-barreled spyglass was gripped in his right hand, while his iron left hand rested heavily on the table’s edge.

?"The first division is in, General," Adrian reported. "The second is moving to follow."

?"Halt the second division at the tunnel’s mouth," Grigori ordered, not lowering his spyglass.

?"Why?" Adrian couldn’t mask the irritation in his voice. "We have the numerical advantage."

?"Because the special unit has returned." Grigori finally lowered the spyglass, turning toward eleven soldiers clad in pitch-black, emblem-less armor standing silently in a corner of the tent. "They infiltrated three days ago. Now, they’ve brought back a map of a side route leading straight into the heart of the Dwarven city."

?Adrian stared at the black-clad unit, then turned back to Grigori. "So we don’t need the main tunnel."

?"The main tunnel is merely bait," Grigori replied flatly. "I’ve lost far too many men in these mountains to play it recklessly again." He looked back at the special unit. "Find another way in."

?At the narrowest point of the western tunnel, the passage shrank to a mere two meters wide. Sweltering heat from the subterranean magma river seeped through the cracks in the walls, making the air thick and heavy in the lungs. Riven stood at the vanguard. Twenty elite Dwarven warriors formed a tiered phalanx behind him, runed axes and warhammers gripped tight, their faded red eyes burning with sheer resolve.

?Footsteps approached from the darkness—steady, heavy, the hallmark of a highly disciplined military formation. The dark gray armor of the Iron Empire troops gradually emerged from the shadows one by one. Steam rifles were slung across their chests, their eyes utterly devoid of fear—as if drilled to feel absolutely nothing.

?Riven raised a hand. "Hold."

?The Dwarven phalanx lowered their weapons in unison. The runes etched into their axe blades flared a brilliant red, casting an eerie glow against the surrounding stone walls.

?The Iron Empire soldiers charged without another command.

?Metal clashed against metal. The deafening ring of the first strike echoed deep into the tunnel.

?In the command post, Rianor sat perfectly still, his eyes closed, his right hand pressed firmly against the stone map. He read the rhythm of the vibrations pulsing through the floor—the stampede of boots, the heavy clash of weapons, and the erratic tremors signaling that the real battle had finally begun.

?A young courier sprinted into the room. "The vanguard is holding! Their two divisions are getting pushed back at the chokepoint!"

?"Casualties?"

?"Minimal. The traps are working."

?"Tell Riven to hold his ground."

?The courier dashed back out. Rianor stared at the map again, his finger resting on the western tunnel. Something was bothering him. Grigori had four divisions. Why only send two?

?Down at the chokepoint, Riven slammed his shoulder into the first soldier, sending him flying into the wall. He pivoted, driving his axe into the chest of a second soldier—the intense heat of the runes instantly melting through the armor—before ducking and slamming a third into the stone floor in one fluid motion. The twenty Dwarven warriors behind him held the line with flawless discipline—block, wait for an opening, strike. The runes on their weapons melted through enemy armor with every solid hit.

?A faint smirk crossed Riven’s face amidst the chaos. Rianor was right. This bottleneck was a death funnel for anyone foolish enough to charge in without a second thought.

?Then, his instincts flared. He caught a vibration—not from the front, but from the left wall.

?He turned. The wall was trembling. Dust rained down from the ceiling.

?"FALL BACK!"

?The wall exploded inward.

?Rianor felt the blast through the floor of the command post—the direction was completely wrong. It came from the flank, not the main tunnel. He spread the map wider, his eyes locking onto a faint, nearly invisible line: a narrow branching side tunnel.

?A special ops unit. Grigori had sent them through there.

?"Get word to Borch," Rianor ordered the next courier. "We have a breach from the side tunnels."

?As the courier ran off, Rianor muttered under his breath, "Hold on. We still have time."

?Deep within the cramped, pitch-black side tunnel, Borch materialized behind the line of black-armored soldiers. His movements were flawlessly silent—not a single one of them noticed a thing before his dagger pierced the nape of the rearmost soldier. One dropped without a sound. Thorne flanked them from the opposite side, sweeping his spear to crush two soldiers against the stone wall in a single, devastating spin.

?Eight went down in a matter of seconds. The remaining four slipped away, moving far faster than anticipated, vanishing into the deeper, darker labyrinth of branching tunnels.

?"Send word to Rianor," Borch instructed one of the Dwarven warriors who had joined the pursuit. "Thorne and I will hunt down the stragglers."

?The warrior sprinted back toward the command post without waiting for a reply.

?At the cave entrance, Adrian burst into the tent. "The special ops unit has breached the side tunnel, General!"

?Grigori gave a curt nod. "Order the third and fourth divisions into the main tunnel."

