Long Live Her Majesty the Queen (6)
The biggest problem lay in the fact that the goatee dragon's defenses weren't all that high.
It could easily block orc spears and swords, but anything stronger demanded it take damage.
Explosives might even prove fatal.
"Archers, hurry! Shoot those charging orcs!"
It was a dire situation, but only a few could react instantly.
And they were at long range, targeting moving foes to boot.
Good results were unlikely.
Swaeek! Swaeng!
Arrows sliced through the night sky, but most plummeted harmlessly into empty ground.
One, at least, hit its mark.
"Kuwek!"
The lead orc took an arrow to the throat and tumbled dramatically forward.
Its flame wick snuffed out as it rolled across the dirt.
But their luck ended there.
The remaining orcs kept charging, and now Owen's ambush position—and the archers'—was exposed.
"Enemies! Over there!"
"They shot arrows!"
But stopping the charging orcs took priority, so Owen ignored them.
At that moment, the small-type dragon knights caught on and swiftly retreated.
"Explosives? Evade!"
"Fall back!"
Wise call.
They might want to intercept the onrushing orcs, but a single small-type dragon would suffer a critical hit from one blast.
The real issue was the sluggish medium-type dragon.
Caught completely off-guard, it was too late to pull its massive bulk away.
Owen wondered what to do, but the dragon knight atop the goatee dragon proved more skilled than expected.
He immediately commanded a tail swipe.
Peueok!
With a dull thud, three orcs bearing explosive kegs on their backs launched into the air.
Two detonated spectacularly mid-flight.
Kwaaaang!
A massive blaze lit up the area.
Everyone in the battle turned in shock.
But it wasn't over.
More orc suicide bombers charged in.
"Kuaaaah!"
One latched onto the goatee dragon's hind leg.
The dragon shook it off quickly, but couldn't stop the second and third from clinging on.
Kwaaaang!
Kwaaang!
Explosions ripped in succession.
The enormous medium-type dragon flinched and bellowed in pain.
"Kaoouuung!"
As the thick smoke cleared, Owen beheld a gruesome sight.
One of the goatee dragon's hind legs had been blown clean off.
Everything below the knee was gone.
The stump above wasn't intact either—bone exposed, flesh shredded.
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"My God…."
Owen's jaw dropped.
But the real trouble came next.
The crippled goatee dragon bolted in panic.
Injured and terrified, it fled—and its rider was already gone from the saddle.
Probably thrown off by the blast.
Now the fleeing dragon was beyond control.
"No!"
The startled Surpuk Duke cried out.
The dragon was barreling straight back toward the main camp.
Disaster followed, as expected.
Kwajik! Kwaaang!
Dragging its ruined hind leg, the goatee dragon smashed through the palisade—and beyond it, trampling the Surpuk Duke's forces and dark elves alike.
"Aaaagh!"
"Help! Aaagh!"
Nothing terrified like a rampaging dragon in blind flight.
It crushed friend and foe without distinction.
Palisades shattered, tents and makeshift structures reduced to splinters.
"Fall back! Let it pass!"
The Surpuk Duke charged forward, waving his baton and bellowing.
"Your Grace! It's dangerous!"
The knights rushed after their exposed lord.
But the accident happened anyway.
A collapsing tent pole struck the Surpuk Duke square on.
Kaaang!
His helmet crumpled with a deafening clang, and he toppled backward.
"Your Grace!"
"Heavens! Get His Grace out!"
With the top commander unconscious, chaos deepened.
The army couldn't seal the gaping hole in the dragon-formed defensive line.
And the orcs wouldn't miss the chance.
"You lot! Charge again!"
The Human Reaper Bargulgu shouted gleefully.
Sometimes fortune smiled in war.
He'd prepared suicide bombers against dragons, sure.
But even he hadn't anticipated this jackpot.
'Good thing I convinced those tradition-obsessed idiot elders!'
Suicide squads were typically death-row convicts.
They sacrificed their lives for a promise of restored honor.
Criminals' families faced ostracism if they died as is, so volunteers were surprisingly plentiful.
"Hurry! Slaughter them all! Kraahaha!"
The four small-type dragons had dodged the blasts but couldn't hold back the orc tide alone.
Surrounded, they'd become the hunted.
Emboldened orcs surged like waves again.
Seeing the main camp in dire straits, Owen judged he could wait no longer.
He'd awaited the Surpuk Duke's orders, but none came.
"We charge! Follow me, all of you."
Owen mounted Grenville as Finn unfurled a dragon scroll.
To summon the 3rd Dragon Stable's medium-type dragon.
Old and low-stamina, but a medium-type was still a medium-type.
It would do the job.
Flash!
Light erupted from the scroll, materializing a massive dragon.
A Chekwala dragon.
Body length: 45 meters.
Dull grayish hue with striped tail.
Barrel-chested build, dopey herbivore face—hard to imagine it in combat.
But they were incredibly stubborn.
And though slow, their strength was immense.
Owen planned to lead the charge with this Chekwala dragon at the fore.
"Finn! Take point! The rest, follow me!"
"Understood!"
Some orcs were already charging the woods to crush the detachment.
"Our target is that powder wagon!"
Three wagons had brought the explosives.
Excluding the one the bombers had emptied, they aimed for the remaining two.
"Charge!"
At Owen's command, the massive Chekwala dragon lumbered forward.
Kung! Kung! Kung!
