Riftclaw Black Tide: The Meat Grinder's Maiden Battle

After the Sacred Flame Overdrive, the darkness that had been pressing down on us was forcibly pushed aside.

But the Blood Moon still loomed overhead, and the suffocating feeling in Todd's chest caused by the Blood Moon hadn't truly disappeared.

The next moment, the wolf howls from the depths of the Gray Fog suddenly surged forth.

"Waaaaah--waaah--"

It sounded like it was rolling along the ground, sending chills down your spine.

This was the first time Todd had truly stood before the Blood Moon Frenzy.

His mind went blank for a moment, his hands gripped the cold, Silver-Plated Iron Spear tightly, and he froze in the ankle-deep mud, forgetting even to breathe.

"When--!"

Just then, the bells in the control tower rang out suddenly, startling Todd.

At the first chime of the bell, those in the front ranks should stand firm, spears held level, and no one is allowed to move.

The things I've practiced countless times these past few days have acted on before my brain even reacted.

Almost instinctively, he inhaled, lowered his shoulders, and pressed down on his elbows, wedging the butt of the spear into the mud, and the spearhead extended out along the side of the shield.

The movement wasn't particularly graceful, but it landed steadily in the correct spot.

"Stop shaking! Keep your eyes on the front!" Captain Kyle growled from the side.

Todd didn't reply, but stared intently at the churning Gray Fog ahead, his gaze finally refocusing.

Immediately afterwards, the second and third commands were relayed from the command tower and the various Dark Bunker.

The next moment, the entire defensive line came to life.

"Splash--!"

Countless iron spears were simultaneously leveled, and Ironwood Shield were placed one after another against the front of the trench, the rough metallic scraping sounds blending together.

At the same time, the steam valves on the Dark Bunker were also opened, and white steam hissed out. The apprentices and Auxiliary Soldier behind the crossbows all began to return to their positions according to the steps they had practiced countless times.

It was as if someone had simultaneously wound up the entire defensive line.

Todd stared intently at the churning Gray Fog ahead, his chest still tight and his palms sweaty, yet his fear had somehow lessened considerably.

At the front of the trenches, the dark pack of wolves finally tore through the Gray Fog and pounced out completely.

They run too fast and too fiercely.

The front row of Riftclaw Night Wolf, propelled by their forward momentum, instinctively spread their deformed, swollen forelimbs.

Its long, hook-like claws slammed into the ground, trying to grab a foothold in the final stretch before lunging into the trench to unleash a massacre.

But what they were attacking was an entire hard slope that had been repeatedly doused with ice water, waste oil, and Quicklime.

The moment the claws landed, a sharp, scraping sound rang out.

"Squeak--!"

Despite the chaotic impact of the fire, not a single decent scratch was left on the icy surface.

The Night Wolf at the front immediately lost its balance.

Its hind legs were still pushing forward, but its front paws couldn't grip anything, and its whole body tilted to the side.

Before it could even let out a second howl, it was knocked over by its own kind that pounced on it from behind, and rolled all the way down the slope.

One head, two heads, ten heads, a hundred heads.

The black wolf's body went out of control one after another, rolling and crashing into the Rending Fang Trench at the bottom like a string of heavy stones pushed down a slope.

What awaited them in the trench were countless iron-tipped wooden stakes, each as tall as half a person.

The first dozen or so Night Wolf that fell in had almost no chance to struggle; their abdomens and chests were pierced on the spot.

The dull thuds of flesh being pierced echoed one after another, and the foul-smelling, black wolf blood flowed down the wooden stakes, staining the bottom of the ditch in the blink of an eye.

The wolf pack behind them just wouldn't stop.

The Blood Moon had burned away their last shred of reason; the scent of living people would only drive them forward.

So more Night Wolf rolled down the slope, crashing heavily into the trench, crushing the bones of those of their kind who were not yet quite dead, and then sending their bellies and necks onto the second and third rows of spikes.

In this single round, hundreds of animals were nailed to the ground in the Rending Fang Trench.

But the damage wasn't over yet.

The Flow Channel and flint mechanism had long been buried in the mud gaps between the iron and wooden stakes.

The hundreds of pounds of Magic Creature crashed down one after another, the impact spreading layer by layer. With a "snap," a spark suddenly flashed, and the trough filled with alchemical waste oil was instantly ignited.

A ghastly green, Poisonfire suddenly erupted.

The flames licked outwards from both sides of the trench, turning the entire Rending Fang Trench into a burning trench of Poisonfire.

The Night Wolf nailed to the spikes had nowhere to struggle; as soon as their fur caught fire, the fat and blood from their ruptured bellies burst open.

