Chapter 65: The Battle of Eastern Sea Port (1) |
Eastern Sea Port, despite its brief history, was already the undisputed pearl of this harsh, frigid highland.
Backed by steep cliffs and facing the relatively calm inner bay, its granite-built piers stretched into the depths of the gulf like the arms of giants.
Several broad main docks were exceptionally sturdy, capable of berthing merchant ships from the three great principalities: Shao Yi, Bonaro, and Borsha.
At this moment, masts stood like a forest, various flags flapped noisily in the biting sea wind, and canvas sails billowed, laden with the furs, ores, timber of the Northern Frontier, as well as grains, cloth, spices, and luxuries shipped from the warmer south.
On the docks, the clamor of voices drowned out the sound of the waves.
The rhythmic, powerful hammering of Dwarven craftsmen was incessant, as they expanded new berths or repaired ships.
Sturdy Dwarven porters chanted work songs as they rolled massive barrels and cargo crates.
Mixed among them were Goblins, halflings, and even a few Minotaur remnants from the various weaker clans of the highlands, either peddling peculiar shells and dried fish catches or working odd jobs in taverns and smithies to scrape by a living.
The air was thick with the salty tang of sea wind, the charred aroma of grilled fish, the sourness of cheap ale, and the rough scent of metal, leather, and untreated hides mingled together.
Though it too was filled with the clamor of soldiers and the smell of cheap tobacco, compared to the vitality of the docks, this place carried an air of greater laxity and slackness.
Mercenaries gathered in twos and threes around campfires, throwing dice, boasting about non-existent adventures, or polishing weapons that hadn't truly tasted blood in a long time.
For them, garrison duty at Eastern Sea Port was almost a cushy job: far from the meat-grinder battlefields between Dwarves and Goblins in the south, and without having to face the legendary fearsome dragons of the north. All they needed to do was patrol symbolically, deter potential "petty thieves," and they could collect decent pay on time, while also seeking pleasure in the human taverns of the port.
Regiment Commander Miles Vale, a young noble officer from a prominent family of the Shao Yi Principality and also the nephew of the Duchess, stood at the observation window on the second floor of the barracks. Holding a glass of wine produced in the Principality of Bonaro, he surveyed his area of responsibility with a touch of arrogance.
The port and part of the city district. This assignment was a carefully chosen gilding tour for him—safe, respectable, and with ample perks.
However, just as he was comfortably enjoying life, the relaxed smile at the corner of Miles's mouth abruptly froze.
The maritime defense detection alchemical device, jointly developed by human mages and alchemists, suddenly flashed.
Miles's pupils constricted sharply, his heart skipping a beat.
Though he was a useless fop, his family's political instincts and the necessary military training made him instantly understand what this meant.
A sea assault!
And an extremely ferocious, deadly assault capable of instantly destroying the coastal defense towers!
Without the slightest hesitation, Miles violently smashed his wine glass on the floor, turned around, and his voice, sharp as an unsheathed sword, carrying an air of unquestionable authority and a deliberately amplified hint of panic, resounded throughout the entire camp: "A powerful enemy approaches from the sea!"
"Messenger! Sound the emergency assembly call! All personnel! Immediately! Right now! Abandon all non-essential baggage, take weapons and rations! Quickly!"
The camp instantly erupted into chaos. However, before these soldiers could even react, they heard Miles issue a new command.
"To the docks! Bring all the merchants from the Shao Yi Principality! Not a single one left behind! Tell them the port is about to become a battlefield, follow us if they don't want to die! Move quickly! That's an order!"
Amidst the urgent, piercing sound of the assembly horn, the mercenaries of the Shao Yi Principality sprang into action like a stirred-up hornet's nest, a chaotic mess.
They roughly barged into taverns, warehouses, and trading houses in the dock area, shouting, shoving, forcibly dragging out those Shao Yi merchants who were still haggling or taking inventory, completely disregarding their protests and losses.
It could even be said they were using methods akin to escorting prisoners, very roughly rounding up all the merchants from the Shao Yi Principality.
"What's going on? Why are they suddenly taking all the human merchants away?"
A Dwarven craftsman was somewhat baffled, but human affairs were not for him to interfere with. He could only stay in a smithy near the dock, watching these events and chatting with a Minotaur customer beside him with great interest.
The Minotaur also shook his head, speaking in clumsy Dwarven: "Not clear... might be some situation."
Just then, they suddenly felt the cloud cover darken somewhat and looked up one after another, gazing towards the distant horizon of the sea.
The wind had picked up.
Due to the influence of cold air, cumulonimbus clouds often appeared in coastal areas.
