The ground of the main mine shaft was heavily trampled as Barrow's troops marched forward in neat formation. The force of over seven hundred men stretched out like a long dragon through the narrow shaft.
Gorn noticed the enemy's marching formation—the front three ranks held shields, spearmen lined the left and right flanks, crossbowmen occupied the center, and the artillery unit followed behind. There were even warriors trailing the artillery to prevent any rear-flank attacks.
This army was more disciplined than he had anticipated.
Gorn was in no hurry to give orders. Standing there, he silently calculated the enemy's speed of advance. They would enter firing range in about fifteen minutes.
“They're a tough nut to crack,” the veteran said at his side, lowering his voice. “That formation doesn't look like it was thrown together on a whim.”
“Prepare the artillery. We are at a numerical disadvantage; we only have five hundred men for a direct confrontation.”
By the time Gorn's command was passed down, the veteran had already turned and run toward the artillery positions in the rear.
In less than three minutes, the seven dwarf cannons behind the Bronzebeard forces' front line were fully loaded. Due to limited supplies on the front lines and the transport difficulties of the narrow mine shaft, these seven cannons were the absolute limit of what Gorn could gather on short notice.
“Gunners in position!” the veteran's voice echoed from behind. “Prepare the fuses—”
Gorn did not look back. Standing behind a protruding boulder at the very front of the line, his gaze remained locked onto the long column advancing in the distance.
“Aim for the center,” Gorn muttered. The messenger beside him immediately repeated the order, passing the word down the line.
Barrow's troops finally entered the effective range of the cannons. Gorn raised his right hand, still staring straight ahead.
“Fire!”
The moment the command fell, all seven cannons roared in unison! Gunpowder smoke instantly filled the narrow mine shaft. Seven iron cannonballs traced low, flat arcs, smashing violently into Barrow's ranks.
Splintering sounds erupted throughout the mine shaft as shields shattered and soldiers were blown off their feet, throwing the enemy column into immediate chaos.
“Archers!” The second command closely followed the aftermath of the bombardment. Already positioned high up along the rocky walls on both sides, the Bronzebeard archers released their bows, sending a dense rain of arrows pouring down on the disorganized army.
Screams, the clashing of iron, and the dull thuds of shields being pierced blended into a chaotic din within the shaft. Several gaps had been torn into the front shield wall of Barrow's forces by the cannon fire, while the soldiers in the middle and rear were pinned down by the rain of arrows, unable to move forward to plug the holes.
Seizing the moment, Gorn mounted his rock lizard and drew his saber.
“Now is the time! Charge, my warriors!”
Battle cries collided and echoed in the narrow mine shaft, building into a deafening wave of sound.
Barrow's forces had just suffered a double blow from the artillery and the arrows. Their front shield wall was torn open in several places, but the remaining soldiers were still trying to reform their lines.
“Shield-bearers forward! Shield-bearers—” Barrow's voice rang out from the chaos as he rode his rock lizard back and forth through his ranks. “Plug those gaps! Crossbowmen, suppressive fire!”
“Adjutant! Where is my adjutant?”
“Right here, Commander Barrow!”
“Artillery! Get the artillery firing! Blow those archers off the walls!”
“Charge! Don't give them time to reform!” Gorn pointed his blade forward. Riding his rock lizard, he led thirty lizard cavalrymen in a direct thrust toward Barrow's flank.
Boom! The enemy unleashed a fierce bombardment on the archers lining the rock walls, causing countless stone fragments to rain down.
Gorn did not slow down for a second. With a horizontal slash of his saber, he cut down a goblin trying to counterattack, sweeping him and his spear to the ground. The rock lizard's powerful hind legs kicked off the ground, ramming aside two blocking infantrymen and forcefully carving a bloody path through the enemy lines.
“Don't stop! Keep moving!” Gorn's voice boomed over the chaos. “Break their formation!”
The thirty lizard cavalrymen followed close behind. Ordinary infantry simply could not withstand such an impact. Barrow's crossbowmen tried to retreat, but the narrow shaft was packed shoulder to shoulder, and their retreat was far slower than the cavalry's charging onslaught.
Barrow's voice echoed from the rear flank. “Hold! Hold the formation! Spearmen, flank them from both sides—”
His words were cut short by a deafening blast as another round of cannonballs flew in from behind the Bronzebeard line. Splintering rock sprayed everywhere, throwing several soldiers to the ground.
