Chapter 838: The Great Battle of Mountain Beasts (18)
But this was precisely what the intelligent and cunning orc commander had anticipated. With a sharp hand signal, the orc flanks moved inward in a sudden, synchronized motion, locking the trolls into a deadly crescent formation of the Double Hook. The orcs stationed on the far edges surged inward, closing in on the trolls from all directions. In an instant, the initial gap the trolls had forced open was gone, replaced by a wall of iron and shields. The trolls, still focused on their forward charge, now found themselves surrounded on all sides, their path forward cut off by a tightening wall of orc warriors.
The orc commander’s tactic became brutally effective. The outer ranks of orcs, reinforced with some of the strongest and most heavily armored warriors, formed an unbreakable barrier. Each orc held a thick iron shield with practiced precision, overlapping it with those of their comrades to create an impenetrable wall. The orcs’ spears, jutting through the narrow gaps between shields, stabbed forward with deadly accuracy, finding troll flesh in every available opening. The trolls, accustomed to overwhelming opponents with brute strength, were caught off guard by the sheer discipline and coordination of the orc forces.
Inside the encirclement, the trapped trolls thrashed and roared, their strength formidable but limited by the space now closing in around them. The troll commander bellowed from within the ring, ordering his warriors to break free, but the orcs had anticipated such an attempt. The second and third rows of orc warriors, equipped with long-reaching spears and bows, moved forward to add to the pressure. Arrows rained down upon the trolls, expertly aimed to exploit the gaps in their armor and strike vulnerable spots—exposed throats, joints, and any place not covered by thick hides.
The trolls’ famed Rolling Thunder tactic, once an unstoppable wave of raw power, became their downfall in this confined space. The orcs pressed closer, their crescent formation tightening around the trolls with every passing moment. As the orc shield-bearers advanced, they limited the trolls’ ability to use their massive weapons effectively, reducing them to short, desperate swings and wild strikes, many of which deflected harmlessly off the orcs’ thick shields.
In a last, desperate bid, a handful of the largest trolls attempted to break the formation by sheer force, ramming themselves into the orc ranks in an effort to create a gap. But the orc shield-bearers held firm, their ranks bolstered by a reserve of fresh soldiers waiting just behind the front lines. Every troll that managed to push forward found themselves quickly met by multiple spearheads, driving them back into the thick of the trapped formation.
The battlefield became a scene of carnage as orc spears struck again and again, piercing troll hides and drawing blood with each thrust. The trolls’ powerful limbs and war clubs, which once devastated orc lines, now struggled to find targets in the ever-narrowing enclosure. And as the orcs continued to tighten their grip, the trapped trolls began to fall, one by one, each death weakening their remaining forces.
The orc archers, well-positioned behind the front line, maintained a steady barrage, exploiting every gap that appeared as the trolls thrashed about in their confinement. Each arrow was loosed with practiced precision, striking trolls already weakened by spear thrusts or finding openings exposed by the chaos of close-quarters battle.
As the incredibly long and drawn out battle raged on, it became clear that the orcs’ disciplined tactics had turned the tide. The Double Hook maneuver held firm, the encirclement unbreakable, as troll numbers dwindled amidst the relentless assault. The trolls’ once-mighty Rolling Thunder tactic was undone, rendered useless in the face of the orcs’ careful planning and iron discipline.
Despite the encirclement, the trolls’ ferocity burned brightly, and their commander was determined to turn the tide of battle. With a guttural roar, he rallied his strongest fighters—the "Breakers"—who towered above their kin, clad in thick iron armor that gleamed menacingly in the chaos of battle. These behemoths were renowned for their ability to cleave through defenses, and now, with desperation fueling their every move, they charged towards the eastern side of the orc formation.
The ground shook with each thunderous step as the "Breakers" swung their massive war hammers with unrelenting force. With every swing, they shattered orc shields and splintered spears, sending wooden shards flying and creating brief openings in the orc line. Their massive frames pushed against the orc defenders like a tide against a rocky shore, and the initial orc soldiers met the impact with grim determination, desperately holding their ground.
