Amidst the ruins of Dingcheng, an Orc soldier was crawling arduously. He and his comrades were attempting to attack a ruin controlled by Goblins. The area was riddled with traps, making every step forward perilous.
In the distance, the 155mm howitzer shells from the Orc troops shook the earth, sending clouds of dust billowing into the air. Everyone lying prone on the ground could feel the vibrations.
A tracer bullet, origin unknown, streaked across the battlefield and embedded itself in a half-collapsed wall, leaving a small hole in the stonework.
Everyone pressed their bodies as low as they could, knowing that raising their heads for even a moment might result in them being struck down by a bullet from who knows where.
No one wanted their head blown off at random, for the place was littered with bodies—headless, limbless, mutilated corpses.
