Chapter 505: Running into the Muzzle

The people of Lordaeron... they ran straight into the muzzle of the gun.

Truth be told, it wasn't really their fault. If you discount the tricks played by a certain Duke, their surprise attack was flawless.

But their mistake was showing up at the wrong place, at the wrong time, and encountering the wrong group of people.

Had they come a few days earlier, they would've hit Grim Batol during a lull. At that time, only the Dragonmaw chieftain Zuluhed would have been in the fortress. If they'd come later, after the Horde had regrouped, they wouldn't have run into so many mighty figures.

But bad luck seemed to follow the people of Lordaeron.

At that particular time, almost the entire Horde was present in Grim Batol, except for Rend and Maim, the two brothers sent to hunt Gul'dan, and Grom Hellscream, who was being pursued in Tirisfal Glades.

Yes, the Horde's chieftains were meeting in Grim Batol.

Just the day before, Warchief Orgrim Doomhammer, after organizing the campaign in the Arathi Highlands and leaving his second-in-command, Sabellian, had called a secret meeting of the chieftains.

Orgrim Doomhammer.

Kilrogg Deadeye.

Zuluhed.

Kash'drakor.

Rexxar.

Kargath Bladefist.

And a host of second-tier clan chieftains.

As it was a secret meeting, it was conducted without fanfare.

When Grim Batol was attacked, Orgrim's brownish-red face almost turned green like his brethren.

A beheading mission!?

The pressure from Duke was too much for Orgrim. Not knowing that Duke himself was in a heap of trouble, Orgrim immediately assumed it was Duke's doing.

For a moment, Orgrim was nearly overwhelmed. But a Warchief is a Warchief. After sending a handful of elite troops to scout, he quickly devised a plan.

Sitting at the head of the table, Orgrim, without showing any emotion, calmly asked, "Is the humans' portal still open?"

"Yes!" answered Zuluhed.

"Kargath, you and Rexxar, block the portal."

"Understood." Kargath, with a blade attached to his severed arm, raised it and flashed a cruel, bloodthirsty grin.

"Zuluhed, have Nekros hide."

"Yes."

"The rest of you, come with me to carve a piece from the Alliance." With that, the towering figure of Orgrim suddenly stood up, and everyone saw him grip his infamous Doomhammer.

The Lordaeron forces were stunned.

This was not their territory, and even with maps provided by the Bronzebeard dwarves, not everyone could keep their bearings during the bloody battle.

Especially when the main passage's ceiling collapsed, and a horde of brutes jumped down. Except for those unfortunate souls crushed on the spot, the Lordaeron forces were bewildered.

The Alliance and the Horde had been fighting for so long, everyone knew the other's tactics.

The Alliance relied on formations. Infantry with shields leading, pikemen and swordsmen in the middle, mages and archers in the back, plus priests for healing.

They could grind and wear down the enemy, teaching the orcs a lesson in no time.

The Horde's strength lay in individual skill. Once in close combat, one orc could take down ten human infantrymen.

This time, the Horde struck right where the Alliance was weakest.

The Shattered Hand clan's warriors, practically parachuting in, immediately cut the Alliance's formation in two, blocking near the entrance of the portal.

In one face-off, over twenty priests were instantly killed, their blades still on their arms. This caused the Church of the Holy Light its most severe losses since the war began.

The portal had limits on transporting troops, and only the elite of the elite could come through. These priests, each equal to a regional bishop, were a significant loss to the Alliance.

Moreover, the Alliance's usual battle cycle of 'fight-get wounded-recover-fight again' was broken, causing massive psychological damage to their troops. Imagine having these 'healers' around, able to save you if you were left with one breath. Without them, a severe wound meant death. The mental pressure was not the same.

Back in Dalaran, King Terenas turned pale as he watched from the terrace.

"Master, hold on for a while; it seems we need to send reinforcements."

In such a significant operation, there was bound to be a backup plan, and that was Uther's Silver Hand.

Almost the moment the passage was blocked, Uther led the charge, followed by Tirion Fordring, both clutching war hammers, and fifty Silver Hand paladins.

However, they soon found the battlefield was too narrow.

For the gateway of a fortress, a fifty-meter-wide main passage could not be called narrow. But for a battlefield, it was like a winding path. Both sides fought near the portal's entrance.

The Alliance suffered greatly from this.

No one dared to bombard the portal with magic, fearing it would destabilize it. They had to rely on melee combat and archery.

Would the Shattered Hand's fierce warriors fear that?

Kargath faced Uther.

Rexxar clashed with Tirion.

Both sides fought to a stalemate.

It seemed stuck here, but inside, the problem was massive.

Having their retreat cut off already affected morale. When Orgrim, with a host of howling chieftains, attacked, Abbendis and Saidan turned pale. They never expected the Horde's strongest warriors to be here.

The founders of the Scarlet Crusade, who would come later, barely held off four second-tier chieftains. But they couldn't stop the chilling Orgrim, leading a host of the most ferocious chieftains in a killing spree!

Shields were most vulnerable to heavy weapons.

When Orgrim, swinging a hundred-pound hammer like a toy, appeared, Alliance soldiers found that they too could be part of a one-man army—yes, those who were sent flying.

One sweep of his hammer sent at least five or six elite Alliance soldiers flying, with broken limbs or twisted bodies. Only the invincible paladins survived a hit. So when those golden paladins were sent flying, they knocked many comrades aside like bowling pins.

The Doomhammer, covered in human flesh and bone fragments, exuded a fierce aura. In that moment, anyone would believe this terrifying hammer to be a legendary artifact!

The Alliance was routed, with Lordaeron's elite dwindling at an alarming rate.

"No—" General Abbendis's eyes were filled with rage. He was almost driven mad.

These were his best men! Many had followed him for at least five years. But now, they were being cut down like wheat before a scythe!

He didn't know what had gone wrong, but this time, Lordaeron had truly run into the muzzle of the gun.