Chapter 2067 - 553: Battle of Burial Peak (Part 2)

"Fire Meteors! They're Fire Meteors—!"

"Damn it! The enemy has a Diamond Level Great Mage!"

"No… at this scale… it might even be Purple Crystal Level!"

The Ratmen screamed, running chaotically across the battlefield, only returning to the trenches under the threats and bribes of the battlefield supervision officers.

However, at this moment, even the supervision officers were extremely anxious. If their families weren't held by Lord Shrek, they would have probably run faster than these Slave Rats.

In the impoverished understanding of the Ratmen, only the legendary High Rank Mages could create such a terrifying spectacle.

However, the truth was otherwise.

This was not magic at all but the crystallization of industry and alchemy—the Gutaf Kingdom's Organ Rocket Launcher!

At the forested foothills, on the temporary artillery position, rows of hive-shaped wooden crates aimed at the sky, with wisping blue smoke emanating from their barrels.

In less than three minutes just earlier, the artillery position of the Gutaf United Kingdom had unleashed as many as three hundred heavy rocket incendiary shells at the first mountain top of the Ratmen.

In terms of destructive power, this weapon was not inferior to the magic of Upper Extraordinaries, and possibly even exceeded it!

After all, the damage from magic could be diminished by magic resistance, but the damage caused by physical and chemical means could not be; it could only be countered by Extraordinary Power itself.

And most of the Ratmen, simply didn't have it.

"Awesome!!"

"Haha! I'm on fire!"

"Keep loading, don't stop!"

A Lizardman artillery officer, dressed in strange equipment, excitedly waved the command flag in his hand, shouting at his nearby comrades.

"Let's fire another round before the charge!"

"Oh oh oh!"

The players loaded the shells with all their might, and in less than half an hour, the rocket nests stood tall once more, fully loaded.

At the order of the artillery-commanding player, the roaring rockets once again spewed long tongues of flame, slicing through the sky!

The arms-thick warheads were not ordinary gunpowder weapons; each was etched with "Netherworld Language" from the Great Graveyard.

Upon impact with the ground, not only was the charge in the warheads triggered, but so was the Magic Crystal Powder smeared on the inner shell!

As the Netherworld Language activated, a cold energy flowed fiercely through the burning flames, gnawing at the fragile nerves of the Ratmen.

The terrifying power was taken up a notch compared to ordinary incendiary shells, as the once solid trenches crumbled in the sea of fire. Flames mixed with Netherworld Power burned the Ratmen, making them wail like ghosts, fleeing in panic.

Seeing the moment ripe, the "Gutaf Officer" on the front line drew his commanding sword and slashed it toward the distant positions!

"Attack!!!"

Along with the rockets' whistle came the resonant sound of the battle horn, as the prepared allied forces of various races launched their charge together!

On the left wing was the Gutaf Kingdom's First Regiment Battalion, the Lizardman Hand Cannon Unit, charging forward with swinging tails like cavalry on a ridge!

Advancing on the right wing was the Laine Camp of the Campbell First Mountain Regiment, holding "Roxey 1054 Type Rifles."

Although they weren't as robust as the Lizardmen, their combat power and determination to fight for their fellow citizens were undeniable.

"Charge—!"

"Kill—!"

Amidst the roaring cries of battle, Sir Dickbin was mixed in with the crowd, like a husky amidst a pack of wolves.

Once an arrogant envoy, his face was now smeared with mud, holding tightly to a rifle bathed in sweat and rain, with no sign of composure or ease on his face.

Watching his roaring and charging companions, listening to the cannon roar ahead, his legs felt like noodles.

Yet he dared not stop.

As he had a feeling that if he halted, a man-eating beast behind him would snap his neck and swallow him whole.

These savages from the lower Rushing River—

The cowardly Sir Dickbin cursed in his mind, finally opening his mouth to let out a hysterical scream, venting a lifetime of fear.

"Ahhh—!"

He charged with his head down along with his comrades, rushing toward the burning slope, recalling something he had once thrown away.

Bullets and arrows whizzed through the air as he and his comrades fired while advancing uphill, using cover to evade, moving forward with the support of battlefield mages and cannons.

Meanwhile, on the north side of the mountains outside Burial Peak, it was the northern border of the Rot Clan, simultaneously a contested area between Ratmen and Dwarves.

Both sides had left their marks on the rock walls here, making the granite appear jagged as if gnawed by dogs.

Whenever the Ratmen took over, they would deface the Dwarf Lord's relief, while the Dwarves reclaimed it to re-carve them.

Now under the Ratmen's control, they had used dwarf explosives to destroy several routes to the High Mountain Kingdom, building an impregnable Mouse Nest utilizing the granite's hardness.

All the little rats believed they could finally sleep easy, as the Dwarves hadn't returned since they blew up the mines.

However, at this moment, the Ratman chiliarch "Broken Tail" stationed here felt something was off.

His sensitive whiskers were twitching crazily, catching a low and rhythmic humming carried by the air.