Just as the allied forces were advancing unimpeded through the Wild Highlands, a sudden piece of news forced Alrasia's main army to make a swift turn and rush back toward their homeland. The reason was about half a month earlier, Tatalia had launched a massive invasion to Alrasia from north, taking advantage of the allied forces' deployment.
The allied forces had anticipated the possibility of engaging Tatalia's barbarians, as rumors about the power struggle for Tatalia's throne had leaked out despite efforts to keep it secret. It wasn't hard to deduce that Alrasia's incursion into the Wildlands would provoke some response from Tatalia, and it was not unexpected for them to lend a minor hand to the orcs of Orford.
However, everyone assumed the battle against the barbarians would take place in the Wild Highlands as a minor sideshow, rather than Tatalia launching an offensive that forced 40,000 Alrasian soldiers to retreat entirely.
Tatalia is a vast territory, comparable in size to Alrasia, but most of its land consists of desolate swamps and mountains, far from prosperous. The barbarians, long at a disadvantage in their skirmishes with Alrasia, suffered devastating losses in a major war five years prior. If not for their vast swamps serving as a natural barrier—and Alrasia's lack of interest in their impoverished lands—Tatalia might have ceased to exist long ago. For years, aside from minor raids and border clashes, Tatalia remained relatively quiet. Even though rumors suggested Orford had aided Tatalia's current king in seizing the throne and the two nations had formed an alliance, Alrasia's military had grown complacent due to their overwhelming advantage over the barbarians.
In terms of equipment and tactics, Alrasia's trained knights and soldiers far outmatched the barbarian warriors, who were known for their wild, chaotic charges. Even if Tatalia mustered all its forces, their numbers barely exceeded those of Orford's orcs. The remaining troops stationed within Alrasia and along its northern border were deemed more than sufficient to repel any barbarian incursions.
But that confidence—assumed to be absolute—was merely an illusion Alrasia imposed upon itself.
Tatalia's fighting prowess shocked Alrasia. Not only had nearly all the barbarians mobilized, but their equipment had also improved to the point of rivaling Alrasia's trained swordsmen. Steel axes and war hammers shattered shields and armor with ease, and the barbarians now wore vine and leather armor capable of resisting arrows. Such high-quality equipment was beyond the barbarians' ability to produce, and its source was obvious.
In addition to their warriors, swarms of dragonflies and swamp lizards—creatures once used sparingly in Tatalian forces—now appeared in vast numbers under the control of beast tamers. These swamp creatures effectively compensated for the barbarians' lack of numbers and tactical flexibility.
Most importantly, there were reports that Tatalia's king, Tazir, had personally taken command on the front lines. This newly crowned king not only boosted the barbarians' morale but also displayed remarkable leadership and strategic acumen, channeling their wild ferocity into disciplined and effective combat.
Under such unforeseen circumstances, the barbarians achieved astounding victories. With Alrasia's main forces engaged deep in the Wildlands, their supposedly impregnable defensive lines were easily breached. For the first time, the barbarians advanced deep into Alrasia's fertile plains, leaving a path of plunder and destruction, their sights set on the Alrasian capital.
This invasion was perfectly timed, coinciding with Alrasia's forces advancing into the heart of the Wildlands. While Alrasia's army was closer to Tatalia's eastern border at that moment, no one dared to gamble on a risky counterattack. For the barbarians, retreating to defend their primitive homes was an option; for the knights of Alrasia, abandoning their royal palace and queen was unthinkable.
Although over 10,000 light cavalry guarding the supply lines were the first to retreat, they were unlikely to turn the tide against the barbarians, whose fighting capabilities had proven formidable. At best, they could only delay the situation, buying time for the main army to withdraw from the Wildlands.
As the largest contingent in the alliance, Alrasia's withdrawal of 40,000 troops significantly weakened the allied forces. Yet, this setback didn't dampen their spirits. The vanguard of the allied army was now less than a hundred miles from Orford's capital, and a decisive battle seemed imminent.
The Duchy of Judah's 10,000-strong army led the allied vanguard, advancing faster than any other force toward Orford. This was to be the first direct assault on Orford, and the orcs could no longer avoid a head-on confrontation.
In some ways, this was also a probing attack. The allied commanders were eager to assess Orford's combat strength and tactics firsthand. With most of the cavalry redeployed to defend supply lines, Judah's 4,000 heavy cavalry became the alliance's spearhead. Previous battles had demonstrated that heavy cavalry charges were highly effective against orcs, whether werewolves or ogres, who crumbled under the sheer power of armored knights and warhorses.
So far, Orford's forces had only achieved slight advantages through aerial skirmishes using wyverns supported by ballistae. Otherwise, the allied forces maintained the upper hand. As one Alrasian commander had noted earlier, the generals leading the allied armies were no fools—many were among the finest military minds on the continent. The recent supply raids forced the alliance to divert 30,000 cavalry to protect their logistics, a move that revealed Orford's capacity for cunning strategies. The orcs' natural traits, when combined with proper tactics, proved formidable.