?"Now?" Adrian was caught off guard. "But the first two divisions are still bogged down inside—"

?"Exactly," Grigori cut him off, his eyes remaining calmly fixed on the map. "The Dwarves will be busy holding them off while simultaneously chasing the special ops unit. Exploit the chaos. They simply don’t have enough men to plug three holes at once."

?Adrian hesitated for a second, then nodded, gesturing to the officer behind him. The two fresh divisions began their march into the main tunnel, their pristine formations and synchronized steps echoing deep into the caverns.

?In the command post, Rianor heard a new rumble—massive, far heavier than before. Two more divisions.

?This was no longer just a defense. It was a siege.

?"Tell Riven to fall back to the stone bridge," he commanded the last remaining courier.

?The courier was shocked but dashed out without argument.

?Rianor stared at the map once more. The stone bridge—the only route leading to the inner courtyard. If the entire Iron Empire force managed to cross it, the Dwarves would be trapped from two sides simultaneously.

?"Blow it up the second half of them are on it," he murmured.

?Riven gritted his teeth, signaling the retreat while continuing to repel the onslaught. The twenty Dwarven warriors fell back in perfect order toward the stone bridge—a long, unrailed span of rock just wide enough for four men shoulder-to-shoulder, suspended high above the boiling river of magma.

?The Iron Empire soldiers pursued ferociously, mistaking the Dwarven retreat for a sign of victory.

?Riven stepped onto the bridge, his warriors right behind him. The Iron Empire flooded onto the path after them—half their forces were already marching across the precarious stone structure.

?Miles away, Rianor’s hand raised.

?The bridge detonated.

?Chunks of rock blasted in every direction, hissing violently as they plummeted into the sea of magma below. The half of the Iron Empire army still on the far side was instantly cut off by the newly formed chasm, watching as the boiling lava swallowed the debris. The freshly deployed third and fourth divisions were now trapped on the same side as the Dwarves—unable to advance, unable to retreat, boxed in completely between the chokepoint and the searing abyss.

?Riven whipped around, his axe raised high. "CHARGE!"

?The twenty Dwarven warriors surged back toward the isolated enemy forces, ruthlessly exploiting the momentary panic before the Iron Empire ranks could reassemble their formation.

?At the cave entrance, Adrian burst in, his face deathly pale. "General! The first and second divisions are trapped! The bridge has been destroyed! The special ops unit—"

?"Will reach their objective," Grigori cut in, completely unfazed. There was no anger on his face. No panic.

?"How can you be so calm?! We just lost two entire divisions!" Adrian yelled.

?Grigori opened his eyes, staring down at the map on the table. "The Dwarves now have to fight a two-front war—the trapped forces in the tunnel, and the special ops unit driving a dagger into the heart of their city." He offered a chillingly faint smile. "I never intended to march my entire army across that bridge, Your Highness. I merely needed the Dwarves to believe I would."

?Adrian fell dead silent, staring at the old General with a sickening mix of awe and horror. It finally dawned on him—from the very beginning, those two trapped divisions were always factored in as acceptable casualties.

?Inside the command post, Rianor sensed something was dreadfully wrong. The bridge was gone. Two divisions were trapped. So why wasn’t Grigori frantically redeploying his troops in the other tunnels?

?Borch appeared in the doorway, his face pale, his black coat covered in a thick layer of dust.

?"Eight secured," he said rapidly. "Four slipped past."

?"Where?" Rianor demanded sharply.

?Borch pointed backward, toward a corridor that veered far away from the command post. "Heading straight for the throne room."

?Rianor froze. Every single piece of the puzzle that had felt off suddenly locked into place—why Grigori was too calm, why the special ops unit was allowed to slip through the side tunnels with minimal resistance, why two whole divisions were so easily sacrificed at the bridge.

?That special ops unit wasn’t gunning for his command post. They were gunning for the Dwarven King.

?He stared at the map, his finger stopping at a point on the rear tunnel. The Dwarven King was only guarded by two personal escorts in the throne room—enough to fend off a standard threat, but four highly trained black-ops soldiers who had already slipped past Borch and Thorne were far from a standard threat. They moved silently, bore no insignias, and had already proven capable of infiltrating routes that weren’t even logged on the Dwarves’ old maps.

?Riven was still at the bridge, leading the counter-offensive against the trapped forces. Borch and Thorne were chasing the stragglers, but they had fallen too far behind from the very start of the pursuit.

?Rianor clenched his right fist. He had to make a choice—who to send to protect the King, or whether to gamble that those two royal guards could hold out until reinforcements arrived.

?His cracked glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose. He didn’t even have the luxury of time to push them back up.

?Outside the command post, the muffled roar of battle still echoed—the clash of steel, desperate screams, and the occasional rumble of collapsing stone. Yet, all of it felt miles away now, entirely overshadowed by the single, crushing question drilling into his head: who would reach the throne room first?

?He was out of time to think.