Chapter 79: Reforged Chapter 79: Heaven to the Left, Warriors to the Right (2)
The orcs at the forefront naturally paid the price of their lives. However, they used their bodies and lives to destroy over thirty percent of the human spears.
By the time the second wave of orcs reached the human formation, many of them were already able to engage with the frontline sword-and-shield soldiers.
"Bang!"
Even though the soldiers of the Gryphon Legion had experienced training from naga instructors, in actual combat, the orcs' heavy hammers still caused many warriors to instantly experience their hands splitting open.
Taking advantage of the orcs' moment of weakness, when their old strength had waned, and new strength had not yet emerged, the trained soldiers swiftly stabbed out with their longswords.
They succeeded, and they also failed.
They indeed killed the second wave of orcs, but the third wave of orcs took advantage of the situation and closed in. Enraged orcs threw their hundred-pound super-heavy hammers, while others hurled themselves into the human warrior formation.
Such rhino-like impacts often required three or more soldiers to stack their shields together to withstand the force.
The neat human formation began to show many dents.
Once engaged in close combat, the difference in individual strength became apparent.
Even when facing elite forces like the Gryphon Legion, orc warriors managed to achieve a three-to-one casualty ratio. This was partly due to the orcs' poor armor. These green-skinned orcs often had armor covering less than thirty percent of their bodies, and even then, it was relatively easy-to-pierce leather armor.
If stabbed in vital areas like the heart, orcs would still perish.
However, the orcs' tenacious vitality allowed them to continue fighting for a short time even after receiving fatal injuries, before finally collapsing and dying.
Anduin Lothar, wielding his heavy sword, fought on the front lines, possibly already the most prominent figure in the human ranks.
He used a two-handed greatsword almost like a one-handed sword, with practical but not flashy swordsmanship, enabling him to dispatch enemies quickly and efficiently. Before him lay at least twenty orc corpses.
A commander should typically stay in the middle of the army. However, in a situation where tactics had lost their meaning and courage was needed more, Lothar moved to the front line.
A solid pillar of strength provided the soldiers with greater confidence.
On a nearby hill, General Fordragon made the same choice as Lothar.
Unfortunately, the gap in strength between the two sides was too significant.
In terms of both troop numbers and individual combat capabilities, every time Lothar cut down the frontmost orcs, impatient orcs waiting behind would immediately fill the gap, roaring as they launched crude but powerful attacks.
Less than half an hour into the battle, Lothar believed he had already inflicted at least 1,000 casualties on the orcs. However, this number seemed insignificant in the face of the vast orc army.
Lothar could still fight, swinging his greatsword and stabbing, cutting, and hacking away at the hideous orcs. But he could clearly sense the soldiers around him rapidly dwindling in number.
The once-thick square formation had become thin, and Lothar could now see the rear of the formation without even looking back.
That was the triple row of horizontal formations arranged along the mountainside.
Behind the horizontal formations were numerous injured soldiers who were unable to move or found it inconvenient to do so.
.
Worse still, countless unfamiliar orcs appeared on the other side. These orcs were slightly smaller than their brethren, clad in large robes and leaning on staffs. After a few seconds of frantic incantations, a member of the Gryphon Legion would go berserk, either recklessly charging the orcs and being quickly swallowed, or worse, turning their greatsword on the comrade they had just been fighting alongside.
Anduin knew that the collapse of the frontlines was imminent, within the next two or three minutes.
"Commander! Lord Fordragon orders you to retreat!" A messenger suddenly called out behind Lothar.
"Retreat? How can I retreat?"
Seeing the still swift-moving orcs scaling the hills, Lothar knew that unless they could break the momentum of the orcish assault, a faster and more devastating defeat awaited them.
Lothar glanced to the side and saw that General Simos' forces on the nearby peak had not yet broken either, though their losses were even more severe than his own, with only two horizontal rows remaining.
Lothar was unaware that at that moment, more than a dozen men dressed as private guards had sneaked up the deserted peak.
They efficiently dismounted and unloaded everything from the packhorses.
As they went about their task, a soldier wearing a Stormwind Kingdom's standard armor with its emblem removed could hardly resist drawing his sword to join the fray.
But he was stopped.
"Can you make a difference going down there alone, Regi?"
The one addressed as Regi was, of course, Reginald Windsor, the future Marshal!
Windsor gritted his teeth: "Am I supposed to do nothing?"
Duke chuckled, raising three fingers and folding one down with each point he made.
"First, don't forget that you're now my follower."
"Second, that's why I'm here."
"Third, I can't be in two places at once. I can only dampen their morale at most. I can't cover two units simultaneously. I need you and Marco to cover General Fordragon on the mountain. A talent like him shouldn't die here."
"Fine!" Windsor gestured, and more men dressed as private guards quietly climbed up to the previously empty mountaintop fortress.
Watching the battle below, Duke sighed.
"Heaven to the left, warriors to the right... Why is my heart so heavy when I'm experiencing this saying firsthand?"
Lothar and the Gryphon Legion warriors were all great, and it was this greatness that made Duke unable to bear the thought of the entire Gryphon Legion falling here.
General Simos was at the end of his rope, his left arm hanging limply from a dislocation caused by the fierce blow of an orcish warrior. Even the slightest movement caused searing pain. A crude spear had pierced his right leg, and though it hadn't struck bone, blood was gushing out.
He was exhausted, barely able to move a finger.
He was filthy, his golden hair matted with dark red mud - a mixture of dried blood and flesh from both orcs and comrades. His guard had taken a hammer blow for him, and Simos had watched as the young man's rib pierced through the gaps in his armor.
Since receiving Lothar's order, he had believed he would die here.
Suddenly, he heard an eerie wail.
The sound was more chilling than that of a rain of arrows, a scream that dwarfed even the noise of ten archer battalions firing in unison. Without time to look back, a deafening "thump, thump, thump!" sound rang out, and the green before him was swept away.
The relentless green tide had been forcibly torn apart!
Who had done this?
General Bolvar Fordragon turned around abruptly and saw a sight he had never witnessed before: at least a hundred arcane energy hands floating in mid-air!
....
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