Although the knights had left before implementing the more cautious strategies they proposed, the remaining generals made thorough preparations, ensuring they were not easily caught off guard. Griffin riders no longer ventured out recklessly, night patrols were bolstered, and every unit was accompanied by several high-ranking mages ready to act.
These measures bore fruit. A lone necromancer attempting an aerial attack with death magic was intercepted mid-flight by the mages' long-range lightning spells. Though he managed to escape using a teleportation scroll, the allied forces suffered no further ambushes in the following weeks. Orford seemed to realize that the chances of a successful raid had diminished and refrained from further risky operations.
However, the allied forces also lacked direct knowledge of Orford's combat capabilities, leaving much to speculation. To address this, they decided to let Judah's heavy cavalry spearhead the first assault.
The Judah Heavy Cavalry Corps was one of the alliance's most elite units, capable of matching the orcs in mobility and combat strength. Deploying such a crucial force as a probing unit underscored the alliance's seriousness about Orford's capabilities. Even if the cavalry encountered unexpected resistance, they were confident in their ability to withdraw and await reinforcements.
But retreat was the last thing on the minds of Judah's knights. They had every confidence in their strength, and their record justified such confidence. Judah, like Alrasia, bordered Nigen, but despite its smaller size and lesser prosperity, the duchy had never faltered in its battles against the subterranean forces. Even the towering minotaurs of Nigen could not withstand a charge from Judah's heavy cavalry.
Finally, less than 50 miles from Orford, the allied vanguard caught sight of the orc forces. This was no longer a fleeting glimpse of shadowy figures at the edge of their vision but a true formation of wolves and ogres in battle array.
Judah's cavalry commanders were unsurprised. At such close proximity to Orford, guerrilla tactics and diversions were no longer viable. The orcs had no choice but to face them head-on.
"Form up! Prepare to charge!" The cavalry commanders began assembling their ranks. The flat terrain ahead was ideal for a heavy cavalry charge, and the knights were eager to unleash their full power.
But before the knights could act, the scouts cried out in alarm. "The orcs are charging first... No, just one…"
In fact, the knights didn't need his reminder; they could all see a small white speck rapidly detaching itself from the ranks of the orc forces and rushing toward them.
This white speck moved with astonishing speed, and soon the knights in formation could clearly see that it was actually a person—a figure entirely shrouded in a dazzling white radiance. Like an arrow, this individual charged forward with the momentum of a thousand-strong army.
Typically, a charge implies that the attacking side doesn't have an overwhelming disadvantage in numbers—at the very least, they would rely on superior troop types to justify an assault. However, for a lone individual to charge at thousands of heavily armored cavalry? Such an act could hardly be described as a charge. Words like suicide or madness would seem more appropriate.
Yet, for every knight who saw this figure, a single word unbidden surged into their minds: charge. This was the embodiment of a charge. Even if it was just one man—even if he faced thousands of the most elite heavy cavalry on the continent—this was the purest, most forceful, and most quintessential charge imaginable.
The figure wasn't particularly tall or massive, but everyone felt the ground trembling. None of them could tell whether this was merely an illusion born of their minds being overwhelmed by the sheer aura and momentum of this lone man, or whether the earth truly quaked beneath his steps. It was as if he was the army of thousands—armored to the teeth and unstoppable—and those in his path were the lone, hapless foe about to be shattered, crushed, and obliterated.
"Archers, fire," one of the knightly commanders ordered in a low, measured voice. His gaze remained fixed on the rapidly approaching white figure, flames of determination burning in his eyes. Yet, his tone and expression were as calm as ice and as heavy as iron.
All the knights had already drawn their heavy crossbows. The Judah knights were elite soldiers who had survived countless battles and near-death experiences. Although the figure before them stirred a ripple in their hearts, their iron will remained unwavering. At the command, countless arrows rained down upon the approaching figure like a storm, some from crossbows, some from archers specialized in long-range fire. The heavy military bolts could pierce armor from a hundred paces away, while the specialized archers could even pierce shields.
But no storm, however fierce, could move a towering mountain. The arrows, dense enough to obscure the vision, were reduced to nothing but paper scraps when faced with the white light surrounding the figure. They didn't even touch the person, instead scattering and breaking apart, rebounding off the powerful aura surrounding him.
The magical attacks followed soon after. The mages behind the frontlines, seasoned in battle, unleashed fireballs, fire walls, ice arrows, lightning bolts, and dozens of other spells in rapid succession. Yet, these spells, capable of shattering bones and tearing flesh, seemed like mere fireworks. Most exploded only briefly before being shattered by the white light, failing to unleash their destructive power.
No one could make out the figure's footsteps, but it was impossible not to feel the weight of each step. Every invisible step seemed to strike at the heart of the earth itself, sending a chill through every nerve and hair, as if the very land trembled in fear.
The ground quaked, hearts pounded, souls shivered, for he was charging.
"Spears up, shields ready!" The three commanders, having issued the order, had already gathered together, eyes locked on the ever-approaching figure. Each gripped their weapon tightly, their muscles and veins strained to the limit, their aura glowing brightly.
