"Roar!" The heavy war hammer slammed fiercely into the Manikati sword. Feeling the immense force from the impact, Vanervi spun mid-air before landing steadily on the ground.
"Damn elf!"
Onavir snarled as he examined the deep gash on his war hammer.
The steel around the slash mark appeared partially melted, and the magical rune on the impacted side had completely fizzled out.
"You filthy half-breed!" Vanervi glared at Onavir, his sharp ears and unusual features clearly betraying his mixed elven heritage.
"I'll tear your scrawny limbs apart!"
"You disgrace our elven blood, you wretched mongrel!" Vanervi's expression was filled with disgust.
Most elven kings were Tier 6 elites, but the chieftain of the prairie elf tribe was not an elven king.
Although he had the potential, he lacked the nourishment of a magical well and the faith of his people. Currently, Vanervi was only a Tier 4 advanced ranger.
Against the Tier 5 warlord Onavir, Vanervi was clearly at a disadvantage, suffering greatly in the battle!
"Hold off the knights! I want all these human infantry annihilated!" Onavir commanded, watching Rynar and his knights charge once more.
He wasn't about to let the knights successfully divide the battlefield, sending his unarmored cannon fodder to block them.
Onavir knew the knights were running out of steam. One glance at their flickering battle auras confirmed it.
As long as they wiped out the infantry, the knights and dragon riders would no longer pose any serious threat.
Sacrificing his ordinary half-orcs to gain the wealth and elite soldiers Sauron had promised him was a trade well worth it.
"So, it seems you're the only defense left? Once you're done, the Lonely Mountain will fall soon enough." The orc king of the wastelands grinned cruelly.
"The children of the prairie will never surrender! The glory of the elves still shines upon us!" Vanervi shot back, unapologetic.
…
"Long live Zaltarion!"
"Long live the Empire!"
"For the King!"
"For our homeland!"
The Zaltarion soldiers' unified roar echoed through the battlefield! The honor and glory of the empire still flowed through their veins, their unity making them an unbreakable force.
"My King! Listen!" Reynard, pulling his sword out of an orc's neck, smiled in satisfaction.
"We have never lost our glory, Reynard!" Rynar, hearing the cries of the common soldiers, felt a renewed sense of purpose.
"Knights! For Zaltarion!" Rynar roared.
"Kill! Long live Zaltarion!"
…
"Pursue and strike!" Vanervi's battle aura flared as he instantly appeared beside Onavir, his Manikati blade sweeping horizontally.
"Clang!" Onavir reacted quickly, raising his war hammer just in time.
"Roar!" The dark-red war hammer crashed into the ground, sending a shockwave rippling outward from the impact point.
Vanervi lightly tapped his toes, launching himself into the air to evade the wave.
"You can't defeat me!" Onavir swung his war hammer repeatedly, battering against Vanervi's Manikati sword.
"Die!" Vanervi roared, channeling visible streams of battle energy into his sword. But with a whistling sound, the energy surged back toward him.
"Boom!"
The Manikati was forced into an impossible angle under the pressure, and Vanervi was sent flying.
"Ugh!" Blood spurted from Vanervi. He was wounded!
"You're just a pitiful, homeless wretch! A pathetic vagabond! You've been cast aside by the elves! Hahaha!" Onavir laughed, mocking him.
"Puh…" Vanervi, supporting himself on the ground with one hand and his sword in the other, knelt on one knee, blood flowing continuously from his mouth.
Vanervi's vision began to blur. He vaguely saw his deceased parents, his fallen tribe, and the ruins of his homeland... Yes, the Prairie Elves had been abandoned. We have no home...
"I'm tired, Father!" In Vanervi's fading consciousness, he saw his father approaching step by step.
"I tried my best, King Rynar…" Unable to hold on any longer, Vanervi's injuries overwhelmed him, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk! What now? What will you do?" Onavir licked the dark-red blood off his war hammer, his grin menacing.
"Whoosh! Thunk!"
A dragon spear plunged from the sky, embedding itself right in front of Onavir as he came to a halt.
"Sin must be punished!"
Caslow, wielding a mithril sword, leaped down from his dragon's back.
Earlier, while slaughtering half-orcs, Caslow had spotted Onavir breaking through the shield formation and Vanervi collapsing, so he rushed to aid them.
His dragon, Kalador, roared before unleashing a breath of wind-infused energy toward Onavir.
Onavir dodged the lethal blast by rolling to the side, but the orcs behind him weren't so lucky. A bloody path stretching dozens of meters long extended from Kalador's breath.
"A dragon knight!" Onavir spat through gritted teeth.
"May the Dragon God have mercy on you," Caslow said coldly, signaling for his dragon to take to the skies.
Unlike the mighty dragons, wyvern-dragons like Kalador couldn't stay on the ground too long. Even with dragon armor, they were vulnerable to arrows and hidden dangers.
"You think a mere knight can stop me?" Onavir scoffed, feeling insulted.
"I am never alone!" Caslow glanced at the knights still charging desperately and then at the light infantry suffering heavy losses. His anger burned.
"Let the dragon's wrath consume you!" Caslow's fiery greatsword, empowered by dragon energy, lunged at Onavir.
Onavir didn't dare meet it head-on. The dragon's power suppressed the half-orc's bloodline, a crushing weight from their very essence.
"Roar!" Onavir's war hammer collided with Caslow's sword, causing the sword to veer off-course. The force knocked Caslow off-balance, his body tilting under the strain.
"Arrgh!" Seizing the advantage, Onavir swung his war hammer with wild abandon, driving Caslow back step by step.
"Power without skill—what a pitiful waste!" Onavir taunted as he battered Caslow, taking advantage of his opponent's retreat.
"Dragon Knight Secret Art: Gale Knight's Slash!" Caslow finally found his opening and unleashed the Dragon Knights' secret technique!
With a flick of his wrist, blue wind blades materialized, circling his sword. As more and more blades gathered, they coalesced into a four-legged wind dragon that spiraled around Caslow.
"Roar!" The wind dragon, guided by Caslow's sword, shot toward Onavir, its speed creating a thunderous roar as it tore through the air.
Onavir's eyes narrowed.
He grabbed a nearby half-orc and flung it toward the wind dragon. The fierce wind element shredded the half-orc mid-air, forcing Onavir to dive into the crowd for cover...
In the next moment, the wind dragon crashed down, its fury turning everything within ten meters into a gory mess.
"Die!" Hidden among the bodies, Onavir seized the moment as Caslow's energy waned and hurled a war hammer.
"Boom!" The massive force sent Caslow flying.
"Roar!" Onavir, roaring triumphantly, leaped down with his war hammer raised high.
"Clang!" The sound of metal clashing echoed through the air as a blazing longsword blocked the war hammer just before it smashed into Caslow's head.
"You're fighting me, scum!" Vanervi, covered in blood, grinned wildly, his mouth stained with red colour.
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