This kind of weather was quite normal at Eastern Sea Port.
The Dwarven craftsman yawned, just about to say something, when he suddenly spotted several figures within the clouds.
Some indistinct shadows flickered in and out of view within the cloud layer, startling the Dwarven craftsman.
"What is that?"
Staring intently at the figures above the clouds, the Dwarven craftsman was mesmerized. Before he could collect his wits, he suddenly heard the Minotaur's panicked voice: "My axe? Quick, quick, quick, give it to me! Give it to me now!"
"What's wrong?"
Interrupted by the voice, the Dwarven craftsman felt somewhat displeased and looked at the Minotaur beside him with dissatisfaction. "Your weapon isn't finished yet..."
Before he could finish his sentence, the Dwarven craftsman suddenly noticed commotion in the direction of the port!
Whether Goblins, Minotaurs, halflings, or even Dwarves, everyone was fleeing madly!
The turbid seawater seemed to boil as countless slippery, slimy figures broke through the waves!
"Gwa-gwa!"
"For the Dragon Lord!"
"Kill all these Dwarves, gwa-gwa!"
"..."
Countless greyish-green skinned Bullywug warriors, wielding heavy iron tridents that gleamed coldly, surged onto the port. Throaty croaks issued from them as they pounced like primitive predators upon the unprepared Dwarven dockworkers and sailors!
Tridents mercilessly pierced flesh, sending up sprays of blood mist. Screams and the roar of the waves were instantly drowned out by a more terrifying symphony!
"By the gods!"
The Dwarven craftsman gasped, all his confusion and dissatisfaction vanishing without a trace.
He almost instinctively turned, snatched a spare battle-axe that had just been quenched and lay beside the anvil, its edge gleaming coldly, and shoved it into the Minotaur's trembling hand.
"Take it! Friend!"
He himself tightly gripped the heavy forging hammer that had accompanied him for many years, his heart pounding wildly beneath his thick leather apron.
The dock had already transformed into a bloody slaughterhouse.
Goblins shrieked as they scurried for cover, halflings tried to squeeze into gaps between barrels, and Dwarven sailors who couldn't escape in time roared, fighting back with wrenches or ropes against the Bullywugs, but were often instantly pierced by multiple tridents.
Just as this despair began to spread, a deep, low horn blast cut through the chaos like a savior.
In the distance, squads of Dwarven warriors clad in heavy chainmail, wielding great shields and long-hafted battle-axes, were charging down in formation from the military camp area and the higher parts of the city like moving steel fortresses.
"The Seventeenth Legion!"
The Dwarven craftsman's spirits lifted. "Friends! Reinforcements are here!"
The patrol squads slammed into the chaotic front line of the dock like wedges.
Great shields crashed down, instantly forming a solid wall of dwarf-height.
Tridents stabbed against the thick shields, producing a cacophony of scraping sounds and dull thuds.
"Drive back these disgusting toads!"
From the gaps between shields, Dwarven warriors roared as they thrust their axes, each attack accompanied by the shrill shrieks of Bullywugs.
"Do not retreat! For the Dragon Lord, break their formation!"
A Bullywug warrior roared, and instantly they charged forward again.
The clash of metal, the rough war cries of Dwarves, and the strange croaking shrieks of Bullywugs merged into a single chaotic din.
More Dwarven legion soldiers poured out from the streets, converging like a flow of molten iron, attempting to push the savage invaders back into the cold seawater.
Though the Bullywug warriors were fierce and brave, they were still no match for the Dwarven legions armed to the teeth.
It couldn't be helped. Primitive warriors had met a professional army.
Just as the scales of war were clearly tipping, the situation changed dramatically once more in an instant!
The sky, that gloomy cloud layer briefly forgotten by all, seemed torn apart by an invisible, colossal force.
Accompanied by several deafening, soul-shaking roars of terror, shadows so vast they blotted out the sky plummeted down like falling stars!
Red! White! Black!
Three ancient behemoths of varying forms, radiating an aura of destruction, had descended!
At the forefront was the largest, with scales as crimson as molten lava—the Red Dragon, Tyrone. His eyes, filled with brutality and greed, swept over the struggling creatures below like ants. His enormous nostrils expelled scorching sulfurous breath.
Without the slightest pause, his massive maw, lined with terrifying fangs, snapped open wide. The destructive power brewing deep within his throat erupted violently!
A blast of dragonfire breath, so searing it was impossible to look at directly, like a breached waterfall of lava, carrying terrifying high temperatures, cascaded down from the high sky!
"BOOM——!!!"