Chapter 818: The Great Battle of Mountain Beasts (1)
As they continued on, the weight of the forest’s eerie silence pressed down on them, filling the gaps in their conversations with a growing sense of unease. Yet they pushed forward, their instincts sharp and their senses on high alert.
Then, just as the tension seemed to reach its peak, a distant sound broke the oppressive quiet: the unmistakable clashing of metal upon metal. It was faint at first, but it grew steadily louder, like the slow build of a distant storm. The distant echoes of battle—shouts, the clash of swords, and the ringing of shields—carried through the air, cutting through the unnatural stillness of the forest.
Orion’s ears perked up. "That’s fighting... far off, but it’s definitely a battle."
Aisa’s eyes narrowed. "It’s coming from the direction of the direction the troll’s headed. It sounds like a full-on war."
With the clashing of battle growing ever louder, they pressed on through the vast, towering forest, their hearts pounding as they prepared for whatever lay ahead. The silence of the forest was now a distant memory, replaced by the thunderous roar of an unseen war that awaited them in the distance.
...
The troll platoon commander stood atop a ridge of broken stone, his broad, scarred arms folded over his chest as he surveyed the battlefield below. His small, beady eyes narrowed in focus, taking in the clash of bodies and steel below, where his forces were locked in a vicious struggle against the advancing orc army. From his vantage point, he could see everything—the shifting of lines, the momentum of the battle, and the weakness in the enemy’s movements.
The orcs, massive and brutal, had formed a wedge, pressing hard into the center of the troll ranks. Their savage roars echoed across the battlefield as they crashed forward, hacking through flesh and bone with the ferocity of a wild storm. They were spreading out now, pushing further into the troll’s middle line, trying to split the forces in two and disrupt the coordination between the front and rear units.
But the troll commander wanted this.
His jagged teeth flashed in a grim smile, knowing that the orcs had fallen into his trap. He had thinned his middle ranks on purpose, allowing the orcs to press deeper into his forces. The strength of his army wasn’t in brute force alone, but in their tactical maneuvers—a lesson many underestimated when facing the towering creatures.
"Now," he growled under his breath, signaling to his lieutenants.
At his command, the trolls stationed at the rear surged forward, massive feet pounding the earth as they moved in disciplined unison. These were no ordinary warriors but his flankers, hidden just behind the thinning front line, waiting for the moment to strike. They swung around the edges of the battlefield, like the jaws of a trap closing in on the prey, flanking the orcs who had pushed too far into the middle.
The orc wedge had been sharp, but now it was overextended. Troll war cries filled the air as the flanking forces hit the orc lines with the weight of a sledgehammer. The trolls wielded massive war clubs and jagged swords, their strikes sending orc bodies flying through the air as they descended on the now-vulnerable sides of the orc formation.
The clash between the two armies was brutal and chaotic. Trolls towered over the orcs, their sheer size giving them an edge in power and reach, but the orcs, despite their smaller stature, were vicious and cunning. They fought back with savage intensity, using their speed and relentless aggression to slice at the trolls’ legs, hamstringing them and driving axes into their sides. Blood sprayed across the battlefield, soaking the ground beneath their feet.
But the troll commander had anticipated this. He had seen the orcs’ tactics before—their reliance on brute force and berserker rage to overcome their opponents. He knew they would aim for the legs, and he had already instructed his soldiers to keep their shields low, blocking the orc axes and swords with reinforced shields made of ironwood. Those who wielded no shields struck down with crushing force, their war clubs sending orc shields splintering apart and crumpling their armored bodies with a single blow.
The battlefield was a violent, rhythmic dance of push and pull, blood and steel. The orcs were relentless, their shamanic leaders barking orders from behind their lines, urging their troops forward. They called upon their magic, sending bursts of raw energy through the battlefield, aimed at disrupting the troll formations. But the troll commander had seen this coming too, his mystics casting barriers and deflecting the worst of the shamanic onslaught.
"Reform the front!" the troll commander bellowed to his captains, his deep voice carrying above the din of battle. The center line of trolls, now reinforced by those who had flanked the orcs, closed ranks again, crushing the orcs between their thick bodies like a vice. His forces were built for endurance—while the orcs fought like wildfire, burning bright and fast, the trolls were a slow-moving avalanche, overwhelming and grinding down the enemy over time.
The orcs, realizing their wedge was being devoured from the flanks, tried to pull back, but it was too late. The trolls pressed forward, massive shields forming an impenetrable wall as they marched toward the center, forcing the orcs to retreat into the waiting arms of the troll reserves.
It was a bloody, grinding war of attrition. Every inch of ground was hard-fought, and every step forward paid for in blood and bodies. The trolls used their size and endurance to outlast the orcs’ relentless attacks, their defensive formations slowly but surely tightening around the enemy like a noose.
The troll commander watched the battlefield with satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with cold calculation. His plan was working. The orcs were trapped, their numbers dwindling with every moment as they were crushed between his flanking units and the reinforced front line.
He knew the battle was far from over, but the tide had turned. The orcs had played into his hands, and now, they were paying the price. As the clashing of steel and the screams of the dying echoed through the valley, the troll commander allowed himself a moment of grim satisfaction. This war was far from won, but with each passing minute, victory seemed closer in his grasp.
The troll commander stood, unwavering, as the battle raged on below. His forces had reformed their lines, adopting a solid defensive stance. Shields locked together, bristling with iron spikes, the trolls dug their feet into the earth and braced for the orc onslaught. Their massive forms, standing nearly twice as tall as most of the orcs, created an intimidating wall of flesh and steel. Yet, the orcs were far from dissuaded.
The orc warlord on the opposing side had realized that his wedge formation had failed and now sought to adopt a more aggressive, chaotic approach. He rallied his troops, barking out orders with guttural cries. The orc forces spread out in smaller clusters, each led by a fearsome captain, moving to encircle the trolls on both flanks. The orcs’ war drums beat loud and fast, spurring their bloodlust as they prepared to launch a relentless, all-out assault.
The trolls held their formation, their commander keeping them grounded. He knew that if they broke ranks now, the smaller, faster orcs would swarm them, picking them apart. The troll’s plan was to outlast the orcs, whose berserker fury would tire them eventually. But the orcs had other plans.
The first wave of orcs came crashing down like a tidal wave, a wild and frenzied attack meant to overwhelm the troll defenses. They wielded heavy axes and jagged swords, slashing at the legs and feet of the trolls, trying to bring them down from below. The trolls, using their superior reach, struck downward with brutal precision, their war clubs and spears smashing into orc bodies, shattering bones and crushing skulls.
But the orcs kept coming. The initial attack had been a feint, a means to tire out the troll front line. The real attack came from the sides.
On both flanks, orc battalions surged forward in scattered, irregular patterns. Rather than charge directly into the troll ranks, they used hit-and-run tactics, darting in to strike and then falling back before the trolls could retaliate. The trolls, larger and slower, struggled to respond to this sudden shift in strategy. The flanking orcs moved like a swarm of hornets, stabbing and hacking at any opening they could find, and then retreating just as quickly.
The troll commander knew this was dangerous. The orcs were trying to force his troops into breaking formation, hoping to spread them thin and create gaps. But he had prepared for this.
"Rear guard, tighten the lines! Don’t let them split us!" he bellowed to his captains.
The trolls on the outer edges of the formation began to shift, tightening their defensive stance. They moved slower now, backing toward the center, their shields forming a thicker wall. The flanking orcs found their movements constrained, as the trolls’ formation became more impenetrable. But the trolls couldn’t press forward either, their defensive stance preventing them from pushing outward with enough force to break the orcs.