The ground quaked like an earthquake.
Yet the orcs charged anyway.
"These mad bastards!"
Owen cursed involuntarily.
He felt it every time: orcs weren't right in the head.
To charge headlong at a behemoth like that.
Probably their twisted idea of honor.
Unfortunately, most wouldn't live to claim it.
A hail of arrows rained from above the charging orcs.
Owen's hidden archers firing.
"Kuwaaah!"
"Kaak!"
Screams erupted here and there.
But many deflected arrows with armor.
Then the collision hit.
Kwajik!
A horrific crunch of flesh and bone.
The mighty Chekwala dragon plowed through, rendering the orcs' brave charge moot.
Valiant orc warriors roared battle cries and leaped at it, to no avail.
The dragon trampled them indifferently, advancing without pause.
Its momentum never flagged.
Folks dismissed Chekwala dragons as passive with weak jaws, but reality differed.
Just relentlessly crushing foes was terrifying enough.
"Block it! Block!"
Orc commanders bellowed, rallying around.
Orcs swarmed from all sides to engage the Chekwala dragon.
Many peeled off from the main camp assault.
Good news for the camp—but Owen shouted urgently.
"Finn! Pull back!"
Regrettably, this impressive charger was an old specimen.
Swaeek! Swaeek!
Already panting, exhaustion plain.
Surrounded, orcs would swarm like ants, climb aboard.
Finn's safety unassured, and the dragon doomed.
"Protect Finn and fight!"
Owen yelled to the other three small-type riders, then surged ahead alone.
To hit the powder wagons while orcs fixated on the Chekwala.
Finn knew and maneuvered the dragon away from the wagons.
Orcs clustered to fell it, opening a path to the wagons.
Owen seized the gap.
"Run!"
Grenville bolted at his master's word.
Orcs tried blocking midway, but bounced off like toys.
Even a small-type, Grenville exceeded 10 meters long.
Colliding with a sprinting one was suicide.
"Euuuung!"
Still, a few bold orcs hurled themselves, latching on.
Owen had to admire their recklessness.
He wouldn't cling to a 10-meter monster at full gallop.
"Damn impressive!"
But Owen showed no mercy, stabbing with his sword to dislodge them.
Puuk!
The fine blade—taken from Magnus—pierced armor gaps cleanly.
"Kraak!"
They couldn't hold as steel bit flesh, tumbling to the ground.
Those rolling ones bowled into oncoming orcs, toppling clusters.
Owen closed on the powder wagon.
About 30 meters out.
"Grenville! Halt!"
Owen reined in and leaped from the saddle.
An orc charged as if waiting.
"Uwoooah!"
But Grenville's jaws snapped it up before it reached Owen.
"Eek!"
Grenville shook its head.
The orc's lower half sheared off, flying into the air.
Cheolpudeok!
The meaty torso splattered wetly on the dirt.
Grenville's maw gleamed with orc blood.
A sight to give even the bravest pause.
Owen lit a torch in the gap.
"Grenville!"
"Euung!"
Grenville exhaled on the torch.
A long jet of flame engulfed the wagon.
Hwaruruk!
It blazed instantly.
Screams erupted; the doors flew open as orcs spilled out.
Bombers laden with kegs.
Wicks and wooden kegs already aflame—imminently deadly.
"Kaaaaah!"
"Kuwaaah!"
Agony from the flames sent them fleeing wildly.
Like foxes with tails afire, scampering every which way.
The first explosion followed.
Kwaaaaang!
A keg-bearing orc detonated amid its kin.
Shredded limbs flew; several orcs crumpled backward.
Blood soaked the ground.
But that was just the start.
Panicked bombers chain-detonated.
Kwaaaaang!
Kwaaang!
Orcs plunged into massive chaos.
Especially since powder was unfamiliar to them.
Only dark elves produced it.
The emperor's cannon obsession led to hiring dark elf mercenaries for powder.
Orcs had imported it recently against dragons, but it remained alien.
Most had never seen it explode; panic spread easily.
"Uwoooah!"
Blazing bombers charging made orcs scatter in horror.
A far cry from their prior valor.
Chaos snowballed.
Already clustered to take the Chekwala, now they stampeded blindly—tripping, trampling, pandemonium.
"Kuaaaah! Don't push!"
"Hold position!"
Shouts rang out, but no control.
This hampered even the orcs storming the human-dark elf camp.
Their rear dissolving into madness, no support.
"You idiots! I'll rip your heads off!"
Even the Human Reaper Bargulgu lost his composure.
Battlefields shifted fast, but this was unprecedented for him.
The veteran general couldn't regroup.
Then another massive blast.
Kwaaaaang!
Eardrum-shattering boom; flames soared skyward.
Owen exploiting the chaos to torch the third wagon.
Unlike the second—prepping to deploy—its doors were locked.
Standard for death-row bombers.
Trapped inside, they detonated as one.
Urururung! Kuung!
This blast was huge; most orcs within dozens of meters gravely wounded.
Even the unscathed reeled from shock.
Orcs eagerly adopted powder but lacked handling expertise.
"Son of a bitch!"
Successive explosions routed the orc army.
Then the old Chekwala recovered stamina and lumbered back into motion.
Bargulgu's smug face paled.
"This is a catastrophe…."
He gnashed his teeth, glaring at Owen atop Grenville ahead.
"That guy's fault! That young human bastard!"
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