Reforged Chapter 77: The Dark Portal – Part Four (End)

Anduin Lothar stood atop the peak of this solitary island.

Looking at the newly built series of forts along the mountain path, Anduin felt uncertain, not knowing how much of a role this hastily constructed defensive line would play.

"We've prepared a month's worth of food, over 150,000 arrows, a thousand sets of spare armor..." the logistics officer reported to Anduin.

But Anduin was restless and uneasy.

Logistics were weak, and that was unavoidable; they could only hope for better weather in the coming days.

"If we can hold out until midsummer, the roads should be much easier to traverse..."

However, on April 3, the entire Stormwind Kingdom's high-ranking officials were left speechless.

Many nobles had also been dispatched to participate in this war. Some were brave like Lord Bolvar Fordragon, some were sent to the front lines reluctantly by their families, and others sought political capital. Gathered on these two nameless peaks in the Redridge Mountains were two dukes, four marquises, eleven counts, and countless lower-ranking nobles of the Stormwind Kingdom.

Before these nobles, who had been comfortable for nearly a thousand years, was reflected a terrifyingly savage army.

At first, the battle cries seemed like faint laughter coming from the distant fog. But when a green line appeared on the opposite peak, the deafening roar and ferocious drumming sounded like a giant wave crashing towards them. The sound was so immense that it felt as if someone was hacking at every noble's eardrums with a knife or an axe.

The green tide easily dyed the entire opposing mountain range, countless green giants dominating the landscape. They were massive in stature, wielding an assortment of primitive weapons, their terrifying numbers easily surpassing the nobles' psychological limits.

Was this an army of ten thousand? Or a hundred thousand?

The green tide filled several mountain peaks, its battle line easily surpassing the nobles' entire field of vision. It seemed that even if the battle line were extended ten times, it still wouldn't be possible to accommodate so many orcs attacking at once.

They pushed and shoved each other, even throwing punches at their own comrades who were blocking their way. Their numbers were so great that it would drive anyone with a fear of crowds mad.

The green tidal wave was so wild, it seemed as if it would engulf everything in its path with a ferocious torrent.

Lothar gritted his teeth, trying to memorize each of the orc banners with his own eyes. Unfortunately, after only replicating the third banner with its strange symbols, he had to give up.

The banners were too many and too chaotic. Even if the orcs were waving banners from the same tribe, the poor craftsmanship made it seem like several different clans' banners. Only the "smart orcs" could clearly distinguish which clan was which.

Between the V-shaped twin peaks and the opposing mountains was a large valley. After Lothar's repeated calculations, it was just within the range of human archers.

Lothar had originally been confident that this place would become the enemy's graveyard. Now, his expression changed.

The soldiers in the forts on the mountainside indeed fired a large number of arrows, and the overwhelming barrage of arrows did hit the orc vanguard.

But the number of orcs who fell was pitifully small.

Did the arrows miss their mark?

No! They hit!

They truly did hit.

But what did Lothar and the nobles see through their monocular telescopes?

A horde of frenzied orcs.

They saw with their own eyes an orc who had been struck by at least twenty arrows in the chest, shoulders and face. Yet, that green-skinned orc swatted the arrows away from his body as if shooing away a fly, forcefully sweeping or pulling out the arrows and tossing them to the ground.

His right eye was already blind, his flesh torn open, and the arrowheads had gouged out large chunks of bloody flesh, leaving more than ten gaping, wrist-sized holes in his upper body.

...

But that orc still charged forward madly, roaring as he rushed toward a bunker. With his massive hammer, several times larger than a human head, he smashed the brick and stone walls of the bunker, dragged out a wailing soldier, and in front of the remaining bunker defenders, he tore the soldier in half at the waist.

The soldier didn't die on the spot. As the orc laughed maniacally, the upper half of the soldier, missing his lower body, crawled several meters on the ground before finally breathing his last.

This scene sent chills down the spines of Lothar and the nobles.

All their defensive structures, like sandcastles on a beach, crumbled under the onslaught of the green tidal wave.

"Release the arrows!"

The orcs took the hits head-on.

"Drop the rocks..."

Lothar witnessed a millstone-sized rock falling, seemingly about to crush an orc who was climbing up the hill, but do you know what happened?

That orc used his arm, thicker than a bull's leg, to swing a punch, and actually shattered the large rock!

The Stormwind soldier who had thrown the rock was stunned, and in that moment of hesitation, the orc had already swiftly climbed up to the soldier. A massive, muscular arm reached out, grabbing the soldier by his hair and head, pulling him over the wall and throwing him down the mountain.

Halfway down, a laughing orc swung an axe and cleaved the soldier in two.

This incited even more laughter among the orcs.

Orcs were a bloodthirsty and war-loving bunch of lunatics!

Anduin Lothar's face turned pale. He knew that anyone could see that the Stormwind army had to retreat; the battle had become irretrievable.

"Issue the order: full retreat!"

The order to retreat was correct. Given the current situation, any rational commander would know the battle was unwinnable. However, the manner of retreat was also important.

If everyone scattered in disarray, the retreat would turn into a rout, and under the relentless pursuit of the vigorous orc army, it could easily become a complete collapse. In the end, perhaps only one in ten soldiers would make it back to Stormwind.

The nobles cast their expectant gazes upon Lothar's handsome yet pained face.

Lothar gritted his teeth and said, "The Gryphon Legion will cover the rear!"

On a blue flag with golden edges, a golden gryphon gripped a sword in each of its hind claws. This was the Gryphon Legion.

The First Legion of the Stormwind Kingdom in the eastern region of Elwynn Forest.

Its history could be traced back to the personal guard led by the founding monarch of Stormwind, a descendant of Emperor Thoradin, when the people migrated south to the fertile Elwynn Forest.

It had participated in the first founding war of the Stormwind Kingdom when the Elwynn Forest was far from as peaceful as it is today. At that time, the forest was still home to many trolls. It was through the bravery of the Gryphon Legion that the trolls were driven south, across the Duskwood, and into the disease-ridden Stranglethorn Vale.

This was a legion that inherited the iron will of the founding monarch.

However, today, at this time and place, Lothar had to sacrifice it in this hopeless rearguard action. Not because he had to save those damned noble private soldiers, but because only the Gryphon Legion could carry out the rearguard mission among the entire army.

Any knowledgeable general would

know that even if a legion is defeated horribly, as long as a tenth of its veterans remain, the legion's spirit can be passed on, the legion's spirit can be passed on, and its reputation can continue.

But after witnessing the scene before him, Lothar knew that the Gryphon Legion would be lost forever. Its reputation and its proud history would be completely erased within this desolate, red canyon.

Because, under the siege of tens of thousands of orcs, human infantry, who were inferior in strength, speed, and agility, had no chance of escaping the orcs' pursuit.

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