Chapter 828: The Great Battle of Mountain Beasts (10)
The battlefield was a sea of carnage, but the orcs could sense their victory. With the trolls retreating in utter chaos, the orcs let out deafening roars of triumph, their bloodlust and pride reaching a fever pitch. Orcs slammed their weapons against their shields, and some raised the heads of fallen trolls high in the air as trophies. The orc commander, towering and clad in blackened armor, stood proudly at the forefront. His brutal tactics had paid off, his wedge and anvil strategy turning the tide of battle and crushing the trolls’ attempt at envelopment.
The victory was theirs, and the orc army reveled in it. But there was an uneasy pause as the commander walked toward the five figures who had been instrumental in their success. He approached with gratitude in his eyes, ready to offer thanks to those mysterious warriors who had torn through the troll ranks with terrifying efficiency. The orc soldiers watched, their adrenaline still surging from the battle. But as the commander reached the five, something horrifying happened.
Without a word, the five moved as one. Orion, with his blood-red spear glowing ominously, stepped forward and in one swift motion, sliced his weapon through the air. In an instant, the orc commander’s body was shredded into hundreds of pieces. His flesh was diced cleanly, falling like chunks of meat onto the blood-soaked ground. His armor clattered uselessly, and the commander’s life ended before his troops even had time to comprehend what had happened.
There was a moment of stunned silence. The orcs, who had just been cheering in victorious ecstasy, froze in place. Their commander, the one who had led them to triumph, lay in pieces at the feet of these five figures. Shock turned to a boiling rage, and the nearest orcs, their emotions overtaking them, let out battle cries of fury. The cries spread, and soon a torrent of enraged orcs surged forward, weapons raised high, intent on avenging their fallen leader.
The orcs were overcome with raw emotion. Anger, betrayal, and the burning need to prove themselves pushed them forward, clouding their minds. Their battle formations—so carefully maintained during the fight with the trolls—began to disintegrate as discipline gave way to rage. The wedge, the anvil, the careful positioning of the outer flanks—all of it unraveled as orcs rushed mindlessly at the five who had just slain their commander. They no longer cared for tactics; their desire for blood overwhelmed their reason.
As they closed in, Cy stepped forward and swung his black spear in a wide arc, a shadowy wave of destruction surging from its tip. A pocket of orcs, twenty strong, were instantly enveloped by the darkness, their bodies disintegrating in a matter of seconds. The orcs who had been charging behind them skidded to a halt, suddenly unsure, their bloodlust fading into confusion and fear.
On the other side of the five, Bella waded into the oncoming orcs, her hands crackling with green flames that danced wickedly in the air. Each time her flames struck, trolls and orcs alike were set ablaze, their flesh melting under the intensity. She moved with precision, cutting down any who dared come too close, her eyes cold and indifferent to the carnage.
Meanwhile, Luna wove her illusions through the ranks of the orcs, creating terrifying images of their own comrades turning against them or giant trolls materializing from the smoke. Confusion spread like wildfire. Orcs swung their weapons at phantoms, cutting down nothing but air, while others flinched and faltered, unsure of what was real and what was a trick. Aisa capitalized on the chaos, her body a blur as she sliced through the front lines with deadly precision. Trolls and orcs alike fell before her blade, their bodies piling up as she carved a path through the battlefield.
The orcs were utterly overwhelmed. Their initial fury gave way to pure, unfiltered terror. The five figures were not just warriors—they were an unstoppable force. Orion’s blood-red spear severed dozens more, the ground running slick with the blood of those who dared to approach him. The orcs closest to the five began to falter, their legs shaking beneath them. Some dropped their weapons, their minds unable to process the fear that consumed them. Those in the very front, frozen by panic, fell to their knees, staring wide-eyed as their comrades were torn apart around them.
