Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World
Chapter 450: Repelling the Attack

Chapter 450: Repelling the Attack

TL: Etude Translations

A single bullet ended Gunther’s charge.

The bullet hit his left arm, the very one that was holding the shield.

Now he realized that even his metal shield couldn’t withstand that wicked wand.

The moment he was hit, although he felt pain, it wasn’t as excruciating as he had anticipated.

He only felt a tremendous force entering his body, as if he had been struck hard by a hammer, followed by a numb sensation.

However, just moments later, a strong burning sensation emanated from his left arm, and the pain sharply intensified, resembling relentless wasp stings with no end in sight.

Gunther, enduring the severe pain, tried to lift his arm, but it felt disconnected from his body, weak and powerless.

His shield had already fallen to the ground, and his body, losing balance, toppled and rolled down the hillside.

The remaining orcs, seeing their leader injured, no longer cared about fighting the humans and rushed to Gunther’s aid.

Matthew, holding his musket and enduring the choking smoke, took a deep breath.

It was evident that he had hit an important figure, an incredible stroke of luck.

He couldn’t help but kiss his musket. Indeed, the flintlock’s reliability was unparalleled. If they had brought wheellock muskets, the terrifying misfire rate would have driven him mad! Worse, he might have been killed by the charging orcs before even getting frustrated.

He was also grateful for the good weather today, no rain.

The pressure on the human side lightened. Several orcs, breaking through the barriers, leaped into the trench (for lack of a better term) and were killed by the numerically superior exploration team members with swords and knives.

The orcs, indeed formidable, even in their dying struggles, inflicted injuries on many, their eyes shooting ferocious glares before closing forever.

The orcs that gave up their assault dragged their still-breathing comrades away, running towards the distant forest they had come from, eventually disappearing.

“Victory! We’ve won!”

“We actually defeated the orcs!”

Loud cheers erupted within the “trench.”

These orcs, once described in exaggerated terms by humans and used by grandmothers in the Northwest Bay to scare their grandchildren into sleeping, were now defeated by their hands.

The team members emerged from the shallow pit to check the dead orcs. Their dwarf guide, Imar, eagerly and enthusiastically helped. If he found any barely alive, he would mercifully end their suffering with a swift stroke.

They found 18 orc corpses in total, 10 only clad in animal skins, 6 wearing armor made of bones, and just 2 in metal armor, one in chainmail and the other in scale armor.

“Their metallurgy isn’t great? So, metal must be precious in orc tribes.”

Imar explained thus.

“Of course, even if they were all clad in metal armor, it probably wouldn’t have made much difference against your wands.”

At this point, the dwarf had completely abandoned any thoughts of plundering human wealth.

Now, he pondered how to lead the humans through another secret route, as the current one was a dead end. Alas, he needed to think of a reason to explain this.

Should he sneak away while they slept? No, he couldn’t, not with a bag of silver coins waiting for him.

That foolish, overconfident Gunther had already cost him a fortune. He couldn’t afford to lose this bag of silver as well.

As the exploration team members cleaned the battlefield and treated their wounds, the sun gradually set, and night quietly descended.

They pitched tents and lit bonfires, unfortunately discovering that three of their reindeer had run off during the battle.

Dwarf Imar, drawing a route in the dirt with a stick in front of Stanford, suggested, “Humans, I think we should take a different route.”

Stanford asked, “Why?”

“I fear if we continue along this path, we might encounter other orc ambushes. These damned savages have even dared to intrude into our sacred dwarf territories. The mountains are no longer safe.”

After the day’s battle, the dwarf spoke to them in a much friendlier tone.

“You mean the orcs from the forest are starting to invade the Rocky Mountains?”

“It’s entirely possible, though I’m not sure if it’s a large-scale invasion or just small-scale harassment.”

“So, other routes might not be safe either. Orcs could emerge there too.”

“But the likelihood is lower than on this path where orcs have already appeared.”

Stanford stroked his chin, pondering. “Let me think about this.”

He had a feeling that today’s ambush was somewhat peculiar.

Just then, he heard someone shouting. Looking up, he felt a chill run down his spine.

Flickering lights were appearing in the distance, growing in number and moving closer.

“Are those orcs? Their main force has arrived. We should have moved earlier.”

Stanford regretted deeply, wondering how he had overlooked this.

“Wait! That’s…” Imar, the dwarf, exclaimed.

“Those aren’t orcs! They’re dwarves, from the Hammer Clan. Listen carefully, humans…”

Imar, his eyes darting, came up with an idea and rapidly said to Stanford: “If you want to cross the mountains safely, you’ll need to follow my lead in explaining things to them.”

“Say that I—a dwarf—was being chased by orcs, and you happened to pass by and saved me. Then you should request…”

“Can we really fool them with that?”

“Heh, aren’t those eighteen corpses proof enough?”

Stanford scratched his head. “Alright, we’ll go with that story. But will your kin attack us right away?”

Imar patted his chest confidently. “Don’t worry, you’re only on the outskirts, not deep into the Rocky Mountains yet. We dwarves aren’t a bloodthirsty race… mostly.”

…

“Imar! You scoundrel!”

The leading dwarf recognized Imar. Stanford recognized him too — he was the dwarf who first refused him in the Blood Bull Tribe.

“Oh! My dear brother, I almost got torn apart by dozens of orc savages. How did you find this place?”

Balash, the dwarf, spoke sternly: “This afternoon, our patrollers heard orc roars and strange noises nearby. So, orcs did come here?”

“Yes! A whole bunch!” Imar exaggeratedly waved his hands.

“Countless orcs emerged from the dense forest, like a tidal wave. Luckily, my axe isn’t for show, and these passing humans also lent a small hand.”

“How did you end up here? This route…”

Imar quickly covered Balash’s mouth, glancing at Stanford to see no abnormal reaction, then whispered in Balash’s ear: “I couldn’t possibly lead them onto the correct path, could I? I’m a hero of the Hammer Clan; I expect several barrels of fine ale as a reward when I return.”

Balash ignored Imar’s boasting and turned to Stanford.

“Human, why are you here?”

“Uh…”

“Crossing the Rocky Mountains, right? I remember you looking for a guide all over the Blood Bull Tribe.”

“I admit it.”

Balash didn’t press further but went to inspect the orc bodies. Indeed, a fierce battle had taken place here.

Stanford followed and said, “I hope you can guide us on our journey home.”

The dwarf hesitated for a moment and then spoke: “Alright! After all, you saved one of our kin, and he’s my relative. But I still need the clan leader’s approval.”

Stanford was inwardly overjoyed. There seemed to be a chance.