Chapter 308: Dividing Forces to Counterattack

Each warship roared in fury, their cannons flashing with blinding yellow light. As the massive solid shells were fired, they brought with them a surge of thick smoke, accompanied by the deafening boom of the cannons recoiling.

Black arcs of light spanned hundreds of meters in the air, hurtling towards the transport ships. The continuous booming of shells tearing through the sky completely drowned out the howling sea wind.

The iron balls dancing in the sky, trailing black arcs of light, became true harbingers of death. The shells were like the Grim Reaper weighing lives on a scale, with luck on one side and death on the other.

Whether a shell would merely stir up a huge splash of water as it passed by, or directly hit and kill its target, had become a matter of arcane speculation.

In a sense, being killed by a shell was a form of luck, at least it spared one from enduring this endless torment.

Shells flew over their heads, fell beside them, and splashed up towering sprays of water.

Did they miss?

The buzzing of the explosion had barely faded for two seconds when a new round of terrifying roars approached from afar.

Have you prayed to your ancestors?

After drinking the mysterious blood that turned their skin green, would their ancestors still bless them?

At some point, these seemingly endless shells had become the greatest torment for the orcs.

If this was their first time crossing the sea for battle, perhaps the orcs would be confused, paddling blindly to push their boats forward. But with the shadow of their first disastrous landing battle, panic inevitably set in among the surviving orcs.

For rowboats, the worst thing was uneven force on both sides, which would result in the boat spinning aimlessly on the sea surface like a headless fly.

Chaos broke out in the orc fleet.

It wasn't that there were no orc commanders attempting to organize small boats to charge at the Alliance fleet, but after the Kul Tiran fleet suffered a major setback last time, what stood in front of the orc transport ships was no longer a careless single column, but a well-arranged double column.

Not only that, the ruthless Admiral Daelin Proudmoore had even modified the structure of most of the fleet's ships.

Originally, for naval battles between fleets, the Kul Tiran fleet had an almost equal distribution of cannons on both sides. Now, considering that they had to participate in the most brutal blockade after the artillery battle, Daelin had moved almost all the cannons to the starboard side, with the port side kept balanced by ballast.

In other words, unless the Alliance fleet could gain the windward direction and seize the T-position, the port side, which only had a few cannons left, would basically kneel as soon as it encountered the enemy.

Daelin was both bold and meticulous. On one hand, he didn't believe that the Bloodsail Buccaneers who had sided with the orcs had much combat power. On the other hand, he had confidence in his own command skills.

Now his gamble had paid off.

Even ordinary destroyers could have over 30 cannons on one side. This firepower was simply insane.

The spherical solid shells spun in the air, like divine punishment for sin, ruthlessly bombarding the small orc transport ships attempting to employ the ant-attachment tactic.

"Boom—"

Due to rushed construction, the materials for the new batch of transport ships were mostly shoddy. The orc ships were originally rough and tough, but now, due to a lack of materials and an excessive pursuit of quantity, they weren't even tough anymore.

What seemed like a huge transport ship could be pierced from deck to bottom by a single cannon shell

, an event that would normally be considered impossible.

Yet, the reality was right in front of them. The crude and thin deck was easily blown sky-high, mixed with shattered wood and orc flesh, splattering around like a rainstorm.

Without relying on the explosion of gunpowder or the spiral force created by rifling, a single solid iron ball could send a transport ship capable of carrying dozens or even hundreds of orcs to the bottom of the sea, powered solely by its pure and violent kinetic energy.

The problem of shoddy workmanship also spread to the orc's giant ironclad transport ships.

Originally, with their thick iron armor, even if a cannonball hit them without bouncing off, it couldn't cause substantial damage. But after the armor was thinned, the raw iron plates, which were not originally proper armor, became the biggest killer.

The relatively brittle raw iron shattered into thumb-sized fragments when hit by a shell, and with the pressure of the shell's impact, they splattered into the cabin. The orc warriors crammed inside the cabin like sardines in a can became the biggest victims.

Under this fragment attack that exceeded the limits of their physical endurance, large numbers of orcs were harvested like wheat, but even more suffered serious injuries that made them unable to continue fighting.

If this were a land battlefield, the ferocious and brave orcs would often choose to take an enemy down with them. But this was the sea, and beside them were only their comrades and the large bullet holes left by stray bullets within a radius of several meters in the cabin.

Sitting on Daelin's ship, listening to the information gathered by the various mages, Duke was still as calm as water.

"One piece of good news and one piece of bad news."

Admiral Daelin Proudmoore smirked, "A seafaring man always starts with the bad news."

"Alright, the bad news is, you have to decide now how to distribute the fleet. If you let more than eight thousand transport ships land on the Southshore coast, Terenas and Genn will immediately come to fight you."

"And the good news?"

"According to this pace, we have a chance to send more than half of the orcs to feed the fish at the bottom of the sea."

Daelin whistled, "I'll leave the Second Fleet and the Stormwind Fleet at Southshore for you to command. I'll take the rest to the open sea off Southshore, ignoring those passing through the strait?"

Duke pondered for a moment. Daelin was always wary of the Bloodsail Buccaneers, so it had to be this way.

"You give me your word."

"Don't worry, I'll treat them fairly, even if they were forced to wipe out my Third Fleet."

Duke stared at Daelin for a moment, finally nodding.

On the battlefield, opportunities are fleeting.

There's no time for hesitation.

The situation here was also reflected in the command post at Southshore. Lothar gritted his teeth, looking at Llane, "Marshal Llane, can I entrust you with the best defense line of Southshore?"

Llane looked at his childhood friend. Lothar's struggles over the past year were still fresh in his memory. Llane patted Lothar on the shoulder, "I'm not a child going to the battlefield for the first time. If such a good defense can be broken through, I deserve to die."

"No, I don't want you to die, I..."

Llane landed a light punch on Lothar's chest, "Go, Marshal Lothar, the Alliance needs you."

Without any more time for hesitation, Lothar called to Turalyon, "We're moving out. Destination, Southshore."

Taking almost all of the cavalry, Lothar had to reach Shadowfang Keep before the Horde landed.

The most brutal beach landing battle was about to begin.