The orc commander, ever vigilant, quickly perceived the shift in the battlefield. With a swift hand signal, he ordered the reserves stationed behind the front lines to bolster the eastern defense. Orc spearmen, ready and eager to protect their kin, surged forward to reinforce the crumbling line. They formed a denser barrier, creating a wall of iron-tipped spears that met the trolls with lethal precision.
As the "Breakers" pressed forward, the orc spearmen jabbed their long weapons, aiming for the gaps in the trolls’ heavy armor. Their disciplined formations allowed them to strike with ruthless efficiency, each thrust designed to pierce through troll flesh and drive the massive creatures back. The trolls, undeterred by the pain, retaliated with a frenzy, swinging their war hammers to clear a path, but the orc reinforcements had the advantage of numbers and coordination.
With the sounds of clashing steel and the cries of battle filling the air, the archers positioned at the flanks of the orc formation continued their relentless assault. Arrows flew in a deadly rain, arcing over the heads of the frontline warriors and plunging into the troll ranks. Each arrow found its mark, aimed specifically at the trolls’ vulnerable joints, exposed necks, and the unarmored parts of their bodies. Even as the trolls pushed forward, their numbers began to dwindle under the concentrated fire, each death weakening their resolve.
The eastern side became a hellish battleground, filled with the sounds of grunts and screams. The trolls fought with desperation, their every swing aimed at creating enough space for a breakthrough, while the orcs responded with a relentless defense, their shields locked together like a wall of iron. The Breakers, despite their formidable size and strength, began to feel the strain as orc warriors worked in unison, rotating positions to maintain a constant pressure while fresh fighters filled the gaps in their ranks.
Realizing that the eastern flank was becoming increasingly fortified, the troll commander quickly adjusted his strategy. He commanded a few of his remaining trolls to regroup and target the western edge of the orc line instead, hoping to divert some of the orc warriors away from the eastern push. With renewed purpose, these trolls swung their weapons towards the unguarded parts of the orc formation, creating a momentary distraction that pulled some of the orc reinforcements to that side.
But the orc commander was quick to adapt once again, maintaining a balance between the two flanks. He ordered a few elite orc warriors to hold the line at the western edge while the bulk of the reserves continued to fortify the eastern defense. As the trolls intensified their assault, orc spear tips flashed as they lunged toward the trolls, piercing through their defenses with calculated strikes.
With every orc that fell, however, the trolls felt a surge of adrenaline. They began to rally around the Breakers, their primal instincts kicking in as they fought harder than ever. The battle raged on, neither side willing to yield an inch, the eastern side becoming a chaotic clash of muscle, steel, and blood, while the orc commander calculated his next move, determined to turn the tide back in their favor. The battlefield, now a frenzied mix of bodies, echoed with the clash of titans as the orcs and trolls battled for dominance in a struggle that threatened to engulf them all.
Inside the swirling chaos of the Double Hook, the air was thick with the acrid scent of sweat, blood, and the unmistakable odor of iron. The trolls, once a roaring tide of muscle and rage, found themselves caught in a brutal close-quarters melee that had devolved into a struggle for survival. Orcs, clad in their battle-worn leather and iron armor, formed an unyielding wall, their eyes burning with determination.
The initial charge of the trolls had indeed taken a heavy toll on the orc lines, with mighty war hammers and massive axes crashing down upon them, shattering shields and cleaving through the ranks. The trolls’ sheer physical power had pushed the orcs back momentarily, but the disciplined warriors, ever-trained in the art of war, quickly regrouped. As the trolls began to feel the fatigue set in, the orc commander capitalized on this moment, ordering his troops to rotate positions, fresh fighters taking the place of their weary comrades.
The spear tips glinted like deadly stars in the dim light of the battlefield, and the orcs executed their counter-strikes with ruthless precision. Each thrust of their spears found its target, finding gaps in the trolls’ armor as they twisted and turned, looking for a way to break free. The trolls, attempting to employ their Rolling Thunder tactic, discovered that their immense size worked against them in this tight space. Every swing of their heavy weapons was met with the sharp jab of a spear or the crash of a shield, their momentum fading like a candle flickering in the wind.
