The Invincible Full-Moon System Chapter 1904: To The Last Drop of Blood (3)

"Are we outmatched...?"

"I cannot say for sure."

Perched atop a snow-capped mountain, two dwarves observed through a sophisticated spyglass from a watchtower situated near the summit. These particular dwarves possessed an engineering aptitude exceeding that of their kin, earning them the crucial yet secure duty of vigilance.

Their task was to monitor for the approach of the crimson horde.

"Let us prepare for the direst scenario: a horde composed solely of pseudo-tenth-rank realm beasts. Considering our present armaments, can we mount even a token defense? We are rather well-provisioned thanks to the Osmalt Ores."

"If we prepare for the worst, our current arsenal will offer no hope. We might delay them, perhaps, but victory? A complete defense? That seems impossible."

"I believe you underestimate the potential of the Osmalt Ores."

"And you, the true threat posed by the empire’s adversaries. Do you not recall the Fifthborn encountered previously?"

A gruff, resigned chuckle escaped the more hopeful dwarf.

Despite knowing he would not be on the front lines, a tremor of apprehension settled deep within him. He sought reassurance from his companion, the prodigious mind behind many of the designs to be deployed that night.

Yet, it seemed genius did not equate to emotional insight.

"Could you not say something encouraging—"

"Halt—! They approach! Forty kilometers to the northwest! Sound the alarm!"

Snapping out of his reverie, the optimistic dwarf seized the large trumpet beside him and blew with all his might.

Its resonant blast echoed through the expanse, its thunderous peal resonating across the entire domain.

"Northwest!" the engineering prodigy bellowed to another dwarf below. "Northwest, three minutes to arrival!"

Chaos promptly ensued.

Word of the approaching horde disseminated with the speed of wildfire. Every dwarven contingent, poised for immediate deployment, snapped into a state of battle readiness. Machinery whirred to life. Thousands of metallic boots struck stone in unison, and the very earth trembled beneath the coordinated movement.

At the base of the highest peak, just beyond the fortification, the rocky incline fractured.

Crash—!

It erupted outwards as a monstrous entity forcefully emerged, unleashing a devastating roar.

A thirty-foot ice bear materialized, its fur so dense that each strand cascaded nearly the length of a grown man. Claws the size of human torsos gleamed, sheathed in dark ice armor that also shielded its vital core. From its cranium, two profound ice-blue horns swept back towards its nape.

And with it came the very essence of the blizzard.

Its mere presence intensified the fury of the snowfall.

Undeniably, an Order Beast.

Upon this magnificent creature rode King Huvuki, wielding a colossal ice hammer, which he raised towards the heavens.

"Charge!"

Crash—!

Crash—!

A hundred war beasts also burst forth from the mountain’s embrace, closely trailing King Huvuki.

Each beast was harnessed to a massive sled capable of transporting several hundred armored dwarves. Their fists pounded against steel chest plates, generating a powerful, unified metallic resonance—the sound of a menacing army advancing to battle.

Drawn behind the sleds were chains linked into an immense steel net—a formidable iron fishing net, meticulously forged by the finest artisans. Its mesh was both wide and heavy, and interwoven with chainmail and extended by sheer length, allowing it to engulf an exceptionally vast area.

And directly behind them, the mountain summit ruptured.

An earthquake convulsed across the entire realm as thousands of Dwarves, Elves, and Dark Elves united their strength, propelling a colossal cannon—its barrel the size of a dwelling—upwards. Each component of the artillery piece was imbued with runes, designed to withstand the immense power of its discharge without succumbing to destruction.

From a distance, it resembled a dragon unfurling from the peak.

Its colossal form radiated a luminous energy that shimmered and distorted the surrounding air.

Miles away, the Tigerman also detected the approaching horde.

Maraka, the Champion of the Beast, stood with an imposing stillness at the forefront of his army.

Beside him, several Tigermen forcefully struck a steel hammer against a shoulder piece, securing the pauldron perfectly in place—the final element of his formidable armament. He was now complete, the pinnacle of genetic refinement, equipped with the most esteemed resources of the Tigerman lineage.