Barrow instinctively ducked to avoid the flying debris. By the time he straightened up, the situation in the mine shaft had taken a decisive turn—Gorn's lizard cavalry had already breached the middle of his line.
“Consolidate the formation! Focus on taking down the cavalry that broke through!”
As the command was passed down, the remnants of Barrow's forces began to slowly fall back. Though disorganized, they did not shatter. The shield-bearers formed a defensive wall once more, spearmen guarded the flanks, and crossbowmen provided covering fire from the center, retreating step by step.
Facing a continuous wave of enemies, Gorn's cavalry suffered heavy casualties. He had no choice but to withdraw from the enemy formation with the remaining dozen or so riders.
He pulled his reins tight in the mine shaft, panting heavily as the blood on his blade dripped onto the rocky ground.
“Assess our casualties.”
The veteran caught up from behind, a trace of blood at the corner of his mouth. “Fifty-seven dead, eleven severely wounded, minor injuries—”
“No need to count. Form up for the offensive first. Yune will be here soon!”
On Barrow's side, they had already organized a defensive line, ready to face a frontal assault at any moment.
“Commander, shouldn't we retreat?”
“Retreat? That is out of the question.” Barrow glanced at the pocket watch hanging from his chest. “Even if we lose, we can at least inflict heavy damage on their Second Regiment. We cannot abandon the honor of the Alliance!”
What Gorn did not know was that if they retreated, Barrow's hometown would be the first place abandoned by the Alliance. Given the Alliance's nature, everything in his homeland would then be burned to the ground.
Gorn glanced at the defensive line, then at his remaining troops, and muttered, “Yune should be arriving soon.”
“Pass down my order. Charge!”
When Gorn's command spread, the remaining soldiers under his command raised their weapons once more and charged the enemy.
Standing behind his line, Barrow watched the approaching figures. He looked down at his hands, which had gripped the reins tightly at some point.
“...For my home.”
Then, he drew his blade.
“All units, hear my command! Hold the line! No retreating!”
The clashing of blades against shields, the tearing of iron into flesh, and the screams of wounded soldiers blended together, echoing repeatedly in the narrow shaft.
Barrow's defensive line was more resilient than Gorn had anticipated. The soldiers did not yield. They braced their shields against the first wave of the Bronzebeard forces' assault, thrusting their spears through the gaps in the shields to drive back the infantry trying to break through.
“Push forward! Don't stop!” Gorn's blade hacked through a shield raised to block him.
Standing behind the line, Barrow's gaze swept across the chaotic battlefield, landing on Gorn. He was a young goblin, mounted on a rock lizard, his blade drenched in blood.
“Truly enviable,” Barrow murmured. Then, he let go of his reins and leaped down from his rock lizard.
“Commander Barrow—” the adjutant panted, looking panicked.
“What is it?”
“The enemy! The enemy is coming from behind!” The moment the adjutant's words fell, Barrow froze.
He spun around, his gaze piercing through the chaotic lines toward the depths of the rear shaft. Sure enough, there was movement. Torchlight, battle cries, and the sounds of clashing weapons were rapidly approaching from behind.
“The old ventilation shaft...”
“Commander, we're surrounded!” The adjutant's voice trembled. “The Bronzebeard main force is in front of us, and the enemy is flanking us from behind! Let's retreat, we still can—”
“Retreat where?” Barrow cut him off. “Their men are behind us, and their men are in front of us. Tell me, where are we supposed to retreat?”
The adjutant opened his mouth but could not find the words.
Barrow turned back, looking once more at the Bronzebeard forces relentlessly battering his front line.
“Death for glory!” Barrow drew his sword.
“Commander, you've gone mad!” the adjutant cried in disbelief.
“Are you disobeying orders?” Barrow glared at him.
“No, we must surrender, Commander!”
“Commander—”
Soldiers pleaded one after another, and even the generals under him stepped forward to demand surrender.
“Surrender is our only way out, Commander.”
“I said, no surrender!” Barrow's eyes widened in fury.
But those pleading voices gradually turned to anger.
“Why won't you surrender?!”
“He's leading us to our deaths!”
“Kill him and surrender!”
“You all...!” Barrow was utterly powerless. Perhaps this was his destiny—the ultimate fate of a man who knew nothing of military affairs.
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