Chapter 652: Siege and Wyverns
Staring at the smug Dragon-Scaled Cultivator, the dwarves were seething with fury, waving their warhammers and axes as they cursed, "Damn it, that bastard's way too arrogant!"
"His mouth reeks worse than an orc's!"
"Servant of the vile dragon, prepare to die!"
One dwarf Warrior, face full of indignation, raised his warhammer and leapt into the air with a roar—leaping cleave, the eternal romance of all Warriors.
But the Dragon-Scaled Cultivator had already noticed the ambush. His muscles tensed, fully prepared.
The Empire's genetic modifications gave him hummingbird-like reflexes, allowing him to sense danger within 0.2 milliseconds.
"Haaah!"
With a hoarse roar, the dwarf Warrior smashed his hammer down at the back of the Dragon-Scaled Cultivator's head.
This was a specially crafted dwarven heavy hammer—if it landed, even tough scales would struggle to withstand the blunt force.
The Dragon-Scaled Cultivator didn't even turn his head. Anticipating it, he raised his chainsaw sword, the tip pointing straight at the dwarf's chest.
The dwarf Warrior's expression changed drastically. He twisted midair, trying to dodge, but it was already too late.
"Screeech—"
The chainsaw sword's tip ruthlessly pierced the dwarf's chest, running him clean through. The dwarf's body was impaled on the Cultivator's arm.
Then the blade's serrated edges spun violently, tearing into the dwarf's flesh.
Blood splattered everywhere. The chainsaw ripped through skin, muscle, even bone. Brain matter, organs, intestines gushed out in a grotesque mess.
"Shit, that's disgusting." The Dragon-Scaled Cultivator spat and flung the corpse off his arm.
The dwarf's body split into chunks, flung aside like a used rag, unrecognizable, a scene too gruesome to look at.
"Tyren!"
"You... how dare you treat a brave Warrior like that!" The dwarves' voices trembled with rage and shock.
The Dragon-Scaled Cultivator casually wiped the blood from his face and grinned again. "Wanna avenge him? Then come kill me. Hahahaha!"
Witnessing the horror and the desecration of their kin's corpse, the dwarves were bloodshot with rage, desperate to rip the monster to shreds.
A dwarf commander raised his hammer and roared, "Brothers, together! Smash his skull into pieces!"
"Kill that monster!"
"Die, bastard!"
Driven by hatred, the dwarf Warriors formed a tight formation and surrounded the Dragon-Scaled Cultivator from all sides.
"Come on, come on," the Cultivator muttered softly. He had just loaded a fresh magazine and was waiting for the "little freaks" to group up—perfect to test his new ammo.
Seeing the cluster of dwarves, his grin turned more twisted.
His right arm lifted the explosive gun. The muzzle, more like a miniature cannon, aimed forward.
"Bang!"
A deafening gunshot echoed over the wall. The special bullet exploded mid-air, scattering shrapnel before hitting its target.
The tightly packed dwarves were shredded mercilessly by the barrage.
It was a metal storm flechette round—perfect for light-armored mass targets.
The round exploded before impact, releasing deadly pellets. The diamond tip was replaced with a fragmentation shell, and short-range explosives stood in for large-scale impact caps.
This ammo was specially supplied to Dragon-Scaled Cultivators by the Imperial military, designed to wipe out clustered enemies so these humanoid death machines could go full rampage.
And in this battle, the effect was undeniably brutal.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Thanks to Imperial military tech, this massive-caliber explosive rifle could even fire in bursts!
Laughing wildly, the Cultivator spun in place, squeezing the trigger, mowing down dwarves in every direction.
Even more outrageously, he tossed two metal balls from his dimensional pouch. They lit up mid-air, unfolded, and transformed into floating turrets, spraying bullets like a hurricane.
Boom after boom, dwarves dropped like wheat before a sickle.
Yet dwarves were stubborn and fearless. They didn't fear death on the battlefield.
Facing this slaughter, the dwarf Warriors charged without hesitation, even stepping over fallen comrades, pushing through the storm of bullets and shrapnel.
But even in melee range, they faced the spinning, bloodied chainsaw sword—a single strike enough to cut them in half.
Dwarves in the rear tried shooting with crossbows and longbows, but the Cultivator's scaled and exoskeletal body was nearly impenetrable.
Arrows bounced harmlessly off him with metallic pings.
"For Avenderdan!" A dwarf, eyes red with fury, charged from behind, warhammer raised.
The Dragon-Scaled Cultivator turned, lifting his rifle.
"Bang!"
The impact sent the dwarf flying into the wall. His body was riddled with bullet holes, blood oozing out.
"Avenderdan shall nev..." He collapsed, the words unfinished, and died.
"Done here."
The Dragon-Scaled Cultivator blew the smoke from his gun, wiped more blood off his face, and said cheerfully.
Around him lay piles of dwarf corpses. Smoke and the stench of blood filled the battlements, the walls soaked in gore.
In just a short time, he had killed nearly a hundred dwarf Warriors, and similar scenes played out across Avenderdan's walls.
Drol had deployed over a dozen Dragon-Scaled Cultivators via wyverns, hoping they'd tear through the frontline and draw fire, giving the main force time to climb the walls.
—But the results exceeded expectations. These Cultivators were like bombs thrown into the dwarven lines, utterly devastating the defense.