At the order, the front ranks of heavy cavalry raised their long spears in unison, creating a forest of steel.
Yet, this man did not stop—he didn't even slow down. Facing the steel-forest of leveled lances and the fortress of heavy cavalry behind it, he only charged faster, more ferociously. With a deafening boom, like a meteor crashing from the heavens, he hurled himself into the formation of four thousand heavy cavalry, using nothing but his flesh and blood.
Spears snapped and splintered, soaring through the air. Knights and their mounts were shattered and hurled aside, shields and armor fractured, scattering into the sky amidst mangled limbs and broken bodies. The steel-clad knights, once an indomitable force capable of devastating entire armies, were reduced to fragments. They burst apart like stones struck by a violent impact, scattered like debris from the point of his entry into their formation.
The tightly packed cavalry formation, a bastion of unbreakable defense and a weapon designed to crush thousands of infantry in a single charge, was utterly sundered. The figure wreathed in radiant white light cleaved through their ranks like a blade slicing through a black lake, sending shockwaves rippling outward. As knights fell and chaos erupted around him, he pressed forward, unstoppable, carving through their lines as if parting the waves.
Although comrades' bodies and weapons scattered like rain, the heavy knights didn't panic. The knights on the flanks closed in, continually shifting their formation to trap the intruder. The knights adapted, changing their tactics as they surrounded the foreign presence within their ranks. As more knights were sent flying, the figure's speed began to slow.
A muffled thud echoed, like a rock striking the center of a lake. The figure finally stopped, the path he had created through the knights instantly filled as the circle of knights closed in.
"General Grutt, I've long heard of your great reputation." A heavy voice came from beneath a visor. The three commanders of the Judah knights stood shoulder to shoulder, their long spears now in the hands of the intruder, or rather, the combined strike of the three commanders had finally stopped him.
"Truly, the battle god who leads the Orford beastmen is no legend. I fear even the paladin Lancelote could not have charged through our lines as you did. To think you could break through our elite knights with nothing but your own strength."
"But we never expected you to employ such a foolish and arrogant tactic. Did you think that you could tear through our lines, crush our morale with nothing but yourself? You underestimate us. Your momentum has already waned, your energy is nearly exhausted, and you cannot break through our ranks now."
"Being a warrior, I do desire to match my skills with a master such as yourself. But this is a battlefield, and as soldiers, we can only face you with numbers. A pity." The voice of the commander conveyed a sense of excitement, tinged with regret, as if eager to defeat the opponent, but lamenting the necessity of using overwhelming force.
"A pity. That's actually what I want to say to you." Grutt's eyes scanned the faces of the three commanders. His voice was colder than theirs. "You are right. This is a battlefield."
With that, Grutt crouched slightly, his aura flaring up once more as he shot into the air like an arrow released from a strong bow, leaping several hundred meters into the sky.
The three commanders of Judah were momentarily stunned, all gazing up at Grutt, who had leaped into the air as if preparing to be struck down by his enemies below.
The blue glow of a teleportation spell lit up around Grutt. He activated a scroll even as he leaped. The three commanders hesitated for a moment, then shouted to fire, but their arrows struck only the fading blue light left behind.
"What is he doing? Does he think he can trade his life for the lives of a hundred knights with just one teleportation scroll? He won't get another chance!" One of the commanders shouted angrily. "Form up! Prepare to charge! Push through the beastmen ahead!"
But another commander, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the sky, said, "Wait, what's that?"
Several small objects fell from the sky, landing in the spot where Grutt had just stood. The most noticeable was a gray jade plaque, hanging from an extremely fine chain. Upon closer inspection, the gray color was an illusion, created by intricate black and white lines interwoven in a mesmerizing pattern. However, the plaque now had two cracks that disrupted its strange beauty.
The other small objects were shattered magical crystals. The shape of the broken fragments suggested these crystals had once contained something—a container small enough to hold the jade plaque.
"No!!!", "Watch Out!!!" The three commanders simultaneously shouted. They didn't recognize the jade plaque, but they could see a strange grayish mist seeping out, along with an overwhelming magical force.
In an instant, the gray mist spread, coloring everything around it in deathly gray, as though the entire space had been swallowed by this color of decay.
"Retreat!" The three commanders' faces turned pale, their skin gray, their armor and auras fading into the same lifeless hue, as if even their voices had been drained of life.
Yet, even as they ordered a retreat, they did not move. Instead, they pointed their spears at the small object on the ground. But the spear tips did not touch the jade plaque itself, only hovering above it, the spears pointing at it from different angles, their combined auras forming a barrier to suppress the gray mist.
Unfortunately, they were just a moment too late. Had they acted a second or two earlier, their plan might have worked. The gray mist slowed slightly beneath the pressure of their auras, but the complex and indescribable magical power had already been unleashed and could not be stopped.
The heavy knights were retreating at full speed, but a vast gray ocean, stretching a full mile in diameter, had already enveloped them all. It was neither fog nor any tangible substance; it was simply a color—dead gray.
In this grayness, there was only death, nothing else.