Night.
The Dwarves took turns fighting.
Their ammunition was being used up at an astonishing rate. After firing nonstop for a full day, the boxes of gunpowder stored in the rear were nearly empty.
The endless, pitch-black night.
But this was when the Half-Orcs' real army finally arrived.
As a race, the Half-Orcs couldn't all be cannon fodder.
They had elite units, too.
Now, their elite forces had gathered here.
They carried crude muskets, crossbows, and slings.
They had trebuchets and cannons.
The troops leading the charge wore breastplates and wielded heavy hammers; some carried spears.
Using the cover of night, they approached Dwarf Mountain City. By the time the Dwarves spotted them, it was already too late.
The Orcs' slings could already hit their artillery!
Slings were weapons with a high ceiling—and a low one, too.
In the hands of hulking brutes like the Orcs, they were essentially human catapults.
Fist-sized stones came crashing down on the Dwarves' artillery positions.
If the Dwarves hadn't been so wealthy—
if every one of them hadn't had plate armor to wear,
all forged with their own hands—
that single hit would have left a Dwarf crippled.
The Orcs fired their muskets at the Dwarf musketeers.
Crossbow bolts rained down from the sky at an angle, sometimes accompanied by stones from the slings.
"Waaagh!"
At the very front of the charge were Half-Orcs wielding spears. They only needed to charge. With their powerful bodies, they were their own warhorses!
The spears in their hands were lances!
The elite Half-Orcs mercilessly smashed through the Dwarves' shield formation. Behind them, other Half-Orcs swung their enormous hammers, sweeping aside the expendable Dwarf infantry sent to fill the ranks.
For the second time, the Half-Orcs had stormed into this mountain city.
Before, they had relied on their