"Kill!" The knights within Loshanier City charged forward, their sturdy lances aimed at the orc wolf cavalry.
The Aquavia kingdom's Frostfire tribe was relatively poor and lacked abundant iron resources, forcing them to use wooden lances (the kind that were disposable in the medieval sense).
However, the power of these lances should not be underestimated; their tendency to break upon impact eliminated the need for knights to withdraw them for another strike.
Despite not meeting the minimum requirements to form a knightly order, the moving tide of steel was still beyond the capacity of the orc's flesh and blood to withstand!
"Boom!" The dull sounds of collision and the crack of splintering wood echoed continuously, but the outcome was evident: the wolf cavalry fell, impaled by broken lance heads, writhing on the ground.
Some were crushed into the earth by heavy iron hooves, turning them into mere "stickers" on the battlefield…
If Rynar had witnessed this scene, he would undoubtedly have scoffed. The Aquavia knights were brave, indeed, but their equipment was rather rudimentary.
The Zaltarion knights had long discarded wooden lances for a reason; although they could maintain the terrifying destructive power of the first charge, the downsides were far too apparent.
Just like the knights who silently drew their greatswords on the battlefield now, once they hit, there was no opportunity for a second strike, as the weapons would be rendered useless.
This was nothing short of inhumane for knights who had to engage in sustained combat at the frontline.
During a battle, there were no squire attendants constantly offering new lances for repeated charges.
A well-crafted steel lance, though expensive, provided clear advantages—you outlast them and had a wider range of attack!
"Squad, pursue freely! But don't go too far!" The sole great knight under the banner of the Aranthor spoke plainly.
"Charge!" Knights activating their charge skill recognized no kinship.
If anything stood in the way of their charge, there would be two outcomes: either the knight would kill their obstacle, or the obstacle would kill the knight!
Of course, if your luck was extraordinarily good and you happened to block the knightly charge… well, you could only wish for your safety.
"Swish!" A casually swung longsword effortlessly severed the snarling head of an orc wolf cavalryman, blood spraying as the iron riders surged past.
"Clang!" A heavy wolf mace struck heavily against a steel arm shield, instantly denting it.
"Thud!" The longsword pierced straight through the orc's chest.
"Heavy Slash!" The knight activated a skill, raising a longsword imbued with battle energy flames, cleaving through the weapons of the wolf rider, the beast beneath him, and the rider himself…
"Don't pursue it!" The great knight raised his bloodied longsword, halting the knights behind him.
They had reached the edge of the Dark Forest.
A qualified knight would never engage in combat within dense woods unless absolutely necessary, as their lack of agility would severely limit their effectiveness amidst numerous obstacles.
"Clean up the battlefield! We're returning!" The great knight coldly instructed as he gazed into the Dark Forest, which seemed capable of swallowing all life.
"Ugh…" Wounded and dying orcs and howling wolf mounts struggled desperately on the battlefield.
"Thud!" A knight coldly withdrew his longsword from the chest of a wolf rider, indifferent to the still-twitching orc, calmly searching for his next target.
"Roar!" A wolf mount, trampled by the charging warhorses, lunged desperately at the nearest knight, who was bent down finishing off an enemy.
"Thud!" A slightly deformed longsword emerged from the side, mercilessly positioned in its path as if inviting the wolf to its own demise.
"Young squire, never let your guard down on the battlefield…" The great knight casually flicked aside the wolf's corpse while offering a lesson to the surviving young knight.
"Thank you for saving my life, my lord!" The young squire looked at the gruesome corpse behind him, breaking into a cold sweat.
"Be more careful next time! Not every moment will have a teammate behind you!" The great knight lightly wiped the blood from his sword on the orc's corpse before turning to leave.
"Yes! My lord!" the young squire replied, still shaken.
---
"So… my cavalry unit is finished?" After meeting with the sole surviving cavalry squad leader, Aranthor's face was as dark as the bottom of a pot.
"What happened? The orc wolf cavalry has managed to approach us under our very noses?"
Elenthor, leaning on his elven curved blade at his waist, gazed at the distant battle, his exceptional vision allowing him to see clearly.
"Azog has come!" Aranthor spat out the words, then turned and descended from the city walls, leading the remaining cavalry out.
---
"Your Majesty! Those we could chase are all here! To prevent ambushes in the forest, forgive me for not pursuing further," the great knight spoke slowly.
"It's fine. Did you notice anything?" Aranthor kicked an orc corpse at his feet.
"They are strong, and most importantly, well-equipped!" the knight raised his clearly deformed arm shield.
"The orcs have begun to slaughter our scout soldiers!" Aranthor suddenly exclaimed.
"Hmm, they will soon be at our gates. We are in for a tough battle," knight replied, fully accepting this fact.
"Aranthor! What is happening here?" Elenthor, who had rushed in from behind, asked, surveying the field littered with corpses.
"The orcs have started to slaughter our scouts! They refuse to reveal their positions, and they are coming soon!" Aranthor glanced casually at the bodies beneath him and mounted his horse.
"We need to inform King Rynar! We need his support!" Aranthor looked across the swift-flowing river.
"Damn it! They really are waging war in winter!" Elenthor's face darkened.
"The northern front has already begun small-scale skirmishes, so it's not surprising that similar events are happening in the south," Aranthor responded nonchalantly.
To the north of the Lonely Mountain, the short-statured human coalition had already engaged in several battles with the northern orc army.
However, the northern orcs had not launched a full-scale assault southward, as if they were waiting for something…
"They are probably waiting for the orc attack from Dolgordor," Aranthor said bitterly.
Just from a single skirmish, his cavalry unit had lost half its men, with only about forty left out of a hundred, which was already a significant blow to him.
What everyone didn't know was that, deep within the Dark Forest, a large number of heavily armed orcs were rapidly moving toward the Lonely Mountain.
At this moment, no one was aware that this formidable orc army had successfully bypassed the elves' defensive lines…
---
"Heavy losses?" Rynar looked at Elandor before him and couldn't help but sigh.
This was the tragedy of smaller powers… They had almost no margin for error… just one defeat could lead to the end of the entire "game."
"Aranthor was too reckless; he shouldn't have sent ordinary light cavalry into the forest," Rynar sighed.
In this situation, sending light cavalry into the woods was tantamount to seeking death. Aranthor had made the most unforgivable mistake.
"So we need your help! King Rynar!" Elandor clasped his chest and bowed, his expression exceedingly humble, as if he could already envision the coalition's failure and the star elves becoming homeless.
"Keep a close watch on the orcs! If they invade, the Zaltarion Kingdom will advance and retreat with you!" Rynar consoled the noble dragon knight before him, who was striving for the survival of their race.
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