Helbrand stood firm.
His massive silhouette loomed over the battlefield, an immovable fortress at the heart of the knights' line. His shield, battered and cracked, remained raised, and every swing of his enormous sword shattered another orc. His unyielding presence turned the tide of the battle, holding the horde at bay.
"Hold your positions!" he roared, his voice carrying over the clamor of steel and screams.
To his left, Kael danced through the enemy ranks, his twin blades carving precise arcs through the orcs who dared to challenge him. Even amidst the chaos, his grin was as sharp as his swords.
"They're starting to pull back!" he called out, slashing through two orcs in a single fluid motion.
From his perch above, Daryon fired another arrow, its aether-infused tip exploding upon impact and scattering several orcs. "He's right! Most of the champions are dead! Their lines are faltering!"
Helbrand grunted, slamming his shield into an orc before cleaving another with his sword. "They're wavering, but they won't break while their king still stands."
Meanwhile, Galahad moved steadily toward his target.
The young knight advanced like a shadow, every step measured and deliberate, his gaze fixed on the shaman at the rear of the orc lines. The robed figure's staff glowed faintly, its crimson runes pulsating with each murmured incantation. Surrounding him were six orcs, their weapons ready, their eyes scanning for threats.
Galahad crouched behind a pile of shattered ice and rocks, his breathing steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He studied the positioning carefully. The shaman stood at the center, with his guards positioned to cover all angles.
Six orcs. One target.
He let his aether flow into his blade, the steel shimmering faintly with a soft blue light. Taking a deep breath, he sprang from his cover with explosive speed.
The first orc didn't even have time to react. Galahad's sword carved through the air in a glowing arc, severing the shaman's hand at the wrist. The staff fell to the ground, its light dimming instantly.
The shaman screamed, staggering backward, but his guards immediately moved to protect him. They closed ranks, forming a tight defensive circle around their wounded leader.
"You think you can stop me?" Galahad called out, his voice calm but edged with confidence. "Let's see you try."
An orc lunged at him with a massive axe. Galahad sidestepped the attack effortlessly, countering with a swift slash across the orc's side. The creature collapsed with a guttural cry, its blood staining the snow.
The remaining five charged simultaneously. Galahad retreated a step, raising his sword to deflect the incoming blows. His movements were sharp and precise, his blade weaving through the chaos with deadly efficiency.
Elsewhere on the battlefield, the fight against the orc king had taken a dramatic turn.
Alaric and Eryas were finally gaining the upper hand. Though still monstrous in strength, the orc king was showing signs of fatigue. His once-fluid movements were now heavy and sluggish, his strikes slower than before.
"Keep pushing!" Alaric shouted, parrying a brutal swing of the king's axe before countering with a powerful strike to the creature's chest. His golden-tinged blade left a deep crack in the king's armor, and black energy seeped from the wound.
Eryas followed up immediately, conjuring a vortex of flame that engulfed the king. The fire burned fiercely, forcing the orc back with a pained roar.
But it wasn't just their attacks that weakened him—it was fear.
The shaman's staff, now lying in the snow, no longer pulsed with power. The healing that had made the king invincible was gone, and the tide was turning.
The orcs around him hesitated, their resolve shaken as they saw their leader faltering. The once-ferocious horde began to waver, their confidence unraveling.
Helbrand, noticing the shift in the enemy's morale, seized the moment. "Advance! Push them back!"
The knights rallied behind him, their weapons cutting through the disorganized orcs. The Wall of Ice led the charge, his indomitable presence inspiring those around him. Step by step, the knights drove the horde into retreat.
Galahad faced the remaining five orcs with unyielding focus.
One of them lunged, a jagged spear aimed for his chest. Galahad twisted to the side, his sword flashing as he severed the weapon's shaft and slashed across the orc's torso in a single fluid motion. Another came at him with a broad cleaver, swinging wildly. Galahad ducked under the strike and drove his blade upward, piercing the orc's heart.
The remaining three hesitated, glancing at their fallen comrades and then at the young knight standing before them, bloodied but unwavering.
Galahad gave them no time to regroup. With a pulse of aether coursing through his body, he dashed forward, his sword tracing deadly arcs. One by one, the orcs fell, their cries fading into the storm of battle.
As the last guard collapsed, Galahad turned his attention back to the shaman. The robed orc clutched his bleeding wrist, his eyes wide with fear as he stumbled backward.
"It's over," Galahad said, his voice low but steady. He stepped closer, his sword gleaming with a faint blue aura.
The shaman muttered something in his guttural tongue, a desperate plea or perhaps a curse. Galahad didn't care. With one swift motion, he drove his blade into the orc's chest, silencing him forever.
Pulling his sword free, Galahad straightened and surveyed the battlefield. The horde was crumbling. His mentors had nearly brought the king to his knees, and Helbrand's charge had shattered the remaining orcs' ranks.
Victory was within their grasp.