Chapter 53: The Breaking Point
The clash of steel and the crack of bones echoed through the battlefield as the knights descended upon the half-beast orcs. Lances struck with deadly precision, cutting through the enemy ranks as the knights pushed forward, their hooves thundering like a relentless storm.
"Stop them!" Onaville roared, emerging from the remnants of a tornado, his once-pristine armor now in tatters, cut by the wind blades. Blood seeped from multiple wounds, but they were superficial, more of a testament to his resilience than a sign of weakness.
"Cut through them!" Roland's voice boomed over the chaos as he spurred his horse forward.
The knights, relentless in their advance, carved a path through the orcs, trampling them underfoot as they charged. But despite their momentum, the orc horde began to encircle them, threatening to cut off their escape.
"Don't get surrounded! We can't afford to lose speed!" Raynor shouted, his lance sweeping aside orcs as he fought to keep the formation intact.
"We're breaking out to the side!" Roland commanded, leading his knights in a daring maneuver to avoid being overwhelmed.
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"The orcs are here! Prepare for battle!" Vervill's calm voice cut through the air as he observed the approaching enemy. He raised his hand, signaling the archers to ready their bows.
"Release!" Vervill shouted, and a rain of arrows descended upon the orc vanguard, thinning their numbers in an instant.
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"King! The orcs are hitting the infantry!" Reynold's alarmed voice reached Roland as he turned to see the enemy abandoning their pursuit of the knights to encircle the foot soldiers instead.
"Where's Carlos?" Roland's eyes scanned the sky, searching for the dragon that was supposed to be their aerial support. The sky was empty; the dragon had vanished.
"Your Highness! We need to disrupt their attack, or our infantry won't hold!" Reynold urged, anxiety evident in his tone.
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"Kaldor! Hold on!" Carlos, having pulled back from the battlefield, worked to remove an armor-piercing arrow embedded in Kaldor's abdomen.
"Lucky bastard," Carlos muttered as he yanked the arrow free, dragon blood splattering his hands. The arrow was enchanted, designed to pierce through even the toughest scales.
Kaldor let out a low growl, but the wound was not deep. Dragons were hardy creatures, and this injury would heal quickly. Carlos dusted some healing powder on the wound, then climbed back onto the dragon's saddle.
With a mighty flap of his wings, Kaldor returned to the sky.
"Carlos is back!" Reynold shouted, relief evident in his voice as the dragon began to rain destruction upon the orcs once more.
"Push through! For our brothers!" Roland called out, rallying his knights. The earlier charge had been successful, but it had also drained their strength. The knights were beginning to tire, their fighting spirit waning.
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"Hold the line!" Vervill barked orders as the orcs closed in on the infantry. The heavily armored Dovinian swordsmen were the backbone of the defense, their massive tower shields forming an impenetrable wall.
"The epee has no edge!" the Dovinian swordsmen chanted as one, their voices rising above the din. Their swords glowed with battle energy, flames licking along the edges.
With a collective roar, the swordsmen swung their flaming blades, cleaving through orc after orc. The impact was devastating; the orcs crumpled under the assault, their bodies broken and burned.
But the orcs kept coming, their numbers seemingly endless. The light infantry on the flanks struggled to hold their ground, their wooden shields buckling under the relentless pressure.
"Kill!" Two rows of spears jabbed out from behind the shields, piercing the oncoming orcs. The soldiers fought with grim determination, but the strain was beginning to show.
"For the glory of the knights!" Reynold led his men in another charge, striking at the orc flanks and then retreating before they could be surrounded. But Roland knew their numbers were too few. The enemy was closing in.
"Our soldiers… they won't last much longer," Roland murmured, his voice filled with the grim realization that they were being overwhelmed.
"Caslow is held back by Onaville's archers," Reynold pointed out, gesturing to the dragon that was limited to defensive maneuvers. The fear of friendly fire prevented Kaldor from unleashing his full power.
"Hold on!" Vervill shouted, as he slashed through an orc who had broken through the line, pulling a wounded light infantryman back to safety.
"Young man, fall back and regroup!" Vervill ordered the soldier, seeing the bloodied state of his arms and shoulders.
A cry of pain drew his attention—a light infantryman fell, struck down by an orc's blade. The first casualty among the infantry.
"Damn it!" A nearby Batanian archer quickly dispatched the orc, but another one was already bearing down on him, swinging a massive battle axe.
"Clang!" The archer barely blocked the blow, the force of it shocking him to his core.
"Elite orcs!" the archer gasped, recognizing the armored warriors bearing down on them.
"Stop them!" Vervill roared, driving Manikati into the chest of an approaching orc, the blade crackling with energy as it sliced through flesh and bone.
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Roland, exhausted and low on energy, resorted to leading his knights in harrying the orcs with arrows from a distance. Their training had been rushed, but it was better than nothing.
The knights fired volley after volley, the orcs falling under their arrows, but it wasn't enough to turn the tide.
"Your Highness! We need to charge again!" Reynold urged, seeing the infantry struggling to hold the line.
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Vervill faced his greatest challenge yet. The Dovinian swordsmen noticed a sudden retreat by the orcs in front of them, leaving them puzzled until they heard a roar.
"Boom!" The battlefield shook as Onaville, clad in heavy armor and wielding a massive warhammer, charged with a thunderous strike. The hammer collided with the tower shields of the Dovinian swordsmen, smashing through their defensive line.
The impact sent several swordsmen flying, their bodies hitting the ground with bone-jarring force. The shield wall was shattered, and the once-impenetrable defense was breached.
"Orc warrior!" Vervill's eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. The line had broken, and if they couldn't regroup, the infantry would be slaughtered.
"For the goddess of nature!" Vervill cried out, leaping high into the air, Manikati glowing with elven power as he brought it down upon the orc warrior.
The holy sword, imbued with divine fury, descended like a judgment from the heavens.
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