Chapter 148: The Peril of Stormwind (Part 2)

"Awooooh!"

For thousands of years, wolf packs have communicated with each other through howling.

The piercing and ferocious howl of the alpha wolf resonated, instantly inciting a chorus of howls from every wolf in the Horde. The chilling and unending cacophony of howls bore down on the outer walls of Stormwind.

This terrifying display reminded the warriors of Stormwind of a dreadful rumor: the savage and bloodthirsty orcs would only eat live humans, while the corpses of those who died in battle would be offered as a feast for their wolves.

Considering the habits of the wolves in this world, it was indeed possible.

Wolves were the most savage and ferocious creatures. They wouldn't eat their own kind, but only when their kind was still alive. Once their kin had died in any way, their flesh became indistinguishable from that of any other creature.

The thought of their bodies being torn apart and devoured by these monstrous wolves caused many inexperienced soldiers who had never faced orcs before to tremble, their teeth chattering.

King Llane Wrynn and Anduin, who were stationed at the highest point of the inner walls, frowned at the scene.

At this moment, a messenger hurried over: "Sir Windsor requests permission to fire the ballista. He says that the special ballista can teach that beast a lesson."

"Granted!" As the highest commander on the front line, even with King Llane present, Marshal Reginald Windsor was the one to issue commands most of the time.

Upon seeing the signal, Windsor himself operated the massive ballista situated on a platform nearly thirty meters above the ground.

First, he glanced at the flag fluttering on the ballista, muttering, "Wind's blowing east-slightly-west, wind force... three."

Then, Windsor stretched out his arm and raised his thumb to estimate the distance roughly, "250 yards..."

Finally, he adjusted the winch according to a scale he had no idea about a few months ago. The scale explicitly stated the degrees to be adjusted according to the distance at this height when the winch was full.

"Fire!"

With a thunk, the massive bowstring sounded.

At first, no one paid much attention to the ballista.

In this era of crude craftsmanship, all heavy weapons needed test firing. Be it a ballista, a trebuchet, or a cannon, it was generally aimed in a direction, fired, and then slowly adjusted. Those who could hit the vicinity of the target within three shots were crowned as sharpshooters.

Initially, firing the first shot should have been done by a cannoneer.

But not a single qualified cannoneer could be found throughout the kingdom of Stormwind. Even the four eight-pound cannons in Stormwind were hastily purchased from the dwarves of Ironforge after the defeat at Redridge Mountains.

The temporarily trained cannoneers were far from qualified.

In this age, aside from nobles and a few fortunate individuals, most were illiterate. It was already quite remarkable to find a few intelligent people who could learn how to operate a cannon.

So when Windsor volunteered to take the first shot, King Llane, Anduin, and Bolvar didn't hold much hope.

But then, a miracle happened!

A dark streak raced across the sky above Stormwind, blinding the orcs below. From the sky, the black line appeared to shoot straight towards Warchief Blackhand.

As the distant black dot rapidly enlarged in their field of vision, not only the orc bodyguards but also Blackhand himself sensed trouble.

Darn! How could human ballistae shoot so far!?

The orcs were not unfamiliar with human ballistae.

Most human ballistae did not have such a long range. Of course, the orcs would not know that this particular ballista had been specially modified by a certain student from a jack-of-all-trades, yet master-of-none mechanical engineering major who had been transported to this world.

There was no time to think. Standing beside Warchief Blackhand, his second-in-command, Orgrim Doomhammer, swelled his muscles. This 'future' Warchief leaped forward, rushing to meet the massive bolt in mid-air with a powerful swing of his hammer.

"Boom—" It must be said that the heroes who entered the realm of the extraordinary were all monstrous.

Faced with a ballista bolt traveling at a speed of over 50 kilometers per hour, the abnormal Orgrim intercepted it without hesitation.

And he truly managed to hit it.

However, since it was a creation of that certain someone, how could it be that simple?

This shot was a specially designed explosive bolt with smaller projectiles.

Orgrim did indeed knock away the main bolt with his hammer, but the smaller projectiles scattered like a shotgun blast, raining down on Warchief Blackhand and his precious wolf leader.

"Pop, pop, pop, pop!" The rain of projectiles struck, turning Blackhand and his beloved wolf into sitting ducks.

"Ah!"

"Awooo!"

The cries of agony from the Warchief and the wolf leader made the entire pack of wolves pause. The wolves' limited intelligence prevented them from understanding why their leader suddenly stopped howling.

Seeing the orc chief and his 'big dog' plastered with ballista bolts, and hearing the suddenly silenced pack of wolves as if their necks were choked, the morale of the Stormwind soldiers, which had been somewhat low, rose once again.

"Hahahaha!"

"Can't handle it, huh, green-skinned beasts?"

"A bunch of homeless dogs, who are you trying to scare?!"

The soldiers burst into raucous laughter.

King Llane's spirits lifted, and he raised his thumb high in the direction of Windsor, then drew his sword. The cold light of the King's sword was incredibly dazzling in the morning sun.

King Llane's clear and uplifting voice rang out across the three walls: "A thousand years ago! Our ancestors brought your ancestors to this valley. For a thousand years, we have thrived here! Behind us is our home! The home of our descendants! Can we allow these brutal green-skinned beasts to occupy our homeland?!"

"No! No! No!"

"What are you waiting for, then? Draw your swords! Let the bodies of these green-skinned beasts pile up in the Elwynn Forest!"

At this moment, Lothar was the first to respond. He drew his sword and raised it high: "For Stormwind! For Azeroth—"

"For Stormwind! For Azeroth—"

Swords and spears were raised, the cold light flickered, and morale soared!

Feeling the surge of energy from the city walls, the Warchief's green face turned almost dark green. He felt anguish for his constantly wailing old companion.

Just now, the steel pellets that had been scattered struck him, but he relied on the strength of his body that had been greatly enhanced by the blood of the demon. He also relied on his thick skin and endured the impact. However, his mount, the wolf, had not drunk the demon's blood.

Wolves were never known for their defense.

Seeing his wolf leader's eyes blinded by steel balls, and his entire front half covered in deep bloodstains that went as deep as a finger, Blackhand knew his old companion was done for.

With a vicious sneer, Blackhand smashed his beloved wolf to death with a single hammer blow.

Filled with endless rage, the warchief's roar spread throughout the entire army.

"Attack--"(To be continued.)