Panic spread through the orc ranks. The once-proud formations fell apart entirely. Orcs who had been trained to hold the line, to crush their enemies with overwhelming force, were now turning their backs and fleeing for their lives. The discipline that had served them so well against the trolls vanished as fear gripped their hearts. The battlefield was a scene of chaos and slaughter. Orcs shoved past one another, trampling the weaker in their desperate attempt to escape the five figures who had turned their victory into a nightmare.
But there was no escape. Bella, standing at the back, unleashed waves of green flame that arced through the air, striking down the fleeing orcs with deadly accuracy. Each time her flames found a target, the unfortunate orc was reduced to ash in seconds, their screams echoing across the battlefield. Those who tried to flee farther away were picked off one by one, their bodies charred and broken before they could take more than a few steps.
The closest orcs who hadn’t yet run stared in paralyzed terror as their comrades were cut down in waves. They were too afraid to move, too petrified to react. Their bodies felt numb, their eyes wide with horror as they watched the five carve through their ranks like reapers in a field of wheat. Only when the five began to close in did the remaining orcs finally break. Their last remnants of courage shattered, and they fled in all directions, their fear consuming them completely.
But for many, it was too late. Those who ran were hunted down, their desperate flight ending in bloody, fiery death as Bella’s green flames chased them down. The orc army—once a well-oiled war machine—was reduced to chaos, its formations shattered and its soldiers scattered. What had started as a glorious victory over the trolls had now turned into a slaughter—their own.
The orc forces on this side of the war were no more, their army broken by the merciless onslaught of the five. The few survivors scattered into the wilderness, their minds fractured by terror as they fled, never daring to look back.
"These guys..." Cy looked at Orion as they finished off the rest of the orcs.
"Yeah, they were using battle tactics," Orion responded, feeling the lingering gaze of Cy as he sliced off the head of a cowering orc.
"Either it’s just the king that’s stupid, or they’re only smart in battle. I’m inclined to think of the former as to not underestimate them, but both Orcs and Trolls are pretty fucking stupid. I wouldn’t be surprised if they spec’d all of their intelligence points into some kind of niche battle tactic array." Luna added.
As the battle quieted on the side where the orc army had been annihilated, the five figures, still emanating an overwhelming aura of destruction, began their methodical sweep of the battlefield. Orion, with his blood-red spear, strode across the blood-soaked ground, impaling any twitching bodies that still clung to life. His movements were slow but deliberate, each strike filled with the weight of finality. Cy, wielding his black spear, covered the opposite side of the field, dark shadows rippling outward with every swing, engulfing and disintegrating any remaining trolls or orcs too slow to die with the rest of their kin.
Bella, her green flames still flickering at her fingertips, walked amongst the fallen, incinerating piles of bodies as she passed. Trolls, orcs—none were spared her fire as she erased the remnants of the battlefield with cold efficiency. Luna moved in silence, her illusions still haunting the few survivors who tried to crawl away. She ensured that none escaped unnoticed, luring the dying into traps they could never avoid. Aisa, meanwhile, moved like a ghost, her blade flashing as she decapitated any fallen warriors who might have been faking death. There was no mercy here, no hesitation.
In a matter of minutes, the battlefield was eerily silent, the ground littered with nothing but smoldering corpses as if a storm had swept through and wiped out everything in its path. The five exchanged glances, indifferent to the carnage they had wrought, before turning their backs on the desolate field.
On the other side of the war, far removed from the chaos left behind by the five, the battle raged with undiminished fury. This side of the battlefield saw a more structured and disciplined clash between the orcs and trolls, each side locked in a deadly tug of war.
The trolls, led by seasoned commanders, had taken up a defensive formation. Their front lines were formed by heavily armored trolls wielding massive tower shields and long spears, creating an impenetrable wall of steel and muscle. Behind them, trolls armed with massive crossbows fired volleys of bolts into the oncoming orcs, their massive size making it impossible for the orcs to ignore. The trolls knew their strength lay in their endurance and resilience, so they held their ground, trusting that their defense would eventually wear the orcs down.