His entire being was adorned in crimson light armor and traditional sashes.

Both these heirlooms had been passed down since the Ancient Era.

Each artifact amplified his physical prowess beyond all known limits, perfecting him as the Champion of the Beast.

And with this culmination, he acquired the Aura of the Champion Tiger.

His heart pulsed in perfect synchronicity with nature and his brethren arrayed behind him.

The strength of all within his proximity was elevated; now, the time for war had arrived.

"Let us commence."

Boom—!

Like a celestial projectile, Maraka surged forward, spearheading the army as he made a direct course towards the distant crimson clouds. Due to their kingdom's perfidy, the Tigerman race found itself on the defensive within the empire. As a race not even ranked among the upper echelons of the mid-tier Supernatural races, their capabilities were largely underestimated by all.

This night, Maraka's resolve would reshape destiny. He was determined to thrust the Tigerman Race back into the grand narratives of power once more.

Clutching the replica Amuerus Katana, he imbued it with immense power and scraped its edge against the very earth. A searing line of heat blazed into existence, a potent signal for his gathering forces to advance. 'Tonight, the debt shall be repaid!'

With remarkable speed, both armies surged towards the encroaching horde.

The proximity of their territories facilitated this seamless convergence of their military might.

The distant, resonant call of the Dwarven trumpets could even be faintly discerned within the Tigerman Kingdom—a testament to the close proximity of the two realms. While inherent tension often simmered between them, this shared threat transformed such closeness into a potent advantage.

King Huvuki and Maraka reached the pre-determined location, the strategic choke point they had designated for the confrontation.

"I anticipated your King's arrival," stated a voice.

"I represent His Majesty today."

"Your ambitious plan sounds like mere fantasy. Can you truly achieve what you propose?"

"Focus on your role, and I shall fulfill mine."

Maraka, unperturbed by the skeptical remark, strode forward with unwavering confidence towards the approaching crimson mass. He delved deep within himself, summoning his potent 'Qi', and channeled it with deliberate slowness into his right arm.

A crimson aura, coiling like a serpent, enveloped his limb, causing his muscles to visibly swell.

They strained against the confines of his skin, threatening to burst forth.

Raising his fist towards the heavens, Maraka's appendage ignited, glowing intensely as if consumed by incandescent orange flames.

"Oh, Nature, lend your ear... Grant me passage this one time."

Once prepared, he emitted a guttural grunt and drove his fist into the earth with cataclysmic force.

King Huvuki observed the devastating impact, feeling the surge of 'Qi' bore deep into the planet's crust, penetrating far beyond his wildest expectations. Nature's power, amplified within the Second Breath, was immense, yet Maraka's 'Qi' had pierced through it with astonishing depth.

It was truly remarkable.

A knowing smile spread across King Huvuki's face as he dismounted his colossal ice bear and began channeling his own formidable 'Qi'.

Standing beside Maraka, he pressed his palms firmly against the ground.

A thunderous fissure rent the earth in a straight line before curving, forming a vast, shallow bowl that consumed an immense tract of land. Such a monumental alteration to the landscape would ordinarily be impossible—or at least, beyond the realm of normal capabilities.

However, Maraka's preceding strike had created a pathway, allowing King Huvuki's 'Qi' to penetrate the earth unimpeded.

Both warriors reflexively raised their arms to shield themselves from a sudden, violent surge of crimson energy.

An inexplicable chill coursed down their spines.

Low growls and the rhythmic thunder of approaching beasts reached their ears as the crimson horde drew nearer.

"I fear this trap may not suffice," Maraka stated, catching a fleeting glimpse of the monstrous entities. Each emanated an aura that nearly rivaled his own and King Huvuki's power—a deeply unsettling sign. "We need more. Make the trench deeper."

King Huvuki readily concurred.

Harnessing his innate connection to the earth, he spread his arms wide, conjuring a colossal stone barrier directly behind the newly formed chasm. The very ground trembled violently as the wall of stone ascended, growing ever higher, rapidly depleting his reserves of 'Qi'.

