Chapter 54: A Battle for Heritage
"Roar!" The rounded warhammer crashed hard into Vervill, who staggered as he absorbed the incredible impact, finding his footing again and rolling deftly to the ground.
"Damn elf!" Onaville snarled, examining the deep gouges left on his warhammer. The steel was warped and melted around the impact, and the magical runes etched on its surface flickered ominously before going dark.
"Mixed-blood wretch!" Vervill shot back, taking in Onaville's sharp ears and distinct features that betrayed his elven ancestry.
"I'll tear your fragile limbs apart!"
"You vile brute, you've desecrated the elven kin!" Vervill spat back, anger coursing through him.
Every elven king was a formidable sixth-tier champion, but the chief of the prairie elf tribe—Vervill—was not among them. Lacking the nourishing pull of a magic well or the spiritual backing of their people, he had stagnated at fourth-tier senior ranger. Facing Onaville, a fifth-tier warrior, Vervill felt the weight of his disadvantage keenly.
"Stop the knights! I want to wipe out these human infantry!" Onaville shouted, watching Roland's resilient knights rally for another charge. He saw their strength waning, and their desperate bravery was palpable among the smoke and chaos of battle. As long as those human infantry held out, the knights stood resilient, and Onaville's plans to decimate them would prove fruitful—for every soldier lost was a step toward his promise of wealth and elite fighters from Sauron.
"You think your little band can hold this line? Your isolation is your doom!" the Wasteland Orc King taunted with a cruel laugh, swaggering forward with a worsening glint in his eye.
"The prairie elves will never yield! The brilliance of our legacy guides us!" Vervill barked defiantly.
"Long live Lagrand!" shouted the ranks of Lagrand soldiers, their voices merging into a powerful anthem fueled by pride and desperation.
"King! Listen!" Reynold roared, wrenching his sword free from the orc's lifeless body. A flicker of hope ignited within him as he caught the familiar cheers echoing from the troops, the spirit of their unity reviving their strength.
"We shall not falter! Knights! For Lagrand!" Roland's battle cry surged through the air.
"Kill! Long live Lagrand!" the soldiers shouted with renewed vigor. Their camaraderie coursed through their veins like fire.
"Chase!" Vervill yelled, a surge of determination propelling him forward. In a blink, he was beside Onaville, Manikati poised to strike.
"Clang!" Onaville moved with practiced reflex, clashing his warhammer against Vervill's weapon, sparks flying from the impact.
"Roar!" The ground reverberated as Onaville brought the warhammer crashing down, a shockwave rippling outward.
Vervill deftly leapt back into the air just in time to evade the deadly force. "You underestimate me!" he retorted, gathering energy as visible torrents of war essence surged into his weapon, aiming for Onaville with a mighty roar.
"Boom!" Manikati bent impossibly under the force of this clash, sending Vervill tumbling backwards, blood erupting from his mouth as he hit the ground hard.
"You! Just a pitiful outcast! A discarded relic of a lost race! Hahaha!" Onaville's laughter echoed across the battlefield.
"Pfft~" Vervill knelt on one knee, anguish etched on his face, blood trickling from his lips. In his weary state, memories flooded back—visions of his deceased parents, his fallen kin, the desolate remnants of their home. Yes, the prairie elves lived a forsaken existence… without a place to call theirs.
"I'm tired! Father!" Vervill's gaze locked onto the figure of his father, seeming to step out from the shadows of his memory.
"I tried so hard! King Roland..." he mumbled, the weight of his injuries too great as darkness closed in around him.
"Tsk tsk tsk! What will you do now?" Onaville sneered, licking the dark red stains from his warhammer, grim satisfaction etched on his features.
Suddenly, a dragon lance descended from above, slamming into the ground right in front of Onaville, forcing him to step back.
"Sin! Punishment!" Carlos, the dragon knight, leaped from his mount. Having witnessed Vervill's plight, he rushed to provide support, shouting as flames and wind spiraled around him.
Onaville ducked and rolled to avoid the fierce torrent of dragon breath that Kaldor, Carlos's dragon, unleashed, but the orcs behind him suffered immense casualties as the ground erupted beneath them.
"Dragon Knight!" Onaville growled, irritation flashing in his eyes.
"May the Dragon God have mercy on your soul," Carlos replied coldly, gesturing for his dragon to retreat. "The ground is no place for a dragon's might!"
"You think you'll stop me with such a little knight?" Onaville bellowed, anger lacing his words as he swung his hammer wildly.
"I'll not stand alone!" Carlos shot back, surveying the stricken knights struggling under Onaville's onslaught and calling out to them as they pressed on, unwavering.
"The wrath of the dragon itself will consume you!" Carlos declared, thrusting his sword forward, a surge of power crashing into Onaville. The orc felt the crushing weight of power as it infringed upon his dominion.
"Roar!" Onaville swung his warhammer, deflecting the metallic jab with brute force, causing Carlos to stagger back.
"You're weak and powerless!" Onaville taunted, pressing his advantage, hammer swinging mercilessly.
But Carlos refused to yield. With determination, he activated the secret skill passed down through generations of dragon knights. "Gale Knight Cut!"
As the wind blades formed, vibrating on the edges of his sword, they coalesced into a whirling vortex that captured the attention of everyone around. "Ang!" the sound roared as the wind dragon unleashed its fury, slicing through the enemies.
Onaville, sensing the imminent danger, grasped the arm of a nearby orc soldier, using him as a shield against the winds. The flurry of blades tore through the unfortunate orc, sending blood spraying into the air as Onaville slipped into the unruly throng of his warriors.
Just then, amidst the chaos, Carlos felt a surge of energy as the wind dragon descended, wreaking havoc across a wide radius. Shouts and screams filled the battlefield, chaos breaking out as the orc ranks fell into disarray.
"Die!" Onaville hurled a battle axe at Carlos while his defenses were down. The impact sent a shockwave through him, knocking him off balance.
"Boom!" Carlos staggered, just managing to raise his sword in feeble defense, but it was no match for the torrid strength behind Onaville's attack.
"Wow! Ow!" Onaville's roar resonated as he leaped, hammer raised high, ready to crush Carlos beneath him.
"Clang!" The sound of steel meeting steel echoed. A long sword, wreathed in fierce flames, came down and intercepted Onaville's strike, the force of it pushing the warhammer off-course.
"Abomination of nature, your opponent is me!" Vervill rasped, blood staining his lips as he stepped forward, eyes wild with defiance.
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