A Night Wolf had a sharp stake driven into its head through its chin; its body was still twitching.

Its eyes were bloodshot, but its front paws were still desperately digging in the fire, trying to climb out, trying to keep lunging forward, trying to tear open the throats of the living people on the other side of the trench.

But the next moment, another Night Wolf fell and smashed it, along with the wooden stake, into the fire.

From the wolf pack's perspective, there was no road ahead.

There were only icy slopes that couldn't be slid open, black ditches filled with sharp stakes, and fires burning green.

But they kept rushing forward.

Because the Night Wolf behind couldn't see what was happening ahead, they only knew that there was the scent of living people, so they continued to press forward with their eyes red, stepping on the still-burning corpses of their kind.

The result was that he kept falling, kept rolling, and kept getting pierced by nails.

In a short time, the Rending Fang Trench was filled with twisted, burning, and still convulsing corpses.

At a glance, at least 60% of the first few waves of wolves that charged up the mountain died on the icy slope and in the trench, but the Riftclaw Night Wolf that followed did not stop at all.

The Blood Moon had long since burned away their last shred of reason.

They trampled over the still convulsing, burning corpses of their kind, carving a charred bridge of corpses through the sea of fire, enveloped in embers and stench, and continued their advance.

But in mid-air, a second net was already waiting for them.

The edges of the Second Ring trench and the spaces between the rocks on both sides were already covered with Shadow Venom Silk, so fine they were almost invisible.

The Night Wolf, leaping into the air, was completely unaware, its forelimbs, neck, and chest colliding with it one after another.

Their flesh burst open, and with the momentum of their charge, the Venom Threads slashed deep gashes into the wolves' bodies.

The ones that lunged the most fiercely had their front legs severed on the spot, lost their balance in mid-air, and tumbled as they crashed into the bottom of the Second Ring ditch.

The Night Wolf's body had just smashed through the disguised load-bearing plate when the row of Refined Steel bow plates underneath were compressed to their limit.

The accumulated force rebounded violently in the next instant.

"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"

Thick Pig Iron spikes shot up from below, piercing deep into the softest parts of the Night Wolf' bellies and chests.

The scream was cut short before it was choked in his throat. Black blood and entrails flowed down the iron spikes, quickly staining the entire trench a dark, blackish color.

In just a short while, the Second Ring was already filled with corpses.

The wolf pack, which charged frantically, lost 60% of its members in the Rending Fang Trench, and then lost the majority of its members in the Second Ring.

By the time those who could still muster the strength to reach the Third Ring road were less than 20%.

Todd stood in the rear bunker, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.

He could no longer tell whether he was afraid of the suffocating Blood Moon overhead or the Magic Creature driven mad ahead.

Or perhaps, it's the Blackpine Fief itself that's a defensive line.

There were no horns of Knight's Charge to be heard, nor any scenes of swords clashing.

All that could be heard were the muffled sounds of Venom Threads cutting through flesh, the thud of heavy objects falling into trenches, and the chilling sound of iron spikes piercing intestines.

"What are you staring at!" A loud shout suddenly rang in my ears.

Kyle's rough, large hand grabbed Todd's shoulder armor, almost lifting him up.

The firelight danced across Kyle's face, making the ugly scar appear even deeper.

He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva on the ground, his voice hoarse and fierce. "You really think a few trenches can bury all these things?"

The trap only filters out the trash! Those who manage to crawl through the Second Ring alive are the mad dogs you should kill!

After saying that, he swung the Ironbound Oak Shield and slammed it hard into the Frozen Tundra.

Thump! The dull thud felt like it had hit Todd directly in the chest.

"Level your spears! Fang-Splitting Formation, array your troops to meet the enemy!"

Todd jolted awake, scrambling to regain his footing, and almost instinctively, thrust his spear along the side of Kyle's shield.

Not far ahead, several Riftclaw Night Wolves had already climbed up the edge of the Second Ring trench.

Their bodies were a size larger than those of ordinary Night Wolf, and their black fur stood on end, stiff and hard, as if it had been soaked in blood and then frozen dry.

The metacarpal bones of the forepaws were frighteningly swollen, and a row of white bone spurs on the back of the hand pierced through the skin and flesh.

The wound cut by the Venom Threads was still tearing flesh and blood outwards, and inside the pierced belly, intestines were half-dragged on the ground.

But they felt no pain. With a tug of their limbs, they let out a low, hoarse growl, and, stepping over the blood and bits of flesh scattered on the ground, they pounced on them with incredible speed.

The real close-quarters melee only begins at this point.