Yet, he persisted, understanding that exceeding expectations was far preferable to facing the bitter sting of regret.

Maraka ascended the rising stone wall in a single leap, his gaze fixed intently on the approaching crimson wolves.

'They do not appear inclined to bypass us,' he mused, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. It was a calculated gamble based on the King's and King Huvuki's prior assessments. Creatures dispatched by the Blood Moon, they reasoned, would be sufficiently arrogant to maintain their direct course—and their hypothesis had proven correct. 'Now, let us ascertain if our strategy yields the desired outcome.'

Soon, the allied armies arrived in force.

The majority of the Tigermen positioned themselves at a distance from the stone wall, preparing the colossal metal net.

As the race possessing superior physical prowess, they were tasked with the crucial role of operating this formidable capture device.

Meanwhile, the Dwarves dedicated their efforts to reinforcing the stone wall, infusing it with their own 'Qi' and meticulously engraving potent runes onto its surface. Their method of rune inscription was highly unconventional. Instead of directly carving the symbols into the stone, they etched them onto the flat surfaces of their formidable war hammers.

Then, with mighty, decisive swings, they slammed these hammers against the wall.

The impact branded the stone with runes, searing them into the material as if searing flesh.

Remarkably, this process could be repeated multiple times.

A single rune could endure over ten repetitions, its potency increasing incrementally with each successive strike.

Having the foresight to prepare these defenses before the crimson horde's arrival would have been ideal. However, tragically, none of the scouts dispatched to ascertain the horde's exact location and trajectory ever returned. Now, as King Huvuki witnessed several of his Dwarven warriors falter, staggering onto their knees, chests heaving raggedly, a grim truth descended upon him like a suffocating shroud.

He finally comprehended the chilling reason for the scouts' silence.

"The horde... it induces a primal madness in all who dare stand in its path..." he murmured, his voice laced with profound worry.

If some of the defenders succumbed to this terrifying affliction, the situation behind their meticulously constructed wall would undoubtedly devolve into utter chaos.

Thankfully, the Dark Elves and Elves who were engaged in mining had anticipated this possibility.

Everyone who arrived possessed a spell capable of strengthening the mind.

A portion of them were even Mind Elementalists, significantly enhancing the connection of their spells with the assembled armies.

"How much longer until it's ready?" King Huvuki inquired of one of his generals.

"A minute, perhaps a little more," the general responded, though his tone lacked certainty. He was unable to pinpoint the exact time needed for the stone wall's complete fortification. "No. It will take longer than a minute. We require additional time."

"How close are we?!" King Huvuki bellowed.

"Thirty seconds!" Maraka yelled back, his entire being vibrating with readiness for combat.

"Half a minute?" King Huvuki clenched his jaw and directed his gaze toward the highest peak. He was left with no alternative. The cannon had to be deployed, even if only to impede the approaching horde. It was a less-than-ideal situation, but war rarely accommodates idealism.

Unexpected turns of events are the essence of this conflict, and he would not falter in executing his plan.

Just as he was about to give the signal, Maraka intervened.

"Wait!" he commanded, his eyes fixed on the advancing crimson wave. "Someone is approaching!"

Crash—!

Before King Huvuki could utter a word in reply, a resounding crash echoed from a location not far from his post.

Every soldier snapped to attention, their hands instinctively gripping their weapons, prepared for a potential enemy encounter.

It turned out not to be an enemy.

"Lord... Kyran?" King Huvuki's eyes widened in recognition as he identified the newcomer almost immediately.

However, he was completely taken aback to witness tears streaming down Kyran's face. His body was terribly mangled and grievously wounded, and he appeared to be enduring immense agony. Although the potent regenerative abilities of a werewolf were already at work mending him, the injuries were exceedingly severe.

The damage was so profound that blood dripped steadily from his mouth.

Kyran gasped for breath and raised his battered arms.

With deliberate movements, he began coating the stone wall with ice, thereby aiding the dwarves and tigermen in its reinforcement.

"Help me..." he whispered feebly, his gaze fixed upon King Huvuki.