"They are the warriors of the highlands,
Fearless and unwavering,
They use their bodies to protect their homeland,
Against raging fires,
Against the claws of beasts,
They fear nothing and move forward.
...
And their companions,
Yes, him and his companions.
Heroes from the northern lands, blessed by light,
Yes, blessed by light.
...
They wield long swords and spears,
Those are the swords of light, the spears of burning fire,
They burn, they burn.
The power of the brave shines,
They pierce the sky, they pierce the darkness,
Bringing light, bringing the future.
...
Ahhh,
They shine with light, coming from the highlands.
They end the killing, bringing the light of peace.
People sing for them, people sing for them.
...
Ahhh,
O lost spirits,
Their battle souls are in the sky,
Guarding the highlands, guarding the highlands.
Their names are forever sung,
They have never left,
They are one with the earth forever…"
The bard's song, telling the tale of this war, was a favorite story for every child of the tribe.
But how can a story truly depict the brutality of war?
The war began when the Forest Alliance launched a surprise attack on the Aqi Grasslands. The message reached the Highland Alliance's tribal council early, but there were differing opinions on whether to send troops. The Hammer Tribe, known for their fiery temper, and the righteous Highland Tribe strongly called for war, while the Red Leaf Tribe suggested a defensive strategy. Eventually, the pro-war tribes gained the majority, and the Highland Alliance accepted the Grassland Alliance's request and officially declared war on the Forest Alliance, engaging in a prolonged war with the orc legions and enormous bloodthirsty beasts on the Aqi Grasslands.
However, the first force to enter the battlefield, the Highland Legion, was soon trapped in the Forest Alliance's ambush.
The first army, numbering ten thousand, stretched for miles. The spear regiment, the hunter regiment, the charge regiment, and the berserker regiment lined up in order, followed by countless supply carts loaded with food and forage, and fully armed cavalry providing flank protection.
The Aqi Grasslands was not just flat. The northern part of the grassland, where it connected to the highlands, had steep slopes covered with forests and hills. This was the first ambush point for the Forest Alliance. In this narrow stretch of terrain, the battle dragged on for half a year.
Many of the veterans in the Highland Legion had undergone years of training, but they still suffered greatly in the face of the Forest Alliance's tactics. The spear regiment, stretched out across the hillsides, was like rocks in the waves, fending off wave after wave of black tide. The widespread swamps and mud pits became natural flanks, but they also limited the cavalry's tactical response. The orcs, more numerous than expected, charged relentlessly with their long spikes, iron clubs, and massive axes, wreaking havoc in the spear forest.
Then, heavy rain began to fall. For several days, the sky remained overcast with leaden clouds, and the earth became a muddy quagmire. Even as the orcs continued their assaults without pause, the weather did not relent.
Arrows and rain blotted out the sky. Every archer in the hunter regiment was armed with three times the usual number of arrows, but even so, their quivers emptied quickly. The cries of pain and the roars of the orcs filled the air, and the ground was flooded with blood, turning the battlefield into a sea of red mist.
When winter snow arrived, the berserker regiment made a desperate last stand.
Many of the soldiers' families had been conscripted into the supply camp, trapped in the encirclement. It was now winter, and no one had anticipated how brutal the war would become from the start. The reinforcements from the super-tribes had yet to arrive.
The families and children trapped in the supply camp were on the brink of collapse.
Before Old Iron Hammer, there was nothing but a world of ice and snow. He didn't remember how he moved his legs, but he knew that all the brothers from the vanguard unit were behind him, advancing forward, forward, forward.
They had forced their way around a wide circle, weaving through hundreds of miles of snow and swamp, and had managed to tear open a hole in the Forest Alliance's encirclement for the Highland Legion.
"Left front... throw!" Behind him, a team of hunters launched a volley of black iron-feathered arrows into the air. Among them, there were a dozen that seemed to be bathed in moonlight. These were the elite of the Moonbow Regiment, whose enchanted bows could pierce through the toughest of armors, even those of magic beasts.
"Squad four... cut... keep moving forward..." A voice shouted in the wind and snow, the hunting dogs barking. Old Iron Hammer followed the sound, and in front of him, heavy shadows loomed, wielding axes and showing their bloody fangs. At his side, his brothers charged fiercely, blocking, stabbing! He instinctively swung his sword downward, cleaving through axes and flesh.
Some fell, others pushed forward. "Follow the chief... stay close to the flanks..." Amidst the chaos, more voices shouted, "Don't use fire arrows... the snow's too heavy... these bastards aren't..." The horses whinnied, their sounds mixed with the noise. Old Iron Hammer yanked his sword free, barely hearing the clash of steel against bone.
The burning light of fire fell from the sky but didn't explode. Smoke and snow blurred the vision. Massive bodies charged toward them. "Magic beasts... magic beasts..." someone shouted. The ground trembled, and the sound echoed far away. Swords and spears pierced flesh. "Hold steady... Shattered Stone... Heavy Hammer..." Blades and swords were aimed at the massive figure, "Wooooo—" A horn sounded to signal the direction, and the ground shook more violently as a group of giant hammer-wielding warriors charged in.
Even the most beautiful of the bards' songs could not convey the brutality of this battle. The horn wailed, and the Highland Berserker Regiment surged forward. Danger loomed, death was always present, and no one knew what they would face, but no one hesitated. Even the children of the tribe had courage in their eyes. The Highland Tribe was born to be brave warriors, fighters who fear no death, warriors who fear nothing.
"Hunt..." This was the tribe's hunting battle cry, often used to boost morale.
"Hurrah!" Shouted from all sides. The fire in Old Iron Hammer's chest flared. "Hunt..." he shouted, swinging his sword at the shadow's shoulder. "Hurrah..." More cries followed. "Die, all of you!" A swarm of arrows soared overhead, striking the orcs with terrible cries.
Forest warriors clad in full armor, tall and muscular like raging tigers, charged forward with dual axes. Old Iron Hammer barely dodged a blow, stumbling slightly and then crashing into the massive figure with his shoulder. The sound of steel clashing with bone rang out as a shield blocked another axe blow.
Two long spears came from the left and right, one piercing an orc's chest, the other driving into its thigh, cleaving through the gaps in its armor and sparking with a flash. "Ahh..." Old Iron Hammer shouted, his sword slashing down toward the enemy.