As ultimate creations of the Ember Empire's genetic and magical engineering, each costing 90,000 gold on average, the Dragon-Scaled Cultivators were powerhouses of offense and defense.
By Imperial standards, their threat level ranged from 12 to 14—small boss-class enemies.
But they weren't invincible. Compared to the divine-blooded legions of Holy Fadlan, they still fell short—at least for now.
"Boom!"
With a heavy rumble and dust rising, sharp rock suddenly burst from the ground like a sword, impaling a Dragon-Scaled Cultivator from below.
"Ugh..."
The Cultivator was pinned on the stone spike, his boiling dragon blood sizzling as it hit the ground.
Atop the wall, King Edd raised his warhammer single-handedly, eyes fierce. He turned toward another Cultivator rampaging nearby.
With another thud, Edd leapt into the air, soaring nearly a hundred meters. He swung his warhammer down, smashing the Cultivator into bloody paste.
The dwarven king looked around and shouted, "Everyone—Avenderdan is at the brink of survival or doom! We must give it our all!"
"His Majesty Edd!"
"Praise the mighty Lord of the Mountains!"
Seeing two Cultivators slain instantly, the dwarves' morale soared as they roared in unison.
In the southwest of Avenderdan, another renowned dwarf Warrior, Brun Farrel, also stepped forward, skewering a Dragon-Scaled Cultivator.
At Edd's command, all of the dwarven elites joined the battle: rune-powered brutes, fearless berserkers, master fighters—all took the field.
But even the mightiest struggle when outnumbered. The dwarves could kill Cultivators, but the Ember Empire's overwhelming assault was another matter.
Engineering vehicles followed the tanks to the base of the walls. Dwarves rolled boulders and tossed flaming barrels, but with little effect.
In contrast, the Empire's artillery struck with pinpoint precision, obliterating hidden mechanisms and leaving the dwarves helpless.
"Buzz—"
From the engineering vehicles rose enormous siege ladders, over thirty meters tall, which clamped onto the walls of Avenderdan. Imperial infantry climbed them in waves, seizing the outer walls.
The Cultivators up front had cleared a bloody path. The infantry simply had to secure the walls and take the city.
Even the skies over Avenderdan belonged to the Ember wyvern swarm. Wyverns and flame drakes beat their wings and unleashed dragonfire on the dwarves, sometimes swooping down to snatch them into the sky and drop them.
The dwarves fired back with arrows, bringing down wyverns from the skies.
"Take back our ground! These walls were built by our ancestors! Don't let them fall!" Brun roared, raising his greatsword, leading the counterattack.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Imperial infantry opened fire, but Brun blocked the bullets with his sword held crosswise like a shield. In a blink, he closed the distance and swung his sword.
"Slash—"
Blood sprayed. Several Imperial soldiers were cleaved in half. The dwarves behind Brun rallied and charged, shouting, "For Avenderdan!"
But the Imperial infantry did not panic. With their officer's orders, they calmly shifted formations, staggering their positions to allow for crossfire.
"Bang!"
One by one, dwarves were shot and fell, their fates unknown.
But even lying in pools of blood, the stubborn dwarves clung to enemy legs, delivering last bites with their teeth.
"Buzz—"
The warhorn blared again. A squad of dwarf goat-riders stormed into the enemy lines, slashing and hammering. They roared defiantly before being swallowed by gunfire.
The walls of Avenderdan had become a meat grinder. Both sides clashed around the towers in brutal combat.
Sometimes the Empire took ground. Sometimes Brun and his warriors reclaimed it. Blood soaked the stones red on both sides.
But this war of attrition favored the Empire. They had sixty thousand infantry. Avenderdan had just over ten thousand before the battle.
Now, after this baptism of blood and fire, fewer than six thousand dwarves remained. If this continued, Avenderdan would become a dead city.
"Comrades, charge! Take back that tower!" Brun, greatsword in hand, led the attack.
His armor was tattered and bloodstained, riddled with holes. He had charged countless times already.
But the frail-looking Imperial soldiers showed no sign of breaking. They didn't even retreat, ignoring their fallen comrades.
"They're... monsters," Brun growled through clenched teeth.
"For Avenderdan!"
He roared hoarsely, raised his sword high, and swung at the Imperial soldiers.
Just then, a bad feeling crept over him. The sky darkened. A massive shadow loomed, and scorching wind blew against him.
"Boom!"
A giant claw slammed down. Brun dove and rolled multiple times, barely dodging.
Panting, he turned to see a massive wyvern crouched atop the tower, glaring down with golden eyes, danger radiating from its body. Threads of drool dripped from its maw.
It was the wyvern leader—Smaug!
Clutching his sword tight, Brun knew this was bad. The beast was at least twenty meters long and radiating terrifying dragon might.
This wasn't a drake. Even a true red dragon might not be this imposing.
"Rooaaar!"
Smaug raised his head, roared into the sky, then looked down, red light gathering in his throat.
Brun's face went pale. He scrambled up and sprinted with all his might—he knew what was coming.
"Boom!"
In the reflection of his eyes, flames danced brilliantly.
Dragonfire surged forth, engulfing Avenderdan's walls. Smaug flapped his wings amidst the inferno and roared: "I am fire, I am death!"
Not that the wyvern actually meant to say it—he was just carrying out Cassius's orders, indulging the Emperor's tiny bit of dark humor.