The latter clutched his foot and hopped around for a while, then limped to catch up with Malin.
"I rember back in the day, when we were up against the green skins at Redstone Mountain in the East. I had just co of age then, and the old soldiers didn’t trust us to hold against the green skin assault. They put us on the flank, but they didn’t expect a group of pig-riding brats to charge straight at us." The Great Craftsman walked beside Malin, sharing his story, "Back then, my companions from the village and I stood there, shields raised, staunchly resisting their charge. We fought desperately with axes, with spike hamrs, and with muzzle-loaded firearms against the green skins. More than half of my companions died in that battle... But we stood our ground until our main forces wiped out the green skins’ main forces."
"Hmm, I know of your bravery, Your Excellency the Great Craftsman." Malin nodded.
"No, I’m not telling you this to show off our courage; those are stories of the past. When you fought the Black Orcs up North the last ti, we just regretted not being there on the spot. If we’d had the firearms you have at that ti, we wouldn’t have had to sacrifice so much. Mr. Malin, do you know, both my brothers died there, and only I survived..." As they got closer to the underground water channel, the Dwarf brushed aside his previous sentintality, positioned the square shield on his left hand, and rested the shotgun in the shield hook on his right.
"Stoneheart! Shields up!" The Dwarves raised their shields in unison.
Malin pushed away the two Dwarves who wanted to protect him and moved to the front of the group. Malin, who had switched his vision mode, raised his firearm upon seeing nurous tiny lights flickering in the darkness: "Our guests have co to welco us."
"Foolhardy creatures." The Great Craftsman squeezed to the front of Malin, using his shield to cover Malin’s right side.
The Rat-n surged out of the darkness; upon seeing these creatures covered in plague sores, wielding massive flail-like chain maces resembling incense burners, the Dwarves erupted into laughter.
"I’ve never seen such destitute beings! They actually ca to battle in their shrouds! Steady, old chaps! Let the tall ones take the lead!" The Great Craftsman laughed as he loudly ordered his kin not to fire.
Behind them, the young Knights of the factory guard raised their rifles.
As the Rat-n began to accelerate, their guns fired, and the Rat-n fell down in rows.
The incense-bearer Rat-n, clad in no armor, were pierced by bullets, then collapsed, and the bullets continued to harm the targets behind them after passing through.
Malin’s large caliber, full-power rounds demonstrated their lethality at this mont to the fullest.
Matilda’s ch did not shoot because everything was under control.
The Dwarves hadn’t fired a shot from beginning to end, until the last Rat-man, which looked bigger than its fellows, struggled to its feet. It roared and then fell back to the ground with a shot from Malin—the sharp, barbed flechette ammunition turned the Rat-man into a bloody gourd.
A 40MM cartridge case was ejected, hitting the helt of a Dwarf, who, without a sound, fell to the ground.
The Great Craftsman checked on the unfortunate soul, then looked at Malin: "He’s just been knocked out."
The Elf Ambassador was laughing.
Then his assistant covered his mouth.
Malin shook his head: "I’d better stay on the far right, so that the cartridge cases can only hit the wall."
One must not laugh at a ti like this, at least not blurt out troubles like that